#but this. i cannot ever let it slide. it will haunt me for the rest of my life

[skitskatdacat63]

The double-edged sword of enjoying Chicago and knowing basically all the songs by heart, but also can't stop crying every time I watch/listen to any of them bcs I can't stop thinking about how covid robbed me of getting the experience of ever performing it :(

[alleycatchitchat]

Just rewatched The Three Caballeros and wasn't expecting such a goldmine of cute little moments that specifically appealed to a certain, uh, subset of the fandom... anyway have some Three Gay Caballeros screenshots

Donald Duck, coming on strong

Lots of dancing together in this film but I specifically like that Donald and José are reflecting the couple behind them in this scene

If I had a nickel for every time Donald leaped onto José and clung to him tenderly I would have two nickels which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

I call this one "Gay Panic"

José and Panchito's little cuddle here is really cute. Notice that Panchito pulls José closer; their heads are probably touching underneath the sombrero.

No thoughts head empty just thinking about Donald's head resting in José's lap

José is having the time of his life right now

Donald kisses him 6 times during this sequence btw. if you even care

LISTEN. LISTEN. I HAVE REWATCHED AND REWINDED THIS MOMENT SO MANY TIMES. Slowed it down, gone through screenshots one by one, nitpicked and analyzed and I CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME DECIDE WHETHER PANCHITO IS SLAPPING DONALD'S BACK OR HIS ASS

I think my general conclusion is that Panchito slaps Donald's back and then lets his hand slide all the way down before he pulls away. But again, not 100% certain.

This one isn't shippy I just think Panchito looks really cute

I love this little dude look at his goofy rooster face

This one doesn't need a caption I don't think

bruh

I tried so, so hard to find a screenshot of this moment that wasn't cursed. So hard. This was too important to leave out

But still, look at José's horrible beak, that's going to haunt my nightmares

anyway shoutout to the polycule ever! three gay caballeros truthers were right all along

[ghostwritermia]

Pairing ~ Remus Lupin x blacksister!reader (slytherin reader)

Word Count ~ 988

Summary ~ With a haunted mind you look for solace in books, when you really needed it from your boyfriend, and he happily gave it to you

Warnings ~ Beginner level writing, angst, mentions of evil Walburga and Orion (they can literally just leave), Remus being a sweetheart, unedited

Note From Mia ~ Second time writing on here....I hope you like it, but I understand if not lmao

You had always been more on the reserved side. Where Sirius had chosen to leave the tortures from 12 Grimmauld Place behind him when the Black Siblings returned to school, you and Regulus had been the opposite.

You couldn’t forget. It wasn’t possible. The horrors you always faced at home haunted you every night, leading into early in the mornings, leaving you restless the rest of the day. The only peace you got was when you could sneak off into the library to bury your nose in whatever book you had your hands on. Whether that was a reread or a completely new genre, it didn’t matter. It was an escape.

So, that is exactly what you were doing now. You had been curled up in an armchair in a secluded corner of the library, reading, for almost an hour now. No distractions. Mind blank. Peace finally washing over you.

Letting out a soft sigh, you flipped the page, getting ready to read another chapter when a shadow loomed over you.

“Hello, Dove,” Remus whispered from above you. “Having a bad day?”

You and Remus had met in the Library on a rainy afternoon, and just sat together in silence while reading. Over time you had started small talk, and that led to conversations, which then led into a friendship, turned secret relationship.

It’s not that you wanted it to stay a secret, however, Remus and you were both scared of backlash from Sirius, and you were terrified of your parents; therefore, they could never find out.

Remus notices that you’re too far, too deep into your book to notice him. To pull you back into the present, he carefully rests a hand on your thigh and rubs gently, coaxing you back into the real world.

You flinch slightly at the contact before looking up to see your boyfriend. “Oh, Rem, hi. How long have you been there?” You ask, shutting your book to give him your undivided attention.

Remus ignores you, smiling gently, not sympathetically though, because he knows by now that you won’t accept it. “What do you need from me, Dovy? To talk?” He’s more than aware that you are not actually going to open up right now, he can see it in your eyes from a mile away.

“Can you just hold me?” You whisper, your words laced with vulnerability. 

Remus’s eyes soften before he shuffles you around, sliding onto the chair behind you, and situating you onto his lap. He doesn’t say anything. He just holds you, gently stroking your hair, occasionally leaving a kiss to the crown of your head. 

When he thinks you're almost asleep, you speak again, “Nothing ever lasts forever, Rem.”

“I know, love. What are you referring to?” He asks, dread filtering into his mind. The lycanthrope has a love-hate relationship with your deep thoughts. Some bring on deep meaningful conversations, whereas others are filled with unnecessary insecurity and doubts.

“Us,” You mutter the exact words that he was dreading.

“No.” Remus says sternly, a tone you rarely hear him use. “I will always love you,” He turns you so you’re sitting sideways in his lap, him making direct eye contact with you, making sure that you hold it. “We’re not doing this, you need to get rid of whatever negative ghosts that are haunting your mind, because we are not breaking up. If I need to help chase those ghosts away, then so be it, but you cannot let them dictate our relationship. Ours, not theirs.”

You nod, burying your head into his neck, breathing in the calming scent of cocoa and old books, mixed with a hint of pine. 

“I want to hear you say it,” He whispers, nudging you with his shoulder.

You lift your head from the crook of his neck and smile weakly. “Ours, not the ghosts.”

“Exactly right, Dove.”

Remus leans in and gently presses his lips to yours, and you reciprocate before he leans back, pulling you into his chest. “I love you,” He whispers, again, knowing you needed reassurance. “And I always will.” 

You nod, “I love you, forever and always.” It comes out in a whisper, but Remus hears it anyway and presses his forehead against yours, but not before pressing a kiss to your nose.

He slowly reaches up and presses the pads of his thumbs where he knows your dimples are and where he knows they should be right now. “Can you smile for me, Love?”

And you do. Because you love him, more than you thought you were ever capable of. You smile crookedly, showing Remus that it is indeed a true smile, and he leaves a kiss on both dimples before pulling away and smiling back at you.

You bring your own thumbs to his face, rubbing gently over the hundreds of freckles scattered along his face.

He kisses you gently once more before grabbing your book, “Now, what were we reading before I interrupted?” He questions teasingly. 

“Well, I was reading that,” You admit sheepishly, pulling out a quill and ink container from your bag.

“The Wonderful Wizard of Oz?” Remus raises a teasing brow.

“Oh hush,” You shove his shoulder. “I was in the mood for something different and it was in the muggle book section. It seemed interesting.” 

“No judgment from me then, Dove.” He whispers, opening the book at your marked spot.

And that is exactly how you and Remus spend the rest of your day. Him reading to you, and you drawing thin vines, small flowers, and a variety of constellations on his various scars while you listen to his soothing voice tell the story of a girl with a dog that somehow got sucked into a tornado and transported into the world of Oz. It didn’t make sense to you, but Remus was reading it, and that was all that seemed to matter to you at that very moment.

[adiluv-moved]

✦ : ❝ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 ꒰𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞꒱ !

꒰synopsis—wc꒱ in which your bed is taken and you try to get your roommate to share; 872 words.

꒰warnings꒱ akademiya roommate wanderer, lumine as traveler, reader is not traveler/is from sumeru, barely edited.

꒰adi moment꒱ i cannot stop being haunted by ideas right before i'm about to go to sleep, please send help!! also, doing a bit more experimenting with the titles, so let me know what y'all think! super short drabble, but hope you enjoy! ໒꒰ྀི*ˊ ᵕ ˋ꒱ྀི১

"Need I remind you," comes the chiding of an ever familiar voice, staring you down with dull eyes. "You were the one that oh, so 'graciously' insisted upon giving up your room to the Traveler." A reminder, the Wanderer you've come to call your roommate poking you in the shoulder as those words leave his lips.

He's unimpressed, that much is clear, gaze focused upon the pillow held beneath the crook of your arm. The spare blanket tugged over your body sags, sliding off one of your shoulders, as if cowering away from the figure in front of you. Contrary to his usual tone, there's no sense of mockery inside of his voice, and he looks fully ready to close the door in your face as resign you to your fate.

In fact, he even attempts to do so, only stopping when you quickly jab your foot in the door—despite known fully well that he possesses the strength necessary to simply crush your foot and end the conversation. He doesn't, of course, because you had threatened to tell Lesser Lord Kusanali in retaliation, instead choosing to shoot you a deadpanned glare as you're given another chance to make your case.

You flash an innocent smile. He rolls his eyes, and yours crinkle.

"Well..." You muse, humming as you grip the doorknob and attempt to push further into the space. A gust of wind that would have no natural place being inside of the dorm gently pushes you back, the Vision hanging on his chest providing further confirmation of his manipulation. "The couch is uncomfortable. And cramped. I couldn't possibly have a good rest there."

"I don't see what that has to do with me." And, perhaps the low light is simply playing tricks on your eyes, but you can almost see the ghost of a smile pulling up at the corner of the Wanderer's lips, a barely noticeable glint in his eye as you pout at your misfortune.

"You do realize that she's a hero, right? One that's—quite literally—saved several nations within Teyvat? Including Sumeru? Aren't you Vahumana scholars supposed to care about that?" You decide to ignore the convenient fact that she turned up on the Wanderer's doorstep, acting like old acquaintances, because he'd refused to answer any of your questions on that matter and you were certain that he actually would slam the door on your foot if you decided to bring it up.

Considering the fact that he works beneath the Dendro Archon herself, though, perhaps you should've just come to expect all sorts of mysterious circumstances following him around.

"And yet, a hero of legend couldn't even bring herself to book a hotel room. How kind of you, to be providing such charity to the needy."

Your lips thin as he snickers at the situation, shoulders slumping as you look away. At this point, you wouldn't have been shocked if both the traveler and her companion—Paimon, was it?—had heard your discussion, spoken in hardly hushed whispers with walls thinner than the paper you wrote your reports on.

How they could put up with the man's attitude was still something that eluded you, though you supposed you'd have to ask yourself that question, too.

Whatever. At least you weren't the one being uncourteous.

"Just shut up and let me in already."

Finally, the door swings open, allowing you a direct line of sight into his bedroom. Neat, and sparsely decorated, to the point where one might've assumed it uninhabited at first glance. The ever growing stack of papers and doll sitting directly in front of his pillow were the only real indications of his presence, the only things that convinced you he was real after all.

That, and the insolent personality of his that had absolutely no business staying stuck in your mind all the time.

"Just make sure that you stay on your side of the bed." He mumbles, sharp edge prevailing despite the low volume. You quickly scurry in, closing the door behind you before he has the opportunity to change his mind.

Turns out that you didn't actually follow his orders, if the photos that Paimon snapped of the both of you sleeping together—bodies curled around each other to the point where it was near impossible to decipher who was holding who—were any sort of evidence.

She proudly bragged about them, slamming them on the table with a smug expression as she teased the red-faced 'Hat Guy' sitting right in front of her. Whether or not he was upset or embarrassed, you remained clueless about, though the near white-knuckled grip he held on his butterknife seemed to promise answers. Based on the awkward look on the traveler's face, cold-blooded murder seemed the most likely possibility.

Against your own nosy nature, the role of an innocent bystander seemed far more appealing. At least, with the cup of warm chai in your hands, you could pass off your blush as a reaction to the beverage's heat.

On the bright side, considering the softened look within your dearest roommate's eyes when you'd awoken—before the traveler's companion had burst in asking for breakfast… he might just allow you back into his room the next time your find your bed unavailable.

i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!

[serenescribe]

thank you @oddberryshortcake for letting me write something based on this absolutely heart-wrenching post! i am in shambles from the newest update. spoilers ahead.

“Silver,” Lilia whispers, in a voice that breaks as it spills past his cracked lips.

Lilia pays no attention to the way his knees ache, kneeling for as long as he has been, the thin fabric of his stockings rubbing raw patches into his flesh. Nor does he focus on any of the other ailments afflicting him — the blanket of fatigued exhaustion weighing down his shoulders, the throbbing agony pulsating through his head, the scratchy dryness itching up the inside of his throat. The only thing he has eyes for is his son: Silver, who lays in his arms, cradled close to Lilia’s body, his head lolling against Lilia’s chest.

Silver’s eyes remain firmly shut. He is still asleep.

Oh, Lilia’s heart crumbles with each ticking second, eyes fixated upon the slow rise and fall of Silver’s chest. He is not dead — Not yet, a terrible, pesky part of Lilia’s mind, words uttered from the lips of a disillusioned general, tells him, to which Lilia bats away, trying to ignore the thought. The sight of his breathing should fill Lilia with relief because it means Silver is still alive.

And yet, Lilia can only hang his head over Silver’s body, cradling him even closer, arms wrapped protectively around the body of his son, his child.

“Wake up, Silver,” Lilia murmurs into his ear. He blinks, eyes wet and heavy, feels something sliding down his cheek — a single solitary tear, but not alone for long. Wet droplets land on Silver’s body, sinking into the fabric of his shirt. How long has it been since Lilia cried like this? He cannot remember. Seven hundred years spent alive does that to someone — it numbs their heart, dries their tears, makes it nigh impossible to cry, especially when so much of their past is occupied by something as numbing as the wretched consequences of wars long fought.

Silver still does not stir.

Distantly, Lilia notices the faint tracks marring his cheeks, echoes of tears long since shed. He reaches for it with a thumb, swiping at the dried stains, as though wiping it away could erase all of the pain Silver must have gone through in his dream. He knows enough of what happened, knows of it from what the others has told him, and it makes his heart shatter — the thought that Silver had nearly succumbed to his own blot, all because he found out his past, a past Lilia tried to hide for fear of Silver being judged for the sins of his fathers, breaks something nestled deep inside of his chest.

Lilia closes his eyes. “I love you,” he breathes, words he has been so terrified of saying all these years. He does love Silver, truly — but to utter those three words, the words a young Silver have always said to him so freely with that beaming smile spreading across his chubby child cheeks… For years, Lilia has evaded ever speaking them into reality, to return the obvious affection of his son instead of laughing it off and saying “I know.”

And as a consequence of that, Lilia is now far too late.

He knows he is not alone in this room. He can hear things — conversations that swirl together, hushed murmurs, snatches of his name and Silver’s own, footsteps and doors creaking open and shut. He can see things — in his peripheral vision mainly, shadows that approach and depart, the occasional sight of footsteps slipping into view. He can feel things — a hand coming to rest on his shoulder, fingers reaching out to stroke Silver, all touches that Lilia shrinks away from, pulls Silver away from. Because as far as his addled mind is concerned, the only thing he can process right now is him and his son.

A memory haunts him: He is a few years younger, finding Silver for the first time. He uses his magic to explore his memories, discovers the identity of the child in the cradle, and finds out that he is the spawn of his enemies. And yet, all Lilia can focus on is the knowledge that Silver was fated to slumber until his true love woke him up, an unending rest only broken when Lilia stumbled upon him.

He is Silver’s true love, and Silver is his.

“Silver,” Lilia tries again, his voice cracking into splinters as he forces his name past his lips. “I love you. Wake up.”

Silver is his, isn’t he? Just as he is Silver’s — an absolute truth that Lilia turned a blind eye to for years, too scared to reciprocate the emotions swirling about his soul in full force, to unleash the depths of his love for his dear son. If Silver could wake from the throes of a sleep that had addled him for four hundred years all because of Lilia’s love for him, a love he had not realised the extent of when he found Silver for the first time, then surely he can do the same now, right?

Surely Lilia’s love for him, a love he knows now to show freely in the way he hugs him close, presses kisses against his forehead, will be enough to wake him… right?

So why is he not waking?

Why is he still asleep?

Is his love not enough? That cannot be the case. Lilia loves Silver — with all his heart, with all his soul; they have been bonded since the moment Silver was born, the invisible strings of fate entangling the two of them together before either of them knew it. Lilia is the key to Silver’s lock, his very presence opening the boy’s heart, dispelling the effects of a curse that has kept him in stasis for four long centuries. His only mistake was not showing his affections sooner, of keeping his heart carefully guarded until it was far too late.

So why then?

Why won’t Silver wake up?

[elliebyrrdwrites]

The potion is thick, almost sticky as it slides down my throat. It’s supposed to be the last dose I will ever take, according to Healer Dodd. He told my father that my liver will start to fail if he keeps administering these potions to me. He says that the incident occurred so long ago, there is virtually no chance of a relapse.

Whatever that means.

He advises my father to stick with the liver replenishing potions. Reminds him not to let me drink alcohol.

He stares down at me as I sit, stone like, against the wall, my feet pulled up onto the lumpy mattress. My arms wrap around my knees and I let my heavy lidded eyes follow him as he watches my pupils change size as they contract.

I’ve been in and out of this place for years. It feels like every other visit, except that the doses have increased to twice a day and this time, Dodd looks at me with something like pity.

It drips from his eyes as he examines me, as he asks me questions about my life. Always the same round of questioning.

Where did I got to school? Was there anyone particularly close to me during those years? Tell me about the war, were there any particularly traumatic events that I can recall?

Nothing, I tell him. Nobody.

Sometimes, I think about telling him about Ginny Weasley and the strange memories of her smiling at me, laughing and shaking her head.

Instead, I tell him that at school, I was alone. Memories of Zacharias Smith’s big dumb eyes or the smell of Lavender and damp grass stay tucked away, hidden from the world.

Dodd asked me if I remembered why I came in this time, why my father insisted that I seek professional care.

I told Dodd the truth, for once.

I’m a god and this shell cannot always contain all of my power.

“You are a man, Draco. A wizard, just like the other patients in this facility.”

No, I told him. I’m building an army of followers. I’m destined to take over the world.

Dodd frowned at me then told my father that he recommended that I get off the potion and stay in this prison until I can be mended properly.

My father sneered at him and spat onto the floor. “Don’t forget who you work for, Dodd.”

Me, Dodd works for me, just like the rest of the soldiers. My father rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head. “I will not keep him here. He has duties to get back to.”

Work at the ministry, marrying Astoria. He reminds me and Dodd of these things, the importance of my family name and the power we hold in the world.

My chapped lips press together as the urge to close my eyes takes over, my muscles liquify and threaten to pull me into the mattress as my mind begins to detach itself from my body.

I’m fighting it, this time, trying hard to hold onto my sanity before it slips away. I pull my gaze away from Dodd and instead look out the window. It’s tiny and covered in bars. There’s streaks of sunlight still burning against the edges of the sky. It’s not like the sunsets in Wiltshire. All orange and pink. These are different, somehow, more beautiful with all the brown and gold.

I keep my eyes trained on the window and can feel my mind drifting. Only, it doesn’t drift off into the stars above. Not yet.

Instead, it drifts into a little known space that I’ve been keeping all to myself, in the back of my skull. Just tucked in there, hidden away from my fathers prying eyes, from Dodd and his mind work.

Eyes like the sunset outside, staring at me. Hermione Granger haunts my life. It’s a single moment of a younger version of ourselves staring at me, as a soft smile curves her lips upwards.

I don’t know why I have this secret all to myself.

What I do know, is that it keeps me from slipping into that deep pit of despair that threatens to suck me in every fucking day. I think it reminds me of a time when I had some semblance of choices to make. When I still had some free will.

Her eyes are all I have, like a collection of marbles a child creates when he feels he has no control in the world around him.

The healer leaves and I can hear the door click, the scoff of his shoes against the floor. And then I’m floating. My mind is drifting, weaving through the universe and the never ending loop of energy that we misconstrue as time.

Because, time doesn’t actually exist. It’s just a construct humans have created to explain away growing old, or the the ebb and flow of pain and joy.

Except for me.

I’m no longer mortal. Because I don’t experience those ebbs and flows.

There is no chronological order anymore. It doesn’t exist here, so don’t look for it. It’s all just energy being recycled, over and over.

I’m just this thing that floats through the universe, watching as if in slow motion, the world passing by. And right now, I’m just biding my time while I wait to be released back into the wild.

[teaandransacking]

Open the blinds, let me see your face

in which I lock our favourite pair in the basement and let feelings loose.

A/N: thankyou SO MUCH for the lovely ao3 comments and the comments/messages here.

Words: 1300 ~ Content: One amazing kiss, angst, SO MANY FEELINGS

----

It’s freezing in the basement room, but Lucy consoles herself with the knowledge that at least there aren’t any ghosts trapped in here with them.

Yet. anyway.

Lockwood sits beside her, brain probably working a ten to the dozen, trying to find a way out, one hand holding the walkie talkie they’ve been using to reach George. He’s a few floors above, working on the locked door from the outside, and Lucy’s not yet found a puzzle George cannot crack, so in the mean time-

“All we have to do is not freeze to death,” she mutters.

Lockwood starts like she’s jabbed him with a cattle prod, and immediately takes off his long coat. He’s hardly without it; it’s like a kind of armour. 

She still remembers seeing him in a t-shirt for the first time and being momentarily confused. The suit and coat are an intrinsic part of him.

He finishes shrugging the coat off and offers it. 

The only light in the small space shines through the gap between the top stair and the door, casting a pale gold halo around Lockwood. Like he needs another reminder of his gorgeousness, Lucy thinks.

She reaches for the coat and hesitates.

“Take it,” he insists, in that crisp accent, the one she loves to hear her name in. “You’ll catch a cold.”

So she does, and Lockwood holds it out as she slips her arms into it, and she pulls the lapels together so it wraps her up in his scent, magazine pages and earl grey and citrus, and for a second she bows her head and breathes in. Maybe he won’t notice.

Except he does, and his hazel gaze is riveted on her.

“Thanks,” she manages. “I was cold. But what about you?”

He’s only got that thin white shirt and a tie on, above his trousers and the ever-present battered converse.

It must be below six degrees in here. Even in the coat, warm from Lockwood’s body, she still feels the the low temperature’s teeth.

Lockwood brings his knees to his chest. “I’m fine,” he bites off, but his show of bravado is as thin as the cotton of his dress shirt.

Save me from macho boys, Lucy thinks.

"For God's sake. We survive four floors of haunted horror and then you die of catching a cold? I don't think so." And she shuffles back over, and wraps herself around him, settling her head under his chin.

She feels him jerk for a moment, surprised, and then his arms curve around her, and she listens to his heart beating under her ear. Another moment passes, and he rests his cheek on the top of her head.

"Thanks, Luce."

"You're welcome."

It's not so cold now they're huddled together, knees drawn up against themselves, heads close. Lockwood is lean and solid under Lucy's  hands; her fingers skate the edges of his leather belt as she holds him to keep him warm.

It would be too easy to slide her index finger just a little lower, find out where the shirt ends and warm, smooth skin begins.

The image heats up every fibre inside her, and her face flushes. It's not an appropriate thought to have in a literal dungeon. 

For a start, there isn't a single nice soft surface to lay down on-

"Penny for them?" Lockwood asks softly. "Your thoughts, I mean."

Oh, God.

"Just, er, wondering where George is," she blurts out.

Lockwood has been idly stroking his thumb up and down against her shoulder, and at her words he abruptly stops. “I know it isn’t ideal, being trapped down here with me.”

Lucy’s eyes go wide in the semi-darkness. “That isn’t what I meant.” She swallows, mentally casting around for the right thing to say. “I’m happy being with you.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw; she feels it where his cheek is pillowed against her head. “You have no idea how much I want to let you in. It’s just hard to break the habit of a lifetime.”

Lucy’s heart clenches. Suddenly her next words feel of vital importance, so she weighs them carefully before she speaks, reluctant to embarrass herself, or worse, make Lockwood think he isn’t fast becoming her favourite person in the entire world.

“Just open the door a little further. I’ll do the rest.”

A soft little sound comes out of him, half groan and maybe half little sob, and she feels the gentle pressure of his hand cupping her cheek, his palm rapier-callused and familiar, and his touch is the home she’s been denied all her life.

Lucy straightens up, wiggling out from under him, and then his mouth is a breath from hers, and she meets his dark eyes in the gloom of their very unromantic surroundings, but it doesn’t  matter anymore. Everything except him, and the way he looks at her - as if she’d personally hung the moon - has fallen away.

The pad of his thumb skims along her bottom lip, and she’s enchanted by the way his dark gaze flicks to hers once, twice, three times, silently making sure she’s on the same page, before their mouths touch, and then Lucy’s sliding her hand into his hair, parting her lips under his, her heart pounding as weeks of yearning unfurl low in her belly. He’s here and he’s hers, and it’s a heady rush, being alone with him, even in a filthy, freezing basement, and her battered heart can’t help but hope that maybe, this is her last first kiss.

“God, Lucy,” Lockwood breathes, twisting his body so he’s as close to her as he can get, stretching out his legs and then pulling her closer, tipping her centre of gravity, and to keep from breaking the kiss, she shifts to straddle his lap, spearing both her hands into his tumble of dark hair, taking as much as she can get of his delectable mouth. His hands spread over her back, still warm under the veil of his coat hanging from her shoulders, even though she doesn’t need it anymore. 

Fire’s eating her up from the inside out. If he stays this close to her, she’ll never be cold again.

There’s a sudden creak and snap, and Lucy’s hand springs to her rapier, only to rapidly blink away a shaft of light from the door.

George stands in the aperture, backlit by a single lamp in the old manor’s servants’ hall.

“George?” Lockwood asks, and Lucy glances back at him, relieved to find his gaze as lust-drunk as her own must be.

Thank goodness there were no ghosts. She wouldn’t have noticed them if they’d conked her over the head with a brick.

Their friend snorts. “I might’ve known. There I was, in a flippin’ creepy manor hallway, alone, I might add, trying what seems like a hundred different keys, and you two are snogging!”

Lucy’s face flushes, and she’s very glad of the coat to hide their positions. “It was cold,” she says, but she can’t help smiling. “Thank you for rescuing us, George.”

“You’re the best of us,” Lockwood adds. He shifts position under Lucy, and he's hard where she's soft, and for a searing, breath-stealing moment, she wonders what might have happened had they been here a half hour longer.

George shakes his head, but there’s no anger in his tone when he says, “It’s about time. If I’d known being locked in a crumbly old basement was all it’d take, I’d have done it myself.”

[thesiltverses]

Hello, beloved audience members. Please. Come in. Sit down.

It’s time I confronted a very serious matter. A persistent, mocking question that snaps at my heels, haunts my every waking move, and which has done so day and night for the past three years. I have tried to address it before, and I have failed.

I cannot sleep. I cannot eat. I must speak out, or fall silent for ever.

'Jon would know the real answer', as B. put it. Well, let this be my real answer.

*the lights dim as a slide projection screen descends very slowly from the ceiling*

Here in England, where I unfortunately reside, Richard has been an extremely commonplace name for the vast majority of our recorded history - remaining in the ten most popular names right up until the 1990s, if the Office for National Statistics is to be believed.

Like 'Henry', it retains many deeply-embedded positive associations around leadership, heroism, empire, and power - most notably in regards to Richard the Lionheart, still a fondly-remembered king in this country despite his costly and ultimately inconclusive adventurism upon the Third Crusade, acts of brutality against prisoners and civilians in the Middle East and France alike, the outbreaks of anti-semitic violence that occurred during his reign, and his particularly parasitic absentee rule. (For this legacy we can perhaps partly blame the early modern ballads which decided he was Robin Hood's buddy who rides in at the end to dole out pardons and restore the natural order of things.)

More subversively, the name might remind us of Richard III in Shakespeare's infamous portrayal, another scheming soliloquiser who finds his performance coming to pieces in moments of stress.

With these uneasy regal connotations in mind (coming alongside Charles and Edward) it felt to me - with less than a moment's thought behind it - like a fitting chosen first name for Faulkner, and a way of thematically matching his brothers.

I have since understood to my lasting regret that the name provokes a particular reaction amongst some of our audience members. A kind of mirth, if you will; even an amazement that Faulkner should select such a name.

I still do not fully understand whether the name is genuinely such a rarity in the modern-day USA where much of our audience resides and thus provokes a kind of parochial ridicule, or if the joke is simply that Faulkner, as a trans man, has chosen a name which features ‘Dick’ as one of its several possible diminutives.

While the use of this nickname dates back to the 12th or 13th century, ‘Rich’ would probably be a much more common shortening here in the modern-day UK.

We did not have such prominent 20th/21st century public figures as Tricky Dick, Dick van Dyke, or Dick Cheney, and as such these examples did not immediately occur to me as red flags when I thoughtlessly selected the popular, apparently uncontroversial, and thematically-rich (ha, ha, ha) name 'Richard'.*

I trust that I have now explained myself fully and laid this matter to rest.

Good day to you all. Gods bless.

*We did have beloved children's author Dick King-Smith, I guess? It's a mixed bag of dicks.

Hey there, I didn’t know you had a tumblr and am excited to find you here! Thanks for the inadvisable transition goals (i.e. Faulkner)

I got a question though. Do you have any insight as to why Faulkner chose to name himself Richard? Cause that got revealed and I had to stop the podcast to laugh myself onto the floor

Thanks, hope you’re doin well

hi!! i'm so glad to have helped facilitate inadvisable transition goals (that's such a mood tbh)

i actually don't know why faulkner chose to name himself richard! i just remember seeing that in the script for the first time, without warning, and losing it because damn boy that's a hell of a name to pick

my guess would be it's either a family name, or it was so he could match his brothers (charlie, eddie, richie), but jon would know the real answer!

[wvrlock]

For the first time in many, many months, falling asleep comes easy. Laying beside a man he’d not held in his arms for nearly as long as he’d been trapped in the Abyss, Valas finds comfort in the embrace of his lover. It hadn’t been his intention to end up here in Fallahan’s bed, naked body tangled up in that of the man beside him, but impulse often guided his actions and Valas had been unable to resist Fallahan’s allure — even as the high elf insisted that he not act at all, that his foolishness would send them to ruin just as it had initially, Valas couldn’t seem to stop himself, but he regrets nothing now. His tired eyes drift closed, his breathing settles, and the peaceful lull of slumber follows shortly thereafter . . .

. . . he’s unsure of just how much time has passed before he feels the prick of Lolth's fingernails as they work their way up the length of him, tight grip snaking its way around his throat. Valas hears her mocking laughter and she wrings the life from him. In shock, he jolts upright, hands darting up to grab at his neck, but nothing greets him save for the feel of his own skin. Where his breathing had once been calm, it is erratic, panicked, as is his quickened pulse. No matter how much time he’s spent on the surface, the Mother of Spiders’ image still haunts his dreams. Valas wonders if he’ll ever be rid of her.

It's all he can do to huff out a shaken sigh, burying his face in his hands. Sleep is hardly a lasting or restful event for the drow these days, and waking up alone makes that fact hard to handle. Of course, he's not alone, but, in a state of distress as he is, Valas all but forgets that Fallahan is laying right next to him.

What is the worst thing a man can experience in but a few months? For one who had traveled to the merciless plane of Avernus and back, Fallahan was not as creative in his response as it befitted a bard who prided himself on his composition skills.

Truthfully, he thought the worst thing that had happened to Valas was him.

Sure, believing as much was nothing if not an extraordinary exercise of arrogance, beyond whatever self-loathing the belief might also carry. Perhaps there was also a feeling of protectiveness. He had never seen Valas so weary and broken, but he had never seen him heartbroken before either. Perhaps a part of him really thought if I am the worst that's happened to him, it cannot be that bad — he will live, he will move on — and clutched onto that hope.

Valas' peaceful expression when he felt asleep next to him almost made him forget about that incertitude. How has he missed this man... this brave, stubborn man. Patient with him and loving beyond reason. Too much for his own good, he has made sure to tell him.

Fallahan had no time for last thoughts of regret in Avernus, but after Lulu brought him back to life, and he had a moment of respite to wrap his mind around what happened, he thought of Valas. The one person he regretted letting down, that he still could apologize to. He wrote a letter, that he still preserves. He took the hollyphant aside, and described the drow to her, so she could find him if things went wrong. He created a small illusion of his beautiful face, and forced himself to look at him, and fought back tears.

"Is he important to you?" "Yes. Very." "And you miss him?" "He was the best thing I ever had." "What happened?" "I hurt him." "Zariel hurt me too. She has hurt many people. But she was my best friend... and I would do anything to get her back."

"Valas. Valas, dear."

Movement and noise stirs him out of his trance, only to see his lover panting and shivering. With a snap of his fingers, he lights up one of the candles in the room to see more clearly, and places a hand on his bare shoulder. He, too, is naked, and more concerned about the dark elf than he is about the blanket that slides down his body as he sits up, he forgets to hide the scar on his waist from sight.

"What is wrong?"

[imsotiredtodeath]

it just like Brenna said that trauma is a steep slide u cannot see the bottom of.

at some point thinking about being in relationship was so so complicated lately, to me especially. kek berasa susah banget buat step up lebih jauh kalo misal deketin orang, apa soalnya dah tau yha bakal kek gimana ntar jadinya. kadang kalo lagi positif banget bisa kepikiran bakal punya relasi yang sehat, seenggaknya kepikiran buat gimana jauh kedepan sama pasangan. Tapi, seringnya sekarang malah gabisa mikir sampe kesana deh.

bukannya gamau mikir kesana, tapi keknya udah takut duluan deh. takut apa ntar juga bakal ngulangin hal yang sama bakal ninggalin satu orang buat orang lain, takut apa itu udah sifat bawaan dari ortu yang kelakuannya nga jauh beda karena idk most of my bad manner wasn’t always from my parents cheating on women that should be from my pops.

idk how it could be had a relation or turunan things tapi katanya sih buah nga jatuh jauh dari pohonnya. setelah kejadian nimas dulu i jadi mikir bangsat banget emang saya, how could i cheatin on her yang dah baik banget banget dan sampe sekarang pun tiap mau starting a new selalu mikir apa saya bakal ulangin kayak dulu lagi yha padahal ya udah 5 tahun yang lalu. im a fucking joke emang.

belum lagi masalah lain yang yhaa i wont to be a burden for my partner. selalu kepikiran apa bisa dan mau nerima masalah-masalah saya selama ini dan apa bisa saya nerima masalah mereka semisal yang mereka hadepin pun lebih berat dari masalah saya. ngomong kadang gampang, “i would be there for your problem to the moon and back” tapi would i? sempet mikir gimana kalo nantinya i malah nyerah di tengah jalan, that mean i would leave her on misery alone, kan? then i just make another wound on her, scratch that wouldn’t happen if she was not mine. kinda feel i just didn’t fit in any relationship since i cant handle my own problem too, lol.

i always think that i would die young dan komitmen serius itu sebuah long run yang saya sendiri gak yakin could i get the finish line? what if my unstable state will be her burden, apa doi udah siap punya pasangan yang suicidal, makanya i selalu bilang ke orang lain kalo jangan pacaran atau being in relationship kalo masih nga sehat secara psikis atau mental.

for me, that might be until i die haha that’s why i wish i wouldn’t ever marry someone that i adored, crushed, or loved to death bc i just cant simply ruin her life. fall in love is easiest part in relationship, but realized that your love wouldn’t ever work and you should let it go everytime you started over again and again, that might be the hardest part.

kalo kata Brenna; “to love me is to love a haunted house. It’s fun to visit once a year, but no one wants to live there.”

kadang suka heran sama yang bisa punya kepikiran buat komitmen in a serious relationship. bahkan sering banget ada yang ngomong ke saya all you need is only faith to god’s plan and in my case, how the fuck its would going to happen. you need to work the hell out of you and makes a mountain of money to make sure everything would be fine for the rest of your life, you do not risks the live of your beloved ones based only on a faith that you believed in. i did not blame everyone who thinks like that, but there’s always someone who blamed me to thinking that way, lol

kadang sadar, sebenernya alasan saya nga kepikiran nikah tuh purely cuma gara-gara takut gamau aja ntar saya sama pasangan saya bakal sama nasibnya kek keluarga saya sekarang and burdened, treated my child like how my parents did to me. makanya lagunya Nadin yang Taruh tuh hampir satu lagu pas banget sama apa yang saya selalu pikirin selama ini but everyone did not ready to realize that things was actually happen haha

[notnctu]

backseat chronicles - n.jm | ridin’ club

━ welcome to the ridin’ club smut series

genre ➠ slow burn, smut, fluff, lil angst  wordcount ➠ 8.5k details ➠ fem!reader, streetracer!jaemin, badboy!jaemin, college!au ━ where Jaemin brings you to his club races as his arm candy. warnings ➠ explicit language, overstimulation, flirty banter, pet names, softdom!jaemin, car sex, praise kink, hittin it raw (y/n on the pill), oral, daddy kink, slight corruption kink, fingering synopsis ➠ There is no reasonable explanation as to why or how you always end up in the backseat of Na Jaemin’s beloved car. Almost routinely, he picks you up around ten in the evening with the stereo blasting the raunchiest lyrics for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. The entire night remains purely friendly, a dabble of flirtatious comments because well, it’s Jaemin for fuck sakes. But all it takes is one suggestive gaze from his dark, lustful eyes and a drop in his voice that rumbles your core to have you climbing over the seats to get to the back. taglist ➠ @rabbit-doyochi​​​ ; @darkneogotmyback​​​ ; @im-lame-irl​​​ ; @p-mini​​​ ; @niniluvsmarkhyuck​​​ ; @saniahmichael​​ ; @jaehy9ngs​​​ ; @danyxthirstae01​​​ ; @jaehyunoos​​​ ; @pikijaemin​​​ ; @suhweo​​​ ; @yunoyeol​​​ ; @lanadreamie​​​ ; @ta3ilmoon​​​ ; 

a/n ➠ hi yall its author doie❀!! thank you for over 1k notes on this series, im beyond impressed by the amount of attention this got! it really blew up and its so crazy!! i wrote this one with more of a romantic plotline i realized its too hard to keep it pwp with all the story building and characterization i have :)) it’s almost over yall! pls pls leave me feedback im sorry it took so long to write ):

While college lecture rooms are too big to interact with other students, discussion classes are there to ease the difficulty. A classroom for about twenty students from a three hundred person lecture. It’s administered by a clueless TA, who barely began his second term in graduate school.

Unlike lecture, attendance is mandatory for participation points. You show up every time without a fail, so it came as a shock to you when a certain blue haired student finally appeared from the list of absent students.

Na Jaemin. The notorious playboy with looks that kill and partakes in some illegal racing club. It’s as if every person in the room fawns over his aura, Jaemin drips with an inexplicable alluring confidence. You didn’t know anything about him besides the fact that he never shows up for class and rumors about how he’s slept with the entire cheer squad.

But he’s drawn to you like a magnet: always sitting in the available spot next to you, asking about your day before the TA arrives, developing an odd staring problem. You don’t feed much into his attention, minding your own business when he starts with his notably flirtatious greeting.

“You just take my breath away, (Y/N).” Jaemin cocks back in his seat with legs stretched wide in an overly comfortable manner. The smug smirk on his face cannot be ignored, he’s doing the absolute most to get you to pay the smallest attention to him.

“I didn’t do anything in particular to do that, Jaemin.” You respond bitterly, pulling out your notes for today’s discussion class. The TA enjoys wasting the first twenty minutes going over the past lecture slides and running through the most obvious topics.

You pay no mind to Jaemin peering over at you with the single handedly most dreamy eyes and smile --- stars shining in his dark orbs and a dazzling twinkle in his wide toothy grin.

“That’s why you’re so amazing. You do nothing and it still leaves me breathless.” His sneaky eyes examine your clothing choice for the long day. On this warm afternoon, the short tank top does nothing to hide much of your skin and the denim shorts that ride up a little too well drive Jaemin insane. And when you cross your legs together, he swallows the spit that pools in the back of his throat.

Your ears catch onto the murmurs of the rest of the class, the midterm is next week. The wretched midterm that is half of your grade dooms you, it is going to take an endless amount of completely undistracted dedicated hours of study--- “On a more serious note, can you help me with this class?”

His voice shatters your inner panic, if anything, adds to the stress that already beats down on your shoulders. You look up to glare at him, but you’re entirely taken aback by the new styling of his hair and the exposure of his tattoos.

The sweet blue cotton candied strands are ruffled lazily above his brows, messy from him constantly running his hand through them. Jaemin sits relaxed in gray sweatpants that are extremely baggy on his slender figure, hands are shoved casually into the pockets.

But what has you staring for longer is the long sleeve of tattoos that wrap around his left arm. Not that you’re surprised that Jaemin has tattoos, let alone a whole sleeve, but this is your first time seeing it as this is the first time he’s come to class without his leather jacket on. Something about the intricate lines and shadowing make Jaemin seem much cooler, almost more attractive.

When you meet his eyes, his lips curl slowly into a sly side smile and he’s practically eating you up under his gaze. He definitely knew that you were staring and what comes next out of his mouth will haunt you for it. “Like what you see, beautiful?”

“I don’t have the time to help you.” The best way out of this situation is to simply ignore it. Jaemin is overly adored and admired by many, he’ll find someone else to help him.

“Jaemin, do you want to study together?” There you go, folks. The random girl snickers with her small huddle of friends in the upper corner of the room, like a crowd of crows, they’re all waiting around for Jaemin to accept her offer so he can be easily integrated into their little group.

However, you watch how his glances bounce between you and her. The most sickly sweet, kind smile is almost too fake to consider it to be genuine. His final choice surprises you, “thank you for offering, but I only want (Y/N)...”

Your breath hitches and gets caught in your throat as you hope for him to finish his sentence, the drumming of your heart distracting you even more. Jaemin wants you? While the thought is flattering, it puzzles you greatly.

“... to help me with my studies.” Jaemin finishes his sentence after a rather long pause, his eyes finally resting upon your figure shying away and finding any way to seem uninterested in the conversation. “Is that going to be okay, (Y/N)?”

“What do I get out of it?” You can’t believe that you are actually considering it. But this is a man that only wants you to help him. Jaemin is an impossible, yet charming man and whatever comfortable attire he is wearing today is really aiding in his request.

He lights up, ears perked up and eyes attentive. His hands fold together on the empty desk, leaning forward towards you. “Dates with me.”

Rolling your eyes, you groan slightly at the arrogant answer. “I don’t care about that. I want something that benefits me.”

“I’ll make sure you’re well fed.” There is a tiny plea in his tone, a remarkable shift from his cool aura. “What do you want? I’ll give it to you.”

“I guess I can’t turn down free food…” there is a hang in your sentence as you contemplate what chaos you’re about to dive into and what life changes are about to be explored with Jaemin.

“Before you agree,” Jaemin chuckles, “there’s one more thing I’d like you to do for me.”

You’re quick to shoot a daggering glare at the overly enthusiastic boy, “why do I suddenly owe you favors?”

“Because I say so.” He deadpans, a chill running down your spine at the deep dip in his octave. The playfulness that was present all this time suddenly vanished, a serious look that intimidates you, but sexy enough to where it erupts something in your core. He blinks at you with dark clouded eyes and you nervously anticipate what he is going to ask next of you.

“Accompany me to my races.” He speaks lowly as if he’s afraid of someone else eavesdropping in the conversation.

Here’s your issue with that request: you’ve never really been part of that scene. You’ve lived pretty mundanely, even in college. It’s simple, you like to stay within the boundaries of what you enjoy to do and what you have to do. But you’re always open minded and willing to try something to determine whether or not you’re fond of it.

Partying and drinking copious amounts of alcohol weren’t your favorite things to do, especially to the point of forgetting your nights. You wanted to remember your nights as much as you do your days. The youth isn’t here for long, why waste them by blacking out in the middle of a large party? Also, whoever said that alcohol goes down smooth is a blatant liar.

Illegal racing could possibly be an extension of people who participate in those things, which is fine, but does place a crippling fear of coming off too boring or unrelatable inside your nervous system. But just because you don’t do those things doesn’t mean that you’re not as cool, right?

Since when was your status based nonsensically on how often you spend your nights in socializing crowds full of sweaty bodies and how much cheap booze you can drink? It had to be all in your head --- you’re just dreading any awkward socializing with people who race cars when it’s absolutely illegal.

“Why me?” It’s a genuine answer, possibly stemming from your insecurities of not being on the same level of charm as Jaemin exudes. You’re not a fool, you’re well aware of the many different people he comes across on campus so, why you?

Jaemin doesn’t hesitate to answer, “why not you? You’re just my type. Hot and smart. Cute and a little shy. The greatest duality, if you ask me.” His words seem so genuine that it has you believing these things about yourself as well.

Nonetheless, you’re taken aback by his observations and his choice of descriptions. “We’ve barely ever talked. How can you say these things so confidently about me?”

Jaemin slightly pulls your chair closer to his own and you yelp in response to the sudden movement and lack of space that separates the two of you. He leans into you, breath hot on your skin and obvious eyes darting between your shocked ones and pretty lips.

“So let’s get to know each other. I can already tell that it’ll just make me fall for you even more.” His finger lightly traces your jaw, stopping at your chin to give it a small lift to meet his focus. Jaemin loves how you squirm underneath his intensity, you’re too cute to let go. “Plus, my boys will love you. I’m sure of it.”

The TA rushes in quickly and is utterly distressed from the traffic that had pushed back his schedule. “Sorry, I’m late everyone.” He rummages through his things to find his notes, but groans to see that the monitor of the computer is off. It’s going to take him another ten minutes to input all his credentials.

But your attention doesn’t stray from Jaemin, especially with his delicate touch at the bottom of your chin. His gentle smile enacts nothing but a soft love, and a peak of interest. Na Jaemin, the one and only. He’s like an adventure waiting to be explored, an open bottle of fun for you to take a sip.

“What would I have to do?” Your voice comes out shaky.

“Just be there as your pretty self.” Jaemin comes off as the type to always have women around him, “you’ll be my lucky charm. For some reason, I always feel better around you.”

The escalation of this conversation is possibly more action you’ve had to handle in the last two years. Jaemin drops your chin and falls back into his own seat with his arms crossed. He is about to turn your life upside down and whether that be a good or bad thing, you don’t mind. You’re excited for the new thrills that come with being by Na Jaemin’s side.

Jaemin’s hot hands lift your shirt quickly, throwing it towards the front seat of his car. His lips return to your soft neck, nibbling at your skin tenderly and with love bites that will remind you of his gentle touches. The streetlamps outside flicker impatiently as you feel the eagerness soaking your panties and he lifts you up to take them off.

“My sweet girl,” his voice is light and airy that it becomes almost lost in the heat of the car. “You’re excited tonight. Did you miss me?” The devilish smirk can be felt upon your collarbones.

“Yes, I haven’t seen you for almost five days.” A peculiar whine settles in your pout and Jaemin’s low growl sends shivers down your spine. The only barrier are his own tight jeans and your hands are fast at unbuckling his belt. Jaemin relaxes back, forearms resting on your soft thighs and watching the neediness in your expression and the speed of your hands. He smiles to himself seeing you this way, wanting him so badly that you can’t wait to get him out of his jeans.

Throughout the two months that you and Jaemin finally became well acquainted, he’s fallen inexplicably into your trance. His friends made it very clear to you that he doesn’t keep the same girl around for more than a few weeks. But he’s brought you to almost every race so far and despite the initial shock of your appearance after the third time, you didn’t let the passing comments phase you.

Why he hasn’t replaced you is unknown and truthfully, there is no reasonable explanation how you always wind up in the backseat of his car by the end of the night. It’s become part of your routine. Jaemin picks you up around ten in the evening with raunchy lyrics blasting out of his personalized car for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. More often than not, Jaemin has food ready for you to devour and a cozy blanket for your exposed legs.

You’ve learned a bit more about him through your backseat chronicles. Jaemin is possibly one of the only people in your life with a heart bigger than his own body, while also being as carefree as he can. Oddly enough, he cares about you as his friend and as his companion. Not to mention the ridiculous, yet endearing nickname, “Lucky Charm”, that he has coined upon you.

Jaemin has been the best adventure you’ve had in ages. While he takes you on intoxicating thrill rides on the leather of his back seats, every street race has been more than unforgettable. He shares one of the same values as you --- wanting to remember the present. You both know that you’ll remember each other enough for it to transcend into your next lives.

You have him to thank for your youthful experiences, to learn and dive into this new found world of mischief under his care. Jaemin treats you extraordinarily well, he’d never hurt a soul. He showers you in appraisal and carefulness, he’s attentive to your behavior and remembers your favorite things. And he reminds you almost every time you see him that he’s so grateful to have you in his life.

“Have you been touching yourself?” Jaemin’s bold question catches you off guard as it causes your hands to shyly hover over his unzipped jeans. When you glance up at him with soft innocent eyes, as if you’re guilty of a crime and wish to beg for forgiveness, his facial expression is serious and intimidating. 

“Continue, baby. You can be honest with me. Daddy isn’t going to punish you if you did.” His tone is sweet and light, but his eyes are dark and piercing. His lips are drawn tightly into a thin line, no curve in sight.

His finger grazes down your cheek gently as he admires your slightly parted lips and the way your eyelashes dance every time you blink. However, his other hand urges you to continue your previous action of getting him out of his restrictive jeans.

You nod, while rubbing his erection through his gray briefs that hug him so tightly. There’s a sharp intake of breath when you pull the waistband of his underwear down and his cock stands against his lower abdomen. “Do you think of me when you do?” His voice gets caught in his throat when you take him in your warm hand.

“Always.” You kiss his jawline and fix your position above his dick. Your slick pussy presses down against his shaft, coating it in your juices and rubbing his tip to your clit for a delicious sensation. Jaemin groans, his gaze dipping between your lower bodies and back to your face.

“My sweet (Y/N) thinks about her daddy fucking her senseless while she touches herself.” Jaemin chuckles darkly, grinding his hips harder against you. There is a shift in the atmosphere as he grips your hips and slowly enters your dripping hole. “That’s cute, baby.”

You hold onto his shoulders as his raw dick fills you to the brim, stretching you out like past nights. Gasps leave your body when he starts pulling all the way out to only have you sink back down. “Daddy, please just fuck me.”

Jaemin picks up his speed, knowing that you have a quiz due at midnight that you scolded him for forgetting earlier. The grip on his shoulders tighten as this man navigates your body all too well. He knows you like the back of his hand, fucking the spot that causes your body to lose control.

One of his favorite sights in the world is the view of your lips parted open with loud whimpers falling effortlessly. Your eyes roll back into your skull as his hips roll deeper into your walls, the tip hitting your sweet spot repeatedly.

“You’re always the best girl for me, aren’t you?” His hand wraps around your neck when you throw your head back, choking you lightly and your walls grip around his shaft. “I know you’re close. Cum on my dick, baby. Be a good girl.”

Jaemin’s tattoos shine under the moonlight when you peer down at him. His hooded eyes are intoxicated by the pure image of your fucked out body and he’s truly in love. “My good girl, come on baby.” He continues to encourage, his other hand giving you a smack on your ass when he drills mercilessly into you.

The familiar bubbling occupy your lower half and the feeling of release unravels all so suddenly. You fall forward, Jaemin lets go of your neck to hold your limp body close to him, your head on his shoulder as your orgasm overtakes you. He grinds his hips into you to prolong your shaking climax, cooing sweet nothings in your ear as his other hand takes a whole handful of ass to squeeze.

He bottoms out, filling you up to the rim to cum deep inside of you. Jaemin moans loudly, his cum spilling all over your walls. You two sit like that until he grows soft, pampering your temples with gentle kisses. Jaemin remembers to take care of you, no matter what.

While you’re in his arms, he reaches for sanitary wipes in the side compartments. He lifts your hips slowly to pull out and you sigh at the emptiness. Gently, he swipes at the dripping cum from your pussy and makes sure that you’re all cleaned up before getting dressed.

“So, you want to tell me why you’ve been MIA for the past five days?” Rolling your eyes, you pull up your panties and fix the last decency of your hair.

“Car meets that are too far for me to take you.” His thumb rubs your chin lovingly and Jaemin’s eyes are so bright and mesmerizing, you find that it’s hard to look him in the eye at times.

“Not because you’ve been hooking up with other girls?” There is a tinge of sarcasm that laces your rhetorical question and though you don’t expect him to give you an actual answer, you take note of his reaction. Jaemin raises an eyebrow, clearing his throat and looking out the window away from you.

“And if I was?” Truthfully, that question hurt you more than your’s hurt him. His hand rests underneath his chin as he patiently waits for your answer. He admires the clear night sky and the rundown abandoned liquor store that stands all by itself.

“What do you want me to say?” Question after question, a stiff tension replaces the sex of the car.

“I’ll take you back now.” Jaemin crawls back to the driver’s seat, completely ignoring your confused figure. He has always been quite like this: going aloof whenever he wants to dodge something. However, it’s been happening more frequently the past times you two have been seeing each other.

The truth is simple, yet entirely complex at the same time. You and Jaemin aren’t dating, despite always going out together and him posessively introducing you to other men. You and Jaemin aren’t dating.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop you from growing feelings for him and you can tell that this happens too often for the attractive boy. He can’t have a fuckbuddy that won’t fall head over heels for him. But who could really blame you? Even if all this time Jaemin was pretending that he cared about you, he still pampers you like a princess; he still tells you he does.

But when it comes to discussion about advancing into something more, he hides and grows silent. This has you wondering, maybe this entire thing to him is all sex? And he can’t love you back the way you do.

No one knows his heart, not even himself. He’s never wanted to complicate his life, it’s always been about two things: racing and having fun. There is no easy way to explain it all, the thoughts that flood his mind and heart, so he chooses every way to ignore it. Overall, he’s genuinely lost. You are one source of stability in his life that he isn’t willing to let go, ever. But just because he won’t let you go, doesn’t mean that you won’t take the chance to leave when you’re fed up with him.

This has him wondering, how far can he push before he pushes you too far?

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just walk.” Tonight is unsettling, it usually doesn’t end like this. Jaemin locks the car doors and turns around to reach for your hand. “Jaemin, open the door.”

“I want you to say that you hate when I sleep with other people.” Jaemin confesses all too wildly as his hand lightly squeezes around your wrist. “And I want you to mean it.” He’s only speaking words of truth that haven’t had the time to process in his own thoughts.

“I hate when you sleep with other people.” And you do mean it. You mean it more than anything you’ve ever said to this man. Jaemin just sighs, bringing your wrist to his lips for a lasting kiss.

“Can I drive you home?” Jaemin asks softly, eyes dipping down to the leather seats and avoiding all need for eye contact.

“Yes, Jaemin.” He pulls you back into the passenger seat and drapes the soft blanket over your exposed legs. “Hopefully, I still have time to take my quiz.”

“Can I come inside?” Jaemin coolly turns his marble wheel to reverse out of the parking space, a hand resting on the shoulder of your seat as he does a double take behind him for any pedestrians, even if you two are far out in the middle of nowhere and there isn’t anyone around; Jaemin knows you have the hots for him when he does that specific move.

“What do you mean? You’ve already cum inside.”

It’s the sound of disappointment as his tongue tsks at you and he flicks lightly at your forehead. He steps on the acceleration, revving the annoying engine that roars throughout the peaceful night. The multicolored lights illuminate around his stereo and at your feet, creating the Rainbow Road right out of Mario Kart. 

Jaemin isn’t like the others who pay close attention to the details of his car. His motto goes, “if I like it, I’m going to have it.” Whether or not anything matches goes beyond his worries.

In some ways, his car is a mirror of his own personality --- wild and free, colorful and welcoming. And his skills as a driver? Safe, no matter how far the speedometer goes, Jaemin always makes you feel safe.

“I mean come inside your room for aftercare. You know how much I hate leaving you without a proper cuddle.” He pouts and almost immediately his cute baby tone comes out with his beg. Almost subconsciously, Jaemin lays his right palm open facing up to invite yours in. Almost routinely, you lace your hands to complete his hold. Getting Jaemin to smile has never been easier as his hold grows tighter.

“You can’t stay over tonight though. My housemates are doing some Single Girls Only house event tomorrow and it starts immediately when we wake up.” You laugh as the ridiculous words fill the air.

“And you’re participating in that?” Jaemin mindlessly asks and you’re unable to differentiate his implications from the question. Is he asking because the idea is horrendously nothing you’d like to do or he’s implying that you’re not single?

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sounding rather harsher than intended, Jaemin finally realizes how poorly he had worded his previous question. Yet, a part of him feels disappointment whirling in his chest and a desire to feel wanted by you.

“Doesn’t seem like something you’d like: wallowing in your singleness.” He chuckles, remaining lighthearted and playful.

“I really don’t.” Jaemin brings your knuckles up to his lips for a lingering kiss, his eyes darting quickly on the road ahead now that you’ve entered the metropolitan areas and his speed drops significantly to avoid getting ticketed.

“I’ll come pick you up. Instead of being single tomorrow, you’ll be on a date.” When you turn to examine his facial expression, the serious tension in his jawline and focused eyes alarm you. Your stomach twists into knots and if he couldn't already tell, your palms grow sweaty at his offer.

“That’s such a slap in the face to them.” Pulling your hand away from his, you cross your arms and lean your head against the cold window. “I don’t think I can do that to them.”

“I have a race tomorrow.” He starts, his head tilting over at you with his round gorgeous begging eyes, “at least, come to that with me.”

“Okay, but only because I want to see Haechan.” As if it wasn’t moments ago, Jaemin was the one balls deep in you and now you’re spewing enthusiasm for another man. It’s all a joke, a way for you to conceal your undying attraction for Jaemin.

You still remember the first time you met the sunshine that is Haechan and the jealousy that seeped from Jaemin’s words when he noticed the exchange of flirtation. Haechan is someone you’d knowingly gravitate towards: a man with a loud personality that just knows how to conduct every personality in the room. And at that moment, Jaemin couldn’t tell if being more observant was a good or bad thing.

Jaemin never saw himself as outgoing as his other friends, staying more kept in his own circle, but he had the confidence to fake it. He’s bold, rather impulsive and slightly narcissistic, Jaemin knows how to use his strengths very well. 

However, when he saw the soft smirk on Haechan’s face and your shy mannerisms, a small tinge in his chest ignited a died out flame. He didn’t realize it before, but that was the very start of his long tumble of feelings for you.

“Do you say those things to purposefully get me jealous?” Jaemin rests his hand on your thigh, giving it a harsh squeeze. His eyes never leave the road and his tone reverts back to his dominant tone.

“Well, are you jealous?” It’s like you two dance in circles, answer questions with a question does not stop.

And as bratty as your tone is, you don’t expect the quick “yes” that answers back and the smoldering look he gives you briefly before focusing back on the drive.

“Then good.” You huff, ready to hop out of the car after the odd, yet sensual tension. Jaemin pulls up to your house and double parks the car to lean in for a nightly goodbye kiss.

“You’re not coming in?” You try to read his facial expressions, but he hides his emotions too perfectly.

His lips curl into a smile before saying, “I think it’s better I cool off tonight.” And you mindlessly give him a peck, but he holds your face to deepen it. Through the kiss, you can feel the neediness by the way Jaemin shoves his tongue into your mouth. The taste of lust against your palette is difficult to ignore, but your academically responsible mind screams at you about your forgotten quiz.

Your hand lightly taps at his chest and he pulls away, his eyes drinking up your swollen lips. “I have a quiz, Jaemin.”

“I know, sorry. It’s just so easy to get lost in you.” Jaemin kisses your cheek once more before you exit. You smile back at him as his words have grown a strong effect on you lately. Bidding him goodbye, he wishes you sweet dreams as he patiently makes sure you’re fully inside your house.

“Is the music too loud?” Jaemin checks over at your hunched figure in the passenger seat. You’re diligently flipping through your thick textbook, a yellow highlighter in one hand and the other comfortably holding Jaemin’s.

The worst part of college is the never ending midterms that are given at any time. Studying in his car isn’t a rare sight, if anything it is more expected than you not doing anything related to your academics. But Jaemin genuinely doesn’t mind, even being mindful about his own actions to ensure an optimal studying space for you.

He really is an ideal guy. Like his first promise, he keeps you well fed and never once asks you for any monetary pay back. Jaemin adjusts the car temperature before you even step into the vehicle, knowing that you prefer wearing less clothes rather than more. Though he isn’t academically responsible, he still makes the effort to try and understand enough information to pass his classes.

The sole flaw would be the lack of open communication. It’s genuinely difficult for you to read his emotions or intentions. Jaemin always has a dazed look in his eyes whenever he looks at you, and it’s an internal fight about whether or not you’re being delusional.

“Music is fine, honey.” The mindless use of a pet name slips from your lips, but your concentration on neoliberalism and globalization doesn’t allow for you to notice.

Nevertheless, Jaemin catches on immediately to the usage. While he showers you in ridiculous nicknames, you’re not one to do so. “Honey?”

“Yes?” You answer back carelessly, not entirely actively listening to him as you highlight an important concept in your book.

“No, you called me honey.”

Looking up from your page, you blink at him with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. “I did?”

Jaemin chuckles and finally pulls into the overly crowded parking lot, a whole mass of fanboys cheering at the arrival of his flashy vehicle. Everyone just loves Jaemin.

This familiar scene plays like a reel --- several high beams cast light under the dark sky due to the lack of functioning street lamps, dizzy multicolored cars that blaze the tracks, and the all too distinct smell of musky cologne in the chilly air. Oh, and the wide eye admirable stares when you get out of the car.

“Hi, you’re stunning.” A bold new recruit blinks at you in complete awe and awkwardly clears his throat once he realizes his rash comment.

Jaemin raises an eyebrow at him, then at how you plan on handling the situation. You’re flattered, nonetheless, but know that Jaemin didn’t bring you here to flirt with other men. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy your membership in the Ridin’ Club.”

The gracefulness in your delicate voice has the youthful recruit swooning and subtly giddy as he runs off to join a group of others that have been eying you across the parking lot. Jaemin casually drapes his leather jacket over your exposed shoulders, knowing the temperature change is going to result in you most likely catching a cold and because you never bring a jacket despite his plea.

“The power you hold.” Jaemin winks at you before pulling you into a larger crowd to socialize with more impressionable recruits.

“Ah, so you’re (Y/N)!” The stranger is unrecognizable, but you giggle to acknowledge his confident statement. “We haven’t met before, but Jaemin was talking about you the other night at our motorcycle meet.”

Your eyes light up, as if you’ve unlocked a new fun fact of Na Jaemin. “You drive a motorcycle too?” You’re truly shocked at the talent of this man.

Jaemin snakes his arm around your lower waist to draw you closer to his side. “Yeah, but I can’t fuck you in a motorcycle, can I?”

Before the other men can comment on the obvious sexual tension that Jaemin created, he leans in to whisper into your ear. “Actually, I can, but we’ll save our decency from unwanted exposure.” His hot breath grazes against the shell of your ear and you just know where you two are going to end up tonight.

“Bro, you guys probably fuck in the backseat of his car.” One of them chimes recklessly, punching at each others’ chest playfully as if he made a decent joke.

“Why don’t you stay to find out?” Jaemin retorts and the grip on your hip becomes tighter. You’re too flustered to add much into this odd form of competitive banter, distracted by none other than the way Jaemin keeps glancing over at you with a delicious gleam in his eyes.

“So what? You don’t care about us now?” You’d know that bratty tone from anywhere as Lee Haechan pushes past everyone else to rush over to the both of you.

“Aw, are your feelings hurt?” Jaemin sticks his tongue out at his friend before cordially sharing a handshake with him.

“Just slightly.” Haechan looks over at you with a wide grin and playful eyes, “hello, my pretty girl.”

“Drop the possessives, Haechan.” Jaemin rolls his eyes with an irritable twitch on his lips.

He hates how obviously jealous he gets. It’s something too difficult for himself to control, he’s exhausted his efforts to bite his tongue whenever it comes to other people’s flirtations. The thought of someone else calling you theirs doesn’t sit well with him.

“I understand your jealousy, Jaem. If someone was flirting with (Y/N), I wouldn’t be able to stand it either.” Haechan fixes the falling jacket on your shoulders. “But she can handle herself, I know those pretty lips have a mind of their own.” His gaze drops momentarily, yet obvious enough for you to grow shy at how strong Haechan is coming off tonight.

“Stop trying to corrupt her, that’s my job.” Jaemin playfully pushes at Haechan’s chest and they both break out laughing.

“I haven’t said one thing and you’re both talking about me as if I’m not here.” Your small pout is literally the cutest thing to Jaemin. He physically has to stop himself from planting the sweetest kiss on it.

It’s blatantly clear that you’re hot stuff. You’re the perfect example of a head turner, your captivating aura has its ability to suffocate those around you. However, Jaemin has seen all sides of you, but overall finding you so entirely cute. And oddly enough, Jaemin has a knack for cute things.

“Is that (Y/N) I hear?” Huang Renjun engulfs you in a hug, showing clear affection and doesn’t mind doing so. “How did your project go?”

“It went well. You accomplish a lot when you don’t procrastinate.” Renjun gleams at your statement and if Jaemin is delusional enough, he’d probably mistaken the twinkle in his eyes for infatuation instead of admiration.

“You’re so responsible, why are you messing with Jaemin?” Renjun sighs and though his question is more of a joke, there is some truth behind his words.

Your friendship with his friends differ immensely compared to other girls who have come around. Like Jaemin had said before, his boys were going to like you and they do, a lot. Sometimes making it obvious that you’re too good for him.

Jeno comes up from the side, an unidentifiable bruise on his neck and a new cut on his brow. Lee Jeno being such a rough character, his appearance speaks well about how his day has been.

But when he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all his pain is replaced with joy and security. “(Y/N)! I haven’t seen you in so long!” The enthusiastic boy rushes over to greet you with a warm smile.

“I’m pretty sure I was here a week ago.” You laugh, but welcome him in your arms for a tender friendly hug and pat his head out of habit.

“It’s been a week?! That’s so long.” Jeno narrows his eyes at Jaemin and flicks his forehead.

“Ow!” Jaemin exclaims while rubbing the pain away. “You act like she doesn’t go to the same school as us and therefore, can see her any time you want to.” The tone in Jaemin’s voice raises some eyebrows as they all exchange glances to each other before bursting into laughter.

“Like your jealous ass would allow for that?” Haechan remarks and Jaemin doesn’t outwardly react. However, Jaemin’s hand is squeezing you so tight that you’re more than certain he’s bothered by the comment.

“Oh, stop it. You all know I’m Team Jaemin. He does have the most wins this past month.” You only know that through Jaemin’s proud boasting, anything else in the racing world is unknown to you.

Jaemin situates you in between his legs as he slightly sits on the hood of his car. His arms wrap around your middle and chin rests on your shoulder. Public display of affection isn’t a problem for him, and you learned much earlier that Jaemin can’t keep his hands off of you.

Renjun scoffs at your whimsical fact, in absolute disbelief. “It hurts more hearing you say it. I’m getting my car upgraded, but once it’s done, I’m going to blaze his ass on the tracks.”

“Are you racing today?” Jeno asks the blue haired fellow that clings onto you like a koala.

“Yeah, against a newbie. Apparently he’s really good, so I’m not too sure I’ll win.” Jaemin mumbles into your hair.

“You say that every time, yet you win!” Renjun crosses his arms, weight shifting to his left leg as he pops his hip out. There is always a sense of competition between anyone with Renjun.

Jaemin perks up behind you and when you turn around in his arms, you’re face to face with a beaming smile. “That’s because I have you.” Eyes lock with yours, he isn’t saying that directed to Renjun. Na Jaemin has you wrapped around his pinky, the butterflies fluttering in your stomach are too hard to ignore.

“Alright, lovebirds. Get in your car and let’s start this shit.” Haechan groans and claps his hands to draw the crowd’s attention. Cupping them around his mouth, he roars into the starry night, “let’s roll!”

During the race, Jaemin’s number one priority is to keep you safe. While you’ve sat in his car for a number of times now, it’s different once the loud bang goes off and he’s hitting 100 mph. Tonight’s track is much more dangerous, with twists and turns that can have the vehicle flying weightlessly if he’s not careful.

“You trust me, right?” Jaemin has both hands on the wheel and the engine rumbling as you both anticipate the start of the race.

Spectators watch on the sidelines as if it’s the ultimate battle, but Jaemin doesn’t pay them much mind. He’s more concerned about you instead. “Of course. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. You’ve proven yourself that you’re an excellent driver, so let’s win this.”

Jaemin smirks at your encouraging words, feeling a warmth spread across his chest. “I’ll tap out any time you want me to, okay?”

You nod and the initial whip of the car is so intense that you didn’t even register the sound off. It’s not your first race, but it’s been awhile since the last one. When you adjust to the pressure, the lanes in front of you cause a slight queasiness in your stomach.

It’s a two lane windy road that wraps around the mountain side and Jaemin happens to be in the outer lane. All it takes is a second of lost control and you two will hit the metal railings that guard the cliff below. Despite your inner panic, Jaemin guides you through the pooling anxiety that leaves you restless.

“(Y/N), look up and out the window. We’re coming up on the cliff side view, I’ve always wanted to bring you here.” Your eyes land on the dazzling glitter that dances on the ripples of the lake. It’s so vast, the moon high up in the sky is reflected on the water below. It’s a romantic scene of melancholy and bliss. Suddenly, you feel at peace in the middle of this high speed race.

“It’s beautiful, Jaem.” You whisper calmly and he’d reach for your hand to hold, but races take too much wheel control. And he’d turn to look at you, but races take too much concentration on the road ahead.

But throughout every obstacle, he hears the gentleness and the solidarity in your cadence in the midst of all the high stress. He, too, feels peace. He feels calm knowing that you’re simply by his side, even in the face of danger. So, he can finally admit to himself… he genuinely developed feelings for you.

Before you know it, you’re thrusted side to side from the sharp turns and the adrenaline kicks in when the other racer catches up right next to Jaemin. “Fuck,” Jaemin curses underneath his breath and steps harshly on the acceleration. “Baby, I’m going to go a bit faster so hold onto something.” He warns and your hand finds the grab handle. It’s neck and neck at this point.

Usually, you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid becoming too overwhelmed by the sights in front of you. Tonight is different, not entirely knowing why, you’re observing every element that circles around the perimeter.

The finish line is up ahead, but there is no sign that the other racer is slowing down. Then, you see it: the fatal mistake that can cost you both of your lives if you didn’t catch it. “Jaemin, watch out!” You yelp when the other car inches dangerously close, your warning allows Jaemin to make a controlled swerve away from a possible hit.

Jaemin shakes his head and tsks at the recklessness. “Now I know why he’s good. It’s foul play.” He blows his bang out of his eyes and casually says, “thank you for warning me. This is why I need you by my side.”

He makes it to the finish line barely before the other, winning the race by half a second. Jaemin brakes smoothly, tire marks scrapping the concrete below, and you both exit the car to celebrate with everyone else.

But before the mass of eager shouting men make their way over to you two, Jaemin hurries to your side to pull you into a steamy, rewarding kiss. The scene is just like the movies; his hand on your lower back and yours on his chest lightly. His lips taste like triumph, like he had won more than just a simple race against a random stranger. He’s won the best person he could ever have.

You two fled the scene after cussing out the other racer. It was a rare sight to see: Jaemin being all bothered and angry, practically fuming after scrambling back into the driver’s seat. However, your mind had mischievous plans of its own and all it took was one look from his hooded eyes for you to announce that you wanted him --- badly.

Back in your usual abandoned parking lot, Jaemin pauses before following you to the back seats. With the engine off and the dead of the night being absolute silent, the tension remains thick around you two. “(Y/N),” Jaemin is about to confess something he never thought he’d admit. He turns to you sitting in the middle seat with just your panties on and a curious look on your face.

His heart burns and despite being so incredibly aroused, he controls his urges enough to be able to say, “I’m into you.”

“I know you’re into me, that’s how we ended up like this in the first place.” You giggle cluelessly to his words, still not understanding the odd shift in mood and intentions. It’s always his unclear, messy intentions.

Though he can’t entirely figure out his puzzle pieces, he has plenty to connect the dots. “I like you. I want to be in a relationship with you and call you my girlfriend.”

You’re stunned. Did Jaemin just confess to you as you sit in your panties ready to fuck? This softness is different from the sides you’ve seen of him. It’s similar to a lost bunny, wandering grasslands to find a purpose. He looks so fragile, one intense stare and he’d crumble. This softness is vulnerability.

“So do it.” The boldness catches him off guard, but switches on the dominance in him. “If you want me, come show it.”

He climbs over the middle console to push you into the leather seats. “Not acting shy anymore, are you?” Practically ripping your shirt off of you, he cups your breast lightly and flicks at your nipples. Your immediate reaction results in a rush of wetness down your core.

“Before I forget,” sitting up, you share a passionate kiss that you’ve held back long enough. You give it every ounce of feeling you have for him. “If it isn’t obvious enough, I like you too.”

“It’s obvious, baby.” Kissing your nose, he wraps a hand around your throat to lightly push you back down. “But hearing you say it out loud makes me happy.” Jaemin smirks, hand still choking you gently and pampering your jawline with soft kisses.

His free hand reaches down into your dripping panties, circling your clit with your wetness. The sensation causes you to whimper for more. “Daddy, give it to me.” You wiggle in his palm, knowing that the nickname is more than effective.

“My sweet (Y/N) wants to get fucked?” Jaemin rolls your underwear off and rids himself of his own bottoms.

“Yes, please.” Through the darkness, his hard dick stands proudly. Jaemin lines himself up as he thrusts into you without another second of hesitation. He waits for you to adjust to his size, his tip barely grazing your sweet spot. “Fuck…”

“You take me so well, my pretty baby.” Jaemin starts moving his hips, slowly at first to build a rhythm. Taking your legs, he presses them into your chest to fuck you at a deeper angle. And you feel him practically in your guts, his cock pumping against your walls deliciously and bumping into your g-spot. “Do you want more of me?”

Your train of thought is in utter shambles and whatever Jaemin is saying to you barely processes. You’re overwhelmed by a pleasure that fills every system, every part of your body. To answer him, you let out an incoherent noise of approval.

Jaemin pulls your hips down while thrusting forward into you, maximizing every inch of his strokes. This single action causes you to scream and grip onto the headrest. “Who knew my sweet girl could be so fucking dirty?” Jaemin chuckles darkly, his cadence dropping several decibels. “When I first met you, I wanted to ruin you.”

All of his filthy words edge you closer to your release as he continues to repeat his previous motion. He holds your hips in place to grind into you, the feeling of his tip rubbing your walls has your eyes rolling back. “Do you want to cum, (Y/N)?”

“Yes!” You yell, the tight ball in your lower abdomen is bound to break any minute. “I want to cum so badly, please.” You beg and moan, the arch in your back lifts you from the seat of the car. Jaemin snaps his hips into you, drilling you quickly to reach your high. And you break. An euphoric cry fills the air as your walls clench around his length. You hear the extra wetness create a slick noise, but Jaemin isn’t done with you yet.

“You wanted to cum so fucking badly. I’ll reward you with one more for being such a good girl for me.” His thumb flicks at your clit and you convulse into spasms from the sensitivity. Your violently shaking legs can’t hold themselves up anymore and Jaemin rests them on his shoulders. He lines kisses along your ankle as the pleasure overtakes you.

“I don’t think I can do it.” You whine, your fingers twisting and toes curling.

“You are going to try, okay baby?” He coos, but it’s most definitely a demand. He sits back on his knees to pick up more speed, fucking endlessly into your swollen pussy and thumb rubbing fast strips against your bud.

“I’m going to snap, Jaem.” You cry, tears rimming your eyes and before you know it, a second wave hits you. Your second orgasm is ruinous and has you squirming around to regain some sense of control.

“Oh fuck, you’re so beautiful.” Jaemin slows down as your walls grip around him again, tighter this time. “I’m going to fill you up with cum,--- watch it drip out of you.” He grunts while releasing into you, his dick twitching and spraying your insides with white.

He pulls out as hot, white cum spills from your pussy. You take this moment to catch your breath and relax your legs. However, Jaemin coats his two fingers and shoves the cum back into you. “Jaemin!” You exclaim at the sudden intrusion.

He curls them into your plushy walls and finger fucks you into another oblivion. “Wait, again?” Your hands wrap around his wrist, but Jaemin moves too fast for you to catch it.

You’re a moaning mess again, louder than before. Jaemin leans down and flicks his tongue against your overstimulated bundle of nerves. Your back arches automatically and a low animalistic scream rises from your throat.

He observes your body lines underneath the moonlight and the last remaining light the broken street lamps have to offer. Your face contours and you’re so far out into ecstasy that you don’t notice how intensely Jaemin watches you lose yourself.

“It feels too good!” With one last thrilling orgasm, you almost pass out and you see small stars of dizziness. He soaks up every last bit of your cathartic reaction and festers a small sense of pride that he can make you feel all this pleasure.

“Such a good girl. You’re beyond impressive, baby.” Jaemin pulls his fingers out to lick them clean and finds some wipes to help you out of your sticky situation.  

“Now that you’re my girlfriend, can we cuddle at any time now? Not just as after care.” He peers up at you and the one word enacts a burning warmth to spread across your chest. That is the best nickname he can call you by.

“I think the Singles Girls Only house event is still going on, but after that, yes a million times.” You laugh and wrap your arms around him into a big loving hug.

Jaemin feels right at home. All the long years of living carelessly and wild, he’s finally found someone worth the extra mile. While Jaemin was a thriving adventure to be explored, you were his comfort to run back to.

It is through the intimacy of your backseat chronicles that Jaemin was able to fall deeper for you. You’re his lucky charm, for some reason, he always feels better around you. 

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 5

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language Warnings: None Summary: Local soulmates finally reach the "friends" in "enemies to friends to lovers". A little softness goes a long way. Nice, mostly gentle chapter to make up for the previous one's angsty ending. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly, 4: Portraits For Ghosts

5: Heart Of The Matter

“This is embarrassing,” you mumble, refusing to look Cassandra in the eyes. Softly, she runs her fingers over your chest, spreading the medicinal salve. There’s an unspoken judgement in her expression. Minor movements are no less painful than major ones, so you try to sit still, as much as you’d rather be with anyone else. “Can you hurry up, at least? I don’t care if it takes longer to heal in the long run, I just want to get out of here,” you snap. For a split second you think Cassandra’s going to hit you in response, with the way she looks at you, and you involuntarily flinch. But the hit never comes, merely a sharp sigh.

“If you didn’t want to get treated, you shouldn’t have started a fight- especially not such a pointless one,” she says, continuing to rub in the medicine and evidence alike. At this, you shrink into yourself, hating the harsh sting of truth. Yeah, you think, she’s got me there. Victory is a fast fading feeling, dearly missed in the wake of the growing shame in your chest. Why had you given in to your impulses? Why had you broken the only peace you had known in weeks? It’s a thought that snags on the corners of your mind, weighing down your cognition, leaving you unpleasantly distracted from the present. “Almost done. Then you can go sulk in private, somewhere you can’t bother me, alright?”

Nodding, you accept your fate with what little grace remains. What more could you even do? Ask her to stay by your side? Hardly. But as soon as the last bandage fits into place, and her gentle yet calloused hands smooth the last edge, a whisper of an ache springs into your heart. It’s not a yearning for Cassandra specifically, merely a reminder of your unwilling loneliness. When the door closes behind her, you stare down at your hands, wishing to hold some meaning within them. Maybe I can find Daphne around here somewhere, you think. Then you slowly rise to your feet. Better to sit with a kind stranger than a harsh familiar face.

---------------------------

That night, you find yourself cautiously approaching Cassandra’s room, feeling like a death row inmate on their way to the executioner. Every step is begrudging, and you almost can’t bring yourself to open the door. But you manage, in the end, stepping in with your eyes downcast. No voice, grumpy or otherwise, greets you. One glance tells you that your soulmate is already asleep, and you mentally thank all the gods you can name. It doesn’t take long to get ready for bed. It does take a minute to slide under the covers, careful not to wake Cassandra. This time you don’t move closer to her, or wrap your arm around her waist, too… exhausted to try anything along those lines.

When you dream, it is of an ever familiar room, shrouded in darkness, stained with the blood of hundreds. Someone’s laughing- a woman, maybe several. Down here, someone is always laughing. You try to laugh with them. It’s a lie, a small deception, that lets you pull your thoughts away from your misery. But they don’t appreciate it when you join their cacophony chorus. Their cackling shifts into screaming, bitter lungs sending waves of ear-splitting sound. Over and over, it gets louder, unbearably so, and closer, closer all the time. Just a few cells away. Just a few more fucking seconds and they’ll be right on top of you. This is a dream you’ve faced down before, yet the ending is unknown. They always get louder, always barrel down the path, towards you, howling endlessly.

They never reach you. No, they’re always coming, always so fucking close. Never in your sight. Never digging claws into your chest. But the anxiety does not fade- you are tipping back in a chair, never falling, never able to find your balance.

When you wake up, it’s with a flinch, teary eyes snapping open. A hand rests on your cheek, brushes away the stains. Whispered words drift through the air, too hushed to be understood, daring to lull you into a relaxed state. It’s Cassandra, of course. Even in your tired state, you know this, know that she’s trying. What you don’t know is whether or not she’s awake enough to process what she’s doing. After all, you hardly are, and her touch is the gentlest thing you’ve ever felt. But you do not get to enjoy it for terribly long. Soon enough your vision fades, the embrace of slumber overtaking you once more.

---------------------------

For a few days, there is relative peace. Meals are delivered to Cassandra’s room, where you mostly dine on your own, though she occasionally joins you, even if you do not speak. Every evening she ensures your wounds are treated, often handling it herself. When she does, you do your best not to meet her gaze, for you cannot stand the traces of affection you see there. Try as you might, you find yourself unable to taunt her the way you had done the first day. The way she’s changed her behavior, adapting to your trauma’s revelation, haunts you to no end.

“Drink this,” she says one day, before bed, holding out a steaming mug. Of course you don’t take it, of course you stare at her with an eyebrow raised. Acceptance was never an option. “It’s just tea. Bela says it might help. With nightmares. Not-” she paused to frown, unsure if she even wanted to finish the sentence- “that it helped me. But you’ve been… tolerable, lately, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.” Then she’s reaching out again, expectantly. Blushing ever so slightly, you finally take the mug, giving her a quick nod before taking a sip. There’s a hint of sugar, just enough to make things interesting.

“Thanks,” you murmur, after swallowing the lump in your throat. Already Cassandra is turning away, focusing on getting ready for bed. You want to say more, to actually hold a conversation with her for the first time in days, but your mouth feels oddly dry. So you just sip your tea in silence. Of course, you think, I’m only ever improvising a monologue, or tripping over my own tongue, as if it were a resting place for my chattering teeth. At least the beverage wasn’t as bitter as your thoughts. By the time you’ve finished your drink, Cassandra is in bed, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Need something? Or just waiting for the poison in my drink to kick in?” You ask, surprising yourself.

“Finally remembered how your mouth works, hmm?” Cassandra teases. Again you’re blushing, having expected her to be more annoyed than amused.

“I never forgot. I simply, you know, uh… figured that you needed a break, after my last demonstration,” you counter, remembering the way your vocal chords had complained, and the way her arm had felt around your throat. It’s not the direction you meant to take the conversation in, but she doesn’t seem to mind. If anything… she’s blushing. For a moment you’re confused, then you finally recall the ‘incident’ in the tub. Oh fuck, you think, that’s worse. Maybe. Probably? What should I say? In the end, the words leave your mouth in a rush, as they were prone to do. “Based on how red your cheeks are, I’m going to assume you don’t need another reminder. Let’s just get some rest now, yeah?” Next thing you know, there’s a pillow flying towards your face.

Still, it’s better than nothing, and the impact serves only to make you smile wider. When you climb into bed, you find yourself face-to-face with Cassandra. She’s never laid like this with you before. It’s unexpected, even more so when she shifts forward, less than an inch away from your face. Understandably, you end up blushing more than you’d like to admit.

“What was that about red cheeks?” She asks, voice low and breathy, knowing exactly what she was doing to you. Before you can think of the ‘smart’ thing to do, impulse kicks in, making you go in for a quick kiss. It’s supposed to be a joke, a counter to her teasing. But she leans into it. She kisses back. Both of you are blushing hard when she pulls away, a few moments later. You’re trying to stutter out a response, clever or otherwise, and she’s rolling her eyes, rolling onto her other side, putting her back to you. Words fail you. In the end, you are forced to try to sleep, regardless of what just happened. When you dream, there are no nightmares this time. Just a warmth you had thought forgotten.

---------------------------

More days pass, with your tongue slowly loosening up, fueled by playful banter with Cassandra. Neither of you dares to mention the kiss. Nor do you ever speak for too long, as if knowing that your mind still resisted peace. Most evenings are still filled with nightmares, all mimicking your trauma, and you are left to wonder if the tea had even worked that first night, or if something else had helped. In the hopes of more success you drink a mug every day before bed. Admittedly, Cassandra does bring it to you, meaning that forgoing it would require turning her down. That was… harder to do, these days.

When she asks you to join her for lunch, you don’t hesitate to agree. But as you’re waiting in her room, casually reclining on her bed with a book in your hands, a distant scream echoes through the castle. Instantly you’re panicking, wondering who was in trouble. It reminds you so much of the dungeon that you can’t move. Was one of the servants being punished? Had someone merely forgotten to close the door to the basement, and you were hearing the same cries that caused your nightmares? Even though the screaming does not last for long, it renders you helpless, shaking in every bone. It’s not until the door opens that you can think again.

“Change of plans,” Cassandra announces, stepping into the room. There’s a worried expression on her face, and her voice tells you she’s distracted. When she sees the state you’re in, however, she’s quick to sit next to you. “Hey, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s Daniela that does. She- her soulmate-... it’s bad. That’s all we know. One second she was fine, the next she’s howling in pain, and there’s a huge scar on her back. We’re going to have a ‘family lunch’, per mother’s insistence, in case it helps Dani think about literally anything other than what just happened.” With that, one of her hands moves to your own, giving a reassuring squeeze. To her surprise, you’re quick to return the gesture.

“I can come with,” you blurt out. Then she’s raising an eyebrow at you, wondering why the hell you’d ever offer to spend time with her family. The family that had imprisoned you. And, of course, intended to drain you of blood, or dine on your flesh. Even you weren’t a hundred percent sure. “This has got to be hard for her. I… I knew someone who went through something similar. Strange as it is, I want to show my support. If you’ll allow me, that is.” There’s neither a pleading tone nor a hint of anger in your voice. But Cassandra still hesitates, eying you, clearly questioning your motive.

“Alright, fine,” she says, after a deep sigh. “If you do anything to make her feel worse, I can’t- and won’t- stop my family from killing you, blood bond be damned. They’ll make it painless, for my sake, but that’s the only kindness you’ll get. Got it?” You nod, giving her hand another squeeze. “Good. Now let’s get going, I don’t want to make Dani wait.”

---------------------------

It’s quiet. Awkward, even. Daniela is clearly still shaken up from her experience, with red eyes, makeup staining her cheeks. No one seems to have the slightest clue of what to say to her. Even you are silent, unable to find a good opportunity to lend your advice or sympathies. Which makes it all the more painful when you find Daniela watching you, eyes narrowed, a tremble to her lower lip. Both Cassandra and Bela seem to notice, pausing their eating to wait with bated breath. Part of you swears you can hear their thoughts of please don’t say anything, please don’t say anything, for the love of everything good in this world. So, naturally, Daniela does in fact say something. But it’s not directed at you- rather your soulmate.

“Did you really have to bring them? Huh? Felt like pouring salt in my wounds?” Her throat is obviously sore from crying, or screaming, likely both. This certainly wasn’t how you wanted your first meeting with her (or her mother) to go. So you summon the best of your courage, replying before Cassandra even opens her mouth.

“I asked to come. I wanted to show my support,” you reply. There’s a pause, with Daniela glaring at you, before she speaks slowly and with unveiled rage.

“Don’t make me laugh. You really thought I’d want to see my sister’s soulmate right now? Alive and well? God, you’re perfect for her, absolutely clueless,” she growls, smacking her fist against the table. Things have gone from bad to worse, but you don’t give up, deciding to take a risk as best as you could. After all, Cassandra had made it clear that your life was on the line.

“Tell me, was the pain bad enough that you passed out?” You ask, ignoring the way your soulmate kicks your feet. She’s desperate for you to shut up, especially now that Daniela’s too angry to even respond. “Are you still in pain now? Answer the question and I’ll either explain, or let you use my bones as toothpicks.”

“Fuck you!” Daniela cries, rising to her feet. Instantly her sisters are standing as well, though it’s unclear what ‘side’ either of them are on. For now, their mother remains sitting, staring at you intensely. When you refuse to back down, the tension in the room flickers, fading a tad. “The pain lasted ten minutes. It’s stopped. They’re…”

“They’re not dead, then. Reason to celebrate, yes?” You suggest, raising your glass before taking a long drink from it. Everyone is eying you with visible confusion. “When I was younger, I was with my best friend during the worst hours of her life. She had met her soulmate at age twelve, three years prior. We had just been… hanging out. Talking. The next thing I knew she was screaming like her blood had turned to acid, sobbing her eyes out. Then she blacked out. By the time she came to, we were at the hospital, and we ran into her soulmate’s family. She asked them what was wrong, why she was in so much pain. I, uh, I think you can guess the answer. Not the specifics, yeah, but the general gist of it. It took twenty four hours for the physical pain to stop. According to the doctors, that’s pretty average. So your soulmate isn’t dead. Chances are you haven’t even met them yet, and someday you’ll see that scar on their back, and you’ll know. I know that this doesn’t make everything okay, but I hope it helps. At least a little.” When Daniela finally brings herself to reply, having sunk back into her seat, it’s with a soft voice, hardly more than a whisper.

“It does. Thank you.”

---------------------------

Later, you’re walking back to Cassandra’s room when she suddenly pushes you against a wall, staring at you with fear in her eyes.

“What you said earlier. About your friend. Was that true?” You’re nodding, quickly, desperate to get her to release you. But she doesn’t. Instead she’s looking at you with concern, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. “Goddamnit, you better not ever fucking die on me then, alright? Promise me. Right now!” A thousand thoughts go through your mind, a thousand jabs or otherwise cruel remarks, but when you speak, it’s with a hushed reverence you cannot describe.

“Same to you. I know you’re practically immortal, but I don’t fucking care. Don’t die on me. Don’t- just don’t. I promise, but you better fucking mean it too, alright?” You say, openly crying, ignoring the way Cassandra’s expression softens at your words. As soon as you’re done speaking she lets you go with a nod, turning back to the hallway, already walking towards her room. You’re not entirely sure what just happened… but you know you’re glad it did.

[hlizr50]

Thank You for Saving Me

One of my first. One of my faves.

Spoilers for From Blood and Ash and A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire

Casteel wants to address a few of Poppy's scars that they don't usually talk about

Read on AO3

The room was dark, but he wasn’t bothered. Casteel’s Atlantian heritage meant that he could see anything around him that he cared to notice. He should have been trying to sleep, as Poppy had rolled over to do. She’d said as much not long ago, before he’d successfully distracted her with his lips, his hands, his tongue… all of him.

He grinned to himself, shaking his head. He loved that she found it so difficult to resist him. Surely she knew how easily he unraveled at even the slightest thought of her. That was why he couldn’t help himself tonight. Even though they were to begin the journey across the mountains in a few hours. Even though they were aching and weary from the battle with Duchess Teerman’s regiment.

Casteel leaned his head back against the headboard and cast a sidelong glance at her – the way her hair fell across her shoulders and back, a sharp contrast to that alabaster skin. So soft. So perfect. He let his gaze drift down, eyeing the faint, thin marks that tracked back and forth across the tender flesh of her. His eyes narrowed.

He had never been anything less than completely sincere when he spoke about her scars. He needed her to understand how special she truly was, working against the years of venom that the Duke, Lord Mazeen, and the rest of the treacherous Ascended had used in an attempt to poison her soul, to dim her light. Her scars were beautiful, if only one entry in the long list of things he admired about her. But these long, thin, nearly invisible lines were not the jagged tears from Craven claws and fangs. No, these told a story of a fortitude he understood completely yet could also barely comprehend.

The two of them had rarely discussed Duke Teerman’s “lessons” since Poppy had finally admitted to him that the Duke had beaten her, likely for years. In fact, the last they’d spoken of it was during their journey from New Haven, and that was a lifetime of realizations and confessions from where they lay now.

Married.

And not for the sake of mutual benefit from the power of being Atlantian royalty, but for love. Real, true love. And he needed her to know how he felt – about all of her scars.

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s creepy when you watch me sleep”

Casteel chuckled. “Well you’re obviously not asleep, so I don’t believe your question really applies.”

“Whatever,” she sighed. “It’s creepy when you stare silently at my back when I’m awake, too.”

“Alright, I’ll accept that,” he answered. And then he reached for her, trailing a calloused fingertip over where the cane had bitten her and swearing to himself when her muscles tensed. “When I realized what he had been doing to you it was all I could do not to kill everyone in that Gods-damned castle.” He moved his fingers up and down the length of her back. If his attention on those particular stripes made her uncomfortable he wouldn’t force his touch. But this conversation was important. He needed her to know.

It was quiet for a few moments, and he wondered if Poppy had somehow drifted off to sleep.

“When did you know? For sure?”

“That day with the priestess, after I prevented her from striking you. I could’ve killed her, too, honestly. But there were too many things that came together… too many signs.”

Poppy rolled over to face him, clutching the blanket over her chest. “Like what?” her emerald eyes shone with surprise.

“Please, Poppy. Did you truly think you were even remotely convincing even one of the many times I asked and you denied it?” the prince laughed humorlessly.

“You always let it go!”

“There was the first time he had me summon you. You and Tawny were both… distraught,” Casteel took a breath. If only he’d known right then, maybe he could have spared her – at least that final lesson. “Then you were holed up in your room for two days. And then there was the night I found you on the Rise. The way you winced when your back hit the wall… when I implied I might report you, and you told me I didn’t know what he’d do, before you could reign in your emotions.”

He reached for her again. Gathering the blanket around her body he pulled her into his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“But it was that day with the priestess. When she said you’d grown fond of the cane. When it was painfully, heartbreakingly clear that you were accustomed to her striking you. And when I asked you point-blank if he hit you… all the color drained from your face before flushing deep red…” he pulled back so he could look her in the eye and let his fingertips caress her cheek. “My heart could have shattered in that moment. I knew what it was to be trapped, knew the shame and the fear of being helpless and not understanding how someone could take such delight simply from causing pain to someone else.”

Casteel planted a kiss on her forehead before pulling her close again. He ran his fingers idly through her wine-red locks – a favorite past-time of his. He loved her hair. It had been so unexpected the first time he saw it; red hair to match the fire within. But the fire had cooled tonight, and he might have thought she’d dozed off if it weren’t for her hand gently stroking his arm.

“Sometimes Lord Mazeen was there,” she offered quietly, and the prince stilled. Of course he knew that, but she had never been so open with this part of her. “He was there… that last time. He… he liked to watch.” Casteel’s chest rumbled with a barely-contained snarl. He had always been so glad – he would even say proud – that she’d hacked the Lord to pieces.

But Gods what he’d give to have the chance to go back and end that monster himself.

“That day… he stood in front of me. I tried to be as modest as possible, as was expected of me. But I had to brace myself on the desk, so I would lean on one arm and use my other arm to cover as much of me as I could. He bored into me with those haunting, hungry eyes as he moved my arm and held both of my hands on the desk so he could see… all of me.”

Casteel could barely breathe, and he clutched his wife tighter to his chest. Had he known that? He wasn’t sure. He knew that the Lord sometimes joined the Duke in his sadistic practice. He remembered Spessa’s End when Poppy had raged against Duchess Teerman’s insistence that the Ascended had been protecting her.

‘Is that what the Duke was doing when he took a cane to my back simply because I breathed too loudly or didn’t respond in a way he found appropriate? When he put his hands on me? Allowed others to do the same?”

He knew that they’d hurt her, but her admission had completely…

Gods, it tore him to pieces.

He felt soft fingers curl around the back of his neck and let out a breath. Her touch grounded him, pulled him back.

“Poppy… I –“

“I think Lord Mazeen was the first one that really made me realize that something was wrong – that their explanations and expectations didn’t make sense. How could my purity and isolation be so important when I saw what was in his eyes… he would have taken me if he knew he could get away with it. He leered at me for… for years!”

He pushed her shoulders back from him gently so he could grasp her face between his hands. He brought his lips to her forehead before leaning into her gaze.

“The Ascended are monsters, make no mistake. But THOSE two… There is not a word strong enough. They were EVIL, Poppy. They hurt you. They tormented you. They took pleasure in knowing that they could do anything they wanted to you for the most miniscule fucking reason and you had to sit and take it. I would burn the entirety Solis to the ground if it meant I could have saved you from that.”

Poppy smiled then. Gods, somehow she still smiled and it knocked the wind from Casteel’s lungs. Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears as she lifted her hands to cover his.

“How many times have you told me that you had hoped to sweep in dramatically and rescue me? After fighting Craven, after Lord Chaney or Duchess Teerman? But don’t you see?” The tears slid soundlessly down into her smile. “You did rescue me. You saved me from the priestess, from the Duke and Lord Chaney. You saved me from a lifetime of ignorance, of being used as a pawn to force an entire people into submission.  You saved me from a life of solitude, of never knowing pleasure or love.”

She released her grip on him and reached a hand to move a stray lock of his dark curls out of his eyes, while he used his thumbs to wipe away the dampness still staining her blushing cheeks.

“You weren’t too late Casteel. You saved me. You did.” And then she pulled his head toward her and pressed her lips to his temple. “You’re my hero,” she whispered, and began to pull away. He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and held her against him, foreheads touching.

“I know that the scars he left on you are not the obvious ones. They are not many, and they are not easy to see, but they are there. And they are beautiful, all the same. You are so strong, Poppy. So brave. I cannot begin to comprehend your ferocious need to explore, to learn, to live, all in spite of them. You had every reason to cower, to slip into a meek existence, but instead you dreamed and you learned and you fought. Every day I am staggered by who you are, and I don’t think there will ever be a moment when I am not in awe of you.” He could feel burning in his throat and his eyes. His voice was hoarse. He so rarely wept, but he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. “These scars may be my favorite, the most stunning. The Craven scars are a symbol of your blood, your heritage, your survival. But these? They are a testament to your bravery and fortitude. They show the world that you have faced pure evil, looked it in the eye, laughed, and dared it to try again.”

Casteel scooped her from his lap and laid her back on the bed before sliding down under the blanket to face her. He wrapped his arm around her and let his fingers feel the velvety skin of her back, searching for those thin lines.

“I don’t want you to feel fear or shame when my fingers find them. I want you to feel strong and brave and powerful, knowing that you beat them – that they are dead and you are living your fullest life. Can you do that for me, Princess?”

His breath hitched when she smiled softly again before wiggling closer to him, burrowing as far as she could into his chest. Would he ever be able to see her smile and not come undone?

“I think I can do that,” she murmured against him. He smiled and kissed the crown of her head. He breathed her in and allowed his body to relax around hers. Contentment wasn’t something Casteel was accustomed to feeling, but this was the closest he had ever been to paradise. The silence was comfortable, wrapping around them like a cloak in winter. He sighed deeply and felt her head turn slightly against him. And then soft full lips pressed to his chest. The gesture was pure and innocent and earth-shattering.

“Thank you. For saving me,” Poppy whispered in the dark, almost too quiet even for his ears. He didn’t know if he could draw her any further into him. But he would keep her tightly cocooned in his arms, knowing that having her there is what held him together.

And he wondered, truly, if it hadn’t been she who had saved him.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Monstrous Secrets Chapter 3

Eris Vanserra x reader

Word Count: 1250

Summary: Mor.

After returning--you hesitated to call it this but--home to the Hewn City, your main contact with Eris, your mate, were letters that appeared on your bedside table right beside the ones from Rhys. Part of you wondered how the both of them would react to learning they shared this little similarity.

Mostly, the pair of you discussed the goings on of daily life in your respective courts; though, nothing either of you shared was anything that would be considered a weakness in your courts. Occasionally, very occasionally, there were deeper, more meaningful discussions. Quippy banter, to the contrary, became fairly common much to your surprise. Then one day you received a note--for it wasn’t near long enough to be considered a letter--the likes of which you’d never expected. It was just one line, no explanation, no signoff, just three words.

“Please forgive me.”

Before you could pen a reply, Cassian burst into the room. “You need to come quickly. It’s Mor.”

You hadn’t laid eyes on your friend in weeks. Really since that ball where you learned that your fate was tied to Eris’s You could barely stand to look at her in all honesty. Partially because you were assigned across the house from her usual haunts (something you were suspicious of due to the suddenness of the shift since you couldn’t be sure there wasn’t a reason Rhys did it) and partially because you felt so damned guilty about the fact that you were chest-deep in the process of falling for her unwanted fiancé. Guilt that, over the next few hours, would claw its way deeper and deeper into the pit of your stomach as you learned the true horror of what happened to Mor at the border of Autumn.

Her sleeping with Cassian however long ago to ruin her virginity was an act of desperation that was unexpected but not all that surprising.

Her father trying to force the marriage anyway, not at all shocking.

But the story, however vague, of what they did to her when Eris said in no uncertain terms that he would not be going through with the engagement. Then the fact that he’d just left her there, potentially to die of her various injuries. Especially in light of the knowledge that he’d been so close to getting her out of the whole arrangement. At minimum, it made you want to go back and tell her that you had a way out, that she didn’t have to go through such desperate measures. At worst, you wondered if Eris was really the man you’d come to know him as or if he was really how Rhysand and the others claimed.

You had to speak to him. Speak, not write. So you penned your own note as soon as you were able.

“Meet me where you left her or I’ll never speak to you again.”

You told no one you were leaving, let alone where you were headed. This was a mess for you to sort out, not them. Still, no matter how this panned out, you’d never be able to tell anyone who your mate was; that was certain. Gone was whatever hope you had that you’d all be able to sit around a table at Solstice. Gone was the dream that you might one day have your own wedding with your family smiling happily for you. Now with this looming over Eris’s past.

Sure enough, the second your feet touched the ground, he was stepping out of the shadows.

“Why?” you demanded, tears welling up in your eyes.

His shoulders were slumped, hands in his pockets. A far cry from his usual, cocky self. “Because if I’d touched her, everything would have been over. For us and for her.”

“What the ever-loving fuck does that mean?! Is it so far beneath you to offer her help? Cauldron’s sake, Eris, what if it’d been me?! Would you have turned me away as well??”

His voice was uncharacteristically icy when he muttered, “If it was you, there is no force in Prythian that would have kept me from your side.” A deep breath hissed past his teeth. Scalding hot rage danced in those golden eyes. “If I’d so much as touched her, it would have been as good as accepting her as my wife. I don’t expect you to understand how Court poli--”

“Now is absolutely not the fucking time to talk to me like I’m lesser, Vanserra,” you snapped.

His jaw visibly clenched before he spoke again. “If I helped her, I would have no choice but to marry her. Because she acted so rashly, there was no clean way to break off the engagement. She would have been bound to me, trapped in a court surrounded by ravenous hounds, and I to her, doomed to know I would never be able to wed you. 

“I won’t make excuses to say it was acceptable. Not to you. But you know how my father can be. Cauldron knows the only one in my family not like him is Lucien. Her fucking an Illyrian bastard--” There was a weight to those words that made your insides squirm. Too many times you’d seen his normally-neat handwriting turn jagged or blood spot the page after Beron ‘punished’ his eldest son, but you couldn’t let that insult slide.

“I’m an Illyrian bastard, Eris. Does that make it acceptable to make you suffer for talking to me?!”

 “I am not saying it makes it acceptable!” he snapped. “She’s alive and free because of my actions, so I cannot regret the end result. I can only regret how she got there. I will live the rest of my life with that regret, but at least I know she will get to live hers.”

“They will never forgive you.” There was so much else in your tone than just those words. All the hopes and dreams for the future that the pair of you had developed in your letters were dashed forever.

“As they shouldn’t.”

Those tears finally spilled over as you asked the question that’d plagued you since discovering he was your mate. It felt like asking it just added fuel to the fire that was trying to separate you at every turn, a fire named Beron Vanserra.  “We’ll never be able to tell anyone about us, will we?”

In the span of a second, he was across the space between you and was pulling you into his arms. One hand cradled your head to his chest, the other pressed against the small of your back. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Your hands clenched against his shirt. “They’ll kill you if they so much as smell you.”

“I wouldn’t blame them.”

You looked up at his face. “Eris . . .” was all you managed to utter before grasping at the nape of his neck to pull him down for a desperate kiss.

It was him that pulled away after a few moments. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against your forehead after placing a tender kiss there.

You wanted to assure him that it was alright, but it truly wasn’t. “I know.”

“What she okay? When you left?”

“Unconscious again, but healing. Azriel and Cassian are playing guard dog for her.”

“Good.” There was a pause. “I--” The words seemed to get caught in his throat. “I am proud to have you as my mate, Illyrian bastard or not.”

Your hand slid up to cup his cheek. “We’ll get through this, Eris. One way or another.”

[thekingdomofelfhame]

Jurdan Fanfic: Highschool AU Part 1

Summary: Much to Jude's annoyance and surprise, she and Cardan have been paired for a school project. Cardan's feelings, on the other hand, continue to blossom when he arrives at Jude's apartment only to witness something beyond his comprehension.

Warnings: Mild cursing

This will be an alternative between Cardan and Jude POV just to get a good look at how their feelings develop.

Cardan POV:

She keeps staring at the ring enclosing her finger, her gaze never shifting to the notes scattered on her dressing, her walnut eyes intense with emotion. She kept humming the same tune over and over, her voice as smooth and soft as butter as she traced invisible patterns on her ruby studded ring, its bright red colour magnifying the beauty of her hand.

I had never seen her like this: bursting with emotions. Standing before me was the same girl who lived in impenetrable walls, walls that I had been trying to overcome only to lead us down a path of hatred. She was the girl of steel, no titanium, and yet she melted away like snow in early spring when no one was around.

Her voice echoes in the room which-surprise, surprise- is a mess of pillows and papers. This girl had been haunting my dreams since sophomore year but my foolish imaginations were nothing compared to the beauty that stood before me and when she starts vocalizing, I swear my heart skips a beat.

As she turns to pick up her phone, her eyes find mine and I am robbed of the melodious voice that had filled this room a few seconds ago. I am pretty sure I see her eyes swimming in tears but she immediately blinks them away. She has trained herself well.

I hadn't even realized she was in her bathrobe until she stopped singing and am left with her perfectly masked yet startled cuteness when she becomes aware of her current state.

"Why'd you stop?" I say clearly disappointed, "your voice is beautiful"

"Weren't you supposed to be here at 11 30?", she says completely ignoring what I just said, tightening her robe around her.

"I clearly said I'd be at your place by 11", my eyes skim over her robe and am pleased to see her cheeks flush with colour as I say, "maybe I'll make a habit of coming early"

"How'd you even get in?"

"Your roommate let me in and, oh, she told me to inform you that she will be staying with her boyfriend for a while"

"Wow. She and Van are really speeding things up", there a short pause that feels like eternity before she says, "Okay, now could you go wait in the lounge while I get ready?", she says and something tells me she is not asking. Though I would very much prefer to stay, I obey her orders for she is The Queen of my heart.

Jude POV:

I walk out of the room, no longer dripping, and am utterly surprised to find Cardan lounging on the white sofa, one of his legs draped over the arm rest. He looks...comfy.

I think about the way he was looking at me in awe when I found him leaning against my door, his dark black eyes peering into mine. I had never seen him so captivated. How long had he been standing there?

Your voice is beautiful...

His words ring in my ears and I can't help the faint pink rising on my neck. Cardan Greenbriar had complimented me; that was a first. I was surprised he didn't make fun of me just like he has been since the day I set foot into school. He didn't mock me as he usually would, seeing my emotional outburst. This was Cardan Greenbriar, the most spoiled rich kid who never gave a fuck about anyone.

I had never once let anyone past my defenses, not even my family, foster or not. No one knew about this small world of mine and I liked to keep it that way. That is, until today when I saw a pair of iridescent coal black eyes bewitching me into wanting to tell him everything about this tiny world I had created where I would doze off to whenever I wished. That was when reality hit me and I was reminded of why I had lived in an armour for so long, why I had never let anyone get close to me.

I snap out of my thoughts when Cardan interrupts, "Like what you see, huh?". I scoff and I didn't realize I had been staring at him as he further added, "Should we get on with the project or are you gonna stand there all day, thinking about me?"

"Asshole. You wish", I snap right back at him and he lets out a soft laugh as I go through his notes.

We had agreed on double-checking each other's notes before we started the project, and by the looks of it, we had a lot of work to do. Surprisingly, Cardan's notes were not only correct and authentic, they were thorough and much more organized than mine. He had even used fancy words like serendipity- I mean what does that even mean?

"Jude, I think some of your notes are missing", he says raising his black brows and a book with torn pages.

"Oh, yeah. The torn notes are in a green file right over there", I gesture to the stack of books behind him as he leans over to find it only to frustrate me further when he says, "Uh, Jude. There is no file here".

"It should be there. It cannot go anywhere", I stand up and walk towards the mountain of books.

That was when I realized my foot is asleep and I stumble over a book, covering my face with my hands, ready for impact. Only I don't hit the ground; instead I feel arms slide around my waist and when I remove my hands from my face, the first thing I see are Cardan's eyes partially covered by his black locks.

I almost get lost in the moment. The world stops when he runs his hand through his hair as if he is nervous and he stares back at me. That is, until I remember who he is.

Ughhh....

"Looks like you're falling for me, Jude", he teases.

I abruptly push him off of me and start looking for the notes. Despite my foot still being asleep, I try to walk as if nothing happened but the bastard still notices.

"Here. Let me help you", he reaches for my hand but I stop him with a gesture and he does.

Looks like my defiance all these years really did have an effect on him.

"If you want to help, start by looking for a green file. It is unlabeled, no fancy decorations what so ever"

"What else to expect from the boring Jude Duarte"

"Well, at least I am not like one of those stupid girls who are so easily charmed by you"

"Did you just say I am charming?"

"Fuck off"

"Okay, okay", he raises his arms in defeat and I go to my room to look for the file. My eyes shift to the scattered notes over my bed and my dressing and my carpet.

Shit.

This is going to take longer than I thought.

Cardan POV

As I search through her notes, my thoughts keep drifting to the moment I had her in my arms, her body fitting right into my hands. I battled with the urge to get lost in her deep brown eyes or to drop a kiss on her cute nose.

No, no, no. Stop.

Wine. I needed wine. I needed wine right now.

Jude hated me and I should hate her. She was the one person who had refused to let me get my way and would continue to do so. She could never want someone like me, let alone love. This was just a project and as soon as it would finish, we would go our separate ways.

And yet, I cannot help but think about her all the time.

Jude POV

I return to the lounge drenched in sweat, panting and gasping for air. I had been rummaging in my room for the past hour and had finally found that file.

I slam the file onto Cardan's face and he doesn't dare reply when he sees my tired state. I sink into the sofa, one hand covering my eyes the other blindly searching for the glass of water on the front table.

"What happened to you?", Cardan asks as I open my eyes to find him completely shocked but instead of answering him, I gesture towards the file while gulping down my third glass of water.

"Let's continue. I don't want to waste any more time", my voice is dry as I open my laptop to start typing in the outline and he continues to examine my notes.

"God, your handwriting is horrible", his voice is filled with surprise as he brings one of the papers closer to those haunting, dazzling eyes to get a better look but gives in and throws it back onto the table.

"If you can't read it, why don't you make me something to eat instead?", I say robotically while looking at my screen and had not expected him to actually go to the kitchen in search for food.

My eyebrows furrow together as I walk up to him and say, "I was joking! Come on, we gotta get this done"

"I know you were joking and I know we have to this done but I am hungry and if you are not going to ask me then I am going to make myself", he complains as he looks around, opening cabinets and drawers.

"I didn't know you could cook", I say clearly perplexed by his actions.

"There are many things you do not know about me, Duarte", he continues his search and when I have had enough of his noise I say, "Stop! Okay, stop making noise! God, it's like raising a child or something", I grab the spatula from his hands but he takes it back saying, "Well, I am hungry and I can't work when I am hungry and by looking at you, you should be too"

As much as I would hate to admit it, I was hungry and I felt like I hadn't eaten in ages.

"Fine, you cook and I am going to take a break and watch some Netflix", I say right before telling him about where I keep the food and where the utensils are.

"One more question. Should I make sandwiches or hotdogs?"

"Lilliver usually does the cooking so, whatever you want", I turn on the television and continue to watch Shadow and Bone, each episode more intriguing than the last.

I hadn't realized an hour had passed when Cardan came with sandwiches.

The room is suddenly filled with the smell of freshly made sandwiches and that does nothing to satiate my hunger as I reach out for the dish set in front of me but Cardan quickly grabs the dish before I can get my hands on a sandwich.

"Patience is a virtue, dear Jude", Cardan says raising a long slender finger in the air.

"First of all, never and I mean NEVER call me dear", I glare at him as I grab the dish back, careful not to break it, "And you took so long making sandwiches that I got hungry"

I take a bite of the sandwich and if I am being honest, I had never tasted such sandwiches in my life and Cardan must have noticed me and my increasing craving for his delicious sandwiches that only seemed to make my hunger more insatiable when he said, "Either you like them", he gestured towards the half-bitten sandwich and its cheese dripping from the side of my mouth, "or you haven't eaten all day"

"Hmm. Yeah, I think it is the latter", I lie through my teeth with ease as I take a second one into my mouth.

I would never compliment him to his face, especially since I don't want him spreading the story in school.

"Why are you acting like this?", I ask out of nowhere before I can even process what I just said out loud.

"Like what?", he asks dumfounded

"I don't know, you seem a bit more... tolerable, I guess", my voice almost drops to a whisper as I stare at my third sandwich, suddenly looking for something more interesting in a piece of food that would soon be in my mouth.

He doesn't answer but I am able to see his mood shift as his body language completely changes and his muscles become more stiff. His pupils become dilated and he looks every bit as horrifying as he did when he once threw dust into my food after I had punched him.

All of a sudden, I regret what I had said and cursed my stupid mouth for opening itself.

We don't speak to each other for the rest of the night and though I hated Cardan with all that I had, one small part of me felt that there was more to this person, that he was more than just a bully and that I had missed an opportunity to get to know the real him.

Let me know if you wanna be tagged! Also, I will now on follow a policy of following back those who follow me, just to spread a bit of kindness!!

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[tlcwrites]

By A Nose

Submission for Writer Wednesday 5/12

Summary: If you're going to talk the talk, you better be able to walk the walk. Or, proof Poe Dameron is a terrible loser.

Word Count: 1528

Tags/Warnings: Poe Dameron x Reader, Modern AU. Implied smut but mostly in passing. Some bad words. Poorly edited because as usual I finished this at like 11 and my kids get up at 5 so I need to go to sleep.

Author’s Note: THREE FICS IN A WEEK WHO AM I?

Okay, so I cannot be the only one who saw the photo for this week's Writer Wednesday (thank you once more for hosting, @autumnleaves1991-blog!) and went the direction I did. If I am the only one, well, just further proof my brain is certifiable. Make sure you comment on when you figure out where this fic takes place.

There will also be an accompanying headcanon coming for this probably tomorrow, because there was SO much material I wanted to use but couldn't make fit. Thank you @paper-n-ashes for brainstorming with me and being the best hype-woman ever.

“AAAAHHHHH.”

“WE’RE GONNA DIE.”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

“FINN!!” You smack him. “There are small children here!”

But he’s too busy screaming to pay attention.

On the other side of you, Kaydel looks decidedly green. She lets out a pained moan as your vehicle makes a particularly hard turn. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this…”

You pat her knee as you fly through a kitchy town. “Hang in there, honey. It’s almost over.”

The village elder’s well wishes still ringing in your ears, you pull up next to another idling transport. From the driver’s seat, your boyfriend winks at you.

“You’re going down, Dameron!” you holler at him.

He makes the universal ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. “Eat my dust, losers!”

Finn yells back something that has you smacking him again, shooting an apologetic glance to the second row of Poe’s transport, where Snap and Karé are sitting with their daughter Nora. Snap’s hands fly to cover Nora’s ears while Karé laughs heartily.

Next to Poe, Rey holds her thumb and forefinger up to her forehead in an ‘L’ shape. “Second place is the first to lose!”

Before any more trash talking can occur, you see a flash of red out of the corner of your eye and then both vehicles take off, bursting out of the dark into blinding sunlight.

You both fly over the rusty terrain, neck and neck as you navigate under rocky overpasses and around hairpin turns. From the second row of your car, you can hear Maz lobbing profanities at Chewie in the other ride. He’s yelling back in his native tongue (which you still only understand half of). Beside Maz, Leia and Han are both laughing like kids.

A shriek of joy erupts from you as you fly over a series of hills, the momentary weightlessness thrilling. Finn has both hands in the air, while Kaydel grips the safety handle with white knuckles.

Finally, you come out of a turn to see a sharp drop. You look to Poe, who grins back at you, his vehicle slightly ahead of yours. Damnit, you HATE losing to him. He’s the worst winner.

At the last moment, your ride leaps ahead, crossing under the checkered banner by a nose. The passengers of your car cheer and high-five in victory, while Poe’s passengers groan in good-natured defeat.

As you roll through the red-lit cavern, you laugh as you catch sight of Poe’s face. He’s a terrible winner, but he’s an even worse loser. Even if his loss comes at the hands of an algorithm.

Anthropomorphic cars wave you off as both vehicles enter the unloading zone. On the other side of the platform, Chewie is lifting Rey out of the front seat as she pretends to collapse in agonized failure, her laughter completely destroying the illusion. You accept Finn’s hand as he helps you up, both of you turning to support Kaydel as she crawls out of the car.

A ride attendant watches her warily. “Does she need assistance?” he asks Han.

Han waves him off, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders as Maz and Chewie beeline for the ride photos. “She’ll be fine. No protein spills here.” At the cast member’s astonished look, the charming rogue gives his trademark grin. “Ain’t my first rodeo, kid.” As he and Leia stroll past you towards the exit, he catches your eye and winks. “That, and they haven’t changed the lingo since the 70’s.”

Laughing, you rub Kaydel’s back as Rey swaps places with Finn and helps bracket your green-tinged friend. “Let’s get you some water, yeah?”

Kaydel manages a slight nod, and the three of you make your way towards the exit.

Behind you, you can hear Poe and Finn bickering, as they’re wont to do.

“It’s a ride, dude,” Finn is saying, the exasperation clear in his tone.

“It’s physics, dude,” Poe shoots back. “There’s NO way the car on the outside of the turn would be able to finish first.”

Worst. Loser. Ever.

Your rag-tag alliance eventually makes it out of the exit tunnel. Ben’s waiting across the walkway, those ridiculously long arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the guard rail and steadily ignores whatever Armitage is ranting about.

On the bench next to them, Rose perks up, a smirk crossing her pretty face as she sees Poe’s expression. “Well, I don’t need to ask who won.”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” the most-competitive-pilot-in-the-galaxy grumbles back, adjusting his backpack. You help Kaydel to a bench, where she quickly curls up.

Rey rolls her eyes as she forces her way into the circle of Ben’s arms. “It’s not like any of us could have actually controlled the outcome, you noodle.”

“Not without some kind of magic,” Ben intones dryly, resting his chin on his girlfriend’s head.

“How cool would that be, though?” Rey’s getting her Down-The-Wormhole-We-Go eyes. You and Rose exchange a Look™️ as she starts gesturing wildly with her hands. “Like, imagine if you could just look at something like rocks and, like, make them fly. Or make someone do whatever you wanted them to do. OH!” She looks up at Ben with a slightly manic expression. “Lightning bolts from your fingers!!”

Well-used to these kinds of rambles, Ben gently captures her hands and wraps her into a hug that doubles as a straight jacket. “No more SyFy channel before bed.”

Rose slides her arms around her husband as Finn joins her on the bench. “Did you behave?”

Nora, in all her 6-year-old innocence, giggles. “Mr Finn said a whole lot of swear-jar words.” She casts a critical eye on the young man. “You probably said enough you could buy an Elsa doll.” The ‘for me’ is unsaid, but implied.

Karé rapidly turns her laugh into a cough.

Finn glances down at his wife as Rose smacks him upside the head. “Hey! That tractor thing is terrifying. And Maz said WAY more than I did!”

“Age before beauty, Finnigan,” Maz says haughtily, waving off Finn’s ‘m'name’s not Finnigan, damn it’.

Giggling, you tune out the ridiculousness that is your found family and turn your attention to your still-sulking boy toy. “You know,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist, “you make that face for long enough and it’ll stick that way.”

He huffs. “This is just how my face looks.”

“Uh huh.” Considering yourself quite the expert in his face, having spent countless hours studying every crease and line until you could have drawn him blindfolded, you call bullshit, but say nothing further.

“It is,” he insists.

“Okay,” you agree.

The King of Sarcasm narrows his eyes. “You’re doing that thing.”

You widen your eyes innocently. “What thing?”

“That thing where it sounds like you’re agreeing with me but you’re really telling me I’m a dumbass.”

“What?!” You bring your hand to your chest. “Moi?! I would never.”

He huffs again, but you can see the hint of a smirk starting to break though.

“C’mon, First Runner Up,” you tease. “No sulking in Disneyland. Let me buy you a drink at Trader Sam’s, and then we can sneak off to the Haunted Mansion and make out like teenagers in our Doom Buggy.”

He tilts his head, considering it.

“Or-“ You brush an inky curl off his forehead and stand on your toes until your lips are just about caressing his ear and whisper, “-we could get back in line right now and go again.”

Even before you’ve finished speaking, Poe’s grabbing your hand and hauling you back towards the entrance, tossing a “See you jerks later!” as he pulls you under the Radiator Springs Racers sign. Their laughter echos behind you as he leads the way through the mostly empty line (thank goodness for parade lulls).

As you wait in the queue, only a few dozen people stand between Poe and his (re)shot at victory. You see that competitive gleam in his eyes start to come alive again.

“Hey.” You tug on his tee shirt until he looks at you. “If our car doesn’t win, tonight I’ll do That Thing you love.”

“Babe.” The look he gives you is one of pure torture. “You are killing me here.” He really loves to win. But he really, really loves That Thing. “What about when we come in first?”

You shrug demurely. “Then you wear Those Pants™️ tomorrow.”

Hm. Poe’s always been quick to calculate his odds, and this is quickly turning into a win/win situation. If you lose, he gets That Thing. But Those Pants™️ turn you about feral, and when you’re in that kind of mood- let’s just say Poe still has the scars on his shoulders to prove it.

“Are those terms acceptable, Flight Commander Dameron?” You smile sweetly up at him.

His licentious grin says it all. “Hell yeah.”

For the record, your car does lose a second time. And the next morning, Poe hardly has Those Pants over his ass when you’re ripping them back down his legs and shoving him backwards onto the bed.

Oh, yeah, he thinks to himself. This is better than any dumb kid’s ride.

…doesn’t mean he’s not going to ride it as many times as it takes to win.

A/N: I almost titled this “Tell me you have children without saying you have children”. I am so fucking sick of ‘Lining McQueen’. Yay 4-year-olds.

Thank you for reading; likes and reblogs feed my soul.