#but instead he lied about the reason the decision was made

[sassmill]

I can take malice. I can understand malice. Malice is obvious and has actual intention. What I cannot fucking stand is being uncomfortable with upsetting people and lying to your part-time employees and dumping the hard part on me after explicitly agreeing to break the bad news for me since it was YOU that handed down the decision that throws a bunch of hard work out the window and screws over our employees, NOT ME.

[foldingfittedsheets]

A basic human skill that people usually lock down around the age of three or four is impulse control. To conceptualize an action and it’s consequences before taking it. Maybe considering how that action affects other people. We then refine it through most of our childhood.

When I was a teenager my hold on this ability became… tenuous. I became a volatile and dangerous creature.

It’s probably not unique to me, but I had a perfect storm in terms of mental upsets. I had just mastered enough basic social skills, so I finally had a strong group of friends when my dad suddenly needed to move for work. Ripped away from my support network, blooming with hormones, I was dragged to Arizona. I was always a child of forests and mist and suddenly everything was hot, dry, and extremely pointy and aggressive.

Additionally to being abruptly transplanted I found myself an object of affection in a way I’d never been before. Lonely and desperate to make friends the only people who wanted to spend time with me had romantic designs. I just wanted to figure out my shit but I had a baby lesbian flirting with increasing aggression in art, a soft boy making heart eyes at me in biology, a senior nerd asking if I wanted to play Halo at his house and could he hold my hand?

Reader, I snapped. I didn’t want this romantic attention but I also didn’t want to be alone. My brain coped the only way it knew how, by simply cutting out decision making. Any action was the right action to take.

It started with the boy in biology. I’d stolen his pencil out of mischief and to my overwhelming fury instead of trying to steal it back he just softened his eyes and chucked me gently under my chin, a gesture so overtly sweet and romantic that I saw red.

I stabbed him with his own pencil.

I honestly and truly have no memory of it. It happened as fast as a snake striking and I was instantly filled with terrified remorse. Unfortunately that manifested as psychotic giggling.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I don’t know why- I’m so sorry!” I said, while hysterically laughing. I ended up having lodged some graphite in his palm and had to tweeze it out with my nails while apologizing furiously. (It’s very important to note here that he forgave me and we’re still friends)

That was weird, I thought. Why didn’t I think before I stabbed someone?

The next event was equally catastrophic, and I had even less reason to do it. In gym with two girls I was tentatively befriending, we were warming up running laps. I started racing one of them. At breakneck speed we were sprinting around the gym.

This time, there was a blip of thought before I fucked up. I should get the other girl! I have no idea why or what the plan was but I turned on a swivel and body checked the other girl. We both fell down in immense pain. I think that’s the moment I broke my tailbone. Her knees were horribly bruised and she looked at me in bewildered pain. “Why did you do that?!”

I had no idea. I apologized and helped her up, both of us hobbling like newborn horses, bruised and hurting.

By this time there’d been enough social upheavals that I was reduced to spending time with some girls I had nothing in common with and low key disliked. Sat at a table listening to this girl talk about how she wanted to be a stripper when she grew up I thought, You’d better put the cap on before you throw it.

I then chucked my empty water bottle directly at her face. It bounced off her forehead with a bop! that would have made a sound mixer weep at its perfection.

All eyes turned to me is startlement. I stared back at her, stunned by my own action, just as confused as everyone else at the table as to why I’d done that. One of the girls to my right said, “Were you trying to hit that fly?”

“Yes!” I lied, “I’m sorry, I thought I could hit the fly!”

Everyone laughed at my antics and I joined in rather than admit I had just chucked something at her for no reason.

Things did start to improve after that. I solidified a friendship with the girl I’d raced (who I developed a massive crush on and ten years later would go on to date). My outbursts turned more whimsical rather than aggressive. Like accosting a girl leaving the cafeteria to look deeply into her eyes and say with great compassion, “It’s going to be alright.”

My new friend and I snuck into the van that delivered our cafeterias baked goods and lay giggling in the back. When I’d impulsively hopped in she’d joined me and made it a game.

After a year in Arizona I broke down crying to my mother, an act of great desperation, and we ended up moving back home. My impulse control returned to normal teenage levels and life resumed in a happier state of mind.

[scientia-rex]

I feel like disappointment in Biden is baffling to me because he was always a disappointment. He was the asshole who got to ride to power on the coattails of a better man. He told bizarre and repeated lies (despite getting caught at it and his team telling him not to) about having a Welsh coal miner dad when he did not and he stole that story from actual Welsh people. I read a profile of him years back that pointed this out and told the story of the time he straight up ignored good advice from an expert not to plant a certain kind of tree too close together and flew a bunch of them out to plant, at night because he was just too fucking excited about it, and they all died. He’s not a smart man! He’s charismatic ish and lacks principles and as far as I can tell doesn’t really care about abortion rights or a lot of things we’d consider pretty critical to preserving freedom. I sincerely thought he couldn’t become President because there were so many obviously better candidates in the pool. I underestimated the sexism and antisemitism in American politics, and when he became the candidate in 2020 I gritted my teeth and voted for him because the alternative was a man who is not only an idiot but also profoundly dangerous. Trump is not ha-ha crazy, he’s Mussolini crazy. He is not dangerous because he’s stupid, although that doesn’t help; he’s dangerous because he does not care about anyone except himself under any circumstances and if that means he lets the far right push us straight into forced birth for white women and sterilization for women of color he’s going to do that. If that means conversion therapy for queers and death penalty for homosexual acts he’s going to do that. He has literally no limits. If he gets back into power, a whole lot of people are going to die, again. It’s not a hypothetical because it happened the first time and he’s only going to get worse.

I am not, never have been, and never will be a fan of Biden. To pretend that he and Trump are in any way equivalent is wrong at best and another goddamn Russian psy-op at worst. To pretend that a third party candidacy is viable in the US is to completely ignore every election of your lifetime and your parents’ lifetimes, and to further ignore the lesson of Ross Perot.

You cannot save Palestinians by not voting for Biden in November; the best you can do is chip away at his margin, and the worst you can do is see Trump elected so he can decide to do the worst possible thing in ever circumstance. Biden has Palestinian blood on his hands and watching this when we could have had Bernie or Elizabeth Warren instead is maddening. (I would have preferred Hillary to Trump, but I don’t think she’d be any different than Biden here. They’re both old-school politicians.)

I hate everything about this, and I hate that saying “maybe don’t put the man who literally said he would kill his political enemies in power” is seen as supporting genocide. It’s acknowledging reality. Joe Biden as a person can eat rocks for all I care. I was kind of hoping he’d die sooner in his term so we’d have time to get used to and then vote for President Harris. (Remember when the line was “she’s a cop, don’t vote for her”? Funny how there’s always a reason not to vote for a woman or a person of color or someone you just “don’t like” and can’t put a finger on why except she “seems angry.” Oh does she. How would she not? When Michelle fucking Obama, the picture of grace , STILL got called angry for having the nerve to be a Black woman with an opinion? When Hillary Clinton lost to a man with no political experience to her decades and who openly discussed sexually assaulting women? Would you have voted for President Harris? Or would you let Trump win again because you don’t LIKE her personally and she’s made decisions and statements you disagree with?)

Biden has both less power than his critics give him credit for and more power than his fans give him credit for. He needs to do more to pressure Israel and although it’s a delicate diplomatic situation I’d rather see us fuck up our diplomatic relationship with Israel than watch more Palestinians get murdered for things like “wanting to eat” and “existing.” The line has been crossed, and he doesn’t see it. Because he wasn’t the best person for the job. Because they didn’t get elected, because of sexism/antisemitism/racism. Hell, I have no idea what bootlicker Pete Buttegieg would have done here, but I’d have given him a try. But no. We got Biden and we’re stuck with this reality where you can be as leftist as you want and still have to look at the situation and decide whether you’re comfortable contributing to a Trump victory through inaction. I want socialism—I want every single person on Earth to have clean drinking water, enough safe food, shelter, medical care, and education—and I’m going to vote for Biden, pissy as it makes me, because the only actual alternative is so, so much worse, for me personally as both a woman and a queer, and for everyone in America and the rest of the world who Trump would find reasons to hurt. What do you think the man who openly and repeatedly praises dictators is going to do when those dictators massacre their own people? Yes, we need to care about this genocide now. We also need to care about all of the other people who are at real risk, both at home and abroad. Would a Trump government agree to fund military intervention in Haiti without insisting on it being a colonial exercise in power? Would a Trump government roll back the restrictions on discriminating against transgender patients in healthcare? How would Trump respond if Orban started dragging people into the streets and shooting them en masse? How would Trump respond if China finally went for it and invaded Taiwan? There are more lives at stake here than mine or yours or even those of the Palestinians, who have deserved better for literally decades and are being mass killed in ways that should result in immediate sanctions, a war crimes trial, and the execution of Netanyahu.

The world deserves better from you than complicity in a Trump victory.

[utilitycaster]

I really like Taliesin elaborating on the inspiration from the 90s LA punk scene, in which he said a lot of the people he knew were just people looking for hope in a world that has been incredibly unfair to them. It's a very empathetic view towards people who, as he said, often are dealing with injustice and disadvantages.

He also mentions that many of these punks were dealing with drug and alcohol problems (and while he did not want that to be central to Ashton's character and wanted to focus instead on chronic pain for a number of reasons, including personal, Ashton definitely relies on alcohol for palliative reasons). More generally, we see Ashton look for hope and answers in a lot of places that end up being extremely incorrect. The most obvious one is with the shard of Rau'shan, which, after multiple people advised them against taking it with very clear warnings, they decided to still attempt to absorb, with nearly-fatal results; but there were flashes of this with their earlier cynicism towards Eshteross vs. a much more begrudging acceptance of the transactional worldview of Ratanish or Jiana Hexum.

Ashton often places his own pain in a position of honor, and in doing so can discount that of other people. He's been remarkably unlucky, to be clear; I think that's part of it. We as the audience know that their statement that no one in that room has felt helpless in their lives is demonstrably false about pretty much all of Vox Machina and their allies, as well as the Bright Queen. He says Keyleth maybe does know, not realizing that of Keyleth and Vex, one has been a homeless runaway rather like himself, and it's not the one he's saying knows helplessness. In a way, to hold on to that hope, they find themselves telling themselves a lot of lies because otherwise they have to face the truth that their suffering did not make them more qualified or better; it was just unfair and it might still keep happening. He blames the gods because then at least there's a reason and not just absolutely random chance that he was born to a self-important cultist, happened to survive a long-shot ill-advised ritual and wake up in the desert of another continent, happened to be the one thrown out the window of Hexum Manor, and happened to be saved with a Potion of Possibility. To be clear, they've since made a name for themself on their own merits, but a lot of who they are, both in terms of the traumatic and difficult elements and in terms of what now makes them special was dumb luck, good or bad.

For Ashton, for those LA punks Taliesin knew, for the Vanguard and for Ludinus and for countless people in Exandria and in our actual world, a lot of grasping for hope becomes grasping for a meaning for pain and suffering. I'd argue that this is a pretty major theme Taliesin explores with all his characters. However, just because the pain is real doesn't mean the conclusions one comes to as a result of it are inviolate and above reproach. It is possible to have extremely valid pain and trauma and to be incredibly wrong about its source or what it means, or to deal with it in ways that will either make it worse or that will inflict pain, even inadvertently, on others. And I think the theme of the campaign is very much that; what happens when someone either chooses to or must let the decisions they made to deal with a moment - or a life - of pain be writ large on both themselves and the world?

[illyrianbitch]

-ˋˏ MASTERLIST ˎˊ-

✨ indicates smut ♡ indicates a series ✰ indicates a one shot ↯ installment of series but can be read as stand-alone ☼ indicates a drabble ❥ are personal favorites last updated: 9/13/24 helpful links for palestinian aid

Azriel

♡ . —One Summer✨ (On-going)

One beach house, one festival, one summer to fall in love.

♡ . —An Education in Malice✨ (On-going)

With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

♡ . — The Anatomy of Dependence (Coming soon)

You and Azriel are drawn together by an unbreakable bond, encountering obstacles and triumphs across the centuries and finding your way back to each other again and again.

✰. —Death and His Reaper ❥

After suffering a devastating injury in battle, Azriel finds himself on the brink of life and death where he meets you, The Mother's reaper.

↯. — Back to Our Roots

With the Acheron sisters out of town, you and your family plan for a quiet night in— just like old times.

✰. —Where I Left My Lover

After a brush with death, Azriel makes a difficult decision to protect you.

✰. —What We Make of What We're Made

When Azriel overhears Feyre's concern about your transition to fae life, he agrees to check on you.

✰. —When the Heart is Still Longing ❥

Azriel thought you were the one. Now, he can’t move on

✰. —Pretty Little Shadowsinger

Cassian walks in on you dressing Az in one of your dresses.

✰. —An Evening Reunion

Azriel comes home from a mission. You talk to him about your day, but he’s far more interested in you—and your silk nightgown.

✰. —Memories

While packing some boxes, Azriel is overwhelmed by memories of your relationship.

✰. —What Lies Between Us (On-going)

Azriel has spent years trying to escape the ghosts of his past, retiring into a self-imposed exile despite a promising career as a talented detective. When you turn up at his door asking for help on a recent case, his world is disrupted.

✰. —Body Count

Anxious about how your lack of experience compares to Azriel's, you ask him about his body count. Unfortunately for him, he misunderstands the question gravely.

✰. —Safe✨

Azriel's night is troubled by a nightmare. He finds a soothing remedy in the arms of his mate.

✰. —Winner

You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning.

Cassian

♡ ↯. —And I'm Thinking About Your Lips ✨ ❥

You and Cassian have been best friends since you were teenagers-- just friends. But one night at Rita's changes everything and now you cant breathe when you're around him and he can't stop imagining how you'd taste. ↯ Part One, ↯ Part Two

↯. — A Hobby for Two ❥

Cassian surprises you with a small gift. You spend the night teaching him how to properly enjoy it.

✰. —A Place For Dying

A mission with Cassian goes terribly wrong.

✰. —Words of Affirmation

Even the Lord of Bloodshed gets insecure sometimes. As his mate, you always know the right words to say.

☼. —Tender

Cassian cuddles with you when you have a migraine

Rhysand

✰. —Insatiable ✨

There are countless reasons why you and Rhysand don’t work… but those reasons don’t seem so important when you’re tipsy in a bathroom with him inside you.

♡ . — Lights, Camera, Love! (On-going)

Rhysand, Hollywood's hottest heartthrob, has everyone smitten—everyone except you, his co-star. But when rumors of your feud begin to affect the show's ratings, your producers propose a last-ditch solution: a fake romance to salvage your public image and reignite fan interest.

Lucien Vanserra

♡ . — Hidden Things (Coming soon)

Following a cryptic vision from Elain, Lucien finds himself seeking out an enchanted artifact at your shop in the heart of the Day Court. What he finds instead is a profound connection with you—and a version of himself he believed he had lost.

Eris Vanserra

♡ . — A House of Hunger (Coming soon)

Every Autumn court citizen is hungry for something; beasts starved for influence, desperate for control, ravenous for power. Your tastes are no different—albeit a bit specific. It's a deep craving that boils in the pit of your stomach, hot and heavy, all consuming. You’re hungry for revenge.

✰. —Blessed

Angered by Nesta's actions, the Cauldron turned you into a fae different than your sisters— a lesser one that resembled more animal than human. Now living in Autumn, Eris shows you a new perspective on yourself.

✰. —Of Our Own Devices

Desperate to reunite with Lucien since his exile to Spring, you find yourself paying an unexpected price to his older brother. Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

✰. —Handsome as Life and Poison

Defying your father’s sacred command, you wander to the grove where Spring and Autumn blend, only to encounter a sinfully divine figure with glowing amber eyes.

Bat-Boys (Reader x BatBoys)

✰. —Worth It

It can be hard to remember why you’ve put up with your best friends for centuries-- until they remind you why they're worth it.

✰. —A Helping Hand

Even most powerful males in Prythian need relationship advice from their best friend.

Mini-Series

♡ . — Mirthroot Mini-Series

Between dodging death and saving Prythian, its always nice to make time and enjoy one of The Mother's greatest creations: mirthroot. Reader x ACOTAR Characters

[abyssruler]

would they choose you over the world?

aether (traveler), dainsleif, scaramouche, raiden ei, lumine (abyss), venti, xiao x gn!reader

AETHER thinks he can save both, no, he knows he can. The powers of this world rests at the tips of his fingers. He’s faced monsters and gods and come out alive and better than he was before. There’s no reason to hesitate, none whatsoever to consider his decision but—but. He has never been made to choose before. There was always another way, another choice, another something he could rely on. It’s a moral dilemma, like the situation with the train where you either save five people and kill one person, or kill five people to save one person. It’s easy enough to answer when it was simply that—a moral dilemma created to confuse him, not a world ending decision that lies on his shoulders. To choose one is to doom the other. Most people would choose the world, but while Aether is called a hero and the savior of nations, he is also a person. He looks at your resigned smile, like you already know which one he’ll choose, and he decides to prove you wrong.

DAINSLEIF clings to loss like a dying man does to the edge of a cliff. The inevitability of death and your mortality rests on his shoulders much like weight of his entire nation’s death. He wonders what it says about him that he’d rather have you safe and sound than have the world be saved. Five hundred years of aimless wandering, fighting against the remnants of his fallen nation and watching the world move on while he remains untouched by time, the ghost of a past that can never be returned to. Dainsleif isn’t a hero, he’s tired. All that’s left of him are fading memories of a time gone by and moments with you that he clings to like a lifeline. What has this world ever done for him except cause him pain and needless grief? What has it done to deserve his sacrifice? Nothing. And so he rests, hand in hand with you on withering grass and waits for the world to end. At least, this time, he won’t be alone in watching the heavens descend.

SCARAMOUCHE laughs, and laughs, and laughs until he’s sure even the gods that reside in Celestia has heard the scorn and mockery in his voice. It is so laughably easy to choose you and denounce the world. Let it be turned to ash and dust, let his body dance on top of a desolate world, let him pull you in an embrace and delight in the fact that no sun and no light (for none of these exist anymore) would ever outmatch the brightness in your eyes, the smile on your face, the tinkling sound of your laughter amidst the remains of a world that once threatened to snuff your life like a candle left in the dark. He is like a flame and you, the spark. There’s a tsunami gathering on the horizon, threatening to drown everything in its wake, but instead of preventing it, he revels in the ruin it will bring. It is either your death alone or yours and everyone else, and if you have to die either way, then he will die with you and drag the rest of the world along in his self-appointed destruction. You taught him what it felt to no longer be alone, so he will make sure you’re never lonely, even in death.

EI feels weightless, like a leaf adrift in the wind. It feels like she is back to that moment five hundred (a thousand) years ago, a dilemma, a decision, a choice—follow Makoto to Khaenri’ah, or defend her people from the monsters ravaging the lands? There was uncertainty there, a small seedling of hope that she would arrive not far from Makoto and see her sister alive and waiting, and so she had made the decision to stay—but this? Faced with an ultimatum, the world or your death, Ei finds that the decision is much more difficult, much more devastating but no less heartbreaking. Had it been before, in her lonesome at the Plane of Euthymia, the choice would have been easy, barely a thought in her mind, but everything has changed and Ei wants, in a way she has never wanted before, to be with you. You with your smiles and your laughs and the warmth you induce in her frigid heart—and she finds that she cannot make a choice… so you do it for her. For the greater good.

LUMINE doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even flinch before she turns her back to the world and takes your hand. What good is the world if you’re not there in it? She won’t just stand by and watch as everything she holds dear is destroyed in front of her—not anymore. There is you, there is her, and there is the world burning, and Lumine finds that she can hardly care. Her heart has no place for faceless people, no love left for a world that has done nothing but spurn and trample on everything she had offered. Let it burn if it means having one more second, one more minute, one more lifetime with you. A choice isn’t truly a choice if the other option was never considered, and she will never consider a world without you. There are millions, billions, countless other worlds out there she could take you to. Damn this place, damn the heavens, and damn the consequences. Her brother would understand, he always has, and when Lumine meets him again in a new world, she’ll make sure to introduce you to him.

VENTI wants, like Icarus yearning for the Sun, but Venti is Venti, and Barbatos is Barbatos. Right now, he cannot afford to be that carefree bard who spun tales of your lovely hair and lovelier still lips (cannot be Icarus who flew too close to the sun and fell). Venti wants—but Barbatos knows the best option, the best choice, the least devastating one but the most heart-wrenching one. The situation is funny, laughable, hilarious, really, the kind that makes his stomach ache and brings tears to his eyes that drip down his cheeks and onto the ground and—oh, he’s crying. He’s crying and holding you close and apologizing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and he doesn’t deserve your forgiveness, doesn’t deserve the hand carding through his hair and the soft press of your lips on his forehead as you murmur, don’t cry, it’s alright, you’re doing the best you can. But the best means not doing this at all, the best means not having to make a choice at all, the best means not having to say goodbye. It’s okay, you tell him, I forgive you. But he never forgives himself.

XIAO thinks there must be another way, there has to be another way. He won’t accept this, won’t allow himself to choose between losing you or losing everything, because he knows, deep down, that the choice has already been made and it is not the one he wants. But he knows better than most that doing what he wants isn’t always what is needed, that certain sacrifices must be made despite his unwillingness, despite his entire body protesting against it. Rex Lapis once told him that being a god means making difficult decisions. If this is what it means to be a god, then he will accept a life of service, a life of war and fighting and breathing like every second is his last—because pain and suffering are infinitely better than having to wake everyday without your voice by his ear, giggling about how you finally caught him asleep. A world without your light, without your presence, without you is a desolate one. There must be another way, another sacrifice to be made that doesn’t involve you. Just—anything, anyone but you. Even if it has to be him.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

yooooo!!! you’re my favorite ethan winters artist i just wanna say that first and foremost, thank you for the wholesome content of my comfort character and father figure 🥹🫶

i’m really curious bc i feel like i see a lot of people against mithan (not me personally, i’m p neutral on them!) but i’m curious to know all your thoughts on them! thoughts on their canon relationship, their fanon portrayal, the backlash against them/mia accusations, and your headcanons? i’m just really interested!!! hopefully that’s not weird :”)

have a good day!! sparkle on!!! ✨💖

i heart mithan... i think that they can be so cute...

i personally hc them t4t and i like to think that the dated in highschool before they both had fully transitioned

mia likes to bake and ethan likes to scrap book and he always likes to take pictures of mias cakes/ baked goods and has a album for them 😭

i am a multishipper so i draw a lot of ethan ships so my girl is left out sometimes and im sorry mia 😔

i actually really like their relationship, its a really complex dynamic that i like to talk about with my friends

i think the issue is that when talking about mithan or mia in general, theres just SO MUCH misinformation that its honestly a pain the butt to talk about

people still think that she was responsible for the creation of eveline, people still think that she experimented on eveline, people still use examples of her attacking ethan as if she did it on her own will instead of being mind controlled

in reality she was just someone who oversaw the transportation of evie. im not excusing her or anything because obviously she knew what she was doing, but people really try to accuse her of doing something she didnt and it bothers me alot lol

the problem with the fandom is that people either try to water her down to girlboss who did nothing wrong and fail to acknowledge the complexity/ moral grayness of her character and the other side is misogynists 😭😭😭😭

its hard to talk about her without people either going "stop trying to villainize her and make her look bad!" or people ACTUALLY villainizing her and acting like heisenberg would have treated him better 😭😭

mithan is such a sad relationship because they loved each other so much and that ended up being the reason their relationship fell apart (sort of... its not like the broke up... ethan kinda just straight up died)

i get a lot a trouble for saying this, but mia is a selfish person.

its not a bad thing! well i mean it is but it doesnt make her some evil witch who is somehow worse than the guy how made a werewolf american ninja warrior. its just a major character flaw she has! which is good! mia being a flawed person who makes mistakes and morally gray decisions make her a more interesting person!

she is selfish in the way that she wants to keep her family with her no matter the cost. even if it means lying to ethan about her job so that he wont think different of her. here is a interrogation from the re7 DLC, which is easy to miss!

she isnt necessarily trying to apologize for the things she has done, she is more of a, "u wont need to forgive me in the first place if we just forget it all and move on"

she doesn't try to redeem herself for what she has done, she tries to move on and return to the normal life that she wants so bad. which is fine! everyone copes a different way and she has to right to move on from her trauma. the problem that lies in this is that she has a shared trauma with ethan who still has no idea what went on in dulvey and still effects him till the present (he is mold! this is a important thing to know! most people would want to know if they were a walking corpse)

she played a direct part in what happened in dulvey, and im not referring to the email, she did not send that. she never wanted ethan to come in the first place. she tried her best to send a video to him, begging him to forget about her because she wanted to protect him, BUT it didnt send.

he got involved because she was involved. its honestly a series of really really unfortunate events.

THOUGH! she did know what she was getting into. im tired of seeing the narrative that mia was innocent and didnt know what was going on or was simply a bystander. she knew what she was doing, she knew eveline was a bioweapon, she knew eveline was a child. she used a MACHINE GUN! she knows how to use weapons and was obviously trained for it.

she tried her best to keep everybody out of the mess, ex: warning the bakers not to take them in, warning ethan not to find her, sacrificing herself for ethan in the later half of re7

but again, those are the consequences of HER actions

her consequences just happen to get really big and end up hitting ethan on the head like a metal sheet 😭

their relationship is really so interesting, it makes me really sad to think about sometimes 😭they both went through something that nobody else would ever understand, in the end they really only have each other. they get moved to an entire different country and the dulvey incident gets covered up with a "gas leak"

its really tragic because their marriage definitely had some flaws and bumps. and i know im repeating myself but its because people always take this in the worst way possible but just because i say their relationship was rocky doesnt mean im saying they dont love each other!!! thats the entire basis of mias character!! saying she doesnt love ethan would destroy her entire character!

you can see in the re8 DLC how fondly ethan talks about mia! he loves her so much, though im not sure if his comments in the DLC are him narrating current (post re8) or his thoughts before everything went down and he died (pre re8)

everything mia did was because she LOVED ethan. she would never do anything to intentionally hurt him, she is not a cruel person. she hides the truth of her job from ethan pre re7 because she loves him and doesnt want her job to drive them apart. she CONTINUES to refuse to tell ethan the truth post re7 because she wants to move on a live a happy normal life with him and knows something like her being directly associated with the connections would probably cause (more) problems. she refuses to tell ethan that he is mold because again, hard to live a happy marriage with your husband after you tell him hes a bioweapon.

obviously i dont think it was right that she did this, thats what makes her selfish! she did it for herself! she did it for her family! she thought it would work out, she thought that they could move on and be happy together.

the issue is that ethan didnt want to forget. he wanted to know what happened, he wanted to know the part mia played, he wanted answers! which is reasonable! he knows to some extent that mia was partially responsible for his involvement and he was always suspcious that mia was lying to him about her job which is implied when mia says "you were right, i did lie to you"

she doesnt learn, she doesnt stop lying, her lies get bigger and worse and it sucks yeah but it makes her so interesting!!! she keeps doing stupid things under the idea that this is whats best for her and her family, that if she hides this everything will work out and it will be for the better but its not!

just because telling your husband hes dead and a bioweapon is a hard subject to bring up doesnt mean you DONT bring it up. people shouldnt use that as a reason to excuse mia 😭, its a very bad excuse and honestly highlights how horrible their communication skills were. you cant just not tell your husband that he is actually infected with the mold and not tell him for the tree years between post re7 and pre re8.

im not saying these things to put mia down, or try and villanize her. these are all just actual things her character does! she isnt evil, but she isnt a knight in shining armor either. we need to be able to have talks about complex characters without crying everytime someone points out a flaw. characters have flaws! and mia just happens to have a lot of them!

im not mad at her, i dont dislike her because i think this way of her. shes a fictional character! you can like characters that are morally gray, or villains that drink blood and make corpse soldiers. they are fictional! pointing out the flaws of a character does not mean i dont like them.

i wouldnt call her "the real villain of re8" but i wouldnt treat her like a damsel in distress either. she is a competent person, she knows what shes doing, she has her reasons for doing them. she made bad descions with good intentions behind them! they can coexist and we should let them!

i like mithan! its a complex relationship because they both love each other so much but hurt each other in the process

talking about them is just a pain in the butt because talking about mia is a pain in the butt lol

i really hate how she keeps getting sidelined, its super frustrating to see mia get put in a cage in every game 😭

its even more frustrating that mia straight up just disappears???? in the shadows of rose DLC... like she just stops taking care of rose and theres nothing said about it. no reason or explanation. i dont think mia would ever ditch rosemary because she didnt care about her, but we probably will never know because capcom sucks at writing and they probably forgot the mia ever even existed.

all in all, i think the fandom is really just full of misinformation which make people either think mia is some horrible evil person, or its full of people who think that saying mia messed up is the equivalent of comparing her to wesker lol.

i really love mia, shes a incredibly fun and complex character, its just hard to enjoy her sometimes with the people in the fandom haha.

also ive got no idea what u meant by "the backlash against them/mia accusations" so sorry if i didnt answer that!

thank u for the ask! sorry for the long response!

[appocalipse]

never mine ✧ eddie munson

bartender!eddie x fem!reader • old friends to lovers • chapter 01 • 3.5k words

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

Summary: After everything that had happened with Vecna and the Upside Down, Eddie Munson left Hawkins as soon as you and the rest of your friends managed to clear his name. And you understood why Eddie and his uncle had made that decision. Truly, you did; Eddie's innocence had been proven, yes, but Hawkins was a small town and some people would always turn up their noses at them. It didn't mean you didn't miss Eddie, or think about him over the course of the next decade. Somehow, in your heart, you always felt that one day you would meet him again. The last place you thought that would happen, though, was at a bar — that Eddie, now in his early thirties, owns in New York.

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

It isn't the type of bar you usually frequent.

For starters, it's tucked away on a relatively quiet street in Brooklyn instead of being one of those swanky, pop-up bars you've gotten used to seeing all over Manhattan since moving here from Boston last year. Also, it's more rustic than sleek, more dark than trendy, its exterior walls adorned with faded red bricks, its small windows lined with black frames. It seems almost like an anachronism among the new construction that has been sprouting up all over this part of the neighborhood.

But even before you get close enough to see what the sign reads, something about this little place feels oddly familiar. In some intangible way, it reminds you of a time you left behind when you moved here: your years spent growing up in a sleepy Indiana town named Hawkins.

And maybe it's just because it's clearly about to rain — the air wet and misty, as though a storm is coming — but right now, for reasons you can't explain, you feel compelled to enter.

So you take a deep breath, open the heavy wooden door and step inside.

The inside is as rustic as the outside, with one long bar stretching across most of the space, booths running along the adjacent walls, and several tables scattered in the center beneath the glow of dim, gold lights. A jukebox quietly plays 'In Bloom' by Nirvana at the back. And just like outside, everything feels achingly familiar, a wave of nostalgia you don't quite understand crashing into you so intensely that you have to grip one of the barstools tightly to steady yourself.

"One sec, doll. Be right with ya!"

He's not really looking at you when he says those words. He's got his back turned, hands busy preparing a drink at the far end of the bar, head just barely visible as he hunches over to scoop ice cubes from the metal container beside him. You can't see much from where you're standing — he's wearing a denim jacket rolled up to his elbows, hair pulled up into a messy bun at the top of his head — but there's something about his voice, sweet yet gravelly, something about what little you can see of his face that makes your breath catch in your throat.

And then he straightens up, turns around. And you both freeze, staring at each other.

Eddie Munson.

It's impossible. But it's him; the same Eddie who sold you weed a couple times your senior year of high school. The same Eddie you grew to call a friend before he left Hawkins without even saying goodbye. The same Eddie whose name still leaves a dull ache in your chest if you think about it too long.

Ten years later, and he's somehow more handsome than ever, all grown up. His hair is a little shorter, curlier than you remember. He's wearing dark-wash jeans and a navy Henley beneath his scuffed leather jacket. That playful expression you once found so adorable is now made even more endearing by a small scar across one eyebrow. And those eyes — a warm brown, expressive as always — are locked onto yours as his lips part, slightly agape.

"Y/N?"

Your heart pounds in your ears when you nod. It's hard to tell what emotion lies behind his gaze, but after a few seconds of staring at you like this, he slowly places the drink he was preparing down on the bar countertop and all but runs toward you, a giant grin lighting up his face.

He nearly knocks you off your feet with the force of his hug, pulling you tight against him.

But you're not complaining.

You cling to him just as tightly, your cheek pressed against his chest. The scent of cedar and tobacco mixed with something else — something unmistakably Eddie — overwhelms your senses as he picks you up a few inches off the ground and spins you around with an excited laugh, making you wrap both arms around his neck for stability.

"Jesus Christ," he exclaims, setting you down before gently taking hold of your shoulders. "I can't believe it's really you."

For the briefest moment, it almost feels as though you've gone back in time, returned to 1986 — the year everything changed forever — right after defeating Vecna for good and before Eddie moved away with his uncle, Wayne, just days before you followed suit to leave for college.

And it seems impossible — ridiculous, really — that you should both be standing here, in this bar in New York of all places, years and years later. So you just stand there blinking, speechless, trying to make sense of it all with the most stunned smile plastered across your face.

"I—"

"What's going on out here?" someone yells from the other side of the room. "For fuck's sake, Ed, if you're gonna flirt with another customer, do it a little more quietly."

At that, Eddie drops his hands from your shoulders and turns toward the woman speaking, more amused than you've ever seen him. He playfully sticks his tongue out at her before giving you a wink.

"Sorry about that," he chuckles.

The woman leans forward a little bit, squinting as though she can't quite believe what she sees. Then a smile stretches across her face, too. "Wait, aren't you–"

"Yes," Eddie interrupts. "It's her, Dottie."

The woman — Dottie — seems to be in her 50s, with shoulder-length blond hair streaked with gray and a sleeve of colorful tattoos on one arm. When she strides toward you, she's wearing an easy smile that crinkles the corners of her green eyes, extending her hand to you over the bar.

"Hey there. I'm Dorothea, but everyone calls me Dottie. You must be the girl that Eddie—"

Eddie quickly steps in between you. "We were just catching up, actually," he explains. "Do you mind giving us a few minutes to ourselves? Great, thank you."

He doesn't give her time to respond; Eddie kisses the back of Dottie's hand and grins, then wraps his fingers around your wrist as he drags you behind the bar, through a set of double doors leading to a stairwell.

"Mind the step, sweetheart, it's a little steep," he cautions, keeping a tight grip on you as you both ascend the stairs.

And maybe it's because you're just getting over a breakup, but your stomach flutters from the nickname, from the way his thumb draws gentle circles into your skin.

This isn't the first time he's called you sweetheart. You don't know why it affects you differently now.

"Where are we going?"

He doesn't answer until the two of you reach the top of the stairs, at which point he drops his hand from your wrist and faces you.

"Well, here we are!" he announces, stretching out his arms and turning in a full circle. "Home, sweet home."

You blink as you look around, realizing you're standing inside an apartment — presumably Eddie's — whose open floor plan means you can see straight into the kitchen and living room.

"I can't believe you live here," you mumble, more to yourself than anything else.

A large black sofa sits opposite the TV, a coffee table littered with beer bottles, candles and an ashtray between them. There's a little dining room table for four beside the couch, across from the galley kitchen where the counters are covered with dirty dishes. But despite the mess, everything still feels very... cozy, somehow. Welcoming.

Eddie chuckles, reaching behind himself to loosen the hair tie at the base of his skull. A few tendrils fall loose across his forehead as he tousles his hair, then combs his fingers through it. You feel something twist in your abdomen, your breath hitching in your throat.

Fuck, you think. That's distracting.

"Yeah, me either sometimes," he says with a shrug. "But it's got a roof, a bathroom and a bed. It used to be Dottie's, but now that she and Wayne are married, she decided to move in with him instead."

"Your uncle got married?"

Eddie nods, and the expression that settles in his features softens as he talks about his uncle.

"They met at the bar. Got hitched a few years ago, have a little place not far from here. It's cute, really. Like a little love story for old folks or something. But yeah, this place is all mine now. Not bad, huh?"

Your heart aches a little hearing this — not because you're sad that his uncle found love (you do feel happy for him), but because you hadn't realized how much you've missed in the last decade, how much of Eddie's life you weren't around for.

Still, you smile.

"Not bad at all," you agree.

Eddie's returning grin is more hesitant this time. As if he wants to say more, but he's unsure of how.

"I missed you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Because you had; so much more than you ever knew was possible. Even when you'd only grown close to him for a few weeks before he moved away, he had managed to make such an impression on you that his absence became a wound you couldn't quite heal, no matter how many years passed.

So for the longest time, you told yourself that he'd probably forgotten all about you anyway, since he never tried to contact you after he left. It was easier that way, somehow. Better than waiting for something that would never happen.

"Me too," Eddie breathes, voice so quiet you might have imagined it. "Me too, sweetheart."

For a second, you can't breathe.

When you do, you inhale his scent, a hint of weed and tobacco mixed with cedar. His cologne, then, you suppose. And there's something entirely new, too, something that belongs uniquely to him.

You stare at Eddie, trying to find the right words, but all you can manage to utter is:

"Really?"

His eyebrows knit together in confusion. Maybe concern, too.

"What? Why do you seem surprised?"

"No, I just–" you trail off, thinking. "I dunno. I guess I just...figured you wouldn't even remember me after so long. It's been...what? Ten years?"

"You thought I didn't remember you?" he asks incredulously, and those deep brown eyes widen a fraction.

You bite your lip, sheepish. "I don't know. Maybe. A little bit," you confess, looking away.

Eddie exhales a half-chuckle.

"Sweetheart, you're — Jesus — you're not exactly easy to forget," he utters softly, almost like he hopes you won't hear.

You can't help but laugh at this, although your cheeks immediately warm up, burning like fire. "Says you."

There's something almost bashful in the way Eddie smiles, his gaze cast downward as he reaches for a strand of hair and curls it around one finger.

"Don't you wanna sit down?" he asks. "I'll get you something to drink. Any preference?"

"Whatever you're having is fine," you reply, still a little overwhelmed by everything that's happening as he gestures for you to take a seat on his sofa.

"Alrighty. Just wait here. One sec."

As you make yourself comfortable on the black leather, you notice several framed photographs atop the mantle of the fireplace. Most of the pictures depict Eddie with people you've never met — a tall, handsome black man, a blond guy, a girl with short, spiky hair and a tattooed arm — but the one you can't look away from is a smaller frame with a picture of you, Dustin and the rest of your friends squeezed tightly together, the sun setting behind you.

It was taken after you beat Vecna in 1986. Before Eddie moved. Before you did, too. Everyone in the picture looks dirty and exhausted, but there's also an air of celebration hanging over all of you that you can clearly see just by the wide, gleeful smiles stretching across your faces.

"It's a real shame you ever doubted it, by the way."

Eddie's voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you turn around to find him already halfway to the couch. He's holding two beers in his hands.

"I wasn't—I didn't mean to pry or anything," you explain, your heart beating a little faster.

He shrugs as he hands you one of the beers and takes a seat beside you, close enough for you to feel his thigh press against yours.

"Nah, it's okay," he assures, his gaze traveling to the picture you were examining a few seconds ago. "That's a good memory."

You nod in agreement as you bring the bottle to your lips. It's cool and refreshing against your tongue, but not as calming as you need it to be.

"I'm sorry for just barging in here, by the way. I don't actually know why I came in the first place, I just... felt like something was pulling me in," you tell him.

And it's true; that strange sense of familiarity that tugged you forward earlier today has started to fade, now replaced by a comforting warmth that feels like coming home.

Eddie snorts a laugh before taking a swig of his beer.

"Sorry, I'm just making it weirder and weirder, aren't I?" you groan, leaning forward to place your beer on the coffee table.

Eddie sets his down, too.

"No, you're not, sweetheart," he soothes, taking one of your hands in his and rubbing a calloused thumb over your knuckles. "Why would you think that?"

You can't look at him when you answer.

"I don't know, I just... I spent years wondering about what happened to you after you left Hawkins, and then I randomly show up here, and now we're just sitting on your couch like we haven't spent ten years apart? It feels insane."

There's something unreadable in the way he's looking at you, then.

"You look really pretty, by the way," Eddie says.

Your heart is thumping so loudly you worry he can hear it.

"Oh yeah?" you tease with a grin, desperate to hide the fact that you can feel yourself blush all the way up to the tips of your ears. "Prettier than when we were twenty-one?"

The grin he flashes you is bright and lopsided, playful.

"Way, way prettier, actually," he drawls.

Your brain seems to malfunction after this, his words playing on a loop, over and over and over again inside your head. And all you can do is return his smile, feeling a pleasant heat pool in your belly that has nothing to do with alcohol. "Eddie Munson, are you flirting with me?"

He laughs at this — a genuine, low chuckle.

"Depends. Is it working?"

Yes, you think.

"Not at all."

"Liar," he smirks before raising the hand he's still holding and pressing a kiss to its back. "Then yes, I am."

Your breath catches in your throat, a thrill running down your spine as Eddie holds your gaze with a small smile. But then it fades, replaced by something more serious as he absentmindedly traces a pattern onto your palm with his fingertip.

"Can I ask you something?"

You nod. He lets go of your hand.

"If you're here, does that mean you're also living in New York?" he asks, eyes filled with a cautious hope as he stares at you. "Or did you just happen to be passing through on vacation?"

"I moved here a year ago," you tell him, biting your bottom lip. "I can't believe you're really here. What are the chances, right?"

It feels like some kind of cosmic joke. And while you never quite stopped hoping that you and Eddie might meet again someday, you didn't expect it to happen like this. In a bar. In New York.

Ten years later.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, huh?"

"You sound like an old man."

He chuckles at your teasing tone before bending forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him.

"I just—this is gonna sound totally lame, but..."

Eddie trails off, chewing on his lower lip as he searches your eyes.

"Go ahead," you urge gently.

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing a few strands away from his face as he takes a deep breath.

"When I left Hawkins, I felt like a fucking idiot because I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you. Not really, I mean. And I—shit, I really wanted to. More than anything. So... the reason why I left without saying anything was because I was scared that if I saw you one last time, I'd lose my nerve and not leave at all. And...I know, I know it's dumb, because we had only known each other for a couple of weeks, but—"

"It's not dumb," you assure him. "Not to me, at least."

It's one thing knowing someone for a long period of time and losing them. But when you grow attached to someone so quickly, so suddenly — like you did with Eddie — it leaves an emptiness behind. Something you can't quite fill, nor begin to explain to anyone else without feeling as though you're speaking nonsense.

"It's not?"

"No. Not at all."

And you wonder if he can see the vulnerability in your eyes when you reach forward and brush your fingertips over his. It's all you dare to do, all the courage you can muster, but he responds by uncurling his own and sliding them between your palms. His hand feels warm, smooth. Cold where the silver of his rings touches your skin.

"I never forgot you, you know? And I—" he stops, and you watch him swallow hard. "Shit. Sorry. You're gonna think I'm a creep."

"Try me."

The smile on his face is shy and endearing, his cheeks flushed pink when he admits: "Sometimes I have this...dream."

You cock your head to one side, curious. "What about?"

"About you."

Eddie glances down at his hand in yours, studying it for a moment like it's the most interesting thing in the room.

"Mostly about that night you saved me. You know, from the bats."

"I didn't save you," you protest. "I just...I got lucky."

He scoffs, shakes his head like that's the most preposterous thing he's ever heard.

"Sweetheart, I was half dead when you showed up. If it wasn't for you, I would be completely dead right now."

You glance at Eddie's side, where you remember him having an angry, festering wound when you found him. You wonder if the scar is still there, if it bothers him.

"Maybe," you concede, and his smile returns. "So you dream about that?"

"Among other things. Yeah."

Your heart hammers in your chest as you consider what those other things might be, his gaze intense upon you as you nervously wet your bottom lip with your tongue.

"Other things?" you repeat.

"Other things," he confirms. "I might tell you about 'em sometime if you play your cards right, though."

"Oh, right," you muse, pulling your hands away from his with a soft chuckle. "This is you flirting, isn't it?"

"So what if it is?" he asks, grinning as he leans back on the couch cushion.

You don't miss the way he looks at you, the same way he used to in high school whenever he was trying to get under your skin, to rile you up. And it seems that — even after all these years, with you all grown up, both of you in your early thirties — he hasn't lost his touch.

"So what if it is," you echo.

Eddie raises both eyebrows, smirking. "Guess you're gonna have to come back sometime if you wanna find out. You know, just to be sure."

"I—" you hesitate, realizing you hadn't considered the possibility of leaving before, too caught up in the whirlwind of seeing him again after so long. "Shit, yeah, I should...I should go, I've kept you long enough as it is. I should let you get back to work—"

You move to stand up, but a gentle hand on your arm stops you.

"Wait," he pleads, voice soft. "Do you...have anywhere you gotta be? Anywhere you need to rush off to?"

"Um—" you look down at the floorboards, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "Just my bed? It's getting late. Well, not really, but...it will be soon?"

The tension slowly eases from Eddie's body as he relaxes, his expression becoming playful.

"Are you asking or telling?" he teases.

You sigh.

"I don't wanna intrude."

"You're not. At all," Eddie says firmly, his words a promise. "Besides, you still have a lot to catch me up on. So you can tell me all about whatever boring day job you landed now that you're living the big apple life, and I'll tell you about my band, which has a gig tomorrow, by the way, so you're definitely coming to see it."

"Wow, you're bossy now," you point out.

His eyes gleam as they hold yours, and when he speaks, his voice is husky, full of mischief.

"You have no idea, sweetheart."

[valtsv]

i would love to hear more of your thoughts on michael shelley!!! 🌀🚪✨

you're in luck because i've sat on thoughts about him for years and i finally feel like i can articulate them. because michael shelley is such a well written case of tragic horror in the horror tragedy podcast. and, despite my criticisms of season 5, it really did do an excellent job in concluding his character arc with the gertrude backstory episode. in a podcast where a common in-universe theme is that knowledge, and the pursuit of knowledge, is dangerous, michael is a subversion in that his ignorance of the horrors of the world he lived in not only didn't save him, but was intentionally engineered to make him vulnerable to exploitation and harm (which, on a broader scope, emphasises the futility of the world of the magnus archives - regardless of whether you participate in or turn a blind eye to the systems at play, involved or uninvolved, you are not safe).

furthermore, i really appreciate the subversion of traditional tropes of the sacrifice as a typically female figure taken advantage of by a male father, brother, or lover, whose tragic and horrible death is used to motivate him (whether to greatness or self-destruction), with michael being a son sacrificed by his mother (or grandmother) figure, who never actually loved him and whose 'frail' and 'nurturing' qualities were weaponised incompetence used to gaslight and manipulate him - and who continues to operate successfully (at least in terms of what can be said to be 'success' in a world like the magnus archives) without being haunted by any apparent doubt about the decision she made, or any hesitation to use others in similar ways, following this betrayal. which makes the fact that he's sewn into the fabric of a being that represents lies in their most insidious form, used as a weapon to devour people and destroy their lives, all the more abhorrent in hindsight - he is forced to not only relive his trauma in an endless loop (or spiral, if you will), but to become the mechanism which enables it. michael is taken to the edge of something evil (at least from a human perspective), and pushed over the threshold with no hope of recourse. there's almost a reverse orphic quality to it - he descends into terrifying other world, one which exists side-by-side with but fundamentally seperate from his own, against his will, and looking back will only cause him pain as he's assaulted by memories of a life he will never be able to reach.

i think a lot of people forget to look past the surface with michael, despite there being an entire episode dedicated to doing so. which is understandable, he's a very outwardly expressive character - but this is intentional obfuscation to hide an incredibly damaged victim whose hatred of this part of himself is integral to his entire reason for being, and which the rejection of causes him to be unmade, incapable of existing as this contradictory nightmare any longer. it's a mercy killing, and yet it is violent and painful, because michael cannot and should not exist, and excising that graft used to muzzle the distortion is as agonising as latching it into place was in the first place. when michael-the-distortion says about michael shelley "he was born. he was pointless. and he should have died." there is an implicit longing there, a rage at the way he was used, his decisions made for him and used to imprison something else instead of ever being allowed to exercise any measure of free will. because michael shelley probably would have died for the archivist, given the opportunity, but he never got the choice.

[strlingsav]

Drive: Four

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Requested: @sarcanti 🫶🏻

For this anon too since it's pretty much the same thing!!

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

Sipping intermittently from your room-temperature drink, your eyes reached Ghost's across from you. He was settled on a bar stool, watching you as you leaned against the bar, trying to avoid his penetrating gaze.

Music hummed from the speakers, a loud buzz inside the bar as it began to fill. It was late- dark and cool, nearing midnight without a shortage of people filtering in.

The two of you were content in your own world, hardly paying much attention to the conversation beside you; idle chatter from Soap and Gaz and a few other men you vaguely recognized from previous deployments.

Your leave was almost over; a few more days and you'd be back to base, far away from the cycle of unfamiliar habits. You missed the routine, knowing exactly what to expect day-after-day, but a break from the organized chaos and a little bit of freedom was enjoyable.

Simon opted to stay with you- a decision you'd not expected from him, brought up after he complained of having to stay in his own 'lonely flat'.

You'd meant it as a joke, an offer thrown into the air with no strings attached. It was another step toward something more serious than you were sure he was ready for, maybe more than you were ready for.

A nonchalant 'alright' was all he'd said, before he packed his bags and drove the two of you there.

In an effort to contain the growing relationship between you, you maintained that you were spending your leave with family. Your squad-mates were entirely unaware that the two of you were sharing your apartment, and you desperately wanted to keep it that way; you stayed light on alcohol to avoid any drunken confessions.

The bar was grimy and sticky, smelling like an ash tray and spilled beer, but it was comfortable. No obligations, no expectations- only Simon's blackened eyes undressing you from across the bar.

You were flustered, reasonably so, thighs squeezing together with the imagery of his long fingers gripping your waist instead of the glass in his hands. You broke eye contact, moving your attention to Johnny who'd been chatting away the entire time before it became obvious you were fantasizing about him.

You liked to keep your personal life private, especially from coworkers, even before yourself and Simon founded your new situation, if it were to be called anything. You liked things that way, and it came with an added bonus; no one ever pried.

It made your secret affair a bit easier to keep secret. The only downfall being that with the eyes of your teammates watching every move, there was no palpable excuse as to why the stranger across the bar couldn't buy you a drink.

You could've lied, said you were married or seeing someone, but it would've created another layer of secrets you'd have to remember to keep. So, you sucked in a sharp breath, smiled politely and nodded curtly as he slid onto the seat beside you and handed you a beer.

Simon watched the entire exchange. His rationale had nearly all but gone, mostly replaced by a stinging sensation in his chest that threatened his temper. Even as your eyes met his across the table, and he could see the nervous smile on your lips, he felt nothing but betrayal.

You could feel the warmth radiating off of him. His eyes had finally left yours and were honed in on the smiling stranger leaning in close, brushing your arm with his. It made you cringe to imagine how it made him feel- Simon already had a bad temper, inexplicably enraged by the smallest things, and this man coiling himself around you was sure to make him combust.

You sneaked a glance up, your eyes meeting, offering an apologetic expression. It didn't seem to have the intended effect, as Simon stood from his seat, pushing off without a word.

"Where're you off to?" Johnny spoke up, catching Simon before he could slink away.

"Gotta piss," He muttered.

You watched his shoulders sway as he sauntered to the washrooms, an overwhelming amount of guilt settling in your gut.

You made polite conversation, but your body was stiff as a board. It was difficult to allow yourself to play into the charade of interest, especially with the man you truly cared about fuming just metres away.

Simon had reappeared, finding the man with his hand on your waist, his body caging you off from everything and everyone else. He couldn't handle it- watching the exchange made his stomach churn, his chest tighten with anger. He abruptly left his seat, lunging for the exit.

You cleared your throat, throwing back the final sip of beer before turning to the stranger with a meek smile.

"Thanks for the drink. I've got to get heading out, though," You mumbled, your attention focused on Simon.

You offered a short goodbye to Johnny and Kyle, who seemed just as perplexed by your quick escape, before sliding from your standing position. The stranger didn't have a chance to reply; you were dead-set on the exit, hurriedly walking out to escape the clutches of his unwanted advances.

You found Simon leaning against the rough brick of the building, a lit cigarette lighting up the outline of his lips.

You wanted to blurt out, 'I'm sorry', but a trickle of resentment- and pettiness- made its way to your thoughts before that- you hadn't had the conversation yet. Maybe you never would.

You knew your situation was wrong, entirely wrong, and illegal- but the part of you that hadn't yet become numb to normal interactions wondered if that was what he even wanted; if he wanted only you.

"You done with your li'l show?" He asked, nonchalant, uncaring, but it had a bite to it.

"My show?" You repeated, watching him stand to his full height as he scuffed out the cigarette.

"With that bloke," He nodded his head, gesturing to the bar. "Lettin' him buy you a drink, touch you." His tone was venomous, accusatory- and you hated it.

"What was I supposed to do?" You scoffed.

"You've got a mouth, haven't you?" He was stepping toward you.

"That's not fair," You said, tilting your head. "People were watching."

Your voice faltered as he closed in on you, your eyes meeting his and finding the glazed-over expression of pure anger in his gaze. It made you feel guilty; maybe not irrationally so, but guilty nonetheless.

You wanted to go home, wanted to forget how you made him feel, forget how guilty your conscience was even when the stipulations of your situation weren't clear.

You turned on your heel, heading toward the parking lot at a leisurely pace, hoping he'd catch on that you wanted to drop it and go home.

"You want fuckin' fair?" He called, quickly catching up to you with fewer strides, slowing as he watched you pull the door of his truck open. "I ain't the one bein' felt up right in-fuckin'-front o'you." His hand reached the side of his truck.

You exhaled sharply, before turning to face him. Your glare was suffocating, standing to your tallest height as you furrowed your brows. He had cornered you against the truck, scowling down at you, though your expression could more than contend with his.

"You haven't asked me not to fuck or see other people," You threw your hands up, continuing before he could interrupt you. "Maybe if you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

There was silence for only a few beats, before he moved even closer. You knew it wasn't entirely true- neither of you had made the effort to discuss where exactly you were headed. Your flustered judgement got the better of you.

"You been fuckin' other blokes?" He asked, suddenly stepping closer, his voice quivering ever-so slightly. It wasn't sadness in his tone, it was jealousy, anger.

You tilted your head, nearly astonished by his ability to avoid the most prevalent argument in your statement. Regardless- it wasn't entirely the lack of commitment that lead you to accepting the strangers advances, it was the presence of your squad mates. Nonetheless, you'd honed-in on his noncommittal attitude and had no patience for hypocrisy.

"You expect me to believe you haven't been sleeping with other people?" You shot back, watching his eyes dart back and forth between yours.

You held your breath, subconsciously; you knew the answer you wanted- you wanted him to tell you it was special. You were special- but your Lieutenant wasn't that kind of man.

"Yeah," He answered, deadpanned and stern. "'Cause I haven't." He leaned in even closer, nearly nose to nose as he shrunk himself down to your face. "Answer my fuckin' question."

You gave a harsh no, hidden behind gritted teeth and tight lips. He was shrouded by anger, and instead he spoke over you, pupils expanding in the darkness, redness pooling in his neck and chest.

"Got me on a fuckin' leash while you're out shaggin' other people," He spat.

"I haven't slept with anyone else," You said. "But if you don't want to be tied down, you've always been free to leave." Your hands flailed as you fought back the tears welling in your eyes.

It had been a while since you'd been close to tears; especially because of a man. The familiar sting in your eyes, the lump growing in your throat. You'd had little expectation that Simon would be much different from others before him, and a part of you hoped otherwise, but it still caught you off-guard.

He straightened his back, still caging you in behind his arm. He released a quiet breath, his shoulders dropping as he took a moment to process the conversation.

"Didn't say that," He uttered, reeking of nonchalance, and a hint of surrender.

"You did," You said. "If it's how you feel, maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore." Your gaze pored into his, unbreaking and persistent.

Your vision was blurrier than before, your voice threatening to waiver, crack, but your composure was held together by the pitiful hope that he'd do what you wanted- what you needed.

He retracted his hand, idling awkwardly while he searched his mind for a response. You watched his eyes dart from yours, cogs turning.

"That what you want?"

Your brows furrowed. "No."

He was quiet again- a common reoccurrence but not usually with you. He had his moments of silence, though his stone-like stance put you off. The calloused part of you had already begun to wall-off the the feelings you'd since developed for him, blinking away the tears gathering in your eyes and clearing your throat.

Sudden chatter outside the bar alerted you both, remembering that inside were the coworkers you'd been trying to avoid. Simon cleared his throat, standing up straight.

"Get in," He muttered, holding the door as you slowly turned to jump into his truck.

Once settled beside you, he turned the truck over, heading for your apartment. There was more silence- hardly even the sound of breathing. He didn't look your way, or rest his hand on your thigh, and a part of you took it as a premonition for the difficult conversation to come.

You'd poured a glass of wine by the time he returned from your room- dressed in only his sweatpants, void of his mask; vulnerable. You stood at the counter's edge, taking a slow sip to avoid speaking while he stared at you.

There was only the sound of deep breaths, a stalemate while you locked eyes. Simon knew he'd crumble- you'd grown too valuable to let slip away- but not without delving into the evening's events.

You sighed as he neared, wandering almost aimlessly through your apartment. Your shoulders collapsed in defeat; growing tired of the silent war waging itself between you.

"What are we doing? Where is this going?" You sighed, catching his eyes as you looked up.

As badly as you wanted to fix the anger and frustration brewing beneath your skin, you knew it would take a lot- maybe more than he'd give. You'd known from the start he wasn't like usual men, and you didn't expect him to be, but the issue at hand was starting to snowball.

"Whad'you want? You want a ring? A kid?" He tilted his head, chest expanding as he neared the kitchen island.

You shook your head, ignoring the mockery in his tone, "I need to know you want me. Only me. Even just for now, not forever. But if not-" Your lips rubbed together. "I can't keep risking my job for something going nowhere."

"My arse has been on the line too," He reminded you, his hand finding the counter. "A lifetime's worth of hard work and shite I ain't proud of- threatened by you. I wouldn't've bothered with any of it if I didn't want you."

"That's not what I meant," You tilted your head, examining his eyes. "I appreciate the risks of our situation-"

"I don't think you do," He moved even closer. "I'm riskin' everything just by bein' here. That ain't an answer for you? Doesn't tell you how fuckin' much I want you?" His breaths were heavy once he'd finished his sentence.

You blinked- shocked by the unexpected passion coming from a man whose stoicism was unmatched by anyone you'd ever known.

He set his jaw, working up the courage to solidify what you wanted desperately to hear. It was like he was choking for air, his chest tight, deeply afraid to offer his trust and commitment, aloud, without something tangible to prove you'd reciprocate it.

His jaw clenched again, his eyes flickering between yours, deciding once and for all that he'd without-a-doubt take what you'd offer without a second thought, even if he had to lay his peace of mind on the line.

"'M with you. Only want you." He stared at you, moving closer. "Don't want anyone else havin' you, either. Call it whatever you like but I ain't been subtle about it."

His words melted away the grudge you'd been holding, finding solace in his words. You had no intention of holding on to anger, especially not as he peeled back the layers of armour protecting him from being hurt. Your lips pursed, biting your lip before meeting his eyes.

"I feel the same," You answered, nodding firmly, meeting his eyes. There was a brief pause, preparing yourself to offer your commitment. "I should've said so sooner, but I only want you, Simon." Your words softened, melting slowly into his ears before settling in his stomach with weight and warmth.

It was so genuine, so utterly vulnerable he was nearly overwhelmed. For a moment, he almost forgot how poorly it could end. It was just the two of you; two people in a normal, mundane relationship, in the dim light of your kitchen, exchanging a stare that dared to pull you into an alternate universe where you didn't have to worry.

He hummed softly- a surrender. He gently, almost begrudgingly, pulled you into him by the fabric of your shirt, a soft kiss against your lips that was like sealing a deal- an exchange of commitment.

Still a bit irritated at your lack of observation, he threatened to pull away. Before he could, you teetered on your toes, moving to drape your arms around his shoulders as he wrapped an arm around your waist. You held him close, pressed against your body as you reconnected your lips.

"I'm sorry," You whispered. "I should've known better."

When he hummed in response, you kissed his lips again. He was stiff against you, though you felt him relax into your touch while you spoke in his ear.

"I'm glad you're here. Happy you're here."

His eyes searched yours for a moment, before he pulled you in by your waist, his lips engulfing yours with warmth and wetness.

You hummed softly, leaning into his touch, standing taller to press your lips against his. You exhaled softly as he slid his tongue against yours, parting your lips with force.

His warm, strong hands tugged you closer, hand moving to hold the side of your face as he guided you against his lips.

He grunted as he lifted you to his hips, large palms and fingers digging into the back of your thighs. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as he began heading for your room; you kept your arms tangled in the short hair on the nape of his neck.

He sat down, your thighs landing on either side of his as you straddled his lap. You pulled your shirt over your head, breathless and rushed, before pulling him back in. His lips fit perfectly together with yours, his tongue sliding between your lips to collide with yours.

His hand clung tightly to your waist, while his other dipped beneath your waistband and panties, gently finding his way over your clit. Rough fingertips traced it softly, a jolt running up your back at the sudden pressure.

"Simon," Yoir voice was airy and desperate, your hands grabbing pulling him closer.

He grunted in response, hardly recognizing his name from your needy mouth, and instead was focused on how soft and wet you were, his warm lips making contact with your neck.

You moaned, cradling his head as he nipped and licked, biting softly at your neck, the cool air of the room bringing goosebumps to the surface of your skin. You writhed against him, your thighs squeezing his between them, trying to stay still while his hand explored the flesh of your pussy.

Your soft moans were muffled by his neck, panting quietly into his skin as your fingers grasped at his back. Your lips made contact with his neck, sloppy and haphazard, making your way to the sharp crease of his jaw before finding his lips. He couldn't help but press into you, grind his already-hard cock against you, finding some measure of relief and pleasure.

"Doin' my fuckin' head in, you know that?" He breathed, warm breath against your neck that made you shiver.

A subtle nod between soft moans was accompanied by a meek and stubborn, "Yeah. I'm sorry."

His hand slipped from your pants, reaching for his sweats as he began to slide them down his hips.

You stood from his lap, slowly pulling your jeans down your thighs until they pooled on the floor, nudging them with your foot before dropping to your knees. You inched forward, your eyes meeting Simon's with an apologetic look- one that intrigued him as much as it turned him on.

"Go on," He nodded. "Let's see how sorry you are."

Your cheeks flushed as his hand came to your cheek, following your lead as your lips puckered around the tip of his cock. He nearly shivered- each time was like the first all over again, unable to overcome the feelings of pure lust when he watched you on your knees.

Your lips wrapping around his cock, eyes locking with his when you'd take him deeper into your throat. The feeling of your throat closing when you'd gag on his dick made him grunt quietly and subconsciously grab a fistful of your hair while he resisted the urge to fuck your throat until you couldn't breathe.

He liked watching you struggle to take it all- the desperation to please in your eyes, the shift in your hips to ease the growing discomfort of your swollen, almost sore, clit. He'd take care of it- always did, always would.

He'd close his eyes only momentarily to listen to your mouth; sloppy sounds of saliva and sucking in sharp breaths. He preferred watching, though, especially when your eyes began to water, your nose began to run, and you'd be sliding your hand up and down his cock to ease the pain in your jaw.

You met his gaze again- eyes half-shut, cheeks flushed, his hand on the back of your head as he guided your lips up and down his cock.

"That's good," He muttered, "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart."

Your heart would race when he praised you, soft murmurs of thanks that vibrated against his cock. He grinned momentarily while you tried to talk with a mouthful of his cock.

"Come 'ere," He leaned back. "Come sit on it, love."

You stood, allowing him to guide your hips over his lap, his eyes settled on yours as he helped you slowly take every inch. Your mouth fell open with disbelief- your lubricated walls drew him in without resistance, his calloused hands on your waist helping to lower you down.

"Right there," He muttered, finally exhaling as your bodies were flush together. "Good fuckin' girl."

Sitting up straight, his hand moved around to grab a handful of your ass, suddenly pulling you forward. A sharp gasp left your lips, falling into his chest with your palms.

You couldn't resist, regardless of how sore your hips were, stretched out from the position, your thighs aching; you rolled your hips forward, a shiver and quiet moan of satisfaction coming from your lungs.

Your arms draped around his shoulders, enthusiastically grinding your hips against his, slowly rising up and lowering yourself to feel his cock push back up inside you. Your soft pants hit his ear, warm breath bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin.

He pulled you close, his own quiet grunts could be heard in the quiet of your room, especially as your pace sped up. His fingers would squeeze your waist and ass, gripping tightly so you wouldn't stop.

"How's it feel?" He asked, turning his head to watch your lips part with a deep moan. "You like ridin' my cock, don't you, sweetheart?"

"Yes," You mumbled. "Yes- fuck, please touch me," you whispered against his neck, your body hunching over his.

His spread his thighs, his fingers finding your clit as you continued to bring yourself up and down on his cock. Your head fell back, fingernails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, eyes squeezing shut.

Encircling your clit, his touch, combined with his girth sliding in and out, was more than enough to have your stomach tightening. Your moans had turned to choked gasps for air as you neared your climax, strong fingers still keeping their pace on your clit, black eyes watching you fall apart on his cock.

You froze, squeezing his cock as you came, harsh waves of pleasure that made you shudder. He sounded strained, holding in every sound that threatened to spill while your pussy clenched around him.

Rather than waiting for you to gather your composure, he lifted his hips up and began thrusting into you. It was slow at first, quickly turning needy and desperate when he saw the sweat on your brow, and disheveled expression.

"Fuck," He grunted. "Will y'let me cum in you?"

You nodded, too dazed for words, and his own anticipation got the better of him.

"Oughta get you pregnant," He huffed. His hand trailed up your waist, to gather your hair in his fist and pull. "You want it? Wanna be all fuckin' mine, don't you?"

You nearly sobbed, a quiet cry leaving your lips when his grip on your hair tightened and he forced your hips forward to meet his.

"I'm all yours," You answered, nearly all air, breathless amidst his chase for orgasm. "All yours, Simon."

Your words pushed him over the edge, a crippling hold on your waist holding you in place as he thrusted a few more times, forcefully. A low growl against your ear as he came inside you made you shiver, especially as his warm cum filled you.

"All mine, yeah?" He said, his breathing heavy.

You nodded against the side of his head, exhaling harshly.

You couldn't help but feel conflicted at the bittersweet revelation. You were his- entirely, but decades of playing pretend was not what you'd expected for yourself. You fell into him, ignoring the gnawing in your gut and pretending that the reality you'd created for yourselves was forever.

[1d1195]

Protection Extra IV

Read Protection here | ~1.8k words

From me: I really got to thinking about this idea from 🎶-ask. It is short, but hopefully it's enough. I've missed them loads. This is back within the first year of their official dating. I mentioned I would be jumping time frames a bit with these extras, so here it is.

Warnings: a little angsty. But fluffy overtones. Harry's just a protective guy. Also, the tiniest bit of smut but you have to squint and read between the lines. Mostly heavy making out and a little bit of touching.

Summary: Harry might not work for DSS anymore in the same way he used to. He doesn't guard her life because it's his job. He guards it because it's his life; her entire being is his and he would lose his mind (worse) if something happened to her.

She does not care to the same capacity as him. (But she does feel bad about it at least.)

“You said I could,” he frowned. The little scrunch between his eyebrows appeared when he concentrated. She loved it endlessly. Even if what he was asking was ridiculous. So as much as she loved that little furrow between his eyebrows, she was not going to cave. Instead, she smoothed her fingers on the bunch of skin and cupped his cheek with her hand. He turned into her hand and kissed her palm.

“Like as a joke, Harry,” she rolled her eyes she dropped her hand and returned to her previous position. She couldn’t see his face. But it didn’t matter. She already knew what faces he made any time she annoyed him anyway.

It was insane they were even having this conversation. Harry broached it so casually too. They were snuggled on the sofa, her body resting in his embrace. His knees bent around either side of her body and she laid across his torso. She fit so warmly against him it was hard to believe he was even asking her such a thing because the idea she would ever leave the circle of his arms was ridiculous.

“Okay,” he sighed. It was obvious he was frustrated by the decision. Her head was close enough to his mouth that he could kiss the top of her hair, so he did. He ran one hand up and down her arm sitting in the quiet while he held her safely in his arms. It was his favorite part of the day, holding her close to him where he knew nothing bad was going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.

Obviously, she took his silence as plotting to convince her. Which he could never. He knew that. He knew he would have an easier time convincing a fish to walk than telling her what to do. “I literally have my phone on me all the time and now you know about my shoe trick.”

He sighed. “But y’didn't have y'phone,” he reminded her. “No shoes either.”

There was that; she would allow him that much. “Well, there's no more threat, so I don't need—”

"Kitten," he sighed rubbing a hand over his face. He was exasperated. “I don’t want t’talk ‘bout this anymore,” he mumbled.

She frowned feeling bad she upset him. But he was thinking way too far over the top. “No one is even going to remember me anymore,” she whispered quietly. “He’s in jail for a really long time,” she reminded him. He didn’t answer her. “Harry,” she whispered. “Talk to me.”

“I already said I don’t want t’talk ‘bout it anymore.”

Her frown deepened and she sighed; feeling like the worst girlfriend in the world because she wouldn’t put a tracking device in her arm. “I have the scrunchie, too; for when you’re away,” she reminded him. He nodded, still silent. “Harry,” she sat up on her knees, so she could look at him. He was so pretty, all soft skin and angular. He was so handsome it made her swoon on a regular basis, and he was all hers. But she had to stand her ground.

His eyes looked sad, tired. Too sad. “M’not trying t’be controlling.”

“Of course not, Harry. I know—”

“Honey,” he interrupted.

Her heart skipped a beat because for whatever reason, when he called her honey, it made her lose all rational thought. It seemed like the conversation was far more serious than when he called her kitten, love, or even Miss Wildflower. She felt like she was nothing more than a container of the very sweet goop he called her. “I talked ‘bout this with m’therapist and we... I know m’being... crazy,” he frowned. He cupped the side of her face as he spoke so softly. Like all of this was a secret. “But... I was insanely lucky,” he reminded her. “Y’were brilliant,” he complimented. “I told you ‘bout a fail safe in passing and y’had been planning all along. I was completely blindsided by y’departure. Every step you had planned was perfect. But if y’didn’t have an AirTag, I wouldn’t have found you,” he admitted. She didn’t speak because his compliment was too nice. She didn’t think about it all that much. Mainly because she didn’t like thinking about betraying Harry the way she did. It was nearly a year ago and he was still worried. It probably killed him to admit that out loud. Because it was his job at the time, and he wouldn’t have been able to find her. But it wasn’t just his job. He loved her so completely.

If something happened to her, she really believed Harry wouldn’t survive the guilt. He barely forgave himself for her injured leg and she wasn’t convinced he fully forgave himself for that either.

She turned toward his palm in the same way he had and kissed his hand softly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “You don’t need t’apologize, kitten. Y’didn’t do anything wrong.”

She took a deep breath. She had her own therapist and they had also discussed a lot about her hyper-independence. Even with someone like Harry to rely on because she could, and he wouldn’t ever judge her. “I’m not...” she swallowed. “I had people follow me around for years, Harry,” she reminded him.

“I know—”

She pressed a finger to his lips gently. “I couldn’t do what I wanted ninety percent of my life, Harry,” she reminded him. “Do you know what it’s like to want to go to the mall to get new jeans because yours ripped and someone tells you that you can’t? Or that you want to go to a new frozen yogurt place with friends, but you’re not allowed to? If I forgot a vegetable for dinner, I couldn’t run to the store and back without it being a production,” he didn’t know what any of that felt like; not really. He only knew it from the end of production. The part of it all she didn’t like. So, he stayed quiet. “If you texted me every five minutes for the rest of our lives, asking where I was, I would tell you every. Single. Time,” she assured him locking her gaze with his. He felt it in his stomach, the way she looked at him. She meant every word she spoke. “If you put a tracking device in me it’ll... it’ll just feel like the rest of my life. Unable to make decisions on my own. Unable to live freely,” she told him. “You have my location through my phone. I am more than willing to have that scrunchie on my wrist and in my hair when you’re not within a couple hours of me,” she promised thinking about the weekend he spent with his mom. She wondered how long he stared at the little blipping dot that told him she was safe and in her house for most of the time he was gone. “Those AirTags saved my life because you told me I needed a failsafe, Harry. You saved me.”

His gaze dropped from hers and they were quiet. Harry didn’t like the compliment. He felt like he didn’t do a good job because she nearly drowned and had a scar on her thigh that made him want to smack his head on the wall for letting those things happen to her. Silently, she settled back into his arms, her ear resting so she had the perfect sound of his heart thudding against her.

“Harry?” She whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

He smiled, kissed the top of her head. “I love you, too,” his head dropped back against the arm of the sofa and he squeezed her. He thought of all those days she studied on the ground and how they were always this close to snuggling this way. “M’sorry m’so nervous,” he mumbled. “I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself,” he pressed his nose just behind her ear, like he was tracing the outline of her hair behind it.

“I think if I had a tracking device, you wouldn’t enjoy your life. Wouldn’t take your eyes off it.”

He thought of visiting his mother back in March and how the anxiety built and fell over and over as he looked at the little blip telling him where her scrunchie was. She was right. He would have it on every screen he owned if he knew her exact location. “You’re right.”

“Oh, that had to have hurt,” she giggled and kissed his throat.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a genius, kitten. M’happy t’say you’re right.” It was embarrassing how those words turned her on. A shiver rippled through her. No one loved her as much as Harry. No one trusted her instinct, her intelligence, or judgement as much as he did. But it was more than that. Because Harry knew people didn’t believe her for years. People misjudged her abilities because of her father and circumstance. They didn’t believe in her. So it was like he had complimented how pretty she looked (which she did) when he said she was right. It wasn’t an ego thing. “Did y’like that, honey?” He hummed his lips nipping at her earlobe as he spoke.

Harry knew exactly how much she liked that.

“Off,” she ordered shoving his shirt up his torso. It didn’t matter than she had seen him without a shirt hundreds of times since the day they warmed up in his car after the icy dip in the water when he saved her life a second time in one week. She liked to feel the hard ripples of his stomach and he had promised she could look as much as she wanted once she was warm.

Well now she was warm. “Yes, ma’am,” he pulled it off the rest of the way and pulled her in to kiss her as deeply as he could before he pushed her back to the opposite end of the couch and settled between her legs. “Say it,” he whispered, not quite begging. But he wanted to hear it. Because it made him feel better. It made him worry less about all the thoughts they had discussed in the last hour. He carefully shifted her leg as if he was worried it was the very same day she nearly bled out. He slipped his hand between their bodies feeling her through her leggings.

She moaned softly while he kissed the length of her throat and brushed his lips against the swell of her chest as she tried to maintain enough air to speak before she was lost in Harry and all his perfection.

She had no problem saying it. Because it was true. Truer than most anything she believed in her life. Harry was hers and he was going to protect her in any way he could even if she wasn't willing to put a tracking device in her body. “I’m all yours,” she promised breathlessly.

--

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Protection taglist: @youcouldstartacult @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @luxiorchive @ameerakane20 @be-with-me-so-happily

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I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

[eyesxxyou]

Just Talkin'

{★} .. hobie brown x black!reader

rating. mature

word count. 3.1k

synopsis. you broke up with hobie for reasons out of your control and it seems as if he's intent on making you regret it.

・．❕ warning. you are a mess, oral (f receiving), smut is short cuz it's not the focus, body shots cuz why not, a LOT of angst

You can't believe you're here…with him.

Your eyes shift across the room, always somehow landing upon his tall, lanky figure sitting on a pillow with a joint between his fingers and a perpetual chuckle in his throat. Nothing ever funny enough to elicit a full laugh, always a breezy chuckle.

You sip on your drink, barely listening to your friend telling you about how her partner was being an asshole as always and how she thinks she should break up with him (she never does). Your gaze doesn't linger on Hobie or you'd give yourself away.

You agreed to be friends, you agreed to keep his secret being Spider-Man. You made up lies for him on a dime just to protect him to which he'd always thank you with a wink and one of those smiles he knows you used to swoon over. "Thanks, luv." He'd whisper in your ear, tossing his arm over your shoulders to pull you in close. Then he'd disappear all together.

Why did you two have to have the same friend group? Why did every outing have to mean being forced to be in close proximity to him? It was your decision haunting you, whispering in your ear that you should have never broken up with him because it seemed he was now intent on making every interaction hell for you.

Did you know that every time you look away, he looks at you, stealing glances far more discreet than yours? His gaze caresses your face, your lips, the curve of your body. He takes a drag of his joint and smiles to himself because he sees that you're still wearing that necklace he gifted you. Your fingers fiddled with it subconsciously, twisting at the small tube that contained a single, preserved rose petal within it.

It was another one of your shared friend's ideas to do body shots. Everyone was in enthusiastic agreement besides you and Hobie. He didn't say anything about it, went along with it anyway because that's just who he was. You on the other hand sat where you were while everyone else got into a circle on the floor. You didn't want to play, didn't want to see Hobie with his lips and tongue all over someone else's body or see one of your friends do the same to him.

"I'll sit this one ou', mates." Hobie saw your reluctance to play and instantly knew why. "Y/N don' wanna play so I'll stay ou' to make i' even." He's a good liar like that, convincing with his nonchalant manner of going about things. That's why he was able to keep being Spider-Man a secret for so long. You would have never found out if not for him straight up telling you a few months into your relationship. It's also how you two were able to keep your relationship a secret from your friends for as long as it lasted. Now it was a matter of keeping your breakup a secret as well.

He stood up and came over to the couch where you sat. You wished he wouldn't as he sat down beside you and tossed an arm across the back of the couch behind your head. He leaned into you, smelling of weed, natural musk, and cologne that made you want to lean into him and press your face into the side of his neck.

Instead you shuffle away from him slightly so your bodies weren’t pressed so snuggly together. “You don’t have to sit out for me.” You murmur under your breath just loud enough for only him to hear. “You don’t own me anything.”

“I know, dove.” He took another drag before reaching over your body to tap off the excess ashes into the ashtray beside you. “Jus’ don’ gotta partna play wit’ now do I?” His fingers played with your hair like he always used to do. It’s like nothing changed for him. Why didn’t he hate you for breaking up with him? Why didn’t he despise you for trying to make him choose between you and being Spider-Man?

“I’ll play if you do.” He whispers in your ear with one of those wicked smiles across his pretty, dark lips. You turn to look at him, looking into those eyes you still adored that dare you to commit. He’s in it if you are. And oh, how you’re still so weak to him. Even after months of being separated.

“Fine.” You looked to your friends, already pouring a shot on one of them. “We’re joining.” You got up and slid down on the floor with Hobie in pursuit, sitting across from you.

It was getting rowdy quickly, everyone cheering and coaxing each other on as you played. Lips on bodies, tongues and laughter, smacking when someone got too frisky, more laughter. You were all drunk and or high. It was all fun and games for you.

Until it was your turn. That’s when you sobered up. You had already agreed to be the human shot glass and there was no turning back now. Hobie was already putting out his joint in a nearby ashtray while your friend coaxed you into taking off your shirt. You did, wringing it in your hands as you laid back and a shot of tequila was poured out on the flat of your naval. It's cold, makes you shiver softly. But nothing will make you shiver more than Hobie climbing up between your legs, his hands on your waist as he looks at you. 'You okay?' His gaze asks and you nod just subtly enough to give him the okay to continue.

You have no idea why you put yourself in a situation like this, with Hobie's lips latching to your naval, slurping up the tequila from your frame, his hot tongue lavishing over your heated skin. Were you desperate for pain? Were you craving that lingering feeling of regret over breaking up your relationship?

His eyes looked up into yours, hands stroking sides, pulling you a little closer. His teeth graze your flesh, tongue lapping up the last lingering sting of tequila off your skin. You could have moaned if not for all the people around you, pulled him up and forced your lips against his. He would have never refused it, would have welcomed it like the old lover you are.

You were overwhelmed by it all, all the eyes on you, laughing and cheering the two of you on. Hobie's hands, his teeth, his lips, his tongue. Every movement sending tremors through you that you know he can feel. His hot gaze looks through you like glass and you can't stand the way he reads you so thoroughly because you're an open book for him.

You sit up abruptly, pushing Hobie back as you stand and swiftly march away with your shirt in your hands. You couldn't bear it. It was too much. Your friends probably thought you had lost it, murmuring amongst themselves asking what your deal was.

You shut yourself off in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. Your belly was still wet with his saliva, a firm frown etched itself across your lips. You looked disappointed in yourself, for causing such a scene, for letting anything like that happen in the first place, for even agreeing to remain friends with Hobie knowing that feelings were still running high and would for a very long time.

There was a knock on the door and you quickly began to put your shirt back on. "Hold on!"

"Ya need help there?"

God, why did they have to send him to check up on you? Why him?

"No, fuck off, Hobie." You could hear the door click closed behind him as you pulled your shirt over your head and slid your arms through the sleeves. "That shouldn't have happened. I shouldn't have played that game with you. Why are you even here?" You turn back and see him all leaned up against the door with that nonchalant demeanor that instantly makes anyone and everyone feel non-judged and seen, seen as much as they want to be. He doesn't pry or pick, it's whatever you want and it irritates the hell out of you because it makes it so hard not to want to kiss him.

"T' check on ya." He shrugged as if it were obvious. "You kinda freaked out there. Jus' wan'ed t' make sure you were okay… Here as a frien' or whateva."

"I'm fine, you can leave now."

"Are you?"

Your eyes shoot daggers at him and he takes it with a smile, arms crossed over his chest. He looks so pretty, with his crop top that shows off his firm naval and happy trail, those lips, those hips, those pretty eyes.

Sometimes you wonder why you broke up with him in the first place. He's never done you wrong, never cheated, never lied beyond hiding he was Spider-Man, never made you feel unloved. Then you remember the anxiety you’d get every time he went out, the debilitating sort, the fear that he might not come back from saving the day. There was the pain of having to clean up his wounds after a fight, clean bloody noses, haphazardly stitch up the deeper gashes with your sewing needle, kissing bruises. Watching him ache for days after the more grueling fights. It was too much for you to handle. You couldn’t do it anymore.

“Why don’t you hate me?” Your voice was soft, hushed as your gaze softened with something bordering on sorrow. “I mean– I ruined something that was perfectly good. Why don’t you hate me for leaving you?” He should want nothing to do with you and yet, he was still here, still in your ear, in your gaze, in your heart.

Hobie shrugged again. His smile faded slowly, fingers picking and peeling at the chipped, black nail polish glossy on his fingertips. “You had ya reasons, luv. Valid reasons. I could neva be mad at you f’ tha’. Plus… I could neva hate’cha. No matter what’cha do, dove.” He stood up straight, came in close, and gently reached out to caress the side of your cheek with his fingertips.

You leaned into his touch. The warmth of his hands contrasting the cool of his rings made you sigh. You looked up at him and he looked down at you and all you could think was how much you missed him.

You got up on your toes and pulled Hobie down to ease your lips onto his. He did not resist you just as you anticipated, he leaned into you, pressed you against the sink counter until your ass was on the surface of it and he was standing between your knees. His lips sought after yours, tongue begging for entrance into you mouth which you grant him without so much as a second thought.

Your hand finds his and your fingers laced together as he sunk his tongue into your mouth and strokes it against yours. He made you moan softly against his lips, your fingers wringing at his, your other hand on his waist as pulling him all the closer.

"Hobie." You whisper, pulling away just enough that your lips hover over his. He smells so good, so much like him that it makes you delirious. Hobie's still stealing pecks from you, humming softly like something of a purr against your lips. "We shouldn't–"

"'m still in love wit' you."

There's a beat of silence after he lets it slip. It's no surprise, he makes it so very clear that he's not over you. And he knows so vividly that you're not over him either. He can feel it. "I know ya couldn't handle i'. 'M no' askin' ya to come back to me. But please, don' tell me you're over me tha' quickly." He chuckled softly, almost sorrowfully as he kissed you again. His hands were under your shirt, heavy and warm against your skin as he strokes circles with his thumbs into your flesh. "Don't tell me tha'."

He pulls you to the edge of the counter, presses you against him. You moan softly with your back arching towards him. A familiar warmth began to grow between your thighs where he pressed himself. Hobie slid his tongue back into your mouth agape and loved you the way he always did, with tongue and teeth and soft, soft lips.

When you parted – panting – a soft whine escaping you, Hobie got down on his knees and lifted your shirt just enough to reveal the soft flesh of your belly. His lips placed tender, wet kisses against your heated skin. His fingertips traced the waist of your pants, his way of tenderly asking permission to continue.

You nodded, swaying, dizzy and drunk on love. You watch him swiftly undo the button and work down the zipper of your fly. You help him lazily, lifting yourself up to help him as he pulled down your pants and underwear in one motion and let them fall to the floor in front of him.

He was swift, tongue against your aching cunt before you even knew what was happening. You slapped your hand over your mouth before you could moan too loudly as his mouth explored what was always his to keep. His hands massaged your inner thighs, keeping them open and not clamping down on his head as you always seemed to do.

He was always so good with his tongue, stroking your clit with the tip of it before finding his way lower to your soaked entrance. He moaned into your cunt, whispering soft praises against your swollen bud. "Fuck– I missed you, baby. Miss this cunt too."

You missed this, you missed him, everything about him. Was it worth it? Was he worth all the uncertainty he caused? He told you himself that he wasn’t asking for you back. He’d never try to pressure you back into a relationship if that’s not what you wanted because he’s just a good person like that. And now you’re wondering even more why you ever wanted to break up in the first place.

He tongue fucked you nice and slow, his nose nudging your clit while his eyes fluttered at the taste of you. He missed your taste on his tongue, the way you struggled to stifle your moans so your friends around the corner wouldn't hear.

Your heavy-lidded eyes fluttered with pleasure. "Hobie please." You whispered out a soft whine, desperately attempting to rut your hips against his face. His large hands pressed your hips down, kept you still and placid for him. He looked up at you behind dark, low lids and hummed against your wanting cunt with something akin to pleasure.

Your hands grasped his shirt as you began to pull him up and away from your wanton pussy. He stood back between your legs, the pads of his fingers finding your clit to stroke while his lips returned to yours. You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue, your arousal, how much you missed him.

He rubbed your clit messily, fingers wet with your slick dripping on the counter. "My pretty girl, my pretty, pretty girl." Hobie cooed against your lips as you moaned against his. Your body rolled and shivered with each pinch and flick of his skilled fingers and Hobie adored every moment of it.

"Still so sensitive." He played your clit like he'd play with the strings of his guitar, with swift skill and intimate knowledge of all your parts. He knew just how to move to make you lose your mind.

Your arms were around his neck, pulling him in, holding him close, adoring his scent and the small scars on his otherwise smooth skin. Hobie pressed his body against yours with his hand between you, fingers teasing at your entrance but never going all the way. He knew the anticipation alone was enough, combined with the pad of his thumb against your tender rosebud.

Your breath quickened with the beginnings of your orgasm. It's been months since you've felt his touch. It was no surprise that you'd cum quick. Hobie chuckled softly at you, at how cute you were when you were about to cum. The way you'd whine so needily for him to make it quick or take his time. He could feel the ache of your pussy and knew you were so close, just on the cusp of relief.

"I love you, Hobie. I love you so, so much." Your cried against his mouth. "'m sorry I left you. I'm so sorry." You were on the cusp of tears, kissing him feverishly as he coaxed your through your orgasm, fingers circling your entrance and his thumb weighing on your pulsing clit. You babbled on and on about how much you missed him and how you wished you never left, how it was a mistake between breathless pants.

"Luv, luv, calm down. I love ya too." He helped you down from the counter and grabbed up your clothes as you attempted to keep yourself stable on your own two feet. He helped you get dressed, make yourself decent again all while chuckling at your humiliation, the way you couldn't even bear to look at him.

You were thinking hard – thinking loudly. He could see the gears turning behind your eyes with something of uncertainty. "Hobie–"

"Before ya make a rash decision, jus'… think 'bout it." Hobie held you by the waist and kissed you once again because he simply couldn't help himself. "Ion want you doin' somethin you'll regret, like gettin' back together wit' me."

You wanted to tell him that you'd never regret something like that. You never regretted him in the first place despite what he may think. It just that…things were complicated for so many fucked up reasons. You looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes begging him to simply see and understand you. "I love you." That's all you could think to say.

Hobie cracked something of a playful smile. "I know." And it meant so much more than just surface level. He saw just what you needed him to see and accepted it for what it was. He knew you, maybe more than you knew yourself and you were grateful for it.

Returning back out to the living room meant having to deal with questions from your friends. "What were you two in there so long for?" It seemed they hadn't heard anything from where they sat and your secret, with a little side-stepping, could remain just that – a secret.

Hobie, being the better liar, was quick to shrug carelessly and plop down on the couch. He glanced at you, grabbing your drink from where you left it and taking a sip.

"Jus' talkin'."

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

Old School Love | AU

summary: You've been dating Harry for a short time, and he's finally ready to get something off his chest.

word count: 2.1k

read time: 9 min

content warning ⚠️: vampire!harry, fluff, mentions of blood

a/n: reading twilight at such a young age did a number on my frontal lobe...

Old School Love Universe

“That’s not funny Harry.” You chuckle nervously, waiting for him to crack. To let you in on the joke, but he doesn’t. He just looks at you clearing his throat. “Come on. I mean - There’s no way.” you stutter. “You’re joking.” 

Harry shakes his head slowly, reaching for your hand he brings your palm, under his hoodie, to rest over his heart. 

“Feel.” he says quietly, looking into your eyes deeply. This is the best way he figures he can confirm it for you, and it’s the closest he’s ever allowed you to be to him. You’ve held hands, but anything more than that or quick pecks, has always been out of the question. “I just need time.” Harry had said. It was a boundary you respected as you had only been seeing each other for a short time. Harry’s version of intimacy was different than anything you’d experienced before, a huge change of pace from all the men eager to jump in bed with you of the recent past. But what you were ‘missing’ in physical intimacy, Harry made sure to make up for with emotional intimacy. You never felt like you were missing anything. 

But now, with your hand on his chest, being so close to him in his apartment for the first time, and with what he’d just revealed. It’s starting to make sense. You press your hand harder into his chest, searching for it, but you're shocked at what you feel. Or rather don’t feel. 

A heartbeat. 

Not even a slow one, there was nothing. His skin felt warm enough to the touch, maybe a little below average. But you had always chucked it up to him running cold, like you. Anemic perhaps. But there was no mistaking the fact that there wasn't a steady heartbeat where there should be.

You stare at where your hand is beneath his hoodie, eyebrows furrowed. “Say something.” Harry pleads. 

“You’re serious.” your voice is even, but Harry can hear the racing rhythm of your heartbeat, and the shallowness of your breathing. He waits for you to scream, run, something. Instead,  you pull your hands into your lap, leaning back into his couch, tucking a leg under you. . 

“Afraid so,” he says, with a sad smile, “I know it’s unbelievable…for you, but -”  

“You're a vampire.” you whisper, looking up at him. The word feels different rolling off your tongue now more than it ever has. You’ve read books, and seen movies. It was one of your favorite genres. Fantasy. 

But this wasn’t fantasy, this was real. And you didn’t have the words, and your mind was reeling. You had so many questions. 

“Yeah.” Harry confirms. Harry had never told anyone, but he supposes this is as good of a reaction as he could get, and knowing that your first instinct wasn’t to run made him feel more validated in his feelings for you. In his reasoning for telling you. This is the right decision he thought. “I’ve never - really said it. Outloud after all these years.” 

“Why me?” you ask, “I mean, why are you telling me?” 

“Because I care about you. Quite a lot actually.”A vampire ‘perk’ as he begrudgingly called it. Heightened emotion. “I know so much about you but I feel like I’ve been lying to you this whole time. I don’t want to do that anymore.” 

“I see.” you contemplate. You nibble on your bottom lip. 

“Are you disgusted by me now? Or,” he takes a deep breath, chewing on his own lip, “scared?”

At the utterance of the word, you look back over to him reaching for his hands, holding one of his in both of your much smaller, and warmer ones. 

“No!” you rush out, “No Harry, I’m not scared or disgusted, just trying to wrap my head around it all. You’re still you, right? I mean there’s nothing you’ve lied to me about? Besides the obvious.” you ask and he shakes his head. 

“No. Nothing. I’ve been honest the entire time, just kept a few things safe.” 

“Well then we’re okay.” You’re sure you’re still in shock, but your knee jerk reaction wasn’t to run or call Harry crazy. And while you questioned what that said about you, it only made Harry feel even more safe around you than he already did. Safer than he has in decades. There were sure to be things that came up, that you’d need to work through, you two were fully aware, but for now…everything was going to be okay. 

“A lot is making sense now.” you say, moving closer to him on the small loveseat. 

“Like what?” 

“Well you’re a little…old fashioned Harry. Which I love and appreciate but - it’s just different than what I’m used to.” You giggle, and he smiles, nodding his head in agreement, “Can I ask you a question though, well a few,maybe?” 

He leans forward, and you don’t pull away, instead you lean closer too, crossing your legs under you. “Of course, anything. Ask me as many questions as you want. I’m an open book!” Harry urges, earnestly. 

“How old are you?” 

“I’m ninety-three technically. Been like this for only sixty-three years though.” 

“Oh.” you say tilting your head to the side, “That's young, right?  For a vampire?” you clarify and Harry chuckles. “I mean, I know my references are just books and movies but - usually their all so-” 

“Old?” Harry laughs, “You worried about dating an old man?” 

“Wha- No! Not at all I just -” 

“It’s okay, Love.” he laughs, “Yes, I’m pretty young still. I’m what we call a Young Blood. Having been…this way for less than 100 years. There were laws made a while back, way before I was ‘born’, about creating more vampires, but laws aren’t always followed, so here I am.” 

There is something in the way he spoke, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Sadness, or maybe anger? Regardless you chose not to pry, instead making a mental note to ask about Vampire Law at a later date. 

“So are you on your own, or are there more of…you?” 

“Like I said, I’m a Young Blood so other vampires tend to be weary of me and younger vampires like me. They think we are reckless…gonna tell the world about our existence.” He smirks, “But I’m not alone, entirely. I’ve got a small group of friends. Most of them are much older than I am, they’re just kind of spread out all over. My friend Oliver lives a few hours away. I see him every now and then.”  

“Your secret is safe with me.” 

“I know. I trust you.” he smiles, “You know, I’ve been on my own for a while and I was going to head back home to England since it’s been long enough. But then I met you, and decided to stay stateside a bit longer.”

 You smile, remembering the memory of the first day you had met Harry. It was a rainy, chilly day. You were having the worst day. Having forgotten your umbrella, wanting to get out of the house for just a moment to write, when Harry ever the gentleman opened the door for you to your favorite cafe. A brief interaction, that turned into the two of you chatting, and ended with an invitation to dinner later in the week. It was a bold move for Harry, talking to anyone let alone someone he thought was as beautiful as you. But there was something about you that made him have to get to know you. And now, months later, here you are. And you both couldn’t be happier. 

“I’m glad you decided to stay.” 

“Me too. Is this too weird now?” he says rubbing the back of his neck, eyes cast down. That makes you chuckle, and it’s music to Harry’s ears. 

“My boyfriend just told me he's a vampire after I admitted to my embarrassing Twilight phase, it’s a little weird, Harry.” You chuckle.

“I saw an opportunity and took it.” he smiles, “It’s just been driving me crazy, not having you know. Not being able to be close to you.” he stops, bringing your hand to his lips, “Physically I mean. I know your a cuddler and it has killed me not being able to hold you, but I was scared you’d notice,”

“The lack of heartbeat.”

 “Yeah.” He sighs, “I figured I could explain away the body temperature, but that’s kind of hard to explain.”

 “Is that also why you’ve not kissed me yet?” You ask with a smirk. 

“We kiss.” Harry defends, and you chuckle. 

“You know what I mean. All I get are little pecks! And I love them, I do. I’ll take any affection your comfortable giving me, but” 

“You want more.”  He finishes.

 “Yeah.” You say cheeks are warming up. “I like when you kiss me, and if you're comfortable with it, I’d really enjoy a make out session every now and then.” Saying it out loud made you feel a little silly, and yes maybe a little childish. “So how much of it is your old fashioned ways, and how much is it, the other thing.” 

If Harry were being honest, he’d been keeping you at arms length, which is part of the reason why he’s decided to let you in on who he really was. And now that you knew, nothing was really stopping him from being more physical with you. Nothing besides his new fear of scaring you off. 

“Less about me being old fashioned.” He confesses, “I want to be closer to you too. And I’d love to make out with you,” he smirks, before looking down again, “but sometimes when vampires get…close to someone in that way, our um…fangs pop. And I just-” 

“Can I see?” 

“What?”

 “Your fangs. Can I see them?” You ask, and Harry’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, because you're completely serious. “I’m not running, Harry. I wanna learn everything I can about you. I'm curious.” You smile. 

“Okay.” Harry sighs. He opens his mouth, lifting his lip just a little, and baring his teeth. You watch as a set of prominent and pointy fangs protrude from his gums. You try to keep your reaction minimal to not embarrass him. You do a decent job, but Harry can hear your heartbeat pick up. Without much thought you reach your hand up, caressing his cold cheek. You rub your thumb over the apples of his cheeks a second, turning your head to the side examining his face, and fangs. Before you have time to stop yourself, you reach up slowly with your other hand touching his left fang, feeling just how sharp it is. 

“Wow.” You whisper, pulling your hands in your lap. Harry retracts his fangs, and closes his mouth, feeling the worst is over.  

“Yeah.” 

“Does it hurt? When you pop them?” 

“Not at all. They hurt when they first came through. And it was hard to keep them from showing for a while but you get used to them.” 

“Can I ask you a question that may be…sensitive?” 

“Of course.” 

“Are you um…a vegetarian .” 

This is it, Harry thinks. This is when you get too scared, and this is when you run. “No.” He confesses slowly, “No, I’m not. But I don’t hurt people. I live on blood bags I get from the hospital. I used to drink from humans. Just enough to get full, and then send them on their way, but I haven’t since I met you.” 

“Why?” 

Harry took a moment, trying to think of the best way to explain it. “Feeding from someone is quite intimate. It’s not quite like sex for me but…I just didn’t feel right doing it, when I have a girlfriend. So I just use the bags now.”  

“You can feed from me. I mean, if you want.” You say nervously, and Harry smiles. 

“I appreciate that Love. But baby steps, yeah?” He smiles. 

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” 

Harry reaches for your hand pulling you into his lap, “Come here.” You settle placing your hand on his shoulders, resting your forehead on his, “I’m so happy with you. Haven’t been this happy in decades. Thank you.” 

You kiss him softly, “For what?” 

“Not running away. Or calling me crazy. For accepting me, but mainly for making me happy.” 

“You make me happy too.” 

“Good.” Harry smiles, placing a quick peck to your cheek. 

“I have a lot more questions that I intend on asking you, but I already have a lot to process. So can we make out now?” You ask, and Harry squeezes you closer to him, throwing his head back with a laugh. 

“Well since you’ve asked so nicely.” He smiles, pressing your lips to his in a much awaited deep warm kiss. 

a/n: i know there are other things that i have queued that i should be posting but....i'm a sucker for a vampire story! and this idea popped in my head and i just had to. you can def expect more from this universe/more vampire!harry in general haha

✨masterlist✨ ∣ ✨yap & request box✨

[hannamoon143]

Reach for the light

brothers best friend! lee minho x fem. reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

words: 3,2K

warnings: parents with anger issues, family issues, throwing up, crying, mention of being high, drunk, injury, anxiety, panick

summary: Y/n is lost, trying to get away from her future, drowning out reality with parties and alcohol. But one day something happens, and she breaks. She wants her brother to pick her up, calling him while being a sobbing, drunk mess. But not her brother picks up. Instead it's her brothers best friend minho...

Another drink, another party, another waste of time. You knew that this was exactly what it was as you were standing at the bar, getting more drinks for you and your friends. You stumbled over to them again, laughing and handing everyone their drinks. You weren’t sober anymore. And you also weren’t five drinks ago. And maybe, just maybe you were a bit high too. But you were laughing, dancing with your friends, if you could call them that. It was taking your mind off things, you could say. And you were more than thankful for that.

You would lie if you’d say you liked how your life was going right now. But things weren’t that easy. Your parents were almost never home but if they were, you preffered to be somewhere else. You didn’t remember a time where they didn’t fight. And if you’d get between them, it didn’t look good for you. Anger issues came with a lot of broken things, yelling and sometimes injuries. And what were you to do? You had finished school, and most of your so called friends headed off to university, or made a year abroad. But you? Your grades from school were shit anyways, but now you would never have to care about them again. You should most probably start looking at universities. People always said to you: It’s okay to take a year off before going to university or deciding what to do now,you have time. Did you? You had no idea what to do. Also not next year, and the year after. What did you want to work? Where did you want to live? You knew that it was stupid,and childish, you weren’t naive. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your parents would never be proud of you anyways, no matter what you would study, or work, and it was just easier to be careless.

But unfortunately there was your older brother hyunjin too. You loved him yes but, since you’ve been little kids he always protected and looked out for you, because noone else did. He didn’t push you to make decisions though.  And he had a best friend, minho. They always were friends, since you can think. You didn’t like each other that much, more just tolerating each other, altough sometimes you got into fights. But still he seemed to be protective over you, you thought that it was most probably because hyunjin told him to or something.

You always told your brother that you were going to a friends house. There wasn’t a reason to lie to him, but somehow it just made you feel better when he was not worried or knew what you were making out of your life. You could never tell if he believed you or saw right through your lies and just didn’t say anything.

So here you were, totally drunk and a bit high again. You didn’t go out without a reason this time. Your parents had a fight when you got home from school, and stupid like you were you tried to stop them from destroying their own whole house. A vase was thrown at you in the process. But who cared? Another scar less or more didn’t matter now. And if you were drunk it was easier to ignore it too. It was just a scar across your cheek, and you simply told your friend that you tripped and fell on a rock. It was so easy when everyone believed the first answer you told them.

Your friends were yelling over the loud music something about that they would go somewhere, but you didn’t quite understand it. You just nodded. The music was getting louder by any second, sounding weirdly slurred. Your dress suddenly felt way too tight and you wanted to get out of here. Everything spinned. You only saw a weird guy approaching you when he was already really close. Your vision was blurred and you couldn’t quite focus, but you were still able to see that he must be very drunk too. You tried to walk off, where you guessed the exit was. But the man laid an arm around your waist and pulled you close. It made you feel nauseous and sick, the contact also feeling a bit to much like home, it was strong, possesive and angry. You mumbled some apologies that you needed to leave now and tried to free yourself from his tight grip.

„Hey hey hey, sweetie why would you leave? It’s so early, and you don’t look like you had much fun here yet.“ The guy said in a disgusting voice with a chuckle. You didn’t know what to do now. You told him, louder this time, that he should let you go. He only chuckled, gripping you tighter. You didn’t know what to do now. It was crowded everywhere around you, but noone seemed to notice anything. You were starting to panick, the walls closing in on you. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the panick, that gave you the strength to shake off his arm, and you were stepping away, but you didn’t expect what he did then. You thought he’d probably just give up and go to someone else, but he reached forward, grabbing you by your neck really, really hard. You yelped in pain, and you didn’t have a good balance anymore, since you were drunk yourself, so you fell backwards.

Now people were starting to look, and the guy got uncomfortable and quickly stumbled away. Noone tried to stop him. A few people were looking at you, but noone helped you. Your body didn’t quite know the danger was gone now. Tears welled up in your eyes. Shakily you stood up, your neck hurting really bad. You couldn’t stand the people looking at you, and you heard a few people whisper „Isn’t that hyunjins little sister?“ You made your way through the dancing crowd until you were finally somewhere outside. Tears were streaming down your face, probably ruining your make up completely. But you couldn’t care less.

 Now the cold air hit you, and you shakily pulled out your phone. It took a bit time until you found the right contact, your vision and body not letting you forget you were drunk and totally wasted. You tapped the call button to your brother. You paced forth and back on the little road, trying not to fall down or pass out.You promised to yourself never to get high again. Finally someone picked up. You were hoping your brother was home.

„H-Hyunjin? P-please i know i shouldn’t call th-this hour but i can’t… please come get me, i don’t know wher i am, and…and i just can’t-„ you tried to talk normal, but failed terribly. Your voice came out in messy sobs, your voice sounding hoarse.

You froze when you heard the voice on the other end.

„Y/n? where the fuck are you and why do you sound drunk.“ It wasn’t your brothers voice. It sounded like minho. You looked at your phone. It was your brothers number, why did he pick up.

„M-minho… Forget that i called i’ll c-call someone else“

„The fuck you won’t. If you don’t tell me where you are right now and why you sound like a crying mess i will find out myself.“

„I- i don’t know… a party, somewhere i- i can’t… don’t know“ You sobbed, not really knowing what you even mean to say. „Please just, tell my brother i- to g..get me“ you sobbed.

„Y/n, send me your location, and i’ll come get you. Dont go anywhere.“ He said in a firm but kinda soft voice. Before you could protest he hung up the call. You didn’t know what else to do right now so you sent minho your location.

Meanwhile you stood there, at the lonely road, a dark forrest next to you. You felt cold, disgusting and all you wanted to do right now, was to take a shower and sleep for a long time. You replayed the night in your head, still feeling the man’s hand on your neck.

When minho’s car pulled up on the road you were sitting on the  side of the road, your arms wrapped around yourself, trying to warm yourself up, staring into nowwhere. Minho wanted to yell, to scold you for sitting in the cold, for most probably being entirely wasted but when he saw you something in him clicked. Your messy hair, ruined mascara and the horrified look on your face… He jumped out his car, running over to you, crouching down next to you.

„Y/n, hey are you hurt?“ He scanned your body for any injuries. You stood up without another word, but you stumbled, everything spinning again. Minho was quick to stand up to and steady you . „God how much did you drink y/n.“He mumbled.

You only said „Let’s go home.“ And wanted to go towards the car but he held you back. You flinched, the contact reminding you oft he guy. Minho noticed it immediately. „I’m sorry, did i hurt you?“ he apologized, altough he knew that couldn’t have hurt you, his grip on your wrist was light. Yous hook your head, but continued staring at his hand on your wrist. He slowly let it fall. „Hey y/n talk to me, what is even going on hm? Yes you were partying, wich doesn’t really seem like you but what happened that got you sobbing like i heard you on the phone? Do i need to kill someone?“

You looked down on the ground. „No i just got tired, i’m fine.“

„You cried so hard cause you got tired? Come on. Y/n, seriously if you aren’t going to tell me what the heck happened i’m jsut gonna tell your brother that you did some shit and he better has an eye on you from now on.“ He said, firm but still soft.

You didn’t know what you could do other ways. If you wouldnt tell minho, he would probably find out somewhere and maybe your parents would find out that you’ve been going to parties, getting drunk isntead of studying the whole time, even when you were still at school. You were drunk, tired, scared and the excitement that being drunk and partying brought you was washed away. You couldn’t stand it anymore. So something in you clicked at his words.

„It’s just… i was at that party and i g-got drunk and my friends went somewhere else b-but i didn’t come with them, and then this guy…“ your voice broke.

Minho’s eyes darkened immediately

„Y/n what guy.“

„H-he grabbed me and didn’t want to let me go and it reminded me of m-my parents a-and then i finally pulled away but h-he grabbed my by my neck and it hurt really bad and i fell backwards a-and-„ You didn’t realize you started crying again. You just couldn’t hold it together anymore. You didn’t even mean to tell minho of the thing with you parents, not knowing if your brother told him of the situation with them. But you didn’t care now. Everything was to much, to overwhelming.

Minho seemed like he wanted to murder someone. Wich he in fact wanted.

„Did that bastard hurt you?“ he said in a scaringly calm voice.But you knew better and heard the rage behind it. You said you were fine but out of reflexes you touched the spot he grabbed you. Minho took a step closer, careful to not scare you. He gently grabbed your shoulders. „Y/n, please let me look at it.“ He was trying to be calm. You just nodded weakly. He gently brushed your hair to the side and when he saw the purple bruises he felt like throwing up. He immediately took a step back,clenching his fists.

„Y/n-‘‘

“No please minho i-i know i should have been more careful, i-‘‘you tried to get something out, trembling in fear, and also from the cold. You thought the anger was pointed towards yourself.

„I’m gonna fucking kill that guy.“ He hissed, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was clenching his fists together.

You looked up from the ground. You saw him turning to the building where obviously the party was. No he wasn’t going in right? Please not.As he took a step forward, you also did, causing to stumble again, and falling directly into his arms again. He noticed your trembling. „Please don’t go in there minho please that guy is not worth it.“

He stared at you for a long time, then letting out a long exhale as if he’s been holding his breath the entire time. He sighs and suddenly takes his jacket off, handing it to you.

„You’ll catch a cold in that dress.“ he just said, helping you put it on. You thanked him silently.

His eyes lingered on you for another moment, and then he just wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you to his car. The touch didn’t feel like the one from the man, or your parents. It wasn’t violently, or angry and making you feel small. It was gentle, making you feel seen. You felt like you experienced this kind of touch the first time.

Minho opened the car door for you, buckling your seatbelt, and then getting into the car on the drivers side. As you were finally sitting, embraced from the warmth of the car you let yourself fall apart once again. Minho quietly started driving, and you closed your eyes, your head leaning against the window. A few more silent tears were spilling through though. It wasn’t just the night this time, it was your whole situation, your whole life in the past months. Minho looked at you, sighing.

„Hey…“ he gently reached out with one  of his hands, wiping the tears away to your surprise. „Is it because of your parents? Hyunjin told me that things haven’t been too good lately. He is really worried about you.“

„…It’s i dont know… yes, but also i just feel like i don’t know what to do. I don’t have friends like you are a friend to hyunjin. A friend i could go to when things get hard. My parents would laugh at me and tell me that they have bigger problems, and other than that? Who can i talk to? What does really matter? Does it matter if i get drunk or sleep at night? Does it matter if i go to university or work or do nothing now?“

„You know, you could talk to me.“ He stated. You didn’t know what to answer. But as you tried to think of something to say a gross feeling bubbled up in your stomach. „Minho please stop somewhere there.“ You said, holding your mouth. He ooked over at you, and as he saw what was going on, he quickly stopped at the side of the road. You quickly got out of the car, throwing up into some bushes. Your knees threatened to give in. Of course minho saw it. He quickly came over to you, holding your hair back, and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

When you were done you felt like passing out.

„hey, sit down, you still look pale.“ Minho softly said, guiding you back to the car. You sat back in, closing your eyes. He didn’t start driving yet. He just patiently waited in his own seat, letting the door open, in case you were still nauseous. You felt his hand brushing your hair back in a soothing manner. „Why did you come? You don’t even like me that much.“

He looked at you confused. „What on earth would make you think i don’t like you?“

„I don’t know, you never really were that nice or i don’t know…“

„I am not that good at showing my emotions. That’s something i’ve always been insecure about, but i can’t do anything about it. And hyunjin kinda always told me since we were kids that he would haunt everyone that touches his sister.“ Minho chuckled a bit. „So i guess i just acted like we were siblings too, and somehow got kinda protective too i don’t know. I’ve always liked you y/n. And to the question why i came, you were calling, sobbing and sounding wasted. Did you really think i would have just left you like this?“ You felt minhos soft gaze on you, his hand still brushing through your hair. You opened your eyes, turning to the side and looking at him. Did he really care about you…?

„i guess i never knew that you liked me that much.“ You said, half jokingly, but it wasn’t a joke.

„I guess so.“ he said very quiet. His hand wasn’t brushing through your hair anymore. Instead it was lingering on your cheek. That single moment felt like forever. Maybe it was a few seconds, or a few hours. You couldn’t tell. Everything that existed in this moment was his warm gaze laying on you, his hand on your cheek, the comforting words from earlier still lingering in the air. You felt as if this little moment was fixing something inside of you. Maybe things weren’t as lost as you saw them. Maybe  you just needed help, help that you couldn’t get until now.

Of course no decision couldn‘thave been made that night in the car, and also not after, when minho took you to his place, letting you sleep there, and making you breakfast at the morning.

But from now on things were different. You were lost before. Lost in a dark hole where your parents, school and your own thoughts had pushed you into But minho found you. He was the only light in that hole. And he reached out for your hand. And after a bit hesitation you took it.And he was slowly dragging you out that hole, never letting go.

You two would meet up often, soon being friends as good as minho was friends with your brother.

And soon you would figure things out. With minhos help and support you vaguely found a dream. You wanted to study journalism.

Eventually one year later when you would get an E-Mail that was accepting you at the university that you dreamed of, you would drive to minho without another thought, and he would be the most excited for you. You two would celebrate so much, that even a kiss would be shared. And then, you seemed to have reached your dream. You weren’t scared of your future anymore. Instead you welcomed it. Everyday, no matter if it was a good one, or sometimes a worse one.

And something else. To have love. Not only being loved by someone, a feeling you craved for too long, also loving the one that loved you.

And who knows what the future would bring? Maybe marriage with the guy who found you when you were lost. Maybe some cats with him, and maybe even kids. But no matter what. You had him and he had you. And as long as it was like this, things would be okay.

[sassydefendorflower]

I think I finally figured it out, the reason why so many people hesitate to call what Roy did with the Elrics to get them to join the military coercion: Riza telling Winry that it is their choice alone.

Because the fact of the matter is that Riza is wrong.

Edward is eleven in this scene, heavily traumatized, freshily disabled, guilt and nightmare ridden - he's obviously not mature enough to make long-lasting decisions regarding his life, considering he just tried to bring his mother back from the dead.

It's insane for a grown woman to assume that these children will be able to make choices divorced from outside influences.

Ed had a grown man tell him that maybe one day he will be used as a human weapon but the prize will be worth it if they manage to get their bodies back - and you're trying to tell me that's not manipulation and coercion?

The thing is... yeah, it makes perfect sense for Riza to think of it as a free choice.

And that's where this manga really excels and some readers/watchers take the source material at face value.

Because every choice Hawkeye makes throughout the story is influenced and guided by her own moral compass, guilt, shame, and trauma. By the choices she made in the past.

The timeline is never explicitly explained, but we know Riza is a few years younger than Roy. We know Roy left the Hawkeye household at 18 to join the military and that he came back at 20 to learn the secrets of flame alchemy from Riza. We know that she joined the military after he inspired her by his belief in the state propaganda, and we know that by the time they met again on the battlefield another year or two must have passed (it is strongly implied that Riza never finished the military academy, instead being ordered to the front lines for her skills with the sniper rifle before she could complete her last year).

What am I trying to say with this?

It is very possible within canon that Riza herself was only sixteen when she signed up for the Amestrian military. That she lied about her age to enlist. That she herself was a teenager who made choices that led to the death of thousands of Ishvalen citizens.

She grew up abused, with an absentee (then dead) mother, an emotionally distant father, and a lone house for her to take care off. Roy Mustang was her way out, and she was fifteen or sixteen when she gave him a nuclear weapon.

Riza sees that choice as a free one - one she made because that's the kind of person she is. There are no outside influences or socioeconomic factors to blame (in her mind) - she did what she did, no matter what, and that's both why she can carry the guilt and the motivation to move forward with her.

For Riza, in that moment at the Rockbell's, it doesn't matter that Ed is eleven and traumatized - while she can recognize them as children, she has only ever known full responsibility for every choice she's made.

Ed is free to follow Roy into the military and it is his choice alone, because if Riza where to acknowledge that maybe it is more complicated than that, that maybe there are other factors at play, that maybe Roy's goal is not the same as Edward's, then she'd have to acknowledge that maybe - just maybe - not all of the choices she made as a teenager where entirely her own, either.

That maybe her childhood shaped her more than she'd like to admit, that maybe her joining the military was more than just her own unaffected choice, that maybe some of the guilt weighing her down is not entirely her own.

And I am not saying this to paint Roy Mustang in a bad picture - I don't think he lured Riza into the military, but he did influence her. Just as the state propaganda did. And the fact that they are living in a military state.

But I am saying that Riza is projecting her own worldview - in which she is solely responsible for every single thing she's ever done - on a couple of kids, in order to frame her own actions in a larger context.

Especially since their fateful meeting at the Rockbell's takes place only a year after the war's over. The wounds are still raw. Her choices and the consequences of those choices are still raw.

But that doesn't mean she's right.

It doesn't mean that Edward and Alphonse Elric were actually free in their choice to join the military.

Yeah, they could have refused. And then what? Automail's expensive without a military stipend, research limited and locked away, and the taboo? Yeah, if any other military official found out about it they'd be facing the death penalty (even if we know the Homunculi wouldn't have actually killed them).

So they did say Yes. Which is what coercion is.

It doesn't matter that Riza could only see the freedom of their choice - and it doesn't take away from the story.

Because it is a moment in which all characters firmly establish themselves. Roy as someone who will go the extra mile to further his goals (and lets not act as if employing the youngest State Alchemist in the history of Amestris wasn't a great political move on his part), Riza as someone who carries the guilt of her choices like a shield, and Edward and Alphonse as people for whom hope and determination will win over despair every single time.

(and just to underline that I am not making this all up, Riza's insistence to face trial for her acts in Ishval even though she was "just following orders" fits perfectly into this understanding of her character: she made the choice to pull the trigger every single time, it does not matter that a refusal to do so could end in being court-martialed or killed. She's the one to pull the trigger. She's the one who made that choice. So it is her responsibility alone.)

[tarot-archives]

hands. hands. and more hands. —Simon Riley

fluff | comforting simon and scolding him

Simon always had calluses, even before enlisting. His hands were etched on the butcher knife from frequent use. To the point that even the owner had to buy a new one for himself. The handle fits perfectly, with deep engravings of his print, and thick calluses pressing on its body to reshape the figure.

Now, Simon had returned home from training. His hands, were more worn than before, with scars and burns painting on the canvas of his skin. He didn’t have anyone to take care of him after all. No one to scold him for the mud caking under his nails. No one to swipe his hands away if he hadn’t washed them before eating.

Bottles of hand cream on your nightstand take twice as long to finish since he was shipped out too.

But he’s here now. The bed dips, it’s no longer a place fit for two. He’s grown bulky, more lean than fat, his back straight after months of corrective training. You wonder about the history of his scars so you asked.

“This one was from doing push-ups,” he proudly said. 

“Just push-ups?” you were disturbed that push-ups can leave serious scars. “why is it on your knuckles then?”

“Had to do them against the gravel. Under the heat of the bloody sun,” Simon thumbs over the discoloration on his skin. “It was hot enough to cook an egg and burn through skin. Even had those hard pebbles that push up the bone.”

You grimaced, “the bone?”

Simon looks down at you, then snickers, “almost, but not yet. No.” He lies more easily now. Gentlemen know not to burden a woman’s heart. Especially his best friend.

You sighed in relief. Your fingers now brushing over his palms. The question, tipping itself over the edge of your tongue, as you hesitate to ask. But Simon knows you enough not to wait for a verbal query.

“These ones were from the rope,” he turns his hands to face you. Thick skin on his fingers, especially on his thumb.  All of the digits are dry and in need of a deep clean. He looks down at your furrowed eyes and disappointed glare.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t want to make a fuss about it since Simon was the strongest person you ever met, but how could you make him understand your thoughts. That you are mad about his lack of self-care. That his hands found home at the barrel of the gun instead of a knife. Both items share the same violence. Both professions are bloody and messy. Both his choices were out of necessity for his family.

Simon doesn’t speak as he lets you feel his rough skin. Your digits travel in between his fingers, over his knuckles, finding a new reason to be more worried than the last. But as you were about to lift your hands away, he entwines his hands in yours. 

He made sure you won’t run as he says: “There’s no reason to worry.”

You shake your head in disapproval, “How could I not?” Your voice cracked. Warmth spread to your cheeks at your choking defeat. “What would you do if your best friend always put themselves in danger?”

“Save them from dumb decisions,” Simon answers. 

“But I’m not at the battlefield,” you gripped his hand harshly as an outlet of your frustration. “what can I do when you’re halfway around the world. And it would be months before I can hear again from you.” 

Despite your strength, it was nothing to him. He had experienced the butt of a rifle lodged into his hand as punishment. Your hold wasn’t a means for pain, but a way for you to deliver the words you left unsaid. So he returns the gesture, thumbing your skin in small circles, speaking in the language you spoke— the love language of touch. 

So you lean into him, understanding the silence and his affection. Realizing that his hands weren’t always a place of violence. It was your safe space, before the blood and the gore. 

He held your hands when you were anxious during preschool. He held your hands to keep you by his side amongst the busy street. He held your freezing hands when you left your mittens at home. And in more sacred moments when his lips touched a cut to heal it faster….

It was never about fixing him up. It was always about taking care of your best friend. All homes, when not properly maintained, tend to ruin quickly compared to others. And taking care of Simon was your way of making do or returning his kindness. 

“I need you to take care of yourself more,” you ordered.

“yes, ma’am.”

“you can’t keep coming back here expecting a manicure.”

“Of course,” he brushed away your gentle reminders. His arms pull you into a hug, purposely tipping you over to fall towards him. Simon was never the kind to fuss over the weight of your body over his. His heart welcomed you, accepting you as a part of him and all the burden you carry.