#also love how she was excited to talk about two layers of skin on a new creature only for it to be a dude in a costume

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 20 "jose chung from outer space" thoughts

dare i say it, once again… new favorite episode??

okay, my previous favorite episode was an ENTIRELY different direction from this one, but i’d say there should be one best episode for serious stuff and one best episode for the silly!!! and this takes the silly crown!! and tbh i can't make an actual hard and fast rating anyway because there are so many great things to choose from- but this is amongst them, for me, in terms of legendary episodes!

please, join me on this ride, which i enjoyed each second of, and will need to someday rewatch without pausing every 0.5 seconds to jot something i noticed down. the live experience begins beneath the cut.

it’s been 84 years…. (3 days since i’ve seen an episode)

ooo, this sounds interesting! is scully going to work with an author?? are we gonna learn more about the things that she reads?? this is prime content to a person like me

stars…. space ship….. filled with tubes and wires and other such things…… just kidding!!! it’s a guy working on some electrical stuff. whilst two people drive by!! i thought they were mulder and scully at first but they are not

“um, i don’t want to scare you, but i think i’m madly in love with you” says this guy who is not mulder but actually named harold to this girl who is not scully but is actually named chrissy. OH! and this is the first date. so that was a weird thing to say. i thought it was quite sweet at first but that changes things for sure.

GASP! UFO be upon them. creatures are coming out to get them. she asks what they are and he says “how the hell should i know?” ooo ooo i know! they are aliens 👽 and then the two fall on top of each other like they are knocked out… and the aliens drag them away???? 

until a king kong looking fellow rolls up. very puppet-y. and the aliens don’t know what this creature is either!!! and also ask what that thing is and the response is “how the hell should i know?” haha i see what you did there... out aliening the alien

bum bum bum bum…. (<- my attempt at recreating the noise of the intro)

now, what was that? i'm stuck on the king kong and godzilla love child puppet….

scan up on mulder’s iconic poster!!! and a guy is here who is yet again not mulder. his name is mr. chung and mulder will NOT talk to him… oooh, what is their beef…?

mr. chung is saying he always felt alienated on this planet, who can even imagine actual aliens! and he has a point there.

oh! scully is a big fan of this fellow, which is why she agreed to talk to this guy!!! he calls her beautiful, which is true, but time and place 

so he isn’t even interested in aliens, but his publisher said he should write a book on the matter. he is going to create a NEW genre: non fiction science fiction, a gimmick that will give him money. this seems somewhat disappointing to scully, who must be a believer in artistic integrity, but i find his honesty refreshing.

she wants him to tell the truth, but apparently he spent 3 months in kass county where all this stuff went down, and NO ONE could tell him what actually happened. the truth is just as subjective as reality. which sounds like something i learned in history class. and, it helps explain why everyone with an alien story starts with some variation of, "i know this sounds crazy, but"...

so he wants HER version of hearing of the case. also he touches her arm and... let's slow down a little there, mr. chung.

OHHH we are seeing a story told in flashbacks!!!! narrated by scully!! how wonderful!!!

this girl is suffering from “missing time”, a phenomenon we have come to know well here on this blog. also her clothes are inside out and she has signs of abuse. not looking great for her.

apparently mulder prefers the term “abductee” to “experiencer”, which mr. chung has valid disagreements with. we go on, however.

this poor girl is seeing aliens that are not there and her nose is bleeding. WAIT! it’s the guy from before! harold and chrissy! he comes to her window to say he did everything he could but she rejects him, thinking he had drugged and assaulted her. yikes.

harold is testifying that he was abducted by aliens, but no one believes him. he stuck to his story UNTIL our agents arrived!

(MULDER SAYS SOMETHING VERY OUT OF POCKET HERE ABOUT GOING TO PRISON BUT LET'S KEEP MOVING)

despite this announcement of presumed prison time, mulder brings chrissy in for questioning. asking her if she has all the symptoms of “post abduction disorder”, which she confirms, while scully rolls her eyes with great force in the background. and he talks the girl’s parents into letting her do hypnosis.

“what is your opinion of hypnosis?”, mr. chung asks scully, which is something i also have been dying to know! i mean, we saw her do a little bit before, but it didn’t seem to be a positive experience. she says it has therapeutic value, but has never been proven to enhance memory; it even makes memory worse. a very balanced and doctor-ly answer! 

LMAO scully is so cute… mr. chung mentions another book he wrote and she proclaims it “one of the greatest thrillers ever written” <- STOP I LOVE HER SHE IS SUCH A NERRRRD 😭😭

mr. chung said the FBI knew nothing about how hypnosis worked back during the MK ULTRA days… and he is fascinated by the idea of a person’s consciousness being transformed by listening to words. admittedly very fascinating! you could probably say the same about meditation, no?

(but he speaks to the power of storytelling, i realize now in hindsight! how we find ourselves wrapped up in the tales of things that never happened, how it fills us with sorrow or joy! how fascinating! i see what you did there, writers!)

cutscene to hypnotizing chrissy. who is seeing aliens. she is on a space ship wearing a fit that looks very similar to a lady gaga chromatica era performance, but it has tubes attached to her. harold is in a very similar contraption!!!!

she says the aliens are arguing without moving their mouths and she hears the lead alien in her head saying it’s for the good of her planet. and he is stealing her memories? um. for what purpose...

scully is serving looks in the corner while this goes down, looking mad as hell and very good. she says chrissy's abduction story seems a little TOO typical… and i have to agree! but mulder says no, there are TWO people with the same story! they can't both be lying, surely!

LMAOOOO they play with censoring the dude who comes in and yells at them… “well, of course he didn’t actually say ‘bleeped’” 

(BAHAHA i’m loving this insight into how scully’s memories operate. so this angry man is named detective manners)

“you still gonna hold the boy?” “oh, you bet your blankety-blank bleep i am” <- i am a simple woman, and an actor delivering these lines with a straight face whilst surrounded by other actors keeping a very straight face is going to make me cackle. look at her looking so bored while he says that. i’m howling!!!!

anyway, harold has a very different story on what went down that night, that did not seem to involve gaga-inspired fits, but instead they were both placed in electrified cages. while another alien in a nearby cage smokes a cigarette. he seems to be what i would call “an unbothered king”

in this story, harold claims that he will protect chrissy and never let anything happen to her, and of course something immediately happens to her while he hides in the corner like a baby. lmao.

and this alien is talking in english! not telepathically! he keeps repeating “this is not happening” until harold ALSO gets taken by the thing that took chrissy. 

mulder is trying to figure out what is going on, but his predictions aren’t lining up with what happened to harold. scully is pacing and looking pissed, and again, very pretty.

“you know when you’re a kid, and you tore the legs off a bug for no reason?”, asks harold (cutscene to mulder’s face with visible confusion) LMAOOOOOOO

scully getting to business: did you engage in consensual sexual intercourse that night? she is not messing around! she's had it up to here with the shenanigans of harold and chrissy!

harold is very very quiet until he says that her father will kill him if he finds out!!! gasp!!! confirmation!!!

so is this whole story just… a cover up??? for fornication???

scully vs mulder time. “so what if they’re having sex?” he asks, which is funny coming from him; and anyway, he claims it happened BEFORE the alien stuff went down. but she thinks they’re traumatized, and that is more likely than alien abduction. 

until detective manners bursts in and claims he has an eyewitness to what went down! he used more blanks and bleeps and again the straight faces killllll me

and ALL OF THEM telling their stories start with “i know how crazy this all sounds” just as mr. chung had described LMAOOO. now who tf is this dude who says he was an eyewitness?

(i’m taking soooo many notes because i keep laughing and noting things. which is a good problem to have!)

this dude, named roky, spent 48 hours straight writing down what he saw, and said that by looking at this, they are putting their lives in danger. so okay. better be juicy.

he says his garage door opened up, a car pulled in, and a man told him some facts about venus. he says they put him in a trance! and that they were in all black……

mr. chung says that myths of men in black garments are nothing new!!! so take THAT, men in black legends, you are one of many.

back at roky's place, the other dude in black says jimmy carter thought he saw a UFO once, but it was just venus. roky is scandalized, grabs his paper, and states that he is a REPUBLICAN.

(omg jimmy carter is going to be 100 in a few months god willing…..)

this man in black is saying that roky saw VENUS and nothing else, just VENUS. and not to tell anyone he saw anything but VENUS or he will die. and then the car drives away. 

so after that build up, he gives mulder the manuscript, and says he is packing up and leaving. bye bye roky. hope you find some peace.

mulder is reading this story to scully who is sprawled on the bed, looking, again, angry and hot. it seems he is describing that earlier puppet-y action.

oh! roky was the electrical guy from the very beginning!!! he hides in his truck but the king kong looking fellow says “be not afraid” and that he is needed for the good of the earth? what is with the good of the earth here.

cutscene to a very baffled looking scully laying in bed as mulder continues to read LMAOOOOOO

AND ROKY’S STORY SAYS HE WENT NOT TO OUTER SPACE, BUT INNER SPACE HELPPP!!!! now, inner space is towards the core, if you, like me, were unaware. also, king kong godzilla dude’s name is Lord Kinbote, so jot that down.

mr. chung says he has a copy of roky’s manifesto- which was sent to his publisher? and LMAOOO the story is disturbing both for its soul orgy scenes and the fact that it is written as a screenplay 

well, surely your partner didn’t believe any of it, mr. chung states! “mulder’s had his share of peculiar notions” is scully's carefully worded reply... LMAOOO 

cutscene to her sitting up from the bed and calling him nuts <- LMAOOOOO but HE says that whatever roky saw may have triggered some delusions, and that the only story that doesn’t add up is chrissy’s, so he is calling to get her re-hypnotized, much to scully’s indignation!

so back to the hypnosis. and chrissy is now mirroring harold's story exactly. oh! she says the people who took them are from the air force?? so where did the gaga slay outfits go... 

the air force men are arguing in front of her. and then they say to “rinse her out”. saying it is for the good of her country. and stealing her memories!

so WHO is doing the real memory stealing here….. the aliens or the government?? an age old question!!! one that is at the heart of this series.

scully and mulder fight over what is going on, and he thinks that this might have nothing to do with aliens, until detective manners shows up with news that a crazy blankety blank claims to have an ALIEN BODY!!

(what if it’s a raccoon with mange…)

again, the man recounting this story begins with “i know how crazy this is going to sound”, but then says he wants to be abducted by aliens. well! i’m sure that’s a sexual thing i don’t care to unpack.

cutscene to mr. chung interviewing this same man, who wishes to go where finding a job is not a requirement. he was looking in a field for UFOs. and when he called the authorities upon spotting one, the agents show up!!

he says that scully was a man dressed as a woman but not pulling it off??? RUDE AS HELL! jail for 10,000 years. "HER HAIR WAS A LITTLE TOO RED, YOU KNOW?" LMAOOOOO and mulder was the “tall, lanky one” with a blank expression. well yeah that is an accurate depiction.

AND ACCORDING TO THIS GUY'S ACCOUNT, WHEN MULDER SEES THE BODY, HE SHRIEKS LIKE A STARTLED SQUIRREL I’M CRYINGGGG. so scully says to wrap this body up!

BUT THEN SHE GRABS HIM AND SAYS TO NEVER TELL ANYONE HE SAW THIS I’M CRYINGGGG... that had to be such a silly scene to film 

okay, seeing the part about subjective truths now. this is so funny... why is this loser making scully a hater in his version!!!

she’s PISSED to hear he claims she said this LMAOOO and that is ridiculous!! they even let him view the autopsy!!

so mulder takes this weirdo’s camera and records the autopsy?? scully cuts his brain open. and the tape ends up on late night television LMAOOOO

SCULLY IS SO EMBARRASSED THAT SHE IS ON THIS ALIEN HOAX AUTOPSY TAPE... I’M CRYING SOMEONE SAVE HER!!! and the host of whatever show they end upon is STUPENDOUS YAPPI FROM THE CLYDE BRUCKMAN EPISODE!!!! i'm howlingggg

she’s mad that whoever got the film edited out all the important scientific findings!!! like the two layers of skin!!!

wait. it’s a zipper. this is a dead guy in an alien suit. LMAOOOOOOOOO

the weird UFO cameraman kid is ill after realizing it was an ordinary dead guy, and scully looks deeply pained as he runs away to get sick LMAOOO

so: who is this dead guy? he was in the air force! and his name is robert. but who arrives but more people from the air force!! are they here to bury him?? or question the agents…

the folks from the air force want robert back, so she has to break the news that he is dead, and being kept for investigation into kidnapping. can they see him? scully is like yeah sure but mulder says no!!! but you CAN talk to the other AWOL guy we brought in. GASP!! a bluff!!! and it works!! from this they learn there is another missing guy!

LMAOOOO except it doesn’t go as smoothly as intended, and mulder is all “hmm he was here a few minutes ago… guess he’s still AWOL… anyway wanna see the body?” I’M CRYING THIS MANNNN IS SO RIDICULOUS 

but bad news: the body is gone. 

cameraman UFO guy is sitting on his floor watching the autopsy tape. when in bursts… the men in black from the earlier garage scene!!!! they knock him out. 

he claims mulder slapped him back to reality. and that he ALSO threatened him... me when i lie.

so mulder doesn’t have the tape. but when he drives home a fully naked man is walking about in the woods. it’s the other missing lieutenant, jack!! he is repeating “this is not happening” in the same voice as the alien as before!!!!! HUH WHAT IS GOING ON?

mulder takes jack to eat. he claims to have piloted the "UFO", and that all the abductions are military stuff, and at the base the abductees are messed with mentally, until they come out convinced they were probed by aliens. 

well okay, if its all the government, than what abducted YOU, jack? he isn’t sure about anything at all anymore, even if he exists. until who walks in... but the military!!

wait, mulder points out, it can’t all be fake- who was the third alien? jack seems to know him by name- lord kinbote. HUH?

and mr. chung heard a story about that same night from the cook at the restaurant! apparently mulder ordered sweet potato pie? huh, that’s interesting. and he kept ordering more and more pies with each question he asked the chef. LMAOOOO I just KNOW that scene was hard to film!!!! scenes where people eat always make me wonder how many times they had to have that damn bite of pie. 

but he claims there was no jack, nor any air force personnel at all. just a hungry mulder. again, so what is the truth...

mr. chung points out that scully doesn’t seem too phased to learn about all the contradictions in this story, and she says well no, not after what happened next. because when he got back to the motel, the men in black were in her room, going through her stuff! they claim she went to get some ice. he’s got 'em at gunpoint, screaming WHERE IS SHE!!! all protective, okay i see you. but she really did go to get some ice???

okay… man in black says that some alien encounters are engineered by the government and then exposed to discredit truth seekers. and mulder counters, well, people say the men in black also do purposefully strange things, so that anyone describing them sounds crazy! they proceed to… try and hypnotize him?

BUT IT’S ALEX TREBEK WHO IS DOING THE HYPNOTIZING???? LMAOOOOO HAS HE BEEN THE QUIET MAN IN BLACK THIS WHOLE TIME??

mr. chung is GAGGED, and wants to know if it WAS alex trebek, but sadly scully cannot confirm, for has no memory of this!! 

she woke up the next morning to mulder in her room….? and mr. chung is also gagged to hear this. me too tbh like did he just sleep on the couch? well we know that is how he sleeps at home so i guess i'm not shocked.

mulder’s trying to explain that she didn’t just "let him in" last night, but detective manners calls and says they found a bleeping UFO.

and what is it but…. a plane!! a secret plane!! and who are they carrying away on stretcher but the missing airmen, jack and robert???? SO HOW DID THEY DIE!

mr. chung puts his pen down, baffled, and scully points out that this story may not have a lot of closure, but it’s more than some of their other cases, which is funny because it is true. and she’s playing with her earrings and it’s so cute.

cutscene to mr. chung typing at his place. until a shadow approaches and he holds a tiny gun!!!! he is ready for a showdown but it’s… mulder at the door?

WAIT how does chung recognize him… did scully show him pictures i'm crying

mulder is in chung's apartment, asking him to not write the book, because it will do a disservice to a field that has always struggled to maintain credibility. we can’t understand these alternate realities yet!!! well. compelling argument... but mr. chung needs a paycheck. 

OH! and mulder suspects that the book is a “covert agenda” of the military industrial complex. always theories upon theories with this guy...

mr. chung says the book WILL be written, but he needs an explanation from mulder: what really happened to those kids on that night?

his answer: how the hell should i know?

(it was so perfect, i thought the episode would end right here)

mr. chung says he has deadlines, and mulder looks very sad, very previously neglected shelter dog rizz, and walks out. back to mr. chung’s furious typing. 

okay, so the cameraman now works for the electrical company roky worked for. because roky moved to california, preaching on purification and the inner earth and core enlightenment. right right right makes sense.

cutscene to scully reading the finished book by mr. chung!!! she is fictionalized as “diane” who is “noble of spirit and pure of heart” but “nevertheless a federal employee” LMAOOOO

and mulder is “renard muldrake” LMAOOOOO that is such a funny name... he's watching something in bed shirtless as his fictionalized self is being described- “a ticking time bomb of insanity” AND HE’S WATCHING THE BIGFOOT TAPES BAHAHAHAHA

chrissy now is an environmental advocate and harold still loves her but it isn’t required. aww harold :(

mr. chung ends by saying that we are not alone in this universe, but in our own way, we are all alone.

NEW BEST EPISODE CONTENDER???

this feels like one of those posts where people make up a bunch of information and then it all gets proven wrong so it is described as a "net zero information gain" bahaha

but don't get me wrong, i don't fully understand what happened, but i loved it. i was laughing, i was enjoying seeing the subjectivity of one story to the next, i was enjoying scully and chung time, and despite all the silly, we still got clues on the whole "is it aliens or the government" thing. and sure, maybe it doesn't make immediate sense, but you have to ponder these matters to learn what is at their heart!

so what DID we learn? well, some alien cases might be the government! but i guess that is still a "might", so maybe we can't truthfully say we LEARNED it. we learned that scully is a big fan of mr. chung!!! we learned that mulder is fiercely protective of his line of work from all his years of being ridiculed! and that he watches the famous bigfoot tape for fun and also maybe like sweet potato pie? it was unconfirmed.

i really enjoyed the playing with perspective, seeing how one character saw things, and then another. and seeing mulder and scully threaten that dweeb was so funny because it was so out of character and had to be silly to shoot.

and i thought it was impressive how it managed to tie back to the big alien and government mystery while still making me laugh so hard. how many past episodes can be analyzed through the lens of certain things being faked for exposure? and what REALLY happened to those airmen? we still don't know if mulder's convo with jack even happened! and we never will!

i came to appreciate the company of mr. chung immensely, even though i thought he was gonna be creepy after calling scully beautiful and touching her arm, but i suppose that he was just a genuinely sweet fellow. you can't blame me for being suspicious after some of the things she gets put through, but i'm sure that if i picked one of his books off the shelf, i, like scully, would be a fan.

overall, i am deeply pleased, and would love to give this a rewatch sometime when i am not taking notes so i could appreciate the pacing in more detail. man, season 3 has really been killing it, huh? and i'm nearing the end!!

[jamminvroomvroom]

big dad vibes.

dad!ln x fem!reader

in which lando becomes a dad, and a series of moments that follow

back with more brainrot! this time it’s for dad!lando bc the baby fever is fevering and lando just had to go and talk about having kids on that podcast. my first time using social media elements as well so i hope you enjoy! ALSO! huge thank you for 3k, love you all and i cannot thank you enough for your support! 💘

warnings: minors pls dni with my work! mentions of pregnancy, children, minor angst, super duper fluff, suggestive jokes here and there, dilf!lando

1. the birth

lando’s legs couldn’t have carried him any faster than they already were. the hospital rooms disappeared past in a flash, his eyes scanning the hallways for one door. everything he’d ever wanted waited for him on the other side of that one door.

it was typical, really, that the one time he’d left your side since the season ended, you went into labour. he’d begdrudgingly listened when you told him to go to his meeting, despite the feeling in his gut that told him not to. lando knew, now, that his instincts were right.

the second he’d seen your face flash up on his phone, he was out of the conference room. you wouldn’t have called him unless it was an emergency. everything seemed to be moving in slow motion when he put the phone down, but then he was sprinting, through the double doors before him, past the line of cars, and out towards his car, speeding away from the MTC. the traffic fine he knew he was in for was worth it.

your words rang in his ears.

“lando… it’s time.” you’d breathed down the phone, accompanied by a shaky laugh.

and now he was looking at the door. it opened, slowly, and there you were, draped in a hospital gown, tired eyes bloodshot and soft. you were smiling, crying, and he fell to his knees before you.

“someone wants to meet you.” you cooed, and then he was crying too.

lando squeezed your knee, trying to pull himself together but it was futile. the most precious ray of light stirred in your arms, how would he ever be able to stop crying? you’d created that, you and him, and now she was here.

“can i…?” lando stood from where he was worshipping you, hoodie sleeve mopping up his tears.

“take all that off.” you replied.

“trying to get me naked already? i thought it would be at least six weeks-“ he teased.

“no, you sod. skin on skin contact.” you groaned, grinning helplessly at the man that had made you a mother.

he laughed along with you quietly, stripping the layers and sitting beside you on the hospital bed. you searched his excited eyes, melting as you placed your little girl in his awaiting arms.

and then he was falling in love.

the winter sunlight streamed through the window, a soft glow encapsulating your little family. lando sat next to you in dead silence, counting ten little fingers, ten little toes, memorising the dimpled curve of two lips, the crease between two softly shut eyes. his heart was bursting in a way it never had before, a new lease of life breathed into his body that fulfilled him more than anything ever had.

“are you okay, baby? i’m so sorry i wasn’t here.” lando mumbled, kissing your shoulder. he looked up at you, scanning your tired face, knowing that you’d never looked so beautiful. you cupped his cheek, pressing your forehead against his.

“the pain was worth it.” you quirked your lips, tilting your head so that you could kiss him. you felt his fresh tears wetting your cheeks, and you smiled into the kiss.

“i got here as quick as i could, i’m so sorry i wasn’t here to hold your hand.” lando was heartbroken to have missed the birth of his first child, guilty even, but you wouldn’t let that feeling linger.

“i’m just happy that you’re here now, i promise. we’ve gotta name this little love.” you pecked his lips again, cuddling into his side.

you’d been backwards and forwards on names for months, never landing on anything that seemed to fit. you’d read countless lists of names, brainstormed names of people you loved, but you just couldn’t agree.

“can we talk about it later? just wanna look at her for a bit longer. like, forever.” lando mumbled, and as if she recognised her daddy’s voice, your baby’s grey blue eyes fluttered open.

“oh.” he gasped.

you watched in pure adoration as they stared at each other, neither of them willing to look away first. a bond was forming before your eyes, and you felt like the earth was moving under your feet.

lando knew, staring into big blue eyes, that nothing would ever be the same again.

landonorris via instagram

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landonorris: welcome to the world, the one and only matilda norris ❤️

-

2. the race

“lando, you cannot take her into the bloody media pen!” you scolded, ignoring the bark of a laugh he let out in response.

you were midway through changing matilda’s nappy, dressing her in the tiny mclaren t-shirt that the team had gifted you when you welcomed her to the world.

she was nearly six months old now, with the cutest smile and a laugh that could bring an entire room to tears. you were at your home in monaco, preparing to descend down the hills towards the marina where the race would be. this would be her first race weekend, and lando couldn’t have been more excited for her to make her debut at the track.

he also couldn’t have been more nervous.

the idea of putting your baby into such a hectic environment made lando sweat, which was why you’d left it until monaco, so that you had a home base to sneak away to if it all got too much.

“are you nearly ready to go, baby?” lando came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. he was peering over your shoulder, gazing at the giggling baby on her changing mat. “and what about you, matty? you ready to watch daddy drive?”

“i’m sure you’ll have her undivided attention.” you joked, turning your head to kiss his jaw. “can you put her in the car?”

lando scooped up his daughter, placing her gently into the baby carrier. you grabbed the changing bag and followed him out of the apartment, smiling hard at the quiet nursery rhyme he was singing. you locked up and trailed behind the duo, watching intently as he secured matilda’s car seat.

“see something you like?”lando called behind him, shaking his ass at you cheekily.

“you know i do, that’s how i got pregnant.” you stuck your tongue out at him.

-

the entire weekend was hectic, lando having the time of his life. he’d put his mclaren on the front row, the race flying by where he claimed second place and a rightful spot of the podium. you’d kissed him hard, matilda’s grabby hands tugging at his curls when he’d dipped down to press his lips to yours. he smirked, scheming something, and then he took the infant from under your arm, whisking her over to his interview.

“lando norris, what a race that was for you!” jenson button bellowed into the mic. “and it looks like you’ve been busy off track, too! who’s this little one?”

“the one and only matilda norris.” lando replied, pearly whites on display. he’d never looked happier, and you could feel your eyes welling with tears. lando grabbed her little hand softly, making her wave at the camera. “proud of daddy, matty?” he cooed, and you were a wreck.

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landonorris: matty’s first race 🏎️ 🧡

-

3. that time matilda crawled

“babe!” lando’s voice echoed through the house, up into your bedroom. you were fresh out of the shower, wringing your hair dry with a towel, nearly jumping out of your skin when he called.

“what is it, honey?” you shouted back, grabbing your (his) robe from the back of the door.

“you gotta come see this.” he sounded giddy and you bounded down the stairs, speeding into the living room.

“what’s going on?” you asked him, watching him practically jumping up and down with excitement.

“matty crawled.” lando beamed.

your eyes flitted to your daughter, sat quite casually on her play-mat.

“uh…” you said slowly. you wanted to believe him, but the evidence was not lining up. she was getting closer each day, but still seemed to be a tad far off of going the full stretch.

“she did! i swear!” he turned his attention back to matilda, dropping to the floor beside her. “c’mon matty, show mummy! i know you can do it, sweetie.” lando cooed.

“can i finish getting ready?”

“baby, she’s gonna do it again and you’re gonna miss it!”

“okay, just shout if she starts spitting bars.” you teased, turning to leave.

lando was pouting, but as if she sensed her fathers frustration, matilda had a point to prove. she pushed herself up from her tummy, fighting her way towards you.

“oh, my love.” you cooed, hand splayed over your mouth. she was growing up way too fast, but that was eclipsed by the pride bubbling hot in your chest.

“see?” lando pulled you into his side, gleeful. you moulded into him, lip quivering as you watched her wriggle around. “oh, baby, don’t cry.” he pressed a kiss to your hairline.

“happy tears, i promise.”

“she’s so clever, just like her mama.”

-

5. the backlash

the clips circulating online made you feel ill.

lando had just done another podcast, and the topic of his family had come up. they’d set the trap, and he’d fallen right into it, pressuring him about how he approached racing and being a father. he’d tried, bless him, but the way they’d cut the interview made it look like little matty played second fiddle to daddy’s racing car.

you’d been in the studio while your baby slept peacefully beside you, you knew exactly what he’d said, and now the tweets circulating about your boyfriend made you want to scream.

you were no stranger to the occasional landogate, but he’d gotten a lot better over the years. lando didn’t care much for the way the media twisted his words anymore, but when it came to his family, his flesh and blood, he quite simply couldn’t take it.

lando hadn’t come out of his gaming room all day. you’d let him marinate for a few hours, but you hadn’t seen him in too long, and you were starting to panic. matty kept spitting out little strings of words, dadadada spluttering out her little mouth. she wanted him, and you needed him, so you swept her up in your arms and carried her up the stairs.

you tapped on the door, pushing it open before you got a response. he was slumped in his gaming chair, hood up, spinning around aimlessly. he looked so deflated, staring at nothing, manufactured guilt eating him up.

“hey, honey. matty wants her daddy.” you called softly, wading into the room. lando sighed, but took her out of your arms immediately.

“better take what i can get, before she realises what a terrible father i am.” he mumbled sarcastically.

“hey, no. don’t do that, lando. don’t fall into this mindset. you and i both know that you’re a fucking amazing father.” you wagged your finger at him as you spoke. he just slumped further into his seat, letting matty pull at the drawstrings of his hoodie.

“maybe they’re right, though. i was always so scared of this part. what if she grows up and is ashamed of me?” he whispered, eyes honing in on his daughter.

“oh, baby.” it physically hurt you to see him so down on himself. you were ready to burn twitter to the fucking ground. “you’re the best father i could have wished for. she’s literally a little lando! god, honey, she loves you so much. and of course she would - you’re her whole world.”

“when she won’t sleep with me, ten seconds in your arms, and she conked out. when she’s bored, she only wants her dad. don’t even get me started on that annoying stubborn streak she’s showing. lando, she could never be ashamed of you. she is you.” you continued.

lando sighed shakily, pressing a kiss to matty’s forehead before placing her carefully on the ground. some of her toys were scattered there, so she made a beeline for her orange teddy, without a care in the world for you and lando. he spread his arms for you, ushering you in and you sat on his lap, cuddling into him.

“i love you, baby. you don’t know how thankful i am that you gave me this life.” he said into your chest, kissing right over your heart.

you knew everything would be okay, anyone with eyes could see how much he adored his little girl. and anyway, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought; all that mattered was that you had each other, and that was more than enough for lando.

-

5. matty’s first birthday!

your house was full of laughter, shades of pink, purple and yellow decorating every surface. balloons covered the ceiling, a big 1 taking up half your kitchen. and in the middle of all the colourful chaos, your boyfriend held your one year old daughter, bouncing her on his knee.

they were a picture, a truly stunning one, two identical sets of eyes crinkling at the corners while they laughed together. your heart was bursting, nothing able to contain the butterflies in your stomach as you watched the two greatest loves of your life.

stuffed toys and little pairs of shoes covered every surface, wrapped up with big ribbons. all of your favourite people were in one room, your families coming together with all of your friends to celebrate 365 days of matilda.

matty had spent her day playing with sylvie, george’s young daughter, while lando took photos from every angle humanly possible. then there was the cake, which lando had let the little girl smash all over her face. you’d scold him later, the moment was far too precious.

you were caught up watching lando play with matilda, when max came up to you.

“never seen him happier.” max beamed, pulling you into a side hug. you ruffled his hair in response.

“can’t believe we made her.” you muttered, head falling against his shoulder. you were awestruck.

“when are you having another one? he’s gagging for it.” max was joking with you, but the look you gave him made him do a double, triple, quadruple take. you were smirking. “wait… wait what?”

“sooner than you might think.” you patted your tummy slyly. “he doesn’t know yet, i only just found out last night. wanted matty to have her day and then i’ll tell him when she’s gone to sleep.”

max was staring at you, bewildered. you may have even seen a tear in his eye.

“oh, i love you guys. so fucking happy for you.” he whispered.

you caught sight of lando watching, his head tilted in confusion. you just winked at him.

-

“she went down easy. think today really took it out of her.” lando said as he walked into your bedroom. you were sat waiting for him, hands resting behind your back.

“thank you for today, it was perfect.” you beamed when he leaned down to kiss you.

you watched him get ready for bed, stripping down to just his sweats, and then he joined you, lounging across the foot of the bed.

“hey, what were you talking to max about, babe?” lando asked.

“a gift that i got you.” you replied coyly.

“a gift?” lando looked confused, and the confusion only grew when you pulled your hands from behind your back, placing a little gift bag in front of him.

“yep. hope you like it.” you kept your expression neutral.

he picked up the bag, rustling through the tissue paper, and then he found it.

a little white stick.

lando stared blankly, eyes flitting rapidly between your face and the pregnancy test in his hand.

“baby…” he started, but he lost his train of thought. instead, he launched himself at you, cuddling you into the mattress. you were laughing while he pressed his lips all over your face, your neck, ending with your belly.

“good gift?” you giggled, watching as his hand smoothed over the soft skin of your tummy.

“the fucking best.”

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landonorris: for matty’s first birthday, we’re giving her a sibling 🫶

-

6. family sized

lando norris, father of two, reporting for duty.

leo norris was born under the english sun, the late august heat making your labour a difficult one.

from the minute he was born, leo had a personality, angry, passionate eyes glaring at you and lando, a cry tearing from him that could end wars. he was gonna be a force, that little boy, not that you were complaining.

lando had fallen in love again, only having a few days to adjust before he was racing around europe, but he always found a way to slip into bed with you in the early hours of monday mornings, leo sprawled across his tanned chest. he’d watch the two of you sleep, listening out for matty down the hall.

and then she’d wake up, and lando would lay leo by your side, padding next door to your daughters bedroom. the pitter patter of her little feet and lando’s big laugh would wake you up. mornings were the best part of your day, all four of you tucked up in bed together before the chaos began.

it was hard sometimes, but life was bliss. you had the most wonderful partner, two gorgeous children, happiness that you couldn’t have ever fathomed right at your fingertips.

lando finally realised how big the world was, now that his family was often on the other side of it. he ached every second his heart was away from his kids but watching them grow, getting to see them smile, matilda clinging to his legs the second he came home, made it all worth it.

and god, coming home to you, whether you were waiting with open arms at the door or tucked up in white linen bedsheets in one of his t-shirts, was fucking delightful. you were his person, the one that gave him a reason to get up and smile, and he’d do quite possibly anything to keep you happy until you were old and grey by his side.

“matty, what do you say when we say goodbye to chat?” lando asked his little girl.

he was wrapping up a stream, matilda finding her rightful place as his new cohost - max was hardly coping with being replaced but that was a separate issue.

lando bowed his head, looking at matty encouragingly and she beamed hard at the screen. she was two years old, with the bubbliest personality and the brightest eyes in the entire world.

“gg boys.” she grinned toothily at the camera, and lando’s squawk of a laugh summoned you into the room.

lando was logging off when you walked in, watching from the doorway. leo was down for his nap, and matty was soon due hers.

“what are you two getting up to?” you chimed in, leaning into the wall.

“matty’s gonna be a gamer.” lando said in his sing-song voice, the one he reserved for when one of his kids did something that made his eyes sparkle.

“no call of duty.” you said sternly, looking at him pointedly.

“don’t worry, baby. f1 game only, she’s gonna be a racing driver.”

“just like her daddy.” you whispered, watching the duo high five in their matching hoodies.

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landonorris: @/mclaren i’m gonna need a bigger car

-

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youruser: big dad vibes 💘

-

7. long time coming

lando held his son tight, watching you and matty examine tiny sea shells in the little rock pools that were forming. the sun was setting over the monegasque beach, beams of pink and orange light bathing your family as it bounced off the soft waves.

leo was wriggling in lando’s arms, the two year old boy desperate to join his mother and his sister splashing around in the shallows, but lando kept a hold of him. leo was too mischievous for his own good, cheekier than the average two year old. perhaps it had something to do with who his father was.

“daddy, come look.” matty called, so lando waded into the water, ankle deep. that little girl had him wrapped around her finger. he cast his eyes over matilda’s inquisitive face, glancing at you for just a second, and that’s all it took for you to steal the air from his lungs.

you were more radiant than ever, as beautiful as the day he’d met you and fallen so helplessly in love. he hadn’t stopped falling in love since. you’d made him a father, you’d given him a family, you’d taught him what it was to be truly, unequivocally happy.

and now all you had to say was yes.

“that’s lovely, sweetie.” lando cooed at matty, eyeing the handful of seashells she’d collected. “wanna go play on the sand? we have that gift to give mummy.” lando winked at the little girl, who took off running, splashing sea water over you both.

once she was out of earshot, you turned to lando.

“you’re not pregnant, are you?” you teased, thinking back to the gift you’d given him those years ago, who was now tucked sleepily into lando’s chest.

“how did you know?” lando joked back.

he grabbed your hand, toes sinking into the sand as you made your way towards matty, who was fidgeting on the picnic blanket you’d laid out earlier. as soon as you reached her, lando gave her the sly nod, the signal that he’d taught her over the last few days, and her sweet little voice called out to you.

“mummy?”

“yes, my love?” you kneeled down on the blanket, eye level with your daughter.

“daddy wants to ask you something.” her doe blue eyes twinkled in the setting sun, and you whipped your head around to look at lando.

lando, who was down on one knee, balancing his son in one hand and the biggest fucking diamond ring you’d ever seen in the other.

“should’ve done this about four years ago, but we were busy popping out kids.” lando breathed, his eyes watery. you were already in tears. “my love, where do i even begin? i’m nothing without you, and every time i leave you, i leave my entire heart behind, so please, will you marry me?”

tears streamed down your face, and lando sat the squirmy toddler down next to his sister, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

you surged forward, the force of your movement leaving you both in the sand. you clung to him, lips meeting his with sweet urgency. you mumbled a million yes’s into the kiss, no one left in the world but you and him, and your two beautiful children.

and when you pulled away, you scooped your babies into your arms, holding them tight, knowing that you were in the presence of the purest form of love.

your little family, complete…

…for now.

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youruser: family day out 🥹🫠❤️‍🔥

-

i don’t know how to write fluff lol

-

taglist

some tags have been removed if they weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed from my list <3

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[jijournal]

WANDS, WIZARDS, AND WICKED TRADITIONS | D.M

Part 1: Crazy Rich... Wizards? Part 2: Wands, Wizards, And Wicked Traditions Part 3: Wealthy, Witty, Witches

Summary: When your boyfriend drags you into a world of old money, ancient grudges, and fancy robes, you quickly learn that fitting in isn’t about magic—it’s about surviving family dinners.

wc: 2.5k+

cw: muggle!reader x draco, light angst, narcissa and luscious degrades reader, draco comforting reader, draco and luscious fight, draco pov.

A/N: I'm so excited for the next few parts of this!! Hope you guys love this! 🫰

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Three days. That’s how long it took to finally say yes.

You’d paced your flat in your socks for most of it, Googled “how to act at wizard weddings” and “what to wear when meeting magical parents of your boyfriend,” only to be met with silence and fanfiction.

None of it prepared you for the moment Draco turned to you with that anxious tilt to his mouth and asked, softly, if you’d come to Blaise Zabini’s wedding as his date. His date, sure. But also… his partner. The one he wanted to introduce to his world.

You’d fallen in love with him over walks in the park, late-night pastries, and the way he looked at you like you were the only person in a crowded room. But this—stepping into the reality of his past, of his name, of everything he'd survived after the war—this was different.

Still, you said yes. And once you did, Draco didn't waste a second. Your suitcase was already packed. His wand—yes, the wand you now grudgingly accepted wasn't just a "fancy stick"—was tucked neatly in his coat. And you were holding tightly to his hand as you took your first step into the unknown.

Apparating felt like being squeezed through the eye of a needle. You landed on cobbled pavement, dizzy and breathless, the cool London air rushing into your lungs.

“Welcome to Leaky Cauldron,” Draco murmured, steadying you with a hand around your waist.

A voice interrupted before you could speak. “You took long enough.”

Blaise Zabini stood leaning against a lamppost like he’d been sculpted there. His skin was dark and gleaming in the late morning sun, his emerald green robes layered over tailored black slacks and a shirt with silver embroidery along the cuffs. He wore confidence like cologne—rich, undeniable, and entirely intentional.

Draco laughed. “Still dramatic, I see.”

“You brought her,” Blaise said, stepping forward with a smooth charm. “I almost didn’t believe it.”

You swallowed, managing a nervous smile. "Better believe it! Sorry if I don’t look very… magical.”

“On the contrary,” he said, offering you his hand. “You look exactly like someone Draco would fall for—someone no one else saw coming.”

You barely had time to answer before a sharp voice chimed in. “Blaise, you’re smothering her.”

Daphne Greengrass walked into view like the breeze had parted for her. She was tall, statuesque, with ash-blonde hair that curled at the ends and eyes so pale they seemed to pierce. Her robes were minimalist but elegant, her makeup subtle, her expression far from it.

“Daphne,” she said simply, offering you a hand. Her grip was cool, her eyes cooler. “Fiancée. I also double as Blaise’s moral compass, which is exhausting work.”

You laughed, even though you weren’t entirely sure it was a joke.

Draco leaned in and murmured, “She grows on you.”

“She better,” Daphne added with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

You followed them down a narrow cobblestone alley hidden behind a brick wall at the back of a pub. The bricks shifted when Draco tapped them in a specific pattern with his wand and then the wall melted away to reveal something out of a fairytale.

Diagon Alley was unlike anything you’d ever seen. Cobbled streets wound between crooked shops stacked two or three stories high, with bright, painted signs that swung themselves gently in the breeze. A group of children giggled as they chased a toy broomstick zipping through the air. A woman in violet robes argued with a talking mirror. An owl soared overhead, its feathers flashing silver in the sun.

Your mouth fell open. “Is this... real?”

Draco watched your face with a soft smile. “Every bit of it.”

“Flourish and Blotts,” Blaise pointed out, “where half of wizarding Britain pretends to read.”

“And Slug & Jiggers,” Daphne said, gesturing to a potion shop whose windows steamed ominously, “where teenage boys tried to brew love potions and gave themselves hives instead.”

They took you through boutiques filled with enchanted mirrors that judged your outfit out loud. You tried on robes that changed color with your mood—Daphne raised a brow when yours briefly turned soft pink. Draco insisted you needed something formal, and Blaise chose a set of black velvet robes with silver embroidery along the hem.

“Goes with her eyes,” he said, not even looking at you as he said it—because he didn’t need to.

You laughed more than you expected to. Even Daphne smiled once. And for the first time since you said yes, you let yourself believe maybe you belonged here.

Until you reached the gates of Malfoy Manor.

The laughter died.

The manor loomed like a fortress behind wrought iron gates. The peacocks on the lawn didn’t strut—they watched. You half-expected one to speak.

Inside, the air was crisp and perfumed faintly with lavender and old parchment. Marble floors stretched into shadowed corridors. You didn’t need to be told to take your shoes off; the place demanded silence.

And then they appeared.

Lucius Malfoy entered like a breath of winter—sharp, pale, controlled. His silver hair was tied neatly, his tailored robes immaculate. Narcissa was a wraith of elegance beside him, gliding like she didn’t need to walk, just will herself across the room.

“Draco,” she said softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Mother.” He nodded to his father. “Father.”

Lucius gave a single, assessing nod, and then his gaze found you.

“This is my girlfriend,” Draco said, his voice quiet but steady.

There was a pause.

“What family are you from?” Lucius asked, his voice like cool silk—dangerous only if you tugged too hard.

You swallowed. “Oh, I’m not actually a wizard. Or a witch. Or… whatever you call it.”

The silence wasn’t loud. It was still. Dead still.

Lucius’s expression didn’t falter, but it hardened. A door closing. A verdict passed.

“I see,” he said shortly. Then to Draco, clipped and final: “A word.”

Draco tensed. “I’ll be right back,” he told you softly, then followed his father down a long corridor.

You were left standing in the echoing marble foyer beside Narcissa, who finally turned toward you with a smile you couldn’t quite trust.

“This way,” she said, leading you to a sitting room you suspected hadn’t changed since the 1700s.

You sat delicately on the edge of an antique settee. Narcissa poured tea without asking. She moved with the precision of someone who’d spent her life mastering appearances.

“I imagine this is all rather overwhelming for you,” she said politely.

“It’s… different,” you said honestly.

She passed you the tea after she poured one herself.

“I’m sure Draco explained how important family is to us,” she said. Her voice was smooth, but there was iron beneath it. “Our legacy is… particular.”

“I know I’m not who you expected,” you began carefully.

“No,” she agreed, stirring her tea. “You’re not. You’re kind. You're decent looking. And, a muggle"

“I don’t say this to be cruel,” she continued, setting her spoon down. “But you must understand—we survived a war that very nearly destroyed us. We rebuilt from ash. Our name, our bloodline… they mean something. Not just to us. To our world.”

You sat straighter, unsure if it was defiance or just instinct.

“I love Draco,” you said.

Narcissa’s smile returned—small, cold, pitiful. “Yes. And love is very pretty. But it doesn’t last forever. It doesn’t stand up to the pressure of our kind. Not in the long run.”

You felt something hollow out in your chest.

“I just want what’s best for him,” you said, quieter now.

“So do I,” she said.

But she didn’t mean the same thing.

⸻

DRACO'S POV

The moment I saw the way my father’s eyes narrowed when he looked at her, I felt the old familiar surge of protectiveness boil up inside me—raw, stubborn, unwilling to back down. I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms. This wasn’t just some passing irritation. This was an unspoken warning, an invisible line I was crossing.

In the drawing room, Lucius paced slowly, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin, his gaze sharp and cold like frost on glass.

“She’s not one of us,” he said quietly, but every word was a blade. “A muggle. Do you understand what that means? For the family? For our legacy?”

I swallowed the urge to snap, to argue, to defend her with every fiber of my being. Instead, I squared my shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“She is exactly who I want. And don’t you dare pretend you know better.”

Lucius’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “You don’t understand the weight you carry, Draco. This isn’t about who you want—it’s about what we need.”

“What we need doesn’t mean a thing if I’m miserable,” I shot back, voice low but fierce. “You lost sight of that a long time ago.”

He stopped pacing, fixing me with a look that said he was considering just how far I was willing to go.

“She is not just ‘some girl.’ She’s kind, brave, and the only person who ever looked at me without judgment. You can’t see that because your world is too small. You live in the past.”

I stepped forward, the words finally spilling out, because I couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

“Do you know what it was like, growing up with that shadow of expectation? Having my life decided before I even breathed? She’s the first person who ever made me want to break free, not to fit into a mold someone else carved for me. So, if it means choosing her over the family’s so-called ‘legacy,’ then so be it.”

Lucius’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Careful, Draco. These are dangerous words.”

“Maybe it’s time for danger,” I said, voice steady. “Because I’m done living in fear.”

⸻

The dining room is vast and silent, the heavy drapes drawn tight against the fading light outside. You sit at the polished mahogany table, your hands folded neatly in your lap, the cool weight of the silverware beside your plate doing little to ease your nerves. Draco’s presence next to you is the only anchor in this sea of unfamiliarity.

Opposite you, Lucius Malfoy’s pale, calculating eyes study you with an unsettling intensity, as if trying to decipher some hidden flaw. Beside him, Narcissa’s poised elegance barely conceals a sharpness in her gaze that prickles at your skin.

The first silence stretches long enough to make your throat dry before Lucius breaks it.

“So,” he begins smoothly, voice low and measured, “tell us about the home you come from. The people who raised you.”

You clear your throat, choosing your words carefully. “It’s a quiet place. My father is a doctor, while my mother's a teacher. We don’t have... connections to anything magical or unusual.”

Draco’s jaw tightens beside you, and you sense the tension radiating off him.

Lucius’s eyes narrow slightly, lips curling into a faint, disapproving smile. “Doctors and teachers,” he repeats, almost as if tasting the words. “Respectable professions, of course, but hardly the sort of pedigree we were expecting. And your life—how does one like you find their way into the world we live in?”

You blink, uncertain how to answer. Your world is the one you grew up in—the one filled with ordinary things and normal struggles. But here, your answers feel fragile.

“I... met Draco through a friend,” you say simply, counting your Labrador a friend, hoping your answer was enough.

Narcissa leans forward slightly, her voice soft but laced with a quiet edge. “I’m curious,” she says, “how much do you understand about what it means to be part of this world? To bear a name that carries history, responsibility... expectation?”

You swallow hard. You want to say that you’re willing to learn, that you love Draco and want to stand by him. But the words feel small, inadequate against the weight in the room.

Lucius folds his hands neatly on the table. “It’s not a question of love,” he says evenly. “Love is fleeting—like a gust of wind. What matters is legacy. Bloodlines. The company you keep. Do you understand why we’re cautious? Why a history like yours... raises questions?”

You nod, trying to keep your voice steady. “I do. But I don’t want to be an obstacle.”

Narcissa’s eyes glint with something unreadable. “An obstacle... or perhaps a weakness?” she murmurs. “We survived a war that threatened to unravel everything our family stands for. That legacy is fragile.”

You bite your lip, feeling the weight of their judgment settle on your shoulders like a cloak of ice.

Draco squeezes your hand beneath the table, a quiet promise. But you can see the hurt behind his usual composure.

Lucius’s gaze sharpens. “And your future? What plans do you have? Surely, you must understand that our world demands more than... ordinary ambitions.”

“Well, I want to continue my studies further, get a master's degree. And most importantly, I just want to be with Draco,” you say softly. “To support him.”

Narcissa inclines her head slowly, a faint smile curving her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Support is necessary, yes. But it must be the right kind of support. The kind that understands sacrifice, discretion, strength. This world is not kind to those who cannot uphold its demands.”

You feel suddenly small, as if you’re being weighed and found wanting.

The conversation dwindles into strained silences broken only by the delicate clink of cutlery. Draco’s parents exchange glances, their expressions unreadable. You notice how Lucius’s eyes linger on you with a quiet calculation, while Narcissa’s polite smile never wavers, though there’s a coldness beneath it that chills your bones.

You meet Draco’s eyes, finding in them a mixture of reassurance and the "it's going to be okay" look.

When the meal finally ends, and you rise from the table, your legs feel unsteady beneath you. The grand manor feels less like a home and more like a test you weren’t prepared to take.

But still, you hold onto Draco’s hand—the only certainty in a room full of questions.

That night, your room was warm, but your thoughts were not.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the old stone walls, but its warmth did little to thaw the cold settling in your chest. Your robe was still wrapped tightly around you, more out of habit than comfort, your fingers knotted tensely in your lap as you stared into the flames, watching them dance with quiet detachment.

You didn’t hear Draco at first—only noticed him when the door clicked shut behind him and his soft footsteps padded across the rug. He stopped when he saw you there, curled into the armchair like you were trying to disappear into it. For a long moment, he said nothing.

“They don’t like me,” you murmured, voice flat but fragile. The words dropped between you like stones into deep water.

Draco didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked closer, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him near. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were tired—older than they should have been.

“I think your mother was trying to be civil,” you added, your voice cracking just slightly. “That’s what makes it worse. She was being polite. Careful. Like she didn’t want to soil the tablecloth by saying what she really thought of me.”

Draco exhaled sharply and dropped to his knees in front of you, robe rustling as he settled. His hands hovered for a moment before resting gently on your legs, grounding you. His jaw was tight, clenched with restrained fury, but his eyes—his eyes were heartbreakingly earnest.

“They want me to end up with someone like Daphne,” he said bitterly, spitting the name like a curse. “Someone polished. Someone with a family name carved into every wall of this place. Someone quiet and proper and painfully dull. Someone they can parade around like a bloody heirloom.”

You blinked, your throat closing. “And instead, you brought me.”

Draco’s eyes didn’t waver. “I brought the person I want,” he said, firm and unshaken. “The only one who sees me—really sees me. Past the name. Past the wounds.”

You looked down, blinking fast, but the tears welled anyway. “She said love won’t last in your world. That it's a nice idea—until it gets inconvenient.”

Draco reached up, hand cupping your face, thumb brushing just beneath your eye to catch the tear that had managed to escape. “Then we’ll rewrite the rules,” he said quietly, voice steady despite the tremble in his hand.

You leaned into his touch instinctively, your breath hitching. The manor loomed outside the room, cold and judgmental, every corridor echoing with ghosts and expectations—but here, in this tiny flickering pocket of warmth, was him.

“They’ll never accept me,” you whispered, barely audible. “No matter what I do. No matter how hard I try.”

“Then let them be wrong,” Draco said, his voice low, fierce. “Let them choke on their pride and live in their perfect, polished little world. Because I’m not giving you up. Not for them. Not for anyone.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the conviction there. The desperation. The choice he’d already made.

And just like that, the cold manor felt a little less cruel.

Because sometimes, love isn’t about being welcomed.

It’s about choosing to stay anyway.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[suraemoon]

Get Ready With Me

- Elvis x Reader -

Summary: It's the 1960s and Mr. and Mrs. Elvis Presley are getting ready for yet another Hollywood party.

Warnings: a paragraph talking about a girl's measurements and a scene getting into a tight dress, skin getting caught in a zipper (not graphically described), sexual innuendos and metaphors that you might blink and miss including a subtle implication that he wants to suck her tits, a sentence talking about “breaking” a woman in, and implying that she might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer. also some references to Christianity.

WC: a cute little 4.5k

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For someone like your husband, Elvis Presley, possessive and protective in every way of what was his, he did not mind showing his wife off. He loved it. A beautiful woman is a man’s best accessory, right? 

Sunset Boulevard parties where businessmen of all the major Hollywood studios would parade around a gleeful smile. Wives were dressed to the nines in expensive getups and accessorized their jewels with apparent frowns.

Diamonds were a girl's best friend. Diamonds were a girl’s pacifier to soothe from the all too quick world around her, a world not made for her or her satisfaction. A man with an arm around her cinched waist, who really could not give a damn that an hour ago she asked when they were leaving, only to be met with a shrug by the man meant to care for her needs the most. Get her a diamond to hold onto for security just in case things go south.

Elvis was different from these men in more ways than one. When the back of your kitten heels lifted slightly from the ground to reach up to your husband’s ear and ask in a hushed whisper when you were to leave and go back home, your husband made it his plan to leave as soon as you two could.

The truth is he did not want to be at those parties either but being ousted in the business meant he had to get his footing and swim along with the school of fish. Any wrong move and you are left behind, forgotten. For as much as he desired to swim the opposite way, he had too much to lose; too much and too many depending on him.

The dim lights above the hotel’s small, tiled bathroom provided a yellowish, comforting tint over the room as if a grandmother had not yet gotten the memo of the newest trend. Those bright, enhancing Hollywood-worthy style mirrors, similar in all ways to the vanity that Elvis bought you last Christmas, were in. As you were a couple who both came from humble beginnings and cracked mirrors neither you nor Elvis complained––at least you aren't in the dark. Checking how your makeup looked under the sun’s natural light cascading through the window helped ensure that your face wouldn’t parallel one of the clowns that walk the boardwalk of Coney Island the moment you step out of this personal Garden of Eden.

After being unveiled with much anticipation from the ribbon-tied gift box on the counter, the candy apple red satin dress slipped easily over your figure, ending a few inches above your knees in length. It was like a glove, except for the fact that it was loose and not yet zippered; the true fit and form waiting patiently to be physically revealed to its wearer. This layer of mystery stayed sitting and waiting.

Elvis picked out this dress for you at a local Los Angeles boutique just last week; this along with many other garments, ranging from a knit sweater for winter and an array of panties for the bedroom. All these he surprised you within gift-wrapped boxes, the box with today’s dress in it taken away before you can get your hands on it. He had to keep at least *something* exciting for today, at least one thing to look forward to, no matter how small. 

Elvis Presley bought most of his wife’s clothing and took pride in knowing all of her measurements by heart. He was sure he could rattle them off on the spot like an accomplished kid at a school spelling bee. This he wouldn’t dare do though. It was a quiet contract of trust not needing to be formally established, one of manners that his mama was sure to have raised him with and should just come with the subconscious of being a human anyway. 

He found that some men were a little too eager to talk about the personal details and inner workings of their relationships. A competition of who’s got the best broad and on some days who's got the worst nag. The one with the smallest waist. The one with the smallest brain. The one who can’t get slick or the one who’s too damn clingy she won’t get off you. 

Anyone who has the chance to get to know Mrs. Presley knows that she is a keeper. Any eye who glances at her knows she is gorgeous. Any quiet spectator who notices her behavior and body language around Mr. Presley knows that she is a very satisfied woman, and no words are needed, that’s enough.

You had no doubt in your mind, under that well-hair-sprayed do of yours, that this dress would resemble all of the other pieces that Elvis had bought many times before and fit both your figure and the latest trends seamlessly. He really was a stylist if you think about it.

You hum a melody as your hands go to zipper your dress, only to find that the zipper is both too small to get a proper grip on and stuck on its track. 

“Elvis?” You call out your voice’s first word in a while.

When hearing his name called, your eager-to-please husband quickly makes his way to the door of the bathroom. He moves suave and smooth as ever with his hands in his pockets before stopping and leaning his forearm on the doorframe taking the rectangle up, admiring the beauty you radiate reflecting to him in the mirror. What’s better than one of you? Two of you. A view from the back and the front simultaneously. He’s got a good one. He’s got the best one. The cream of the crop.

“...Elvis?” You repeat unsure if you should just get on with what you need or if he was even paying attention.

He licks his lips as his eyes go to admire your backside in front of him. “Hm? What is it, honey?”

Your left arm goes behind you, hand gently motioning to the undone zipper of your dress. Elvis hums, a breath of amusement escaping his mouth. The dress didn’t come with your pretty back on display like that? What a damn shame. “I gotcha, honey. Was just a little distracted there is all.”

“Mhm. I could tell you were distracted. Liking what you picked out?” You decide to perform a little shimmy, lips pouting in a playful, seductive manner. As you moved, your cleavage moved side to side with you, the cups of your dress not yet close enough to your body to keep them modestly contained.

He bends to kiss your soft temple. His breath and velvet-covered voice caused the words leaving his mouth to vibrate against your skin in a seductive whisper. 

“Like is an understatement, doll. It's hard to stay focused when ya got such good candy in front of ya.” 

He turns his head back forward and those sky-blue eyes of his that you love so dearly are fully visible to you in the reflection. The diamond on your ring seems to shine brighter when in the presence of his diamond eyes, while they look over you again.

 “Candy so sweet you just wanna put your lips all over it….”

His sight rests again on your teasingly half-covered chest,

“...Candy ya just wanna suck.” 

A blush, not the artificial pigment you powdered on your face earlier with a brush, but the natural light pink of your skin flushes your face. In that moment, Elvis touches your cheek, moving your head sideways for eye contact, getting a glance at the final product of your makeup while doing so. He feels the warmth spread and grins in satisfaction. The illustrious fantasies infiltrating both your and your husband's brains at that moment weren’t as pure as that pink.

He shakes his head as if being physically pulled out of his daydreams and told to remember the task at hand before fantasies turn into realities (they easily and quickly could in a matter of seconds with the two of you) and the remaining minutes are spent on something else other than getting ready. Elvis’ dress shoes then take a step back and his warm hands go to the small zipper on the back of your dress, right above your ass. 

“This is what it must be like to dress one of ‘em Barbie dolls. My perfect lil’ model, looking good in anything put her in. Later we’ll hafta take some more polaroids…some showin’ the dress, some showin’ underneath it too.” 

Elvis loved taking intimate photos of you in different outfits: some sheer lingerie, some completely nude, some without you wearing a top, some without bottoms. Mixed and matched photos were kept in a little box tucked in the drawer of his nightstand. He did it any chance he got. Well, any chance he remembered to do so before completely ravishing you because when your husband needs you, he needs you and who cares about the camera in a moment like that?

Your peaceful disposition is suddenly met with a flinch and your bright smile is interrupted by a yelp as halfway up your back the zipper catches on your skin. Elvis immediately flinches as if he had felt your pain and quickly moves to undo the zipper all the way, leaving you back where you started a few seconds ago. The only thing indicating his presence and touch on you was the small mark of red on your back. A flood of apologies immediately leaves his mouth.”O-oh Jesus, baby. I'm so sorry. I'm real sorry. I-I didn’t mean to hurt ya.”

“It's alright, Elvis. Don’t worry, I’m okay.” You reply, quick to comfort him as if he was the one who had gotten hurt.

“It’s not alright. My lil’ baby’s gotta boo-boo now.”

He crouches down and lowers his head to place a gentle kiss on the red mar that made itself home on the small of your back like a stork bite. The unexpectedness and quickness of his action causes a shiver to move like a wave crashing a peaceful coast throughout your body. But instead of a chilly shiver, it's bundled in warmth, like love sent a lightning bolt reminding you of its presence. Not that you would ever let yourself forget.

“I need to be more careful with my little dolly. If God made ya out of porcelain, I would’ve broken ya by now. Ain’t no doubt about that.”

His soft, tender pecks start to move up your back.

Your breath hitches, “Elvis…”

He whispers against your skin softly before continuing to kiss you, “Gotta make it up to hers.”

“Hers forgives him.” You close your eyes in bliss.

Oh, how much both of you wished not to attend this stupid party. Bedsheets that are beautifully tossed and messy instead of perfectly steamed suits and ties. Warm, passionate kisses instead of cold drinks and equally as cold shoulders. The love marks left on your neck from last night, since covered beneath a layer of foundation, regain their tenderness at this moment. Your body reminds you of what it wants more of, what it desires. Little do you know, so does his as the fabric of his slacks starts to get a little tighter around him.

After leaving a trail of kisses from the bottom of your back to between your shoulder blades, Elvis even more carefully than last time, if that was possible, gently brings up the small zipper all the way to the top using all his concentration to focus intently on not nipping you again. Your focus falls back on the mirror, watching as your body and the dress meet and fall in love. Everything that is supposed to hug, hugs. Everything that is supposed to hold, holds. It’s as if it was meant to be.

“There we go. Atta girl.” You’re unsure if he’s praising the zipper on your dress or you. If asked, Elvis would say both.

Then, your husband looks up to see the finished product of his work in the mirror like an artist would admire his masterpiece. His hands don’t stay off you for long as they are placed on your hips moving up and down in a massaging motion before giving your love handles a soft squeeze.

“Thank you for helping me, E.”

“No problem, honey. It’s what I’m sposed to do. Gotta have my girl looking perfect and you look more than it.”

You turn around for the first time since putting on the dress, assuring him at that moment that all that perfection and body he saw in the mirror was indeed real and not just a dream. Both of your hands cup his sculpted face and you give him a soft, tender, and very rewarding kiss. A small lipstick transfer leaves his lips just a tint pinker than they were before, unnoticeable to anyone but you: the person who made that change happen.

The last step of your personal routine awaited you and that was perfume. A bottle of Chanel Number 5 glistened on the counter as if awaiting the moment and you quickly take it into your hands. Your mind has been trained over the years to know the right spots to put perfume. You spray a little on one of the main pressure points, the inside of your wrist. Before the “getting ready” automatic machine in your brain can rub the now dripping solution into your skin, Elvis takes on the responsibility for you. Your husband swiftly takes your palm-up hand into his and rubs the liquid into your wrist in a soft, circular motion with his thumb. This process is then repeated with your right wrist. When finished, Elvis brings one of your wrists up to his nose, your skin brushing the tip, and smells it. 

he hums satisfied then picks up the bottle, examining it. “When did you get this perfume, honey? It smells really nice.”

“Elvis…you bought me that perfume.”

“Oh.”

“You’re already so sweet, I thought those rose scents came with ya.” He says with a smirk in an attempt to smoothly cover up his mistake.

“Mhm, I was born with citrus running through my veins.” 

“I’d believe it.”

You giggle and while the laugh escapes your lips, your sight falls on the usual next step of your joint getting-ready routine: your husband’s baby blue eyes and what was at this moment not highlighted around them. 

“Need help with your lashes?” You ask softly. Neither you nor he needed to ask technically; both of you knew that this came next in the assembly line of tedious little tasks and that he would say yes.

“I was just about to ask ya,” Elvis replies comfortably and not totally in truth. He knows full well that you, his wife with the beneficial trait of getting the two of you properly in line and ready to go when it came to all sorts of schedules and plans, would’ve gotten to it anyway and frankly, he isn’t in any dire rush to leave. Mascara meant one more stride towards abandoning the warm comfort of this little hotel room. 

“I gotcha.”

Elvis looks over you one more time before dragging his feet on the tile and leaving the bathroom to go sit, making himself comfortable in the dark grey upholstered lounge chair positioned at an angle in the corner of the room.

You grab the mascara tube out of your old light pink makeup bag sitting on the cold counter, now half empty due to products being placed all over the counter in a messy organization, and quickly go to where Elvis is sitting in all of his man-spreading glory. You stop in your tracks for a second to look over him. Elvis smiled, entertained by the fact that the purple tube of mascara and your cute wide eyes were the antonyms to all of the nasty stuff running through his mind while looking at the woman standing before him in all of her obliviously sexy magnificence. 

His being sat down and you standing was the only time where you were taller than him. He looks up at you through those dirty blonde lashes not yet polished, as if you were the holy grail. An angel before him. A picturesque statue needing to be worshipped and he was damn well willing to kneel before you and give you that praise.

Your hesitation was not only due to Elvis’ seductive aura but also apprehension in thinking of a way to get close enough to his face to actually apply the makeup. The bed was a good distance away and continuing to stand wouldn’t be a good angle for application. There were no other chairs around either. Getting on your knees is always a good option, one both of you enjoy in different circumstances; it's just the rug burn would be a pain…

“Sit on me, baby. Don’t act like you’ve never done it before.” 

He continues, his tone nonchalant, “My girl might still be a lil’ innocent but the angels didn’t make her clueless, did they?”

You shake your head with an embarrassed blush arising. “No, they didn’t, sir.”

“You know, by breaking ya in, I’ve put those dirty thoughts in ya head too. Just feel like you’re too scared to act on ‘em sometimes. Ain’t nobody here. Spread ya legs and sit on me. I need your services, honey…your makeup ones and all the other ones my girl gives so well.”

You giggle, cheeks never failing to flush at Elvis’ vulgarity. His subtle innuendos that would've gone over your head just a few months ago before he opened your eyes and made you his on your wedding night. You became one in three ways that day: mind, body, and soul.

Trying not to be hurt by the fact that your husband thought you were too embarrassed to sit on him for a few seconds, an unintentional attack on the state of your womanhood, you do just that.

You spread your legs to straddle him, the tight fabric of your dress trying to work against you as harsh friction on the plush of your thighs as you spread them around him. The fabric after having lost the battle, rolls up your thighs scrunched in the defeat, getting hiked up to an improper length as you adjust yourself on Elvis’ lap with a slight roll of your hips.

Both of you notice how his hips twitched, a bit like a spark, as they met yours. Energy already attracted and apparent in behavior, showed itself physically.

Your lined lips meet his for a passionate but quick kiss before pulling away teasingly. “Sorry.” You peck him again, not sorry in the least about it. “I’m getting a lil’ distracted.”

He laughs before stealing another kiss from those oh-so-tempting red lips of yours. He reflects back on grade-school bible study, this is what Adam and Eve must’ve felt when they ate that apple. “I don’t wanna go to this stupid shit.” 

He kisses you again gently as if normal habit, “Just wanna stay here with my lil wife.” 

You giggle while backing your head away further, knowing that if you keep this kissing up, it will lead to other events and you’ll never make it to this party. Your mind goes back to the memory of last month’s luncheon and how Elvis’ manager was not too pleased that the singer-turned-actor and his wife arrived an hour late to the event with hickeys and flushed cheeks.

“Cmon’ Elvis. You can have me when get back later.”

“Damn right, I will.” He responds matter-of-factly.

You lean forward, both palms pressing next to each other on his chest, and whisper into his cheek before kissing it, “Now sit still, be a good boy, and let me do your eyelashes all pretty.”

He looks at the mascara in your hand before looking back up at your eyes, his mouth slightly parted, “You’re right, lil mama. I got ahead of myself there, didn’t I?”

“You can say that.” You bite your bottom lip as your hands go to untwist the mascara tube, pulling the wand out slowly and wiping the excess product on the side of the entrance before taking it out all the way.

You hold back a giggle as you think of Elvis’ previous words coupled with the opening of this mascara…he really has corrupted your thoughts.

You gently place the tube down, careful not to make a mess and get the product on anything. Then, you adjust your straddle position as you would on the saddle of one of the horses back home to get more comfortable on your husband’s lap, holding the wand in your dominant hand as both of Elvis’ hands go to rest on the round of your ass.

His sky-blue eyes look straight into yours, holding a deliciously intimate and beautifully intense eye contact as you graze the mascara wand on his light brown lashes, careful not to poke his eye like that one mascara incident a few months ago where you were apologizing profusely. 

The sweeping of the curved bristles in an up-and-down motion mirrors the gentle rubbing of his hands on your backside; back and forth, back and forth, with the brush being a little faster than the hands. Both have important purposes and both do their jobs flawlessly.

You accompany your light strokes with soothing whispers of praises and admiration, “Such a pretty boy. My handsome man who I love so, so much. Never loved anyone more.” You hear him respond pleasantly in a warm hum.

You point your pointer finger up and your husband immediately looks up at the beige ceiling above to allow you to coat his tinier, bottom lashes as well.

“Good boy.” You whisper concentrated.

When you finish the willingly made slow process of applying the mascara to your model, his eyelashes have grown a little longer in length and their color has changed from a dirty blonde to jet black, matching his hair and the dying process he first did to it all those years ago.

“All done.” You declare quickly like a toddler finished with their meal.

His eyelashes flutter to adjust to the layer of newly coated polish before his sight rests on your face, giving you an opportunity to admire your hard work.

“Thank ya, baby. You’re the best at taking care of me, aren’t ya? Needed a woman’s touch to finish off the look.”

You twist the cap of the mascara back on and toss it onto a nearby dresser before letting yourself fall more into him. 

Your voice comes out as almost a whine as your head rests on his shoulder, “Do I gotta get up?” 

“You know I’m not gonna make ya, doll. Maybe we should both take off a few layers and then you can come sit on my lap again. We could have a lot of fun like that.” 

His hands start roaming under your skirt but cannot go far due to the tightness of the material, another, now physical, barrier keeping desires away from each other.

You begrudgingly shimmy off of him, like you feel a sense of duty to hosts that you’ve never met to make sure Elvis Presley gets to attend their event timely as promised.

Adjusting the hem of your dress back to its proper length as you get up, Elvis follows suit in getting up from the chair and straightening out his shirt. His mascara was the finishing touch to you two’s getting ready process, like cutting a red ribbon at the opening of a new building.

The air turned bittersweet, anticipation and melancholy almost selfish and uncalled for with the fact that you will have many, many more nights like these and you both know that. For you that doesn’t thin the chill of social anxiety that comes with going to events with arguably the most famous, and perhaps the most recognizable, man in the country. You’ve never talked about these restless feelings with him for it comes with the duty you love so much, being his wife.

His hands go to outline your body shape again, taking you in as he has done so many times before. He whispers to you as he has numerous times in the past. It never gets old, a love so evergreen it can never age.

“You look so pretty, mama.”

“And you look so handsome, Elvis.” You whisper back as if in the middle of exchanging beautiful, not-so-hidden secrets.

These sweet nothings between lovers are cut off by lips suddenly catching on to yours. This being the most intimate and passionate kiss so far tonight, one with enough energy and need to change the tide of your minds and blur the lines of plans already set in stone. 

Your hands immediately go up to cup his face, the kiss not yet broken for the desire to have each other is too strong to pull it apart, almost like a magnet. A pure magnetism that feels so right.

His hands, touchy and soft, trace the silhouette of your figure from the cups holding your boobs to the satin that stops halfway down your thigh. His right-hand tugs on your dress’s hem once it reaches it, granted it is not too far down to find in a moment of such passion. The left hand slithers its way back up the sea of red to cup and squeeze your breast through the delicate fabric. 

He’s moving all these parts simultaneously, both hands and both lips, but the main focus is always on you: the target of his desires, the common denominator to every one of his moves. Meanwhile, you are struggling to keep up with the quickness of this series of events so all of your energy is going toward the, hopefully never-ending, kiss. You moan into it, your need vocal.

Your padded fingers and perfectly manicured nails, not a chip to be seen since you fixed them last night, leave the sides of his pretty face to run through his hair like water would, your heels clicking on the ground as he backs you up. These rhythmic noises of your kitten heels come to a halt when the back of your calf is met with the wood of the bottom of a bedframe behind you.

You lose your balance: thighs, ass, and then eventually whole body meeting the soft sheets of the bed. They are still messy and undone from this morning. As you lay back you quickly glance at the clock sitting high on the wall next to you, seeming to be ticking faster than normal, and then your enlarged pupils go back to your ravager of a husband. His lips have since left your mouth and have moved to your neck, then down to your collarbone. 

The clock reads 7:00 pm, the time the two of you had scheduled in your planner to be the last call to get going. The only sound you hear now is your own heavy breath when Elvis’ lips start to suck the sweet spot on the right side of your neck, you whine out any ounce of doubt you may still have possibly had. 

7:02 now and Lord forgive the both of you, you aren’t gonna make it.

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A/N: This took me too long to write for what it is. I was sick for a whole week straight and that just threw me off my newly boarded writing train. This idea came from a wip that it is similar to but didn’t quite fit with (they’re sisters, not twins). I hate to be a tease with the ending, it cuts off unsatisfyingly, but your good sis is still a little unsure of her ability to write smut. I’ll get there eventually and we can rejoice when it happens. I'll come back to it. Also just noticed the second pic near the title isn’t the most “x reader” friendly and as a brown girl myself that’s my bad. Everything aside, enjoy some Grace Kelly in Rear Window.

[sunkissedscribbles]

Prejudiced - Chapter Eleven

this is only a part of the series, the previous and next chapters can be found here 

a/n: i'm literally in love with this one

word count: 1748

tw: not proofread, maybe swearing? mention of sex, cassie's mental health, usage of alcohol

summary: the yule ball. i don't do spoilers<3

<previous chapter          next chapter>

dividers by @chachachannah

✰ "Can I have this dance?"

Ki and I get ready to the ball together, in her room. I'm messing with the makeup, having no talent for it while she's putting the snake-like belt on her dress. We've done both of our dresses – or at least we bought the dresses themselves, a dark green dress for Ki and a lapis-coloured one for me. But they were so plain like that, and we needed to get our attention off the current conflict with the Slytherin boys that we decided to do something extra. So, I made a slit on her shiny dress on the left and she got two snakes slithering down her arms made from a metal-like, stiff material, the same as it is around the waistline of the dress with some mesh attached to it. My dress is made from a heavier material, the skirt part has two layers so it doesn't hug my body as Kiara's does hers, and we made stars on the top area out of glue rhinestones, and I also made opera gloves out of mesh almost the same shade of blue as the dress.

I can still barely believe what they've done, especially Enzo. But for some reason, Mattheo's behaviour bothers me as well, almost just as much. I might be overreacting but try to look at it with the eyes of girls.

Not that they haven't tried apologizing – they have, but what do they expect after what happened? This is a really messy situation and it didn't necessarily have to get to this point. It was the other day when Ki and I were ready to practically burn everything that reminded us of the boys. She found me in my room, throwing shirt after poster on the floor, but she then joined almost immediately, throwing Theo's spare Quidditch hoodie on the pile on the floor. It was just when I took the necklace I got from Enzo for my birthday off the jewellery rack when the boys interrupted our seance to apologize. Theo started, talking mostly to Ki.

Then Enzo tried, but he didn't quite tell the real reason behind his game. But I haven't even looked at Mattheo, so he hasn't tried apologizing, probably feeling too guilty to.

I look at my reflection in the mirror; my skin looks weird with the foundation on. I don't like it. I can't help my gaze wandering to the sweetheart neckline, the fabric held up by two spaghetti straps on each side. My shoulders still look too broad, I state to myself as a mental note, trying to make it look better by moving my hair around but it doesn't do much. My gaze drops to my arms, my biceps and triceps looking too masculine in this light and I can't help but want to cover up. I should've bought a suit.

"God damn," my gaze shifts to Kiara, taking in her appearance in the mirror. "You're gorgeous," I compliment my best friend. This dress hugs her curves perfectly, and the corset top with the deep cleavage it has only compliments her advances. Not to talk about the belt and the layer of mesh that accentuates her waistline. I can't believe she doesn't see just how beautiful she is.

"I'm nowhere compared to you," she smiles at me, a bit disappointed and I stand up and shake my head.

"Don't compare us. No one's perfect," I sigh, instinctively reaching to fidget with the Cassiopeia necklace around my neck – which I have taken off, I realize. It's up in my dorm, in a box under my bed. As I remember how pissed I was at myself for not getting Enzo anything more, well... expensive I can't help but see the disappointed expression of the boy when he saw it on top of the pile the other week.

As Ki and I just stare at each other, I realize, I should be excited because of the ball, shouldn't I? Like, this entire year is just so intriguing with the Triwizard Tournament and all – but I'm not looking forward to the ball now that I'm practically half an hour away from it; I feel uncomfortable in my skin, want to change into some jeans and a big t-shirt and be left alone. Everyone's gonna be laughing at me. They're gonna talk behind my back.

"I was so excited when we bought the dresses," I mutter.

"Me too," Ki sighs and as she sits down on her bed I follow suit, staring at ourselves in the mirror. The sight's depressing; two girls sitting in their best dresses with displeased and uncomfortable expressions on their faces.

"You haven't thought we'd end up like this, have you?" I mutter and she shakes her head.

"No."

"Wished someone would ask you to the ball?"

Her eyes darken as she nods, "Yeah."

After a few seconds of silent fidgeting, she speaks up again. "Got wine."

"Give me some."

The opening dance is chaos because of the Potter-Patil duo but at least it's fun to giggle at with the alcohol coursing through my veins. I can't help my gaze wandering over to the boys during the night, but I see Enzo vanish at some point. How surprising...

Ki and I somehow end up in the company of Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode, who are insisting on playing truth or dare, and when Pansy dares Kiara to ask Mr Harper for dance is when I lose sight of my best friend because I can't possibly look at her awkwardly and desperately trying her best to convince or bribe our teacher to dance with her when Pansy's neck looks so rippable.

He's just not the perfect match for her.

I stand outside the castle, trying to list off the things I sense as I feel disassociated again. Maybe the loud music, the uncomfortable feeling I have weighing down on me since putting the dress on and feeling like I have to suck my stomach in, or the effects of the wine leaving my body. Or maybe I'm just tired. Overwhelmed, or confused. The problem is, I have too much on my mind and on my heart to even make out what this all is.

I'm slightly panicked because nothing feels real, again. Then there's the thing that no one has asked me for a dance; I've been standing in a corner all evening, sometimes shifting my weight from one leg to the other, or trying to crack my back. Not even the brash Cormac McLaggen has tried to shoot his shot. Maybe I really am invisible – but haven't I been wanting that all this time? For people to forget about me for a bit, to not be the centre of the rumours all the time since I've been friends with Mattheo?

Now I really got it.

And yet again, pretty isn't pretty enough.

"You're gonna catch a cold," a familiar voice speaks up behind me, making me freeze for a second before turning around.

Mattheo looks into my eyes with guilt shining in his, and a hand offered to me. I look down at it with the cold eyes of a mistrustful cat and then back up at his face. For a moment I think he's going to pull his hand back but he proves me wrong, taking a cautious yet definite step towards me. "Can I have this dance?" he asks with a hopeful and gentle tone and it actually feels nice to have him ask me to dance.

I finally nod and he takes my hand with a slight yet victorious smile and leads me back inside the castle and into the Great Hall. I first stiffen up when he places a hand on my waist but then try to calm myself down when his other finds mine and starts to lead me in a slow dance. My heart nearly stops at the thought that I'm actually experiencing this, and I soon get comfortable enough to look Mattheo in the eyes, searching those gorgeous, gorgeous brown irises.

"You look beautiful," he says quietly in a calm yet sincere tone and I don't have to try to believe him. He spins me around and I smile lightly as my hand ends up in the same position in his again after the full 360 degrees of a turn, as if they were designed to be like that, perfectly fitting together. He pulls me closer and his other hand travels onto the small of my back as he speaks truthfully, apologetically, "I was an idiot for making that bet, I know. And I don't expect you to trust me again as much as you have before, but you must know that the thought of taking your Kiara to bed has never ever crossed my mind. I'm not that big of a prick. And I had no idea you were in Enzo's book either."

I listen to what he has to say intently. I know he's telling the truth, and I know I should've listened to him sooner. Let him say what he had.

"All I have to say is that I'm really, really sorry. If I could I'd take it all back and turn time back. Do it differently because our friendship means more than a stupid bet," he pulls me even closer and I rest my chin on his shoulder with a small yet contended smile.

Suddenly, 'Pictures Of You' by The Cure starts playing and I lift my head. I can see the smirk on his lips, even if I don't look at him directly. "This is Muggle music," I frown.

"Yeah, I listen to The Cure," he chuckles and I look back into his eyes.

I smile half-heartedly but my heart yet again seems to skip a beat, "It's your doing, isn't it?"

"Maybe," he grins, but it's not the obnoxious one. It's the one that says 'I admire you' as his eyes shine brighter than a starry night sky, purer than the freshly fallen snow. Now I'm the one pulling him closer as I rest my chin on his shoulder again and my arms slither around his rest around my waist.

We still haven't talked about the kisses we've shared before but maybe it's better left like that for tonight. Because this moment is to be remembered forever. Because it's perfect.

✰ There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more  Than to feel you deep in my heart

tag list: @inksoakedparchment @mqstermindswift @reys-letters @girllblogging777 @yelanare

[sergiosimptellitto]

Timoteo (non ti muovere) headcannons - oneshot (?)

Disclaimer: A bit of unreliable narrator, this takes place at 2004, the year of the movie, back then beauty and thinness standards were at an all time high, so we are assuming that reader does not fit traditional beauty standards back them, but Timoteo describes her as pretty. TW: Timoteo.

You didn’t know him then. Back when Elsa loved him. Back when he could be loved.

They divorced when Angela was just two, and it wasn’t loud. It was cold. Clean. The kind of split where the ice had already formed years earlier, and all that was left was to break it off the roof.

There was no affair. No dramatic betrayal. Just a slow, sour death. He worked too much. He drank at odd hours. He didn’t cheat, but he stopped listening. Stopped coming home early. Stopped noticing when Elsa dyed her hair, or when she stopped.

He mourned the marriage years before it ended. But not his daughter. He never mourned Angela. She’s the only thing he’s ever loved purely.

She used to adore him. That’s fading now. And he knows it.

She rolls her eyes. She cancels weekends. She says things like “I have homework” instead of “I miss you.” He blames Elsa. He blames hormones. He blames anything but himself.

And then, somehow, she starts talking about a teacher.

You: The Favorite

It’s always “My English teacher said…” or “She told me to try poetry…” Angela, usually so dry and aloof, is excited. Chatty.

He thinks you must be young—he was right. He thinks you must be pretty—also right. But what gets under his skin is that you're kind.

The school says you’re excellent. Elsa agrees. And Timoteo, well—he’s curious.

That Night at the School

He forgets the time.

It’s dark by the time he parks outside the academy. He doesn’t expect to see the windows dark. He doesn’t expect the stepfather to have already picked Angela up. He doesn't expect you to be there still.

But you are.

You’re kneeling in front of a bulletin board, hanging up student work. You’ve got tape stuck to your sleeves and glitter on your cheek. You look exhausted. Still smiling.

He almost apologizes and turns away. But then you stand up, and it’s too late. You’ve seen him. You wave. Kindly. Like you’re glad to see him.

You say you thought he’d been caught in traffic. He lies and says he had a patient. You offer him coffee from the teacher's lounge. He accepts it even though it’s cold.

You sit at a desk. You chat. It’s just small things. Angela. The kids. Upcoming exams. You mention a book she’s reading and how gifted she is at interpretation.

He likes your voice. Too much. It’s gentle, but not weak. You speak like someone who gives others the benefit of the doubt.

And the minute he leaves—just past 7:00 p.m., your smile fading behind the hallway glass—you don’t know it, but you’ve sealed your death sentence.

Not literally. But in his mind, something has been decided.

You are soft. You are safe. You are his.

And he hasn’t felt safe in years.

He starts showing up more often.

At first, it’s small things—he brings a book Angela mentioned, a new dictionary, a set of pens from the hospital. All for her, of course. He lingers. Asks how she’s doing. Asks what you think of her essays lately. How’s she doing emotionally? Does she talk about home?

He has the look of a father who cares. Attentive. Professional. A little tired. The kind of man who holds eye contact like he’s peeling back a layer.

And you’re used to that kind of look—doctors. Older men. Authority. But not from someone who sees you.

Because let’s be honest. People don’t often look at you that way.

Not in 2004. Not in this city. You’re not the kind of woman the world stops for.

You know what the standards are. Too soft. Too brown or pale. Too thin. Too round in the wrong places. Way too curvy. Not curvy enough. Your hair doesn’t sit like it does in shampoo ads.

You’re used to being adorable, not beautiful. You’re used to being respected, not watched.I

In fact, when the school asked the students to grade their teachers the one you got the most was "English teacher is adorable, I understand her classes very well." "Great mood and disposition, she is a sweetheart."

So when he does it—when he says, “You look very nice today,” in that offhand voice that’s low and warm and too familiar—you flinch.

You think, He didn’t mean it like that.

But he did.

He always means it.

You try to brush it off. You smile politely. You tell yourself it’s gratitude. That he’s just relieved you’re good with his daughter.

But then he brings you coffee. Not just once. A lot. He asks about your life. Where you’re from. If your family lives close. You keep it vague.

You mention you’re here alone. He says, “That must be hard. You shouldn’t be alone so late at school.” You smile. Uncomfortable. He notices.

And still, he keeps coming.

He calls you by your first name too early. He says it softly, like it means something.

“I like how calm you are. It’s rare. You’re... grounded.” “Angela listens to you. I haven’t seen her this happy in months. I think it’s you.” “You’re very pretty, you know.”

That last one lands differently.

He says it when you’re wearing a skirt you almost didn’t wear. Because it hugs your hips in a way that makes you feel seen—and you don’t always like being seen.

But when he says it… you don’t know what to do. Your mind splits: He’s too old. Too intense. Too divorced-dad-core. But also: He’s looking at you like you matter.

And when you say, “I don’t think most people would agree,” he leans in a little too close and replies:

“Then most people are idiots.”

He leaves after that. You stand alone in the empty hallway. Still holding the paper he handed you—an essay draft of Angela’s, but now it feels like a message.

You don’t know yet, but he’s already thinking about the next time.

He’s wondering what it would take to stay longer. He’s plotting how to make it seem natural. He’s thinking about your apartment. Your voice. The way you move your hands when you talk.

He’s thinking:

You’re soft. You’re safe. You’re mine. You don’t know it yet. But you will.

It starts with the sound of his footsteps behind you. Not hurried—measured. Heavy shoes on the old Roman pavement. At first, you assume it’s just another pedestrian, until you glance over your shoulder and see him: Timoteo. Hands in his coat pockets. Looking like he belongs everywhere and nowhere. Like a man who is always deciding.

“Going home?” he asks. You hadn’t heard him approach.

You clutch your bag tighter. “Yes. The bus is late.”

He glances at the empty street, then back at you. “Let me drive you.”

You hesitate. You hate that he’s seeing you like this—tired, damp from the faint drizzle, hungry but too proud to say so.

“I’m fine, really. It’s not far.”

“I insist.”

Before you can politely decline again, he’s already walking toward his car, as though your agreement is just a formality. And maybe it is. Maybe it always was.

You step into his car because the air is cold, and your coat isn’t thick enough, and maybe, deep down, you don’t want to be alone tonight.

You talk on the way. About school. About Angela. You keep it light. Safe.

And then—he interrupts.

“You’ll have dinner with me.”

You blink. “Sorry?”

“I’m asking you out,” he says, eyes on the road, voice completely calm. “I’m taking you to dinner. I’m starving. You must be too.”

Your throat tightens. You think about the tea bag waiting for you at home, the way you were going to lie to your family in the morning and say you had pasta. Again.

You know you should say no. But this is a nice car. And he's being nice. And it’s hard to say no to someone who says you look tired like it's a kindness, not an insult.

You nod. “Okay.”

The restaurant is dimly lit and opulent in a quiet way. Staff greet him by name. He doesn’t even look at the menu. He orders wine without asking what you’d like.

When the waiter steps away, he smiles at you. And it isn’t a polite smile.

It’s a slow, unreadable curve of the lips. The kind that says he’s already calculated everything. How tired you are. How hungry. How you felt flattered last week and guilty about it.

You play with the edge of your napkin.

“I didn’t expect—” you start.

“Don’t do that,” he interrupts again, softer this time.

“Do what?”

“Apologize for existing.”

You stare at him. He tilts his head, watching you closely.

“You have this way of shrinking when people look too hard. Don’t do that with me.”

You want to ask what this is. What he wants.

But you already know.

So you smile back—tight-lipped, unsure—and say, “Okay.”

Because you’re not poor, but things are tight. And he’s not yelling. He’s not grabbing. He’s being kind. Isn’t he?

Kind enough to bring you food, to pay attention, to look at you in a world where most people don’t.

You don’t know yet that men like him are never really kind. They’re just skilled at appearing kind until you forget what freedom felt like.

One dinner turns into two, three, until you cannot go.

The day you cannot go he shows up at your doorstep with takeout, you let him take you to your apartment once, foolish from you, now he knows the direction.

It’s raining again. You’ve misplaced your keys. You’re late grading midterms. You were going to cancel tonight—pretend you forgot. But he buzzed your apartment anyway, early. As always.

And like always… you let him in.

He sets the bag on your counter like he owns the space. Wine, olives, something expensive wrapped in brown paper. You’re still in your work cardigan and there’s chalk on your fingers.

He watches you.

“You don’t eat enough,” he says casually. “You skip meals.”

You don’t answer. You know better than to argue now.

He approaches as you pretend to look for a pan. “You’re tired.”

“I’m always tired.”

“That’s why I told you to quit.” He slides behind you, hands warm on your hips. “You don’t need this job.”

“I need it more than you know,” you murmur, trying to twist away gently, but he holds you still.

“I know exactly what you need,” he says into your neck, breath hot. “You need someone to take care of you.”

You want to say you can take care of yourself. But lately… even you aren’t sure. Bills, rent, calls from home.

He turns you around to face him, thumbs grazing your jaw.

"Well bill don't pay themselves." You say trying to dissipate the tension with a bit of humour.

"I will pay your bills for this month." Not a suggestion, not an offering. A statement.

"Oh, you really don't need to-"

“I’d give you everything,” he interrupts, now a habit of his. “Just stay like this. Stay mine.”

You look away.

He doesn’t like that.

“Hey.” He taps your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Don’t drift when I’m talking to you.”

His voice is still soft. Still kind, technically. But there's no room in it for disagreement.

You’re not sure when it started to feel like this—like you live inside the curve of his will.

But then the next day, he brings your favorite coffee. Leaves a scarf on your desk. Fixes the broken heater without being asked. He presses a kiss to your forehead when Angela isn’t looking. And for a moment… you believe it.

Maybe this isn’t possession. Maybe this is devotion. Maybe this is someone finally loving you so much it hurts them too.

But then—

“You’re going out?” he asks one night, seeing the hint of eyeliner you dared to apply.

“Just dinner. With colleagues.”

“Who?”

You flinch. “The other English teachers. We’re—”

“No.” He says it like a full stop.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I said no. You’re not going.”

And when you do go, he shows up the next morning in your apartment with breakfast and an apology so sweet it tastes like absolution.

“I just worry,” he says. “You’re everything I have.”

And you stay.

Because he’s generous. And careful. Because when he wraps his arms around you and murmurs mine, it sounds less like a threat and more like a promise you didn’t know you were waiting for.

Because no one’s ever looked at you like he does.

Even if, sometimes, you wish they wouldn’t.

[strang3lov3]

Omg hi it’s mbp dad!tom anon I’m back and shocked and delighted to hear that I’m famous need to put this on my résumé actually. I’m still thinking about him constantly btw. Loved your addition about keeping the bath too warm to keep you a little loopy and dizzy like there would be a lot of that I think, plausible deniability stuff where he’s very good at convincing you that what he’s doing is the smartest thing and you just believe him sooo much but really there’s ulterior motives. I think he’d also take your cell phone away saying you just need to focus on getting better sweetie and if you look directly at the light of the screen it’ll make your headache worse silly girl, and don’t worry about texting your friends, dad’s gonna make you good as new in a day or two anyway so why get them worried for you by mentioning you’re sick? Oh and he’d looooove to keep you in pretty much just a bathrobe I think. I mean maybe a pretty little nightgown too but. I think after the baths he gives you he towels you off so gently and wraps his arms around you as he puts your bathrobe on and the whole time he’s saying “theree you go, just let me take care of you, you’re doing really well” The reason he gives you for the bathrobe thing is that with the fever you’re gonna have chills and hot flashes and it would be easier to stay in just the robe and let dad wrap you in blankets when you’re cold than to have to change your clothes over and over, that would just be silly right? And then when you’re swaddled up sitting next to him on the couch the layers of blankets make it hard for you to notice just how tightly he’s squeezing you to him, practically pulling you into his lap. But then you get too warm again so off come the blankets and oh, the flushed skin of your legs under the robe is right up against him now and he can feel just how warm you are even through the fabric of his pants and it’s driving him crazy. Knowing he’s making you like this, and he’ll make you better, and you’ll trust him to do anything the whole time because you’re a good girl who knows that Daddy knows best of course. Eventually you get sad and scared, and his heart shatters a little knowing that he’s hurting his baby, but then it’s suddenly the best part of the whole thing because you’re sniffling and burying your face in his neck and whimpering “don’t wanna feel like this anymore, daddy” and fuck, when’s the last time you called him that? Something sick and exciting kind of turns in his stomach, you’re so vulnerable like this, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you quite like this in your whole life. But he lets it go for now, he runs his hands up and down your back and sides and shushes you and talks you down in that sweet gentle voice, “it’s okay baby. you’re being so brave, it’ll be over soon, okay? Daddy’s gonna make you better, promise”

This scenario is fictional and all characters are adults

There she is ;) people ask about you yk. You’re gonna have to make regular appearances here to keep them satiated

Daddy is gonna make you better. Imagine you’re cold again - gosh, honey. This fever of yours, what are we gonna do with you?

He needs to regulate your temperature. Get you warmed up again. No, sweetie. You just had a bath. Just lie there, spread your legs. Daddy’s gonna get you warm in no time. Yes, he has to.

He makes you sweat out your fever. Gotta get it out of you one way or another .

[robinsno1lesbian]

Could you write a little something where Robin convinces the reader to go skinny dipping in Lovers Lake?

And reader just finds herself completely mesmerized by Robin because she had a crush on her for the longest time? Love your writing by the way 💗

𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 - 𝐑.𝐁.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when robin mentioned the "fun idea" she had in mind, this surely wasn't what you had imagined. but there's no turning back now. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2124

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: non-sexual nudity, mention of alcohol and reader drinking, maybe the slightest bit of internalized homophobia, no beta read lmao (let me know if i missed anything!) 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: my first request yay! please send any and all kinds of requests i lowkey get so excited about them. also, tysm anon i hope this is what you had in mind <3 (there are some references to the rebel robin book in this one: i want to address one of them: obviously robin does not have a crush on a boy! in the book she talks about how she lied about it to get out of an uncomfortable situation and that's the scene i'm referring to!! )

when you dip your toe into the water of lovers' lake, your entire body shivers in response. it's not as cold as you thought it would be, but your body is still damp from the heat of the day. and even though the sun has set long ago, the air still feels unusually warm, leaving a thin layer of sweat on your body. out of all the things you could be doing right now, this is most definitely not at the top of the list. "i have a great idea" robin had said when you asked her about the plans for the evening. as far as you were concerned, it was supposed to be a fun sleepover/movie night in robin's basement. her parents weren't home so you would have the whole house to yourself. but as soon as those words had left her mouth, you knew you could forget about the chill night you had imagined.

the girl with the freckled skin and beautiful strawberry blonde hair has been your best friend ever since you can remember. and ever since you can remember, her "fun ideas" always ended up with either one of you getting in trouble. though, with robin grinning at you like that, you simply can not tell her no. so, with both hands raised in defense, you nodded and asked about that fun idea. you can't recall the exact day when things between the two of you began to change: it could have been in 8th grade, when robin confessed her crush on matthew manes at wendy dewan's halloween party. or maybe when everyone started dating halfway through 9th grade. when everything was about boys all of a sudden, for everyone but you. you never understood what about steve harrington's hair or matthew manes' mere existence had such an effect on everyone around. you couldn't imagine being with either of those, you couldn't even imagine kissing a boy, let alone being with one. you just wanted to be around robin to forget about all those things: to lay in the grass in summer and laugh until your belly hurt and your lungs ached for air. to braid each other's hair and put flower chains around her neck. to be the girls you had been in childhood and to be that together. back to when there was no worry in the world big enough to really get to you. one night you even told her about it but it hadn't seemed much like she wanted to talk about it. she just blushed and turned away. you put the blame matthew manes and switched the lights off.

that same night you had laid wide awake next to a peacefully snoring robin. it was when you picked up the habit of counting her freckles for the first time. it was also when you wanted to kiss her for the first time.

it was when you finally understood what about you had always been so different from the other girls your age. and why you couldn't see what they saw when they looked at boys your age.

because you had seen it in robin all this time.

ever since you have tried to think about that situation as little as possible.

you still count robin's freckles sometimes. and you still want to kiss her all the time. even after years of trying not to.

"perfect temperature for a bath" robin grins while withdrawing her toes from the water. her hair has grown ever since that night back in highschool. shortly after she'd cut it all off. it has grown back ever since, medium-length blond curls framing her face in the pale moonlight. "i- uhm- I'm not sure this is a good idea" you look around, trying to make out the edge of the woods in the darkness of the night. "what if we get caught?" "by who?" she laughs. "come on y/n, this will be fun. soon we will be out of hawkins anyway...to god knows where! remember? even if we get caught -which won't happen- a couple of years will pass and soon enough no one is gonna remember anyway" this is not the robin you remember from highschool. you'd like to blame it on the bottle of whatever-that-was that you have shared on your way to the lake but maybe this is just the way she is around you? the carefree, joyous robin that no one else but you gets to see?

still not convinced, you grimace at her. "okay look...i'll go first"

and before you can hold her back, she grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. her painted nails shimmer as she puts them up in the air, her shirt tugged between her fingers as it comes off. you change in front of each other all the time, but you try to look away from her whenever she does. you wouldn't want to make her uncomfortable. if she knew what you are, she would never do this in front of you, is what you tell yourself. now, it's almost like she wants you to look. she unbuttons her shorts and drops them to where she has previously thrown her top, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. you visibly gulp, because if you got robin right, she is not done yet and her next movements prove that to be right. she reaches out and unclasps her bra and it lands on the floor, on top of the growing pile of clothing. your eyes dart down to your own feet and you rock back and forth, unsure of where to look now. you wrap your arms around your body, a soft blush creeping its way onto your cheeks.

her back is turned to yours now, and you dare to look up from the ground. her skin is soft and the way the moon shines on her makes it look almost porcelain-like. a part of you wants to reach out, wants to run your fingertips up and down her spine and see the goosebumps rise beneath. maybe if you were someone else, somewhere else, you would actually do it. anyone but yourself and anywhere but here in hawkins, indiana. robin is stepping out of her panties, while you're still lost in your own thoughts, leaving her completely naked. "and now watch me" she speaks. and then, before you could do anything to stop her, she runs, right into the water of lovers' lake. the downpour of the water splashes on you, leaving wet patches on your skin and clothes. she screams and yelps but her legs carry her further in, until she drops herself and dips down. she remains underwater for a couple of seconds before her head breaks through the surface. there is a wide smile plastered on her face. "come on y/n! don't make me do this all alone"

you shake your head, more in disbelief than disagreement. just a couple of seconds later, you're in nothing but your underwear: a light pair with a floral pattern. you feel unusually exposed, with robin watching you from the water. this is such bullshit, you think to yourself, she has seen you naked so many times already. what difference does this make?

so, without further undo, you strip out of your last clothing pieces and step into the water. the moonlight is reflecting on the surface and on robin's bare shoulders. the little bit of water that's left on her is glistening in the darkness. "see?" she smiles as you wade towards her. you wrap your arms around your chest, partly to keep yourself warm and partly to cover your breasts, all while walking in robin's direction.

"robin" you whine when the girl starts swimming backward. you feel almost childlike as you reach out again to get to her. "almost there" she mocks with a playful smile, her arms still paddling to get her out of your reach. she kicks her feet out of the water, a good amount of water pouring down on you.

"fuck you" you reply and finally throw yourself fully into the lake. it's cold against your damp skin, but the longer you're in it, the more your body gets used to the feeling. robin lets out somewhat of a squeak when she feels your hand around her wrist. she shoves a handful of water right into your face and wiggles to get out of the grip you have around her. you try to hold onto her but her wet skin offers nothing that could give your fingers a better hold of her. as soon as her arm slips away from you, she screams and swims away, with you being hot on her heels. you've completely forgotten about the lack of clothing, your mind too focused on catching robin to care. with one especially strong stroke of your arms through the water, you reach robin and immediately grab her by the shoulder to prevent her from fleeing again.

she laughs and tries to get away again but there's no way out of your hold. "got you" you smile, while you try to set your feet onto the ground. unfortunately, you haven't even realized how far from land you are now and your head dips down as you put all of your weight on your feet. "wow, wow, wow, y/n" robin reacts quickly, she is tall enough to stand on the ground of the lake and pulls you up by the armpits. you let out a mix of a cough and a laugh. "careful" she smiles.

only when you catch your breath, do you realize how close robin has pulled you to her. she is still holding you, but her body is pressed up against yours now. you stare down at your intertwined bodies. the darkness of the night doesn't allow you to see past both of your shoulders, but you can feel her. every curve of her body, every inch of soft skin leaning against yours. silence falls upon the lake when you look up again your eyes meet hers. they are a beautiful greyish blue, remarkable even in the darkness. to your own surprise, you can feel her chest rising and falling just as quickly as your own.

there is irritation in her expression as if this is something she doesn't fully understand...as if she didn't expect this from you... feeling bold, you reach out and wipe a strand of wet hair out of her face. you can see the freckles, even with the little light you have. 118, the last time you counted them. when you pull away your hand, she reaches for it. somehow, though you don't have much time to comprehend it, she still manages to hold you upright with just one of her arms. robin exhales shakily and places your palm back on her cheek.

"y/n..." she whispers. "can i- is it okay if i- i mean..."

robin looks away shily. and suddenly, it all falls into place and you understand. "kiss me?" you breathe and her gaze shoots back to meet yours. you shift in the water, the silence ringing in your ears like sirens. a thousand thoughts at once race through your mind. "i- uhm- sorry i just-" "can i?" she blurts out.

you immediately nod. "yes please" and with that, you close your eyes and she leans in. the first thing you notice is the softness of her lips. softer than anything else you've ever known. they taste like summer; it's almost like you can taste the sun and the soft breeze of the day on her. she brings her hand up to your cheek, every line of her precious fingerprints sending shivers down your spine. she traces your jaw, featherlight touch lingering while her lips meet yours -again and again. you wrap your arms around her neck loosely, caging her in between your arms. water splashes up your shoulders as she pushes further against you and you have to lean back.

so this is what it's like to feel truly loved. this is what all the talk was about. this is what you've missed out on. you aren't even thinking when you wrap both of your legs around her belly, but she doesn't mind. she just picks you up and lifts you further out of the water, so that you have to lean down to reach her lips. "robin" you laugh airily. she leans back, her forehead pressed against yours. "y/n..." she whispers. you smile widely. "i've wanted to do this for a while now" "really?" the rasp in her voice is even more present now. "yes" you nod and bite your lower lip. "for a long while" "you should've said something" she mumbles and adds shily: "can i kiss you again?" "you don't have to ask robbie" and she does.

[buckgasms]

Friendly Competition Pt.1

Hi darlings, this has been waiting in my brain for about 4 months 😩 so well done me for finally writing this absolute filth. This fic also unveils me as a total pillow princess so whoopsie for that!

Warnings: Threesome, two Doms one sub 🥹, reader is the focus, petnames, overstim, fingering, p in v, p in a, strapons, oral.... I mean I don't wanna give it away in the warnings. It's a threesome and I'm horny.... You've been warned.

Something was going on with Bucky and Natasha. You could sense them both watching you and you knew they were talking about you. You didn't know exactly what they were saying because they had decided to converse in Russian but their eyes kept flicking to you as they muttered with dark smiles on their faces.

You glared at both of them and folded your arms across your chest. "What is going on with you two?" You pouted as they chuckled and came to sit next to you, squishing you on the sofa where you sat.

"We were just talking about how pretty you were" Bucky cooed in your ear as his fingers brushed along your thigh, dipping under your skirt, making your squirm a little. You flicked between each of them as Natasha stroked her fingers through your hair. "We know you want to play with us zaichik, you've been teasing us both for so long now..."

You shivered under their touches and smiled a little. You had indeed been wanting to spend time with both of them, but unwilling to choose between either of the super assassins because you cared about them both. "I haven't been teasing..." You grinned and in turn rubbed your fingers along their thighs, "I just wanted you both" and you pouted as they both chuckled.

"Knew she was a greedy little thing" Bucky growled, his fingers ever so gently grazing your underwear, making you gasp and grip his thigh. "So sensitive, gonna be so easy to have you coming for me hmm?" You nod as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Natasha scoffs and bats his hand away, "No way is she gonna come for you quicker than she does for me, you wouldn't hurt me like that would you zaichik?" You whine as she turns your head to look at her, "N...No...I'm good" you mumble as she smiles at you.

"We'll see about that...."

--------------------🐇----------------

Everything was a competition with Bucky and Natasha and you could tell this was going to be no different. They both argued about who got to have you first, who would make you come the most, the fastest. Your head was spinning as you lay on Natasha's bed watching them sniping at each other. Eventually you got fed up of their arguing and cleared your throat. "Well neither of you are going to win if you spend all the time arguing and no time fucking me..." You held back a giggle as they both stared at you.

"Looks like our little bunny has a bit of an attitude problem" he grinned, clearly loving it. Natasha looked more concerned, very rarely did she tolerate back talk and when you glanced at her your tummy flipped at ther stern look she gave you.

You pouted and made grabby hands at both of them. Finally they relented, removing some of the outer layers of clothing and you did the same until you sat between them in your cute underwear, panting with anticipation. Bucky couldn't wait to put his hands on you, stroking your soft skin, pawing at your breasts and pushing your thighs apart to stroke at your clothed heat, already soaked from excitement. Natasha climbed up the bed and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, you immediately mewled into her mouth as he claimed you, and your hands clung to her. She broke away and looked at you intently, "are you going to be good?" You nodded and Bucky landed a swat to your thigh, "words pretty baby, use your words."

"Yes I'll be good, I promise" you whispered and chased her for more kisses which she briefly provided. "You've been such a little tease" she muttered between kisses, and Bucky hummed in agreement as he slipped your underwear off and rubbed at your clit. "Leading us on, making us want you. I think you need to apologise, before we play with you." You moaned as Bucky continued to tease you and sunk his finger slowly into your aching heat, walls clenching around him in desperation.

"Yes, I...please...want to be good" you whined again and she smiled before standing up to remove her own underwear. She then straddled your face and gripped your hair, grinding her heat down on your face. You happily licked and sucked at her sweet taste as Bucky moaned and pumped another finger into your pussy. Your muffled moans and cried only heightened Natasha's pleasure and you reached up to play with her tits, desperate to make her happy, knowing it would only work out better for you later.

She praised you and chased her own release until your face was drenched with happy tears and her orgasm. You sobbed when she climbed off and Bucky removed his fingers from you, so close to your own climax.

"Hush baby" he mocked before pulling you to sitting, "you still owe me an apology remember?" You whimpered and scrambled to your knees in front of him, his dark chuckle making your body shiver. He pulled his fat cock out of his boxers and slapped your face with it a few times before sinking it into to your greedy mouth. "Ooh my god" he groaned as you worked his shaft, taking in as much as you could, tears streaming down your face as you choked on him. You alternated between sucking and choking relishing in the sounds he made, proving what a good little bunny you were. "Jesus, never thought she'd be this good" he moaned managing to pull away before he came all over you. You pouted at the loss but he leaned down and kissed you, tongue dominating yours as he wrapped a hand around your throat. "Perfect" he mumbled as he pulled away. "Are you satisfied she's apologised?" Natasha asked amused, and you looked between them with wide eyes before he nodded and you grinned.

She patted the bed and you crawled back up, meeting her in a soft kiss. "Stay just like that" Bucky said from behind and you halted on all fours as his cock slipped into your cunt, forcing your breath out of your body. You wailed as Natasha kept kissing you sweetly, as Bucky hammered at you from behind. "Is she nice a tight?" She asked, as if she was asking about the weather, and Bucky growled, smacking your soft ass as he did. "Like a fucking vice" and he changed to deep, long strokes that made your toes curl. Natasha's eyes flicked to where he was disappearing into you and she pouted. "I can't see from there, flip her over."

With all the willpower in the world Bucky pulled out and pushed you over in one quick movement. Before you'd even registered he was back inside you, filling you up with every stroke. Humming in approval she leaned over you and rubbed at your clit, holding your legs wide open when you tried to escape her touches. "Tut tut zaichik, don't hide, we want to see your pretty pussy" she mocked before spitting on your heat and rubbing harder than ever. That seemed to be the undoing of you and Bucky as you squeezed him impossibly tighter and you both moaned as he shot his hot load into you.

You lay there panting for a moment as Natasha kept rubbing, even after Bucky had pulled out. "I think I can claim that one" she smiled and Bucky huffed. "Nope, that was me, you just...helped." She scoffed at him and looked at you. "I made you come first didn't I zaichik?" You nibbled at your finger.

"Was it a tie?"

--------------------🐇----------------

What followed was the best afternoon of your life. Natasha was keen to prove her abilities so she spent a while playing with your pussy, using her fingers to draw orgasm after orgasm out of you until you squirted over her arm. Bucky was more than happy to watch for a while, and kept you busy by making you keep his cock warm in your mouth, your head resting on his thick thigh, hands held in his as Natasha worked you.

When he was fully hard again he dragged you away from her and sat you on his lap and made you bounce up and down on him. Your body, already limp, struggled to keep going, but they had little sympathy for their teasing little bunny. "Buckyyyy, can't...s'too hard" to whined, laying down flat on his chest. His chuckle rumbled through his hairy chest and you rubbed your face against him dying for some relief. "Oh is my poor baby tired already? Shoulda thought of that before you drove us crazy huh?" As you lay there he wrapped his arms around you tight so you were trapped and he thrust upwards, rutting into your sensitive heat. You cried against his chest and wiggled but he wouldn't release you.

While you were playing with Bucky, she was floating around her bedroom, finding various toys to use on you. She had been thinking about this for quite a while now. Seeing you in your current position she climbed up behind you with her favourite strap, and after lubing it up, pressed it into your puckered hole, which I'm her opinion was just begging to be used.

The sensation was overwhelming as she teased you, sinking in inch by inch as Bucky only slightly slowed down. He cooed in your ear, praising you for being so good and taking you both so well. You could do nothing but take what they gave you, white spots filling your vision as she sunk all the way in.

"Think our little bunny might pass out" Bucky muttered, stroking your hair and kissing your forehead. "That's ok, we've got all day" Natasha answered before thrusting her hips gently until both she and Bucky found a good rhythm. You fell almost silent, apart form a few 'ahs' escaping your lips. You had no other feeling than them filling your holes and the tight grip Bucky had around your body. You orgasmed over and over, but it was only when Bucky filled you for a second time that they ceased there movements and gave you some respite.

Bucky rolled you over, pressing more kisses to your face as you clumsily tried to return them. "You wanna keep playing with us bunny?" He whispered in your ear and held your face to look at him. You were floating on air and gave him a small smile and a croaky yes, praying it would never end. He smiled and kept kissing you until you wondered where Natasha had gone.

"Boys always make such a mess" she said looking at the come leaking out of you and Bucky smiled against your cheek. "She's just jealous, I think it looks very pretty baby." You blush and kiss him back as Natasha tutted. You then turn to look at her and make grabby hands again, this time much less coordinated. "Wanna make you come" you pout at her and she leans over, kissing you gently. "Oh you will sweetness"

[shadowscommand]

ooooh farah and alex, do you have any headcanons and thoughts on them? i hope we get to see them back in the new season raid!!

oh my god like a million. i really do think about them a lot but since they're very sweet i don't tend to post about them a ton y'know I'm bad w fluff :P. but YEAH alexfarah (sfw mainly but some nsfw at the end):

Alex had to be coerced to actually admit his feelings to her. not because he doesn't love her but bc he was too worried about bothering her bc she's Constantly busy. once he was healed and working with warcom they still were not together. only because of talking to Mara and Morte and Wyatt did he get the courage to ask her out.

she sends him good morning texts ! every day ! it's part of her routine. shes p much always awake before him so she never misses apart from missions and things.

ive said this in a post before but i think alex is very interested in music. he listens to new artists often and sends songs farah's way when he thinks she'll like something.

farah in general doesn't have a ton of interests (she doesn't have the TIME or the focus to get deep into something that isn't work) but alex does. she loves listening to him explain the layers of a game, a tv show, or music just to hear him talk about something he has genuine care for.

farah makes great, great coffee. alex cant have coffee made by anyone else because he constantly just thinks 'meh. not as good as farahs.'

she doesn't baby him about his leg but she is very serious about him taking care of the skin on his stump. she will avidly remind him to get lotion for the skin there so it won't be dry and cracked and irritated when he goes to put his prosthetic on. she does also sometimes help him bathe (he doesn't need the help but he is not going to say no to taking a shower with farah)

farah isn't huge on pda and alex really isnt either. at most they hold hands and sit closer than most others. in private though, farah almost always has a leg or two over alex's. hes very much the little spoon.

farah does suffer from night terrors and sleep paralysis. she normally does Not Sleep well bc of these but its nicer when alex is there with her. he tends to her after she wakes up either in a panic or frozen in place.

nsfw section (tw for very vague mentions of past sexual assault):

farah has trauma related to sex so she likes to stay mostly clothed during. tank top/t shirt staying on is a must. alex is unbothered by this and tries to stay very conscious of how farah is feeling in the moment.

alex is very open-minded in terms of things hes into. he dabbles into bdsm and degradation kinks/name calling and such but he doesn't bring that up to farah very much for fear of unsettling her.

however, farah does not like to feel babied. she does not like to think alex is holding back for her sake. she grew very comfortable with alex very quickly and that includes calling him out when she feels like he's making decisions for her during sex.

BUT ! because of this their sex life is very healthy. alex knows what farah is curious about. he himself was very excited to get farah into pegging and he gets pegged every chance they get. strap game off the charts.

[folkloreguk]

💌🧸 Brother's Best Friend

A/N: Got this request a while ago and now I'm wondering why I've never written this trope before bc this was so fun??? Lmk how you liked it! x

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), smut, size/strength kink??, choking, dom!bias (it’s kinda playful tho), brother's best friend!au, sneaking around, play fighting, lowkey getting caught but not directly?

words: ~ 4.1 k

disclaimer: I don’t mean for the age gap to be gigantic…I’m talking about anything from 1-2 years maximum tbh!!! Anything else would be weird and I’m not about that! They’re also both obviously consenting adults!

[H/N means 'his (bias) name']

In youreyes, your first meeting had been a disaster. The new spider man movie had been released only days ago, and you were adamant on seeing it. And to your luck, your older brother and his best friend had already made plans to watch it together. As a little sister, you were treated like the baby of the family, and it didn’t matter that you were far from being an infant anymore. So naturally, your brother had been condemned by your parents to bring you along. He declared his distaste in your presence by attempting to ignore you, but you were used to that. Just like you were aware of his bad moods, you knew he could change within minutes and magically turn into the sweetest, most caring big brother you could wish for.

Whatever. You didn’t need his approval to enjoy the trip to the movie theater, you told yourself. Had it not been for his best friend, who you hadn’t seen in ages. H/N and you had never properly spoken before, and the last time you saw him he had been an awkward, prepubescent boy who had appeared at your door to pick up your brother for a playdate. There was no trace of immaturity now. Instead, it was you who had morphed into an awkward, shy mess at the sight of him.

His ‘hello’ had a warm and deep melody to it which swooped you up in his aura so suddenly, you had no time to prepare. Had his smile always been this stupidly charming? Hell, it was so bright, you had to meticulously inspect the ground every time he sent a grin your way. When before you hadn’t felt guilty for being a bother, you now sure did. What impression would you leave, trailing behind the older boys like a lost puppy? What would he take you for? The annoying little sister who didn’t have friends of her own? The mood-killer, who wouldn’t understand any of the boys’ inside jokes? The anti-social, weird girl who was obsessed with fictional men, like people loved to belittle teenage girls with normal interests?

As things turned out, his initial opinion of you was quite the opposite. If only you could have spied into his brain, it would have saved you a landslide of worry. Although your brother took up all of H/N’s attention before the movie started, he noticed you a good amount. To be precise, you blew him away at first sight. Your cute laugh won him over in a matter of seconds and he liked that your merch sweater could have been stolen straight out of his own closet. He didn’t want to feel too smug, but the way you diverted your eyes away from him whenever he looked in your direction only boosted his confidence further.

Your brother might have warned him. Stay away from her. She’s off limits for you. But not a thousand vicious, older brothers could have kept him from trying to get to you. It was up to you, after all, whether you wanted him around or not, and not to your brother. From that day on, H/N didn’t skip out on a chance to see you, even if it meant merely an exchange of a few words, or a simple greeting. And to his luck, you turned out to be equally as enraptured by him.

There was something about the untouchable, the forbidden, that attracted him to you even more. Plus, you were simply too precious to forget about. One morning, you dropped off a beanie at his place, which he had left at your house after meeting with your big brother the previous day. When he had asked if he could drive you to school as a thank you, you happily accepted. You had marked that day as the first day of your new life. First, it was harmless flirting. To be honest, you were under the impression he was merely messing with you. Because you were the cute little sister of his best friend. Because you would turn into an awkward shell of a person who had lost all ability to articulate, and your cheeks would burn as if they were on fire, whenever he charmed you.

But the flirting slowly reached newer levels, and before you knew it you were discussing your sexual fantasies over text messages and giving him bedroom eyes as you opened the front door for him. “H/N’s here!” you would then shout to your big brother. Then you would watch the two boys walk off to your brother’s room, pondering why life had to be this way for you. It wasn’t fair. Siblings were supposed to share, right? Why did you have to wait your turn until after midnight, when no one would notice, to spend time with H/N?

But to H/N, the sneaking around in the middle of the night and the secret messages you sent to each other, it all added to the excitement. Surely, there were days on which he wished he could just break the truth to your brother. The impact it could have on their friendship was enough intimidation for him to refrain, though. Things were better off this way, for now.

Today was no exception to your usual lies. When your brother asked if you would go out with him to do some shopping, you had played the victim and feigned a stomachache. Your parents wouldn’t be home all weekend. You’d have been stupid to waste a perfect opportunity like that. Who knew when you could have H/N in your bed the next time? Normally, you were restricted to his car, or to his bed in the dark of night. Yes, those places had something enticing at first glance. But the backseat of a car was only enjoyable for so many clandestine meetings. So today you notified him of your golden opportunity before your brother had even walked out the door.

The moment H/N texted you that he was outside your home, you opened the front door and dragged him to your room.

“Are you in control today, little one?” he asked, closing the bedroom door after you.

“Why are you asking that?” you replied, not wanting to talk at all but rather do so much more productive things.

“I don’t know…perhaps because you haven’t let me say a word since I came through the door,” he said.

“Right. Maybe I’m planning on tying you up, blindfolding you, and torturing you with ice and wax,” you joked in a casual tone, despite not usually requesting such graphic ideas.

“I don’t know if I’d let you do that,” he grinned with raised eyebrows. “Besides, I know you’d rather be at the receiving end of that. It’s a sweet idea, though. If we had some more time…”

“Think you could get away from me if I tied you up?” you said, but he was towering over you with the calmness of a king who knew he reigned over the situation.

“We both know I’m stronger than you, doll,” he said. You didn’t like it when boys called you weak. But you’d let it slide, knowing he was only joking and would never underestimate you outside of the bedroom. He put his lips right up to yours, so you felt his breath on them. His fingers came up to cup your face, but then slowly inched to your neck. When they closed around your neck, putting the slightest amount of pressure on your skin, you whimpered quietly.

“Need reminding?” he asked. As much pent-up frustration you had, and as much as your stomach was flipping upside down from how badly you needed him, you just had to play with him. You knew it would make for more fun.

“I think- “ you started, with a grin. Then you grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pushed him backwards, until he was stumbling. Although caught off guard, he was quick to pull you along with him as he fell onto your bed. You landed on top of him with a small squeal.

“Go on, let’s see who can throw the other off the bed first,” he teased with a superiority that only spurred you on. Then again, you would always be in the mood for the oldest childhood game you had ever known. Only now it wasn’t your brother, but his best friend you were playing against. It added a layer of excitement, and after only seconds, giggles had overtaken you as you struggled in his grip.

“No tickling is allowed,” you said. He nodded obediently with a smirk that told you he might not abide by your rules.

At first, you had attempted to hold him down by his arms. But your legs tangled, and he pushed his chest up against yours, like he was about to flip you over. Your plan seemed to be working only momentarily. You groaned a little as he grabbed your wrists swiftly and held his stance against your attempt to pull his upper body to the side.

“Cute,” he said. That’s when you realized, he was barely struggling, barely trying, even. While you were giving your most, he smirked like he was watching a kitten trying to fight a lion. It was child’s play to him, keeping you in check. Literally. With an annoying expression of amusement on his face, he let you have the upper hand for a while. Then, as if you had never had an ounce of advantage, he turned it around and pulled you into him. His eyes suggested he might just send you tumbling down onto the floor any moment now. Nonetheless, you weren’t going to give up so easily. Taking your chances, you let go of his arms and moved sideways, so you could have your go at pushing him towards the edge of the mattress.

“I don’t think so,” he said. Suddenly, he bear-hugged your body and rolled you both over. Before you could protest or defend yourself, your arm was dangling off the side of your bed and if you had moved a tiny bit further, you would have slid off the bedsheets and right onto your carpet. It was his turn to straddle you now. As if his actions hadn’t been enough declarations of his strength, he pinned your wrists to the bed above your head and gave you a challenging smirk.

“I was going to let you win, doll. But you weren’t trying hard enough,” he said. “What are you going to do about it?”

What were you going to do? He had you completely immobilized. “Just let it go, then. We get it, you’re super strong and super big and the coolest,” you said.

He seemed to take an instant liking to your declaration. “Say it again. This time minus the eye-rolling, sugar.”

“You’re stronger than me,” you said, trying to avoid the laughter that was threatening to come out. Could he read in your gaze how badly you wanted him to kiss you already? If he could, he wasn’t acting on it. Instead, he bent to the crook of your neck and spoke.

“Does it turn you on that I can overpower you?” his breath fanned your ear and you had to close your eyes to control yourself.

“Yes. Because I trust you,” you answered truthfully. The corner of his lips curled into a cocky grin.

“You know what? I think I’d rather you stay in bed with me instead of throwing you on the floor. There’s so many things we can do up here, isn’t that right, little one?” His lips brushed over your cheek and then over your lips as he spoke. The nickname had always made you weak in the knees and he knew it. When he finally enveloped your lips in a kiss, you swore you could feel an electric spark jump between the two of you. The mellowness of it turned into hunger rapidly, and as soon as his tongue flicked over your bottom lip, you whimpered like you hadn’t seen him in a year.

“Needy, are we?” he asked, running his hand up your sides and underneath your shirt. He could say that again. “Let’s get these off, then.”

The seconds in which you pulled off your clothes and couldn’t hang on his lips and feel his skin on your body should have been considered a form of torture in itself. Then, time always went by so much slower than usually.

When you had both shed off your clothes, he climbed back on top of you. Instead of straddling your hips he was now resting between your legs. There was nothing separating you from him, and it was apparent not only through the body heat that radiated off him. He reached down and whilst peppering kisses on your chest, slid his fingers through your slick arousal that was pooling in your core.

“You’re so wet,” he said in surprise, but couldn’t hide his approval and self-confidence in his voice.

“I know,” you said, rolling your eyes but simultaneously fighting the urge to moan at the smallest of touches he was teasing your with. “I’m so horny. Can’t we skip foreplay?”

“Poor doll,” he said. “I should’ve come over earlier, huh?”

“You know that wasn’t possible,” you said. With a desperate look, you pleaded him silently.

“I wanna taste you,” he said, but your put your hand on his cheek softly.

“Maybe later?” you said. “Please, I need to have you inside of me. Now.”

“You’re extra cute when you’re this needy,” he smiled. “Are there still condoms in your nightstand?”

You nodded and had never moved so fast to open a drawer in your life. Pretending to have any patience left, you waited for him to roll on the rubber.

“I love the way you look at me,” he said. “When you’re waiting for me. Could watch you for hours.”

“God, I hope you won’t. Come here, please?” you replied, making him chuckle. He lined himself up with your core, but then made no inclination to move ahead. His dark eyes and little head tilt told you everything.

“Don’t mess with me anymore,” you whined, reaching for the back of his neck to pull him closer. “Do it. H/N.”

“Beg for it.” His words twisted something in the pit of your stomach. Although you were burning with hunger, you could never say no to him. Then again, you were curious to see what would happen if you did.

“What if I don’t? Don’t you want to fuck me as much as I want it?” you challenged him. Something glinted in his eyes, and you knew you shouldn’t have even brought it up.

“I can always do this,” he said, and you followed his eyes down his body and to where he had wrapped his hand around his cock. Slowly, he jerked himself off, and you weren’t sure he was biting his lip because of the feeling or to discompose you. His small sigh should’ve been caused by you. This wasn’t what you had wanted. His tip was right by your slit. He could’ve pushed his length in so easily, and yet he wasn’t. Debating what to say, you kept your eyes trained on his hard member that looked so delicious in his hands. His deep groans rang in your ears. It didn’t take long for you to cave.

“Fuck. That should be me around you,” you said. “That should be my pussy you’re fucking and not your hands. Please.”

“Isn’t that right?” he said.

“Yes. Please, fuck me. I would feel so much better than your hands, and you know it. Please,” you whined. “I need you right now H/N. Please.”

You added another ‘please’ – for good measure – because the way his tongue darted out and licked his smirking lips could make you say anything if it would get him to fuck you.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of you,” he said. “Think you can take me?”

“Yes, yes-, I can! Please, fuck me,” you said in a waterfall of words, and he chuckled handsomely.

“Good girl,” he said, running a gentle hand over your head. “If it’s too much you let me know.”

“As always.”

The tip of his cock gently pushed into your core, making you hold your breath as he entered you slowly. It caused you to feel every inch with every second. Your brain felt fuzzy, and you sighed gratefully at the relief.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he moaned. The carefulness in his thrusts paired with his moon eyes at you only remained that way for a few seconds. Then, he straightened up and grabbed your hips to drag you in closer. You moaned helplessly when he almost pulled out completely, so slowly it almost made you crazy, only to slam his length into you until his tip brushed against the deepest spot inside of you. It was an action he repeated over and over, until you were reduced to a puddle of desperate whimpers, and you clasped the bedsheets in your hands tightly.

“You like it this way, little one?” he asked. He was apparently finding enjoyment in your reaction. How you could barely keep your eyes open, and when you did, your eyeballs threatened to roll to the back of your head. How your fingers clenched around the closest plushie, and you cradled it against your chest in bliss.

“Yes- fuck,” you said. “Feels so good.”

Of course, right as you said this, he had to change things up. His thrusts turned lazy and messy as he leaned backwards slightly. With an equally lazy demeanor, his thumb flicked over your clit, rubbing circles on it.

“Let me hear you. Say my name,” he said, and you quietly moaned his name. You adored the way it sounded, voiced like this, with barely more than a breath underneath your soft tone. Now and then, his cock slipped out of you, making you clench around nothing and furthermore had you going completely out of your mind. When he would push himself into your opening again, it felt as if it was the first time he was entering you today. Except you felt it repeatedly, each time as incredible as the previous. Your mouth hung open, rendered speechless except for the little moans and whimpers sounding from your throat. There was a familiar knot beginning to form in your stomach, tying firmer with each passing minute.

As if he could read your mind, he decided then he was done with his sweet torture of teasing you to an orgasm. You couldn’t be mad at him, though, because what he had planned was just as perfect, if not better. His hands wandered to their original place on your sides, and he began to snap his hips into yours at a faster pace. A small cry of surprise left your lips, while he only smirked at you through heavy-lidded eyes. Impulsively, you lifted your legs a little, intensifying the feeling of his member roughly dragging through your velvet walls.

“H/N, I’m so close,” you whimpered.

“Me too,” he replied, not slowing down for a second.

His broad frame towering over your body was a sight you would never get enough of and his gazes at you were hot enough that they could have stopped your heart in its tracks. A few strands of hair stuck to his forehead and there was a thin sheet of sweat on his neck. It all just made him more breathtaking to you. The slight pain from his nails digging into the skin on your waist was staggering, and you could barely wait to see the masterpiece of marks he would leave tonight.

You were a moaning mess, flying on cloud nine and simultaneously overwhelmed by his treatment of you. It clouded your mind at took over your whole body like you were made for him to fuck you. His length filled up your tight hole and he did it with such force that your whole body rocked into your mattress in a steady, fast-paced rhythm. He let go of your waist then and supported himself on his arm by the side of your head. When his other hand went to your neck you shuddered in anticipation.

“You should see yourself with my hand around your throat,” he said. “So pretty, little one.”

“We can do it in front of a mirror sometime- ,” you suggested, but were cut off at the end of the sentence as his fingers tightened on your neck. Instantly, the effect of it hit you. The lack of oxygen made your head swim in a sea of pleasure and the unrelenting desire to come. Through fluttering eyelids, you peeked up at him. The way he licked his lips and then clenched his jaw, the gorgeous shape of his collarbones and shoulders – you sometimes wondered if he was even real. Every so often he loosened his grip on you. When he did, you took gulps of air and then instantly whined for him to choke you again.

“Let go for me,” he said. “Show me your pretty face when I make you come. I’m fucking you well, aren’t I?”

You nodded as well as you could when he was gripping your throat and you couldn’t breathe properly at the moment. It didn’t matter you couldn’t talk. He was probably not expecting you to answer, either way. In a pleasure-induced trance, you closed your eyes and let it happen, like he had asked it from you. Your hazy consciousness barely registered that he was reaching his high with you. Too overcome were you, with your thighs trembling uncontrollably and your back arching off the mattress. He had let go of your neck and was riding out his own orgasm with sloppy thrusts that only sent you into another frenzy and had you whimpering his name softly. When he had finished too, he slowed down and pulled you into a gentle kiss, rubbing his nose against yours sweetly.

“That was amazing,” he said, and with a blissful hum you nodded. Your lips changed into a pout when he rolled off you and got up. You were tired of sending him back home so quickly. As he discarded the condom in the bin, you put on your most enchanting eyes, so he would have no other choice.

“Stay a little longer, please,” you asked. You knew he wanted to, as well. So although he was aware that your brother could return at any moment, he tumbled back into bed with you.

“Just for a little while,” he said. “Mhm…you’re so perfect to cuddle, baby.” His embrace was warm and his scent comforting, as he hummed a lovely melody. The soft touch of his fingers running through your hair lulled you right into a light sleep. You were awoken rather abruptly, and with half a heart attack.

“Hey Y/N, have you seen my charger- “ your brother’s voice suddenly broke through the silence and you wondered if you would have to pack up and leave the country after this sort of embarrassment.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you said, knowing well enough it was the dumbest thing you could have said. But who could blame you? You had only woken up two seconds ago.

“Really?” your brother asked. “Because I hear H/N sneak into our house so often lately, I’m starting to wonder if his parents threw him out.”

His tone was surprisingly calm.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you,” H/N said to your brother. “I thought you’d hate me and that we’d be over as friends.”

“I know I told you once to leave Y/N alone. But now…I guess it’s cool. She’s been in a great mood lately, and if that’s thanks to you, I think I can approve of you two. Although I’m not looking forward to being a third wheel, I think I can get used to it if I try hard enough,” your brother said. You couldn’t believe your ears, and involuntarily smiled like a fool. No more hiding. No more secrets.

“I stole your charger. I’m sorry,” you said then, making your brother roll his eyes. “It’s by the sofa in the living room.”

“Great. I needed a reason to leave anyway,” your brother said. “I might approve of you, but this situation is still too awkward. I’ll see you tomorrow, then, H/N?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” the boy in your bed said.

“You’ll see me too!” you added as a joke, as your brother already walked away from the door.

“Unfortunately I will!” your brother shouted, with the unnerving tone only a big brother could possibly muster.

[pattysplaceofplaces]

Could you do mythical reader x Yandere Momo

Potted Plant

Yan Momo x Mythical Reader 

[Author’s Note: Reader is gn since I wasn’t given a specific gender

Also you didn’t specify if you wanted a hc or a drabble, please be more specific next time 

You didn’t specify what kind of mythical creature so I decided to have a little fun with this. I wasn’t expecting to get my first request so soon but it’s exciting! I hope it is liked!]

Tw: Yandere behavior, abduction.

     The outsiders made it and it was everything they dreamed about. Looking at dirtied photos, postcards, and murals were no more. They could feel the breeze, the sunshine on their frames, and see four legged creatures big and small hide in the overgrown greenery. There was always something new to find in every expedition.

Then they found you, with vines like hair and little stems and flowers that bloomed from a layer of your body. They were curious about you and you were curious about them. 

You allowed Doc to do some research on you which helped you figure out more about your own species. You were some a descendant of some sort of carnivorous plant although by the time your species most likely finished evolution humans were already long gone and the bots hidden away. You were grateful for the “Outsiders” as they called themselves. Your favorite had to be Clementine, she already had a vast knowledge of plant life which you were grateful for. Zbaltzar was someone you could go to when Clementine was too much. He enjoyed meditating and self reflection as much as you did, especially when both of you could get outside and soak up some sunlight. 

Then there was Momo: Peculiar, but in an endearing way. He was very colorful like the flowers that bloomed on your skin and vines. He was awkward and always fidgeting with his hands which was something you didn’t think bots could do but it was cute. Because you hung out with the Outsiders frequently you also hung out with him. Conversations between the two of you felt forced but you didn’t want to leave him out of the conversation! 

Then those awkward silences and small talk seemed to melt away. Momo always found ways to make you laugh. While you lounged in a small pond he’d be sitting at the edge talking with you. Soon enough you two began hanging out together without the others, usually with him leaving the slums. You didn’t favor a place without sunlight. Yet he never seemed to mind, as a species of plant origin you were very difficult when it came to your conditions. It was so easy for you to wilt, dehydrate, freeze, and overheat. Momo never seemed to get annoyed about how firm you were about never going down to the slums. There was always a kindness behind his words. Who could have known of his true nature.

And now you were here: locked away in his dingy house with barely any sunlight. When he confessed to you, you should have pitied him and accepted his confession. Maybe you should have ran the first instant you saw the bots. You hated it here. You hated the harsh neon lights, the cold air, the damp smell, and the artificial light. The ends of your vines were fading in color as well curling in on themselves and the flowers that were once so healthy were wilted with petals littering the floor. You body must have been in sync with your mind because large thorns took the place of the flowers you once had. Yet they weren’t strong enough to puncture through metal.  

You sat next to the window, soaking up as much light as you could. You hated this. You hated how Momo acted. When he abducted you there was no sort of sympathy, not when he yanked you back to him by your vines and threw you so harshly in his flat. Only to then be the sweet Momo you knew just a couple of hours later. He manipulated you into feeling bad that you were a hostage. Whether he meant it or not didn’t matter. You couldn’t handle him being your only source of social interaction.

You thought maybe if you played along, pretended you loved him he would let you outside but he only shook his head. It made sense you supposed, you were missing with almost all the outsiders unknowing of your whereabouts. So if you were to show up again out of nowhere it would be suspicious. 

You could never forgive Momo.

You jumped back in alarm when you heard a quiet thump against the window. Were you seeing things? You had to be. You rubbed your eyes yet the orange tabby was still there, its emerald eyes glistened with an intelligence you’ve never seen in a four legged creature.

With haste you stood up and looked around frantically. Momo could be back at anytime you needed to be quick. You wouldn’t be able to escape through the window but maybe you could send a signal. You needed to be careful, you couldn’t break the window because if Momo came home and saw that the restrictions would worsen. 

Once you found a piece of paper and a pencil you began to write. 

‘SEND HELP TO MOMOS APARTMENT IM TRAPPED HERE’ 

As you went to sign your name you heard the front door creak open. Your body moved on it’s own without any recognition from your mind. You slipped the paper through the cracked window and watched the cat sprint off with the note securely in its mouth. 

The little kitty was your last hope. 

[wallflowerimagines]

I love your writing so much, it's very great! Anyways, can you make one with the lords with a s/o who can see ghosts, but everytime they see one they tensed up ? Thanks alot! <3 <3 <3

In a horror game???? With a horror villain s/o?????

Anon, you are so brave 😔✊ let's get spooky.

Alcina Dimitrescu

There are SO many ghosts in Castle Dimitrescu. And they're all so LOUD.

The majority seem to be victims of House Dimitrescu. All of them drift through the air, drained and skeletal, eyes sightless, and they just wail non stop. The wailing itself is actually kind of a lower volume, but because there are so many ghosts around, the sound layers and echoes through the space until you can barely hear yourself think.

They remind you of jellyfish in a way. They just aimlessly drift through the air, clothes billowing around them, sliding through the walls. Constantly screaming.

You actually prefer the ghosts of the victims of the Cadou experiments. They might be horrible, shuffling abominations of flesh and oozing blood, but at least they're quiet.

Alcina notices you flinch without any kind of visible stimulus, and immediately gets suspicious. She pulls you into a room and demands an explanation of your behavior.

If there is a problem, she's going to fix it.

When you tell her about the ghosts, her lips press into a fine line. You mean to tell her that these worthless wastes of space are crowding her halls, polluting her home even after their death?

They dare to not only crowd the noble house of Dimitrescu under her nose for years, but they're bothering you while they do it?

Yeah, Alcina is Furious.

She gets a couple exorcists on Retainer. Every month or so, priests of various religions are paraded through the house and cleanse the place from top to bottom. She has you follow them around and check their work, too. If any of them happen to be charlatans, they'll just join the horde of ghosts. No skin off her nose.

It is a little annoying that she has to hire even more people to clean up the mess in her Castle, but Alcina is a highborn lady. Any kind of clutter (living or dead) is unacceptable. Her home should be pristine.

Besides, her favorite reward is seeing you fall asleep in her arms, entirely peaceful. You had been so obviously stressed by the situation. It's such a relief to have you relaxed and calm once again.

Donna Beneviento

When Donna finds out you can see ghosts, she gets a bit ...manic.

This is a woman who lost her entire family, and is unable to deal with grief in a healthy way. She's constantly in mourning garb, and her veil rarely comes off. Hell, her grief was the catalyst for her current hobby-- which is what turned it into a hyperfixation.

I'm not going to lie to you, this revelation puts your relationship on pause. She's going to use you to get what she wants, and she wants her family back.

Donna pulls out all the family photo albums and portraits. She coaches you on her mother's laugh, her father's focused expression. She gets the projector and plays you home movies to show you how they walk and talk. Anything she can show you to help identify the ghosts of her family, she does it.

If you tense up, Donna gets so excited. Is it someone she knew? Her sister, maybe?

Unfortunately, most of the ghosts around are Donna's victims. They huddle in the corners of her home, rocking back and forth in terror, clawing at the walls in a futile attempt to escape whatever horror they've been eternally trapped in.

Sometimes, at night, you hear soft whimpers and scratches at your door...

If there is a ghost that isn't a member of her family around, Donna gets frustrated with it. She will banish any ghost that isn't a member of her family, or a member of the previous staff that could help them in the afterlife.

Eventually you need to sit her down and have a serious conversation with her. You're not something she can use to connect to her family. You might be willing to help, but all she's done lately is treat you like an object, not a partner. It has to stop.

It's the wake up call Donna needs. You both hold each other and cry for a long time, because the last thing she ever wanted to do is hurt you, but... She misses them. So much.

You still look for their ghosts for her, still tense in the hallway, but Donna stops asking you to describe them to her. She trusts you to tell her if they look familiar now. She can be patient.

Salvatore Moreau

Fish man might have been a doctor once, but he is a Small Town Doctor from a small fishing Hamlet. I don't care how much "logic" and "reason" you might think he has. This man is SUPER-fucking-STICIOUS.

Salt over your shoulder, four leaf clover carrying, fear of curse having man DOES NOT LIKE the idea of being haunted.

The ghosts of the reservoir are extra spooky too. Some of them are mid-mutation from the failed Cadou experiments...But the drowning victims are more common.

There aren't many ghosts around, but when they do appear, they're bloated, skin slipping off their bones, clothes dissolving around them as they glide through the air. They move much slower than other ghosts too, like the fact that they died in the water has permanently trapped them in that state.

If you tense up out of nowhere, Moreau does too.

What did you see?? Are they close?? Do they look bound to an object??

Salvatore will turn into his giant fish form and yeet anything that you might feel to be haunted over the mountain range. He takes no chances with that shit.

You two both are regular customers of the Duke's specifically for new exorcism methods. The Duke doesn't scam you guys either-- he provides candles, scriptures, holy water, perfumes, all of it works to keep the spirits at bay.

You and Moreau will walk around the reservoir, on guard for any hauntings, and clean up any area that might possibly have a ghost attached to it. It's a incredibly weird and very niche bonding experience.

By the end of the day, the reservoir is the least haunted place in the whole Village. Just how you and Salvatore like it.

Karl Heisenberg

Eat my ass, spirits

Heisenberg is not afraid of ghosts. He actually makes fun of you a little bit for even believing in them, until he sees you tense up out of the blue.

He trusts you enough to know you're not lying to him, so he knows that you are seeing something. He just doesn't know if they're really ghosts.

There aren't as many ghosts in the factory as there are at the Castle, but there is still quite a few.

A lot of them are missing limbs, unsurprisingly. They gasp and scramble around, eyes (if they are even there) bulging out of rotting faces as they scan the surrounding area for their missing pieces. They scuttle around like spiders up and through the walls, poking their heads into random rooms and constantly searching for something, anything to make them whole.

The worst thing about them is that they ALL scream when they see Heisenberg. It's not even a wail like from a normal ghost-- this is a full on shriek of rage and grief. They know who he is. They know what he's done. And they can't do anything about it.

Is it any wonder that you tense up all the time?

After you describe the ghosts in more detail to your partner, Heisenberg sets his jaw, gets pissed, and finds a way to exorcise the lot of them. While he can't see them, you can, and they might make you think less of him. He can't have that.

Plus, they're obviously bothering you. Karl does not tolerate some dumb spirits harassing his partner. If he has to nail a couple crucifixes to the wall and get a spray bottle of holy water, he will.

He also sees if he can kill his victims in an isolated section of the factory. Maybe having one specific room might limit the range on these things? It also makes for easier clean up.

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

© banqdanfnfic 2021, all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[amor-immortalem]

Replaced

Genre: Heavy Angst, Angst with a somewhat happy ending.

Warning: The following piece is my take on the replaced! au with Arella. Dark themes lie ahead. If you are triggered by feelings of abandonment, suicidal ideation, or outright suicide, this mini fic is not safe for you to read. Please continue at your own discretion.

A/N: I did it guys! I actually managed to break myself with this mini fic by digging into my own abandonment issues. It was fun- cathartic almost. Please enjoy! Also, spoilers for the lesson 16 incident.

What does it feel like to be replaced? If you were to ask Arella, she’d say it felt bitter and painful. Like someone was holding a white-hot branding iron to her stomach and pushing it in to the point it ate through all the layers of her skin and was now searing through her stomach or like someone was rubbing salt into a open, festering wound.

When Diavolo had announced to the other student council officers that a new exchange student would be joining their ranks, Arella was excited- especially when she found out the new student was a female- there was only so much Arella could talk about in a house full of men and one genderless individual that they would understand, all of them having been assigned male at birth and whatnot. So, another woman among their ranks would be a breath of fresh air for her. And it was for a time being- until the brothers had taken favor to this new human.

It started within months of this new exchange student arriving. One by one, her favorite demons started hanging around her more often. It wasn't like Arella could be mad at them. This human was novel and oh so different from Arella. She was everything Arella was not, from her blonde hair to her well-developed body- even her height, which matched closer to the brothers. She was everything human world media told a girl she should be. She even looked like she fit in with them- having taken to the Devildom like a duck to water even without being able to use magic.

Arella wants to be angry with this girl, but she can’t. This girl, named Melissa, was so sweet it was almost enough to make Arella sick. She was smart, innocent, and -above all else- selfless. It was apparent the boys adored her immediately. One by one, Arella was losing them to the charms of this new girl. The first to go was Satan, clearly smitten by her love of books and knowledge of obscure but very talented authors. The second to go was Asmo, often taking her out to clubs or on long shopping trips that often lasted well past curfew. And just like that the other brothers started to follow suit. Game nights between her and Levi? Gone. Drawing up budgets with Lucifer? Not anymore. Going out with Beel to cafes? Not in her wildest dreams. Naptimes up in the attic with Belphie? Hah! Fat chance. The last and most painful to pull away was Mammon- her first man. The one who swore he would always be there for her when she needed him. And oh how she needed him.

Just like when Arella had first come to the Devildom, Mammon was given the task of watching over Melissa by Lucifer. At first Arella tried to justify it as Lucifer worrying about the girl’s safety as even though his brothers had gotten better at controlling themselves, they still had their moments.

As time went on however, she started to notice the little things. Missed movie nights between them, date nights often forgotten about in favor of showing Melissa his favorite spots around the city, the loss of any physical intimacy. Soon, he stopped seeing her all together. Things that she and Mammon did together were now reserved for Melissa: casino trips, movie nights, pranks on Lucifer that would have the eldest chasing after them, running around the city until it was nearly what could considered to be the Devildom’s equivalent of dawn. She knew he was completely gone when she walked down to the dining room for supper one evening and overheard them just casually flirting. Mammon didn’t even make any attempts to dissuade Melissa’s advances. He remembered he actually had a girlfriend, right? Right?!

Or were they even a thing anymore? It had been months since they’d spent any substantial time together outside of classes and even then, he’d moved seats to sit closer to the new human. He’d either ignore her texts or straight up just ghost her altogether. As she listened to them, she had to push down the possessive tendencies that tried to force their way out of her. She pushed them back down into the flimsily locked box they had always been contained in and burying them down in the deepest parts of her mind, forcing herself to accept that she was no longer wanted- no longer loved by the family she thought she’d found. She returned to her room for the rest of the night and for the first time since the initial weeks after arriving here on her first visit, cried herself to sleep.

The next time she interacted with any of the Avatars, it was Lucifer ordering her off to school telling her that she had better not be late and tarnish the good name Lord Diavolo and the exchange programme. Arella only nodded and promptly left the house, not even bothering to finish her morning cup of tea. The walk to school was lonely, Mammon had left earlier with Melissa and it was then, with a broken heart, Arella decided she would leave them all to their new toy. They wouldn’t bother her. They didn’t need her. At least she had Solomon and the angels, didn’t she? No, it didn’t seem to be the case either judging by the mass of unanswered texts.

As she entered class, Arella took her usual seat only hoping Mammon would choose to sit with her for once, would just choose her for once in general. But it wasn’t meant to be. Of course, it wouldn’t. Why would he bother to choose her when there was someone who was much better for him than her? Someone who wasn’t selfish or possessive or... or... worthless... She subtilty looked over her shoulder to watch as they cracked jokes and laughed together and she felt tears pool in her eyes- heart aching at the thought that she would never have that again and the sweet memories she’d made with the demon. The spot she once saved for him was now taken by another demon.

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Two months more of this- it had been eleven since Melissa joined them. None of the brothers even looked Arella’s way anymore- often forgetting she lived in the house with them in the first place. When she tried to reach out to any of them it was Melissa needs this or Melissa and I are doing this, so she just stopped. She stopped eating, stopped taking care of herself save for basic hygiene needs. No one came to check on her. There were no texts, no calls, nothing. They’d gotten all they wanted out of her and now she was like a cast aside doll. She thought about reaching out to any of them but decided against it. They were demons and she was just an insignificant human. It's not like they actually cared and Arella was a fool for allowing herself to entertain the thought.

She should just go home. But where was home? The human world held nothing for her to return to. Sure, she had that degree in biochemical engineering to fall back on but after having a taste of true happiness, would she even enjoy a life doing that? Maybe she could just go back to her original plan. The plan she had made when she first signed on to the exchange programme. 23 years was certainly long enough to experience everything life had to offer, right? She always did tell herself if the year on the exchange programme didn’t work out, she’d end it all. The idea was sounding more and more appealing by the minute.

With her mind made up, Arella swung her legs over the side of the bed. A smile was painted on her face. Her cheeks stained with tears; emerald-green eyes bleary from all the crying she’d done over the past two months. No one would miss her. They left her- abandoned for the better human like she was an unwanted pet. What did she expect though? No one ever stayed. No one ever cared. No one ever loved her enough to begin with. She was always thrown away like the trash she was after her purpose was fulfilled.

With what little strength she could muster, Arella stood as she uttered a spell and a portal opened. She gladly stepped through it, finding herself in her childhood home as it closed- a place filled with nothing but suffering and pain for her. What a fitting place for her own painful end.

“Hello, Mum, Myles... I’m... home... Isn’t it lovely... that you were right after all? I’ll be with you... soon...”

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Missing his call on her D.D.D. was the first thing that Mammon noticed. He knew he hadn’t been the best boyfriend ever since the new human arrived and the demon felt guilty for that. He’d put so much energy into helping Melissa get a date with his younger brother that he hadn’t realized how much time had actually passed- how it had been almost a year since he’d done literally anything with his girlfriend. She was probably pissed at him and rightfully so. Now that he had actually looked at his calendar, there had been so many planned dates and movie nights he had missed with her and all he wanted to do was make it up to her somehow. She probably thought he didn’t want her anymore which couldn’t have been further from the truth. He missed her- missed hanging out with her, missed the dumb jokes they would crack and the laughter that followed, missed the pranks they would play on Lucifer that often ended up with them strung up from the ceiling together. He missed the late-night cuddles and having her tucked up under his arm at night as he held her close. The bed they had once shared was considerably colder now that she was no longer there.

Mammon made his way down to her room. That was the only place she could be. Arella never left her room anymore. She always left for school earlier than anyone else too, choosing to skip breakfast outright, so Mammon couldn’t even catch her to talk then. He thought about reclaiming his seat next to his human but every morning he found her chatting up another demon that had taken his old seat. He often felt his possessiveness spike most during those times but did he even have the right to feel that way after neglecting her for the past eleven months?

As he drew closer to her room, he could see Beel knocking at her door, asking if she’d like to go visit that new café she had mentioned a couple weeks ago. When there was no answer, the Avatar of Gluttony would frown, unsure if she was just asleep or just actively ignoring him. That was the second sign something was wrong. No matter what happened, at the end of the day, Arella was always happy to entertain their whims.

“She’s not answerin’ ya, is she?” The second-born asks as the sixth-born shakes his head, looking like an abandoned puppy on the side of the road. “I’ll go in ‘n see if she’s awake. I have to talk to ‘er anyway.”

Beelzebub nodded as he left back to the kitchen- likely to eat his hurt feelings away. None of them really had the right to feel this way after they’d just ghosted their favorite human though. As he opened the door, Mammon stopped dead in his tracks. She wasn’t there, her phone lay on the bed lit up with missed texts from Asmo and Levi.

Immediately, he took off for Lucifer’s study. If anyone would know her whereabouts it would be Lucifer, right? The family patriarch had the uncanny ability to know exactly where every resident of the House of Lamentation was at any given time so long as they were still in the Devildom.

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

After considering her options, Arella was left indecisive. There were a number of ways she could end her own life. She wouldn’t lie, before the exchange programme she would fantasize about the many ways she could kill herself. Would it be by hanging like she found Myles? Or perhaps she could slit her wrists like her beloved mother. If the car in the garage still worked, carbon monoxide poisoning was a valid option too. There were sleeping pills up in the medicine cabinet- a large handful of those would definitely do the trick... Ah choices, choices. As she smiled to herself, the human wondered if any of the brothers had noticed she wasn’t in the house anymore. The chances were unlikely as they were all too busy with their new human but if they had, who was it?

Would it be Asmo, Levi, Belphegor? Surely, it wouldn’t have been Mammon. He’d long since moved on, probably enjoying the start of a new relationship with Melissa. It hurt that he couldn’t have been bothered to even break up with Arella in the first place. What happened to forever? Had it all been the honeyed words of a liar?

She shook her head. It was best not to think too much on it but she still couldn’t help it. Once she was gone- once their pact faded away- would he regret this? Would he regret losing the person who loved him so unconditionally that it was almost embarrassing?

With her mind made up, Arella grabbed a knife from one of the drawers in the kitchen and carried herself up to the master bedroom where she had found her mother four years prior. As she lie on the bed, she pressed the knife to her wrist deep enough to cause substantial bleeding. She drags the blade up her arm, watching as the crimson liquid gushed from the from the wound. She thinks it’s beautiful- a fitting end for a vile creature such as herself.

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“Lucifer!”

“What, Mammon?” The eldest didn’t even bother to look up from the ever-growing stack of paperwork on his desk.

“Did Arella have plans tonight?” The Avatar of Greed asks as his brother finally looks up at him.

“Not that I’m aware of, but I also haven’t seen her all day. As her mate, you should know, shouldn’t you? As far as I’m aware, Arella hasn’t left the house and is still in her room probably practicing her mag-”

In that moment, both demons felt a sharp pain shoot up their arm as if someone had taken a knife and was drawing a line up the inside of their arm. The same pain was radiating from the places where their pact marks were located. Mammon clutched at his chest as he fell to his knees, the symbol representing his girlfriend radiating with pain that reached down to his heart. If the screams of the others were anything to go by, they felt the same thing.

“She’s not in her room!” The white-hair demon manages to gasp out. What scares him most is that he can feel their pact fading away.

Lucifer’s heart leapt up in his throat as the realization hit him. It wasn’t her practicing magic that he had sensed earlier, it was her casting a spell. She opened a portal to the human world and had gone through. He now realizes the mistake they’ve made as he remembers back to the confession she had made to him over a year ago one night when neither of them could sleep and opted for a late-night cup of tea. She had told him that he and his brothers had saved her life that first year during the exchange programme. That if things hadn’t worked out so well, she had planned to take her own life. Back then, he thought nothing much of it since the problem had resolved itself. But with how they had essentially pushed her aside in favor of Melissa, she would have felt unwanted bringing the suicidal thoughts back full force. They had to get to her and fast before it was too late.

Always fast on his feet the eldest, opens a portal of his own, knowing of only one place she would go to take her own life. Both brothers would hop through, landing in the dusty house with a thud. The smell hit them faster than either of them could process it. Blood. And a lot of it at that.

Mammon was the first to scramble for the stairs while Lucifer made a break for the phone, having forgotten his D.D.D. on his desk in the rush to get through the portal. The second-born knows the layout of Arella's house too well, having been here with her multiple times before this. Back in better times when she knew just how much he loved her. As the smell of fresh blood grows stronger, he finds her resting on the bed, a smile on her face as the knife lay between her body and the arm that was still slowly losing blood.

Faster than a flash of lightning, the demon tore his belt off and was on the bed immediately. He took her arm, fastening his belt around the upper part in a tourniquet to stop the blood flow. He shook her frantically, tears spilling down his face freely.

“Arella! Arella! C'mon, baby, wake up! Please!” His voice came out in a scream and he could only vaguely hear his brother speaking on the phone with emergency services. “We’re sorry! Don’t leave us! Don’t leave me!”

With every passing second, Mammon could feel her life slipping away through the pact that was still searing his heart. This was the price of his actions- of all their actions. Her blood was on his hands, literally. He should have done more. He should have been there. He could have called or texted or even just picked up the damn phone when she had called him, but instead just like the blood that had slipped from her arm, the Avatar of Greed let her slip through his fingers. She was gone and there was no bringing his human back this time like they had when Belphie threw her body down the stairs after he’d strangle her to death. He and his brothers had spent all that time protecting her from other demons but they couldn’t protect her from themselves.

Once the EMT’s got there, the demon stepped back from the blood-soaked bed in a state of shock- a state of disbelief. There was nothing they could do for her now. She had no pulse, no signs of life. He dropped to his knees unable to believe that his human was truly gone. His throat felt tight as more tears came. He was only just able to register the feeling of the Avatar of Pride’s embrace as they cried together- something they hadn’t done since the fall, since Lilith passed.

The two demons were informed that the coroner would arrive to collect her body shortly as they left the room. Slowly they got up, Mammon taking her body in his arms as he fought back the urge to sob. The pair returned to the House of Lamentation with Arella’s body in tow, cradled carefully in her mate’s arms. As they stepped through, they were met by their brothers and Melissa. Even the Angels, Solomon, and the Royals were there waiting.

“She’s gone,” The eldest’s voice cracked as a pained grimace formed on his face, more tears slipping down his face. Mammon couldn’t even lift his head to look them in the eyes as the crying, wailing, sobbing started.

“We didn’t deserve ‘er.” The second-born chokes on his tears, feeling utterly broken inside. “We did this to ‘er. All... All seven of us did this... She reached out to alla us ‘n we ignored ‘er.” He’s the angriest with himself.

The prince and his butler only watch on, tears in their eyes. Diavolo remembers all the good times they’ve had with Arella. The way she made the lives of the Avatars better, the fun she brought to the student council meetings, the beautiful light she’d brought to the Devildom. She’d made such an impact on the lives of all of these demons and angels. As selfish as it was, Diavolo didn’t want to let any of that go.

“Bring her back, Barbatos.” He orders and his loyal servant steps forward.

“Place her on the ground, Mammon.” Barbatos says calmly, almost as if he’s done this a thousand times and for some reason the Avatar of Greed obeys the order.

Once she’s on the ground, the green-haired demon pulls open her mouth and takes Mammon’s hand in his, producing a dagger and slicing the white-haired demon’s palm tipping it to side and allows the blood to drop into Arella’s mouth. As the crimson liquid flows down her throat, the effect is immediate- Arella's body convulsing violently before she gasps for breath as the gash along the inside of her arm heals.

Everyone- demons, angels, and humans alike- stare wide-eyed at the scene. Lucifer looks up to his longtime friend in disbelief. He had just...

“Let this teach you all a very painful lesson. I’ve given her life as a demon, do not take this chance for granted. You will not get it again. She needs rest for now, but in a day or two, Arella will reawaken.” The prince’s voice is stern as he peers down at the former human who would now become a very powerful demon. “Treat her right this time.”

It’s with that that Diavolo and Barbatos take their leave. The rest was up to the brothers now to care for her and right the wrongs they’ve made.

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Next

The Bad Ending

Find more on my masterlist

[a-humbletoymaker]

The First Half has been completed

[ID START: a picture of 9 crochet plushies leaning up against a tree. END ID]

I have finally completed the first phase of my @hellofromthehallowoods dolls, and am super excited to talk about them! beware, however, as this post will inevitably be long. So long in fact, that I actually logged into this godforsaken website rather than use the app, so I could properly type.

[ID START: a photo of one of the dolls from the above photograph. The doll is of a white girl with brown buzz cut hair. She has brown eyes and wears a red tank top with a black jacket. Her Jeans are blue, and her shoes are black. END ID]

Riot was my first doll, which also means she's my least favorite. This was a doll that made many firsts for me, including crocheting pants, and not rooting the hair of the doll. Given my affinity for doll hair, she just never felt complete too me. She also just seemed incredibly bulky due to all of the layers of yarn blanketing her. It makes her rather stiff. That said, I did learn a lot while making her that you'll see through the rest of the first half.

{ID START: another photograph of a doll from the above image. She is a black girl, with black hair, eyes, and glasses. She wears a dress with a salmon top, and neon pink skirt. It has a teal bow around the waist with a pale yellow center. She wears yellow leggings and teal boots. END ID]

Naturally, Clara came next. I still think she's my favorite of the first phase of dolls. I knew from the start that she wore a dress; although, I had pictured her in something more... calm? regardless, I was doing a huge deep dive into J-fashon at the time, and it likely seeped a bit into my work. I have no regrets. She's adorable! Also she got to be the first doll I've ever embroidered glasses on to!

[ID START: a photo of another doll from the top photo. This one is white with black hair pulled back into two braids. She wears a plain, sparkly blue dress, with matching shoes. END ID]

Did I buy this blue yarn specifically to make this doll? Yes. Do I have any regrets? nope. I based this design loosely on Wednesday Adams, because Friday just frankly gives me those vibes. Her design is quite simple, but I do love how her and Clara look when next too each other.

[ID START: another photo of one of the dolls. This time the doll hangs from a tree, They have choppy black hair, and a patchwork of different skin tones stitched to their body, with pink thread. they have pale eyes, a white shirt, black jacket, and blue jeans. END ID]

Diggory Graves was a challenge to design. A known hill I will die on is that they wear a plague doctor mask; however, I knew I'd have a hard time showcasing their skin if I gave them one. Design wise, I like the stitches, so I originally sewed a plague doctor mask to the side of the head, as I had seen that done with creepy pasta fanart in the past.It didn't look as good in a 3D space as it had in 2D, so I ended up getting rid of it all together. Make no mistake however, this character absolutely wears a plague doctor mask.

[ID START: another photo of one of the dolls. This one has light blue skin, and takers off where the feet should be, to a small crochet paint cord. He has mess dark blue hair, black a blue dress shirt, and a purple vest on top. END ID]

Percy went through a few designs before I settled on one I liked. I have an incredibly hard time doing short hair, and somewhat wanted to choose a design that would allow that to be a feature rather than a flaw. At the end of the day, I just ended up sort of going for it. I had purposefully made Diggory's hair choppy, so why couldn't I do Percy's the same? He did cut both of their hair at some point.

[ID START: another picture of a doll. This one has white skin, puffy blue hair, a light blue jacket under a sparking blue cape. They have a white shirt with black pants and blue shoes. Their eyes are also blue. END ID]

I adore Olivier so much. Just, I would die for them. I had wanted to make them using a mid tone between the two tones you've seen me use throughout this post, but my dog decided that that yarn was his actually (aka he tore it up and had it all over the house.) Living in the woods, while also being blind and thus unable to drive, does sadly mean that I couldn't just go to my local craft store and pick some up; the show still had to go on. I wanted to link them with Friday by using the same yarn for her dress in their cape. I quite like how this one turned out.

[ID START: another picture of a crochet doll. This one has pale skin, black pants, a brown wing like cape, and a red shirt. They have a moth tattoo on their face, have red eyes and pale blonde hair. END ID]

Sadly, Moth is the first, and only time I've ever interacted with a character/ person who uses neopronouns. I'm still trying to get around how they work, and Hello From the Hallowoods is currently my only point of reference to that. I've always imagined Moth having albinism. I don't know why, but I didn't question it when designing the doll. I also went back and forth a lot about giving moth, moth's tattoo, and where it would go. I know its on moth's neck in the show, but the necks on these dolls are frankly way to small to attempt doing that.

[ID START: an image of a dark skinned crochet doll. She had black hair with flecks of red, orange and yellow throughout. She has matching dog ears and a matching tail. Her hair is pulled back into a messy braid. She wears a white tank top with khaki pants and black shoes. END ID]

Please know that I watched an entire 2 hour documentary about Oscar Wilde, and Spirited away, while rooting her hair, yet I still had time to catch up on a few other podcasts as well. She has so much hair. I may or may not have been crying, and my fingers hurt so bad. I probably should have decided to just give her black hair and save myself the pain, but I refuse to make anything easy for myself. I do not regret anything however, because I love how she turned out.

[ID START: another picture of a white, crochet doll. He has long, red and orange hair, that is curled, and is worn in a bony tail. He has red eyes and horns to match. He wears a silver suit, with pink pants and matching silver shoes, END ID]

I was originally going to make Polly before Yaretzi, but someone, who knows who they are, made that difficult. I'm trying to make these dolls as close to the cannon discriptions as I can, so I had to wait out the incident too make sure Polly was OK before making the doll. He was going to be much more pink than he is now, but midway through I decided actually I hated it, and started over in a very me fashion.

You may notice a lack of Mort. I did want to add him to this phase, but I haven't figured out how I wanted to actually go about writing a pattern for him. I adore that hunk of metal so, so much, but I already write my own patterns, and don't really know where to start with him. In all likeliness, he'll make up the final phase of this project. I also didn't post Dogsmell because I hated how he turned out; although he is still on my blog, and will be re-making him at some point.

Because I am going off to college here soon, and do not know what to expect, I have decided to take a break from this project before beginning the second phase. I want to work on other projects in the time being. Once I'm settled in I shall continue on with phase two!

For those wondering, phase two will include these characters in no particular order:

Lady Ethol Malory

Jonah Duckworth

Hector Mendoza

Burn Keene

Violet Keene

Zelda Duckworth

Al

The Omen

Winnona Rider