#did i burn out on reading so many fics that lean the other way?

[mylittleredgirl]

i'm still going around in my head with that question about writing strengths/weaknesses and considering if mine may be both.

i can't know for sure, but i think a lot of the specific things people tell me they like about my fic (characterization, emotional tension, "it feels real") are there for the same reason. i usually feel like i'm writing from a place of restraint. even in fluffy fics, i hold a tight leash against "giving in" to fanon caricatures or sweeping romantic tropes. a bunch of my fics do hinge on a moment of catharsis, but i try to be soooo so careful about not letting things get emotionally out of scale—and the scale is pretty weighted toward stoic professionalism for characters from dramatic canon sources who have held it together through hell already, you know?

and i like the results! other people seem to, too! but i wonder lately if i'm tying up my hands??? like maybe i just gotta get silly.

[cake-writes]

Just This Once

Pairing: Kakashi x Female!Reader

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, he gets lost in the sauce frfr, situationship… ish?, this man wants to RUN, disorganised attachment style (primarily avoidant), penis in vagina sex, teasing, edging (accidental), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Kakashi discovers that he has a breeding kink. It's kind of a spiritual experience.

Inspired by @rookie98writes's fic Leave It On

—

Kakashi isn’t used to the strange sort of domesticity that comes with being in a... whatever this is. It’s not quite a relationship. A situationship, maybe. He’d say it’s something more than friends-with-benefits, but the two of you aren’t really friends, either.  

You come together every now and then. That’s all. Like two passing ships in the night. 

So why is he standing in front of your stove, cooking dinner while you sort through the pile of unopened mail on your kitchen table? Why did he offer to water your plants while you were gone? Why does he want to do anything for you? 

Kakashi knows what it’s like trying to play catch-up after some time away from home—two months, in your case. He’d knocked on your door a few minutes ago with the intention of returning your key, and he must have caught you right after you got back from the store if the two bags of groceries on your kitchen counter were any indication. 

You looked so dead on your feet that Kakashi took over from there, unprompted. But now, as he stirs the pot of flavourful soup simmering away on the stove, his mind sees fit to wander.  

What the hell is he doing?  

He’s getting too attached. That’s what he’s doing.  

It’s that time again—time to cut and run, just as he always does when things start to become complicated. Kakashi makes a habit of ending any potential connection before it can even start, because he can’t afford to lose anyone else. He can’t get hurt if he never lets anyone in. It’s easier that way. 

“I need to schedule my injection,” you mutter to yourself as you read through one particular letter. Then you sigh and toss it back down onto the table, before you lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. “We should probably get used to using condoms again until I can book an appointment.” 

Your birth control must be overdue, then.  

“Sure,” Kakashi answers, feigning unbothered. The two of you used condoms in the beginning, but after a particularly gruesome mission that nearly saw him home in a box, Kakashi stopped reaching for the bedside drawer, and you stopped asking him to.  

He should have known then that he was getting too attached. 

Still, it’s your body. Whatever you want. He’ll end things in the morning either way. 

As Kakashi samples a bit of the soup he’s minding on the stove, pausing for a moment to add a bit more salt, it suddenly sinks in – really sinks in – what could happen if the two of you aren’t careful.  

He could get you pregnant. 

A jolt of arousal shoots through him.

Kakashi doesn’t want children, not now, not ever, which is why it doesn’t make a lick of sense that such a thing would turn him on. He likes the idea of his seed taking root inside of you. He might even enjoy it, the imagery his mind conjures—you bent over for him, begging him to give you a baby, your pretty yukata hiked up around your waist…  

His clan crest embroidered on the back of it.  

Kakashi swears.

You startle, looking over at him in alarm. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he lies. Then he proceeds to play it off like he burned himself, but he isn’t fine. No, that single thought, that single fantasy, scares the complete and utter shit out of him—but it turns him on even more, and that’s so much worse.  

He’s already too attached. 

—

Kakashi doesn’t do feelings. He has them, of course, much like any other person, but he doesn’t let them show very often, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them. He won’t say in so many words that he cares; instead, he shows you through his actions alone. 

His knees brush the underside of your thighs as he settles between your legs, bracing himself with one hand beside your head.  

What a vision you make, spread out for him like this.  

Your lamp had blown when you went to turn it on, leaving the streetlights to illuminate your features in a sickly hue of yellow-green. It isn’t romantic in the least, but he can’t help thinking that you’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment—maybe because it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this.  

The sight of you, so needy and wanting, fills his chest with something bittersweet.  

The tomoe of his sharingan spins lazily as he memorises the curves of your body, the muss of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest as you work to recover from your first orgasm of the night. His fingers are still tacky with your essence, and he smears the residual wetness over the head of his cock.

“You should wear a condom,” comes your breathy whisper, but you make no move to stop him. Your eyes almost seem to glow as you peer up at him in the dark, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. 

“Mm. Do you want me to?” 

His question hangs heavy in the air. The only things Kakashi can hear are your soft breaths and the sound of his own steady heartbeat, which quickens with every silent second that passes.  

You want to say no, he realises.  

He wants you to say no. 

“I like it better without,” you answer quietly, and the implication isn’t lost on him. Not when you look up at him with those big doe eyes, like you don’t know the risk. 

Because there is a risk, and he knows it. Kakashi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all night—wicked thoughts, terrible thoughts—thoughts of filling your fertile womb with his seed, thoughts of watching your belly grow round with his child, thoughts of seeing his clan sigil stamped between your shoulder blades like a mark of ownership. 

His.  

Against his better judgement, Kakashi does exactly what he shouldn’t do. He agrees.

“Just this once.”  

Just like he says every other time—except every other time, there's never been a risk.

Your coy little smile prompts him to lower down onto an arm and settle more of his weight on you. Kakashi dips his head to kiss you indulgently, savouring the taste of you, the feel of you beneath him. He kisses you like he hopes to convey just how much he missed you while you were gone, like you might be able to taste the unspoken words that linger in his mouth. 

He kisses you like he means it—and he does. That’s why he needs to go. 

As his tongue twines with yours, Kakashi fills you in a slow, beautiful glide that wrenches a whimper from your throat. He knows he should go easy on you, but he relishes in the rapid flutter of your walls as you struggle to adjust to him after so much time apart. A surge of masculine pride washes over him, tinged with a hint of guilt for stretching you open like this. He isn’t exactly small, after all, but you take him so well. 

To ease any potential discomfort, he smooths his hand up the silky skin of your thigh in a soothing caress, before he trails gentle, placating kisses along your jawline. “Is this okay?” Kakashi asks, voice low, only to be rewarded with a particularly strong contraction that makes his toes curl. 

“More than okay,” you sigh. 

As a test, he shifts his hips. When Kakashi hears your breath hitch, he knows that you can handle more.  

He starts slow, rocking into you sensually, but he already knows that he isn’t going to last. It’s been just as long for him, and you’re tighter than you’ve ever been.  

“God, Kakashi, you feel so good.”  

So do you. Kakashi sucks a bruise on your neck in response, if only to muffle the sound of his own pleasure when your perfect cunt clenches around him again.  

He needs to pace himself, or he’ll finish too soon—but then you ask him for more, and what else can he do but oblige you?

He speeds up, not overly so, just enough that both of you can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of your lovemaking. The smell of your arousal permeates the air, and he’s tempted to have another taste. 

Later. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. “Did you miss me that much?” 

Maybe he’s reassurance-seeking – just a little – but your answering whine tells him what he already knows. 

He’ll miss this. He’ll miss you. That’s why he needs to go. 

Kakashi doesn't want to think about that. He just wants to enjoy what little time with you he has left.

“Stay with me,” you rasp. You’ve always been good at noticing when he’s stuck in his head, but right now, Kakashi can’t help but wonder if you’ve just read his thoughts. You see through him so easily. It’s one of the things he likes about you. 

“Sorry,” he says with genuine apology, leaning in to capture your lips again. You let out a pleased hum into his mouth and lift your thighs up a little higher—an offering, one he’s more than happy to accept, even if he doesn’t plan to reciprocate your vulnerability.

It’s selfish, he knows. 

The new angle does something to him, or maybe it’s because he's well aware that it would be even easier to fill you up this way. He reaches deeper like this, and the tilt of your hips would perfectly hold his cum in place, increasing the chances that it’ll take. 

He wants it to take. 

Kakashi exhales a long, shaky breath. He shouldn’t want that as much as he does. He shouldn’t want it at all.  

“Close?”  

Yes, but he’s not going to tell you that. Kakashi pulls back to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him like he’s hung the moon. It makes his heart ache.  

He stamps it down. “I could be,” he teases lightly—a non-answer. “Are you?” 

When you open your mouth to respond, however, he snaps his hips forward suddenly to make you trip over your words. “I—shit,” you swear, and his eyes shine with silent laughter. Your own narrow playfully as you add, “I could be too, if you keep that up.”  

“Really?” 

To pick on you a little, Kakashi withdraws from your tight heat more slowly than he has all night, agonisingly slowly, until only the head of him remains inside; and then he lingers there, purposely, until the stirrings of impatience start to take you over.  

It’s cute, the frown you give him, the pout he sees beginning to form. “Don’t be mean,” you tell him sulkily. 

His lips tug up at the corners, revealing a hint of prominent canine. “Maa, I didn’t realise you were in a rush,” Kakashi drawls. “And here I wanted to take my time with you.”  

Before you can read too much into what he’s just said, he slams home. Hard.

Your startled gasp brings on a flicker of self-satisfaction deep within. Kakashi relishes in the knowledge that only he can make you feel like this—especially when he starts to fuck you in earnest, prompting you to fling your arms around his shoulders.  

“F-Fuck, Kakashi, oh my god—” 

“That’s it,” he encourages gently. “Hold onto me.”

He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy.

You cling to him like your life depends on it, which brings about a funny feeling in his chest that he can’t quite shake—something warm and gooey and affectionate.  

Kakashi stamps that down, too, and traces the line of your neck with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin until you shiver. Seeing your throat so littered with love bites unearths something within him, something primal that he’s always refused to name. He likes seeing the marks he’s left on you. He wants them to mean something.

He wants them to mean that you’re his. 

He’s too attached. 

To distract himself from what he intends to do in the morning, Kakashi picks up the pace, flesh smacking against flesh as he drives his hips into yours, fast and rough, exactly how you want it.  

It won't last long. He’s too worked up. 

Kakashi knows he’ll come before you do if he continues like this, but when he tries to slow down, you dig your heels insistently into his ass. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—” 

“I’ll have to pull out soon,” he says raggedly, even though the thought of finishing in you already has him ready to blow.

When Kakashi feels you lock your ankles behind him, he nearly does.  

“I want it inside,” you whine, your breath fanning hot over the shell of his ear.  

His thoughts screech to a halt. You want him to come inside you, knock you up— 

“Fuck,” he curses, stopping abruptly, buried all the way to the hilt. His cock throbs wildly, desperate for release, forcing him to tightly grip the the sheets above your head in order to stave it off. 

If he moves right now, he’s done for.  

When you make a quiet, frustrated sound deep in your throat and wiggle your hips, Kakashi barely manages to hang on. He can feel that tell-tale flutter inside of you, the one that indicates exactly how close you are, but he’s closer. His breaths come out in short, sharp pants as he tries to hold himself together.  

You finish first. Always. 

“Don’t be mean,” you say again, but you sound a little more petulant this time.  

Kakashi lets out an exhausted sort of laugh and presses a wet smack of a kiss against your cheek, making you giggle. “You like it when I’m mean.”  

“I like it when you’re nice,” you clap back, voice breathy. 

Kakashi hums knowingly. “All right. I can be nice.”  

Then he pulls back just enough to pepper your face with kisses, and you squeal in delight, though it soon tapers off into a moan when he starts to trail them down your throat, each one more sensual than the last. He palms one of your breasts, gently squeezing, tweaking a nipple— 

“Come on,” you whine, digging your heels into his ass a second time. 

No more teasing. You want him to be nice.

You inhale sharply when Kakashi picks back up where he left off, this time with quick, shallow thrusts that target your g-spot. He smooths his hand down your side, savouring the softness of your skin, then he slides it in between your bodies to rub your clit in just the way you like—the way he remembers you like, because he’s too fucking attached. And sure enough, when your hips buck from the added sensation, he knows that it’s working for you. 

“If you—If you edge me again, I swear to god—” 

Upon hearing the indignation in your voice, Kakashi laughs softly. “I won’t.” 

Then he remembers that he won’t have a chance to edge you again. Not after tonight. 

His jaw tenses at the reminder. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasp, holding onto him, needing him, which pulls him right back into the present. “Come with me. Please?” 

Kakashi bites back a groan and slides in deeper, readying to do what his body craves. 

No. He can’t come with you. He’d have to finish inside in order for that to happen. 

And just like that, he’s back to teetering on the edge. The filth his mind conjures nearly proves to be his undoing—a vivid image of your tight, wet cunt wringing out every drop of his cum until it takes, tying you to him, making you need him. Making you his. The threat of it simmers under his skin, but it’s starting to feel more like a guarantee. 

Get her there, then pull out. 

Kakashi repeats those words in his head like a mantra, over and over, like it’ll ensure that he lasts, and it works—at least until you start to move your hips in time with his thrusts. You meet him at the perfect angle, sucking him deep on every stroke, allowing him to slide just beyond your cervix and into that spot that sends your voice into a fever pitch. 

A choked sob escapes you as you rake your nails down his back, leaving red lines in your wake. The sting of it only sends him higher, and he sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder to prevent himself from blowing too soon. 

“Right there, Kakashi, right fucking there—” 

Right there, so deep within you that if he came right now— 

He groans when he imagines what would happen, and it all ends with his baby in your belly and his family crest on your back. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, yet he fucks into you with purpose, now—hard, deep, powerful thrusts that knock your headboard into the wall. 

Kakashi knows exactly what that purpose is. The primal part of his brain won’t let him forget it. 

“Yes, just like that, fuck me, make me fucking yours—” 

He kisses you to shut you up, because if he hears another syllable, he’s sure to fill you to the brim. It’s not a gentle kiss, not now. He holds your head in place with a firm grip on your jaw, shoves his tongue into your mouth, and still, he recites his mantra. 

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then—  

You jerk your head away to gulp in a breath of fresh air, chest heaving from exertion, and Kakashi’s eyes sweep over your face for any sign of discomfort. What he finds is the opposite, and he drinks in the pleasured scrunch of your brows, the hazy flutter of your eyelids, the kiss-swollen state of your lips. 

Watching your muscles tense and strain as you struggle to keep your eyes on his is one of the most intimate things he’s ever experienced. “Come inside me,” you beg, and he can hear the desperation there, see it written all over your pretty face. “I need it, I fucking need it, Kakashi, give me your cum—” 

“I’ll give it to you,” he chokes out. Anything for you. Anything you want. 

The way your fingers wrench into his hair belies a hunger that matches his own as you drag him down for another kiss, messy and insistent, demanding that he make good on his promise to pump you full. He can feel the ripple of your inner walls as you come undone, feel the painfully tight squeeze of your legs around his waist, holding him there, ensuring that he stays; and never in his life has he felt so overwhelmed.  

He can’t pull out. Not now. Not when you’re so willing to milk him dry. 

Kakashi kisses you with everything that he is as he shoves himself impossibly deep inside of you, acting solely on instinct to drown your cervix in hot, sticky spend. He lets out a sound of pure male satisfaction that you eagerly swallow down, your tongue massaging his in tune with every erratic jerk of his hips as he empties himself inside of you, painting your insides white.

It feels good. It feels right. 

He’s too attached. 

He doesn’t care. 

As he comes down from his high, all Kakashi can think about is how fucking risky it is, what he’s just done, which only ruins him more when the post-orgasm clarity finally hits. 

Why the hell did he do that?  

What the hell did he do?

Your thighs tremble and shake, a sign that he’s done his job well, though he feels no pride in it—just a growing sense of panic.  

He needs to go. He needs to go right now. Not tomorrow. Now. He needs to get the hell out of here and never look back, right fucking now.  

Then he hears your quiet sob, and his heart leaps into his throat. Kakashi jerks his head down to look at you, and when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, he actually does panic.  

“Did I—Shit,” he quickly pulls out to check on you, more attentive than he’s ever been, “Did I hurt you?” 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s accidentally hurt a woman during sex, but he really should have taken it easier on you. He probably went too deep, hit your cervix too hard. 

“No,” you sniffle. “I’m fine. I just... I really missed you.” 

Fuck. Don’t say that. You’ll make him want to stay.  

His eyes soften as they trail over your features – the colour of your irises, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips – and he gently smooths your tears away with the backs of his fingers. “I didn’t hurt you?” 

You shake your head and offer him a watery smile. “I also came really, really hard,” you add matter-of-factly, and he huffs out a relieved laugh. It’s hormonal, then. “They’re happy tears, Kakashi. Calm down.” 

Teasing or not, someone telling him of all people to calm down is an otherworldly experience. The phrase lands strangely, and for the first time since he came to see you tonight, his thoughts quiet down to a dull background murmur. 

They’re happy tears, you said. 

You’re happy with him. 

He’s happy with you, too. He doesn’t want to go. 

You frown, then, and lean up onto your elbows to look at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”  

Kakashi can’t be sure what you see in his expression to warrant that sort of question, but the fight finally leaves him. He sits back on his heels and drags a hand down his face, feeling defeated for a reason he can’t explain.  

“I was just...” Happy, for a moment. Happy to be with you. “Worried,” he finishes lamely. He can’t look at you, not when he feels the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. 

You laugh and gently cup the side of his face, turning him back towards you. “Okay. Well, I’m fine,” you pat his cheek in playful reprimand, “but I am leaking all over my clean sheets, and it’s your fault, so...”  

That draws his attention. When Kakashi sees the creamy mess spilling out of you, his flaccid cock twitches with interest even after he remembers why his stomach is in knots.  

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely, transfixed by the sight. 

He wants to do it again.

He shouldn’t want to do it again. He feels fucking crazy for having done it once already, when the two of you aren’t even in a relationship, let alone in any way prepared for a child. But again? A second time? He’d have to be certifiably insane. 

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, and Kakashi wonders how the hell you can possibly be taking it so in stride. He came a lot. There’s so much of it dripping out onto the sheets that it’s starting to create a small puddle under your ass, and there’s even more inside of you—a lot more, judging by how hard he came. 

It might take. It might seriously take, and you think it’s fine? 

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him, and his eyes snap back up to yours. He’s in his head again, you mean. Then you chew your lip for a moment, hesitation evident, before you ask carefully, “You’ve been acting a little… off tonight. Is everything okay?”  

Every single one of his instincts is telling him to run. That’s where this conversation always leads, but he’s not ready for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

He swallows the lump in his throat. “I’m fine.” 

When you frown at him, skeptical, Kakashi shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.  

“Okay. I won’t pry. But, um, I’m here. You know. If you ever need to talk.” You say it a little awkwardly, like you aren’t sure if he’d be offended by the suggestion, and the worried crease between your brows only grows at whatever you see in his expression. “Or... Or not.” 

You laugh nervously, then, and shift away from him, only to wrinkle your nose when more of his cum oozes out of you.  

It’s cute. You’re cute. 

“You said it’s fine. Why?” The question leaves him before he even thinks it through, but it’s too late, now.  

“What?” 

This wasn’t the first time he’s come inside of you, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly the riskiest. “I finished inside. Aren’t you upset?” 

“What do you mean? You finish inside me all the—” Then you stop, and your brows shoot straight up onto your forehead. “Wait, is this about my birth control?”  

“Well, it’s overdue, isn’t it?”  

You stare at him for a prolonged moment, and he can almost see the gears turning in your head. Then your nostrils flare. “Are you kidding me? You thought my birth control was overdue, and you still—” Scandalised, you slap him on the arm. “Kakashi!” 

Oh. Well. It must not be overdue yet, then. 

Of course you wouldn’t let him come inside if there was a chance that you might conceive. He’s a fucking idiot. 

“That’s so bad! What if you got me pregnant?” 

A lick of heat shoots up his spine upon hearing you give voice to what’s been on his mind all night. Kakashi stares at you, wide eyed, and blushes all the way to the tips of his ears.  

You study his face for a moment, before you purse your lips, looking a little troubled. Or pissed off. He can’t really tell. “I mean... Did you want to get me pregnant?” 

“No,” he rushes to say, his cheeks burning hot because yes, he did, but not for real.  “No. Not at all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and...”  

And how the hell is he supposed to explain himself? Neither of you are exactly vanilla, you’ve explored a number of kinks together, but this is something else entirely. Then again, a breeding kink would make the most sense out of any, considering it stems from a biological urge to procreate. 

But would you even believe him if he said he only gets off to the fantasy of it, and not the reality? Because if a woman ever said that to him, he’d get the hell out of dodge as fast as he could. 

A sly smile tugs at your lips, then, a knowing smile, and Kakashi quickly averts his eyes to the window, embarrassed. 

“You like it, don’t you?” you hum, seductively walking your fingers along his bare shoulders. “You like the idea of knocking me up.” 

Refusing to look at you, Kakashi clears his throat, trying to ignore the arousal that comes on from your suggestive tone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“No?” The sheets rustle as you reposition yourself, and then, when your fingers delicately wrap around his cock, he inhales sharply and bites the inside of his cheek. “Then why are you so hard?”  

And he is, too. He’s already fully erect and ready for another round, and he knows that there’s no way to lie his way out of it anymore. As you start to work your hand over him in slow, sensual strokes, up and down, coaxing the answer out of him, his head drops back. “Because,” he rasps.  

The sheets shift again, and then you crawl into his lap. He welcomes you gladly, splaying his hand over your lower back to steady you, though he still can’t meet your gaze. He’s too embarrassed. 

“Because why?” you hum. Kakashi lets out a pleasured sigh as you kiss and suck your way up the side of his neck, stroking him steadily, before you purr into his ear, “Because you want to give me a baby?” 

A soft sound of approval rips out of his throat, and his cock twitches into your palm. “Don’t—Don’t say that,” he pleads. 

“Hm? Why not?” 

To hell with it. No sense in hiding it anymore. “Because I might actually do it.” 

“Yeah?” Your teeth tug playfully at his earlobe before you pull back to look at him, and Kakashi finally wills himself to meet your sultry gaze, humiliated though he is. “You know,” you muse, “I don’t like condoms for a reason. I wonder why?” 

The breath leaves his lungs with a whoosh.

Oh, he should have known. You’re just as filthy as he is. Of course you’d have a breeding kink, too, though he’s exceedingly grateful that you’d kept it to yourself until now. You’ve never been shy about sharing the things you enjoy, which means you probably figured out how he’d react. That’s the only explanation. 

He likes that you understand him as well as you do. 

He likes you.

“I think I might be able to guess,” Kakashi says knowingly, a smile playing at his lips. When he leans in to kiss you again, all he can think is: maybe it’s not a bad thing to be too attached. 

-

Snippet #1:

“You said it was overdue,” Kakashi tells you pointedly.

“No, I said I needed to make an appointment,” you correct, and he can see that you’re struggling not to laugh. “I still have, like, a week left on it. Ish. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.” 

While you cook breakfast for the two of you, Kakashi wraps his arms around your waist from behind and traces the shell of your ear with his tongue.  “What if I don’t want to be careful?”  

He feels the shiver wrack your body, but then you do laugh at him. “Down, boy. Three rounds wasn’t enough for you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know...” Kakashi pulls you back against him, allowing you to feel the answer for yourself, hard and insistent against your ass. “You tell me.” 

-

Snippet #2:

Kakashi hides his face in your pillow, feeling distinctly vulnerable without his mask. “Don’t tease me,” he groans, muffled. “I have a delicate constitution.” 

You cackle at his discomfort, like the cruel woman you are. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’m really, really curious.” Then you hum thoughtfully. “Do you want to know one of mine?” 

He lifts his head just enough to reveal one curious eye. 

You squirm a little, then, like you’re finally starting to realise exactly how embarrassing it is to talk about. “I, um...” A pause. “So, you know how...” Another pause, and you take a deep breath. “Okay. I like to imagine that I'm being used to—to repopulate a clan, I guess. Just, over and over. Lots of kids. But not for real.” 

He feels another jolt of arousal at your admission. 

Looks like you’re on the same page, then. 

Then Kakashi leans up onto his elbow to regard you properly, and then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to point out how closely that particular fantasy hits to home. 

That’s when you seem to realise who you’re talking to – the sole remaining member of a clan that could probably stand to be repopulated – and your eyes go wide, before you nearly trip over yourself to add, “It—It has nothing to do with your clan, specifically, Kakashi, it’s just—” 

“A fantasy,” he finishes for you, amused. 

 You worry your lip between your teeth and nod. 

“Well,” Kakashi says, considering his answer for a moment, “I might have imagined that, too. Specifically.” Then he gives you a roguish grin, intending to pay you back in kind for your teasing. “How many children do you think would be enough for my clan to be sufficiently repopulated, hm? I’m thinking eight.” 

Mortified, you bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god! Eight?” 

Payback’s a bitch. “Well, I was originally going to say ten, but—” 

When you squeal in embarrassment and yank the blankets over your head, Kakashi barely manages to stifle a laugh.  

—

A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a hot minute, so your feedback would mean a lot - please let me know what you think :)

[hwanchaesong]

┗🖋️ Tears drown you to the moon / A knight appears for you to swoon / He brings forth joy and fortune / Until gold turns into maroon 📖

🎧: Taylor Swift - Down Bad

wc: 1.3k

genre & warnings: angst, fluff, smut, college setting, heartbreak, ghosting, cursing, working out lmao, unprotected sex, car sex etc etc mdni

a/n: this is a part of The Tortured Poets Department series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

You wait for your partner to arrive at the fancy restaurant you're in, giddy at the mere thought of being with him for the whole day.

It's been a while since you've seen him, both of you busy with your own lives, but now that your schedules have aligned, it's the perfect time to go on a date.

You smiled when the familiar figure entered the establishment, holding a beautiful bouquet of pink tulips.

"Jake!" you waved your hand, catching his attention and when you did, he beamed at you, walking in your direction and the room was suddenly brighter now that he'd graced it with his presence.

"Hello baby, I missed you." he comes to you, bending down a bit to give you a peck on the cheek. "Here, I saw this down the road and I thought of you."

He handed you the bunch of flowers, your heart swelling at the thoughtful action.

Isn't he so sweet? The dream man that anyone would've wanted and needed. More so when he can satisfy you in the middle of the night, in his leather seat, floundering under him.

The dinner was left unfinished, the dessert long forgotten when Jake can't seem to move his eyes away from your cleavage. Dragging you out of the restaurant and flinging you into his car, and he ain't patient enough to take you home before taking you for himself.

"Jake, r-right there!" you moaned, scratching his exposed back when he hit your g-spot perfectly. The sting riled him up even more, his thrusts becoming unbelievably harder and faster.

Being fucked in a car isn't exactly your cup of tea, but you're willing to explore as long as it's with him. Bodies bent almost impossibly at the cramped back seat, windows fogged up from the nasty activity, and the vehicle surely is moving weirdly on the outside.

"So fucking tight." Jake cursed, pounding into you relentlessly, relishing in the way your walls clamp around him whenever he gives you praises.

His length bullies into your wetness and your juices are smeared all over the material of his car seat, but Jake couldn't care less. All that matters is how good you feel and how heavenly he's making you feel.

"J-Jake. I'm close. Please." you begged for nothing in particular, but he knows what you want after doing this for so many times now.

The man moves his hand towards your hair, gentle at first then he suddenly tugs on your tresses, lifting your head forcefully.

"You'll cum when I tell you to, baby." he smirks, seeing your helpless expression and whimpering, and despite the difficulties, you managed to whisper a small 'okay.'

He loves it when you're like this, compliant and willing to take whatever he gives you. For that, you deserve a reward.

Using the hand that is still burning your scalp, he tilts your head in an angle that he liked the best, leaning down and trailing pecks all over your neck before biting onto your clavicle, nibbling over the area and lulling the dull pain with his warm tongue.

He then comes up to your face, kissing you with passion and he takes your open mouth as an advantage to slip his wet appendage in, sucking your own tongue in the process.

it was all too much. He is too much and you don't think you can hold out for much longer.

"I.. Jake. P-please let me cum." your glassy orbs staring at him so innocently, crying out in relief when he released your hair, opting to hold onto your waist.

"Hm." he grunts, going wilder in abusing your cunt, "Cum with me then, princess."

His dick twitched and you nodded your head vigorously, gazing right into his dark, hooded eyes.

He buried himself to the hilt, his warm seed spurting in your walls and that had you going over the edge as well.

Jake furrows his brows, fixing your unkempt hair and grabbing a towel that was inside a compartment, wiping your sweat away.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you." he apologizes, his usual puppy features returning and the blood rushed into his face when you jokingly said that you love it whenever he acts like a total jerk during sex.

He leaves a kiss on the crown of your head with a giggle, and for a minute you could mistake him as a highschool boy with a crush.

"Let's go home, yeah? I'll prepare you a bath and we'll watch your favorite movie. I'll also cook my special ramen for a late night snack."

You really couldn't ask for anything more than this man.

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

"No, I'm telling you. He's perfect!" you argued with your friends, laughing at their fake gagging noises.

Then, your phone dinged, a message notification. You momentarily paused your pilates session, heading to your bag and seeing a text from Jake.

"Y/N, this is important. We need to talk. Let's meet up in the usual café."

You raised an eyebrow but obliged nonetheless, taking some time to freshen yourself up and bidding goodbyes to your friends, quickly leaving the gym.

Upon entering the café, you immediately spotted your boyfriend, walking up to him with a smile.

"Hey, what's up?" you asked, sitting in the empty space in front of him.

"Y/N, I got the scholarship that I wanted in Australia." he dropped the news, and you are genuinely happy for him.

"Oh my god!" you reached over to hold his hand, grasping it in pure excitement, "Congratulations! That's one step away from your dream."

"Yeah, but.." he trails, and you understand where he's coming from.

"I'll support you." you say, peering into his worried chocolate orbs, "We'll make this work."

He nods, intertwining your fingers together, "We will."

Lies.

When god poured down the traits of deception, Sim Jaeyun caught it all. And when the devil sprung up some naiveté, you drank it all up.

You run on the treadmill at high speed, heavy footsteps match your labored breathing.

The fucker flew to Australia and it seemed like he forgot that he left someone that is waiting for him.

He posts on social media and he's enjoying himself, alright. Drinking beer, eating steak, playing soccer. He's updating the whole world of what is happening in his life except you... personally that is.

Is this what it feels like to be taken by some aliens, showing you a different world, a different galaxy that you loved so much, only to be dropped off in your old, sullen town.

Is this what it feels like to be bombarded by astronomical love, only to realize that it will vanish into thin air once the distance is a million of light years.

It's not like you haven't tried contacting him. You did. You reminded him of your presence, but you were ignored like dead grass in the park.

It's unbearable. So fucking unfair and you have no choice but to accept reality, despite the fact that breathing is as burdensome as moving on from him.

How can you even forget him? Is that even possible?

He presented you a strikingly gorgeous sanctuary, abandoning you there and you're stuck in a time loop of waiting for him to come back and pick you up. But all that's left are the ghosts of him that haunts you even in your dreams.

"You'll find someone new." is what they all say, but what do they know?

"Fuck!" you yelled, slamming your fist onto the controls of the treadmill and the machine came into a whirring stop.

You dropped onto your knees, hiding your face in your arms that were slinging onto the sides of the gym equipment, wailing like a child throwing a tantrum because a candy wasn't given to her despite her efforts to study for an important test.

"How the fuck will I be able to find someone new?"

Brand new is not an option, because what and who you wanted and needed was the old one.

What's the purpose of building forts if it's not gonna be used with your starry eyed beloved?

Dying is rather the better option than being with someone else, simply because you don't want anyone else if it's not your ramen lover of a golden retriever.

taglist:

@ramenoil @shakalakaboomboo

[fandomfluffandfuck]

You know what I would loove to read from you? Pussy Steve (or pussy Bucky? 👀) and virginity/Innocence kink. Just pure smut of shy, inexperienced kitten getting their cunt pounded properly for the first time and cumming stupid. 🫶🏼

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

First, you probably would be interested in this previous fic rec I did for an ask

Second, I can't not think of this part of one of my evanstan drabbles that hinted at virginity kink because...

It's good. It's hot. It's, it's-- It reminds him, suddenly, guttingly, of whispered rumors of dirty, bad men told in private. Words pressed into ears, raising goosebumps, hidden behind cupped hands. Gossip that drips down your spine and pools inside you, wrong but... helplessly intriguing at the same time. Intoxicating. A fly caught in a honey trap. He feels like a dirty, bad man taking--thieving--some poor lady's worn panties and smothering himself in them, burying his face in the tiny, pretty, white-cotton underpants and fantasizing about her body, not her clothes. Picturing, filthily, how sweet and sensitive she'd be. How she'd moan and squeal and take it in a tight fit, pinned down. And as horrifyingly arousing as the nasty, vile comparison is--appealing only with his inhibitions lowered to the fucking ground, stupidly turned on and horny, not in his right state of mind--he can't quit. And, further, he makes it worse. He makes the comparison all the more real as he tilts his head to the head, thrashing side to side for a helpless, breathless moment before settling and pressing his blushing, burning face into Sebastian's pillow. He shamelessly inhales a chestful of his scent and leans that much more into it. He doesn't just rut against Sebastian's shirt as if it's a pillow conveniently held between his legs then. No. It's even more crude. Worse. He wraps Sebastian's worn shirt around his cock and defiles it.

Yeah 🥴🥴

And third... here's pussy Buck losing his virginity (which, again, like in that linked ask for recs, isn't real and doesn't mean shit):

When Bucky imagined losing his virginity, it was primarily a passing idea in the deep private space of his horny, lonely high school brain. But, he was a realist, even back then--and, not to mention, gay--so it wasn't the fantasy of white sheets, red rose petals, and fragrant candles to ward off the total darkness of having the lights off with a long-term boyfriend, ideally supposedly even good-Christian husband. He didn't imagine it slow and good, he imagined it fast and bad.

And he imagined it that way because he imagined it, again and again, with his crush, one of the jocks on the football team he pinned stupidly after who, really, seemed to be a jerk to all the girls he made out with at lame, underage drinking parties that cops would look the other way about 'cause their kid was amongst 'em and then, somehow, he would forget about who that Friday night girl was by Monday. But... he was just so fucking guh.

That jock, just a fucking pretty man who looked so good rolling around in the field, muddy and streaked with grass stains and sweat, pulling up the bottom of his jersey to wipe the drool across his chin from his mouthguard, flashing a strip of taut abs and the faintest trail of hair leading south where Bucky wanted to get. Shamefully, even if he didn't think it would be good. He just wanted.

But.

It didn't happen in high school. Which was probably a good thing, considering how progressive his town was.

It didn't happen in freshman year of college, either, even though Bucky's fantasies took on a whole new life, especially the summer before arriving, thinking about how he was surrounded by so many different men in his dorms and would be showering with them and--

It turns out, college dorms are fucking gross.

So. Not there.

And, slowly, as he slogged through college, Bucky stopped imagining it. It would happen when it would happen, there was no point rushing it or torturing himself by imagining it at every turn. Just enjoy the ride, he told himself, don't get impatient. He kissed boys men, made out, cuddled, and did some over-the-clothes shit in cars and shitty college apartments, but, it just didn't progress all the way.

So, all in all, Bucky is fucking blindsided when it does happen. He hasn't really sat down and thought about losing his virginity in... a long time. He especially hasn't imagined it happening with a hot, older PhD student. But. It does. It happens with Steve Rogers, a PhD student when Bucky's a term or two away from getting his Bachelor's. And, most shockingly, it's good--

"Ahh, ohmygod, aH-!" Bucky moans underneath the man on top of him, sweaty and heavy and pressing him bodily into the mattress, which is a good thing because if he didn't, Bucky thinks he could float away. He didn't think it would feel so good the first time. He thought it would hurt or that, best case scenario, it would be fine, but not good or great because he doesn't know what he likes and he assumed he would be with someone his own age who was also unsure and fumbling and inexperienced, therefore, innocently bad.

He didn't--shit, a wave of heat crashes through Bucky, sticky and intense as Steve keeps going despite his embarrassing sounds of pleasure--he didn't think he would want to slap a hand over his own mouth during his first time because, fuck, it was embarrassing enough when he had to red-faced explain to Steve that he's never done this before, he's 23, it means nothing that he hasn't, but... just looking at Steve? Steve fucks. And, now, he's more embarrassed because he can't stop making sounds.

Breathy, shocked, hot noises that curl out of his gaped-open lips like mewling moans as he has his cunt fucked loose for the very first time. He feels loose. Loose lips, moaning, loose joints, neck limp, and losing timing.

He's so fucked because, yes, literally, Steve's cock is inside him, it's heavier and hotter and thicker in his pussy than he would've ever thought to imagine, but he's also fucked because this feels so good. He gets it. He gets why no one can shut the fuck up about sex. He understands. He's not going to shut up about it. Even as embarrassing as his reaction to it is, he's never going to go without this again.

God.

It feels like a revelation.

It is a revelation.

He wants to do this forever.

This is the only thing that matters to him now.

Sex.

Every time Steve thrusts forward inside him, he gets in so deep. The pressure and friction are so good. The slide is wet but tight. Bucky is so much more sensitive inside than he ever realized.

Jesus Christ, it's laughable now to think that Bucky didn't think he liked penetration that much just an hour ago. An ill-informed opinion based on how it felt when he was touching himself. Having Steve touch him is so entirely different. Bucky almost always just stayed on the outside of his body, playing with his achingly sensitive clit and tracing the folds of his inner and outer lips when it got too much to keep rubbing his clit or to gather up the wetness that would leak out of him for easier circles around his achy, pulsing clit. Whenever he tried to finger himself in earnest, searching to find his own g-spot according to Cosmo's top ten salacious tips for better sex, he just ended up with a crick in his wrist, was frustrated by the fact that it didn't feel that great when he thought it ought to, or being unsure if he was even doing it right in the first place. He didn't know that--

"Oh, ohh," Bucky's eyes roll back in his skull despite all his effort to focus on Steve on top of him. He's muscle, just, everywhere. How he has time for school and living at the gym and charming the pants off Bucky, Bucky does not understand. How else can he be built like a Greek god if he's not always at the gym? He's so fucking handsome, pale and blushing, strong and muscular, nice but dirty. He's everything Bucky never dared to think about, thinking men like Steve were so out of his league.

Steve is here, though, Steve is making him helplessly moan and whine on his cock as he fucks him within an inch of his life in his bed. One of his hands is planted next to Bucky's fanned-out hair restlessly curling across the pillows as he thrashes his head side to side and his other hand is on Bucky's body, tracing the line of his throat, toying with his nipples, finding his hips and squeezing, pawing at his clit to leave his toes curling and using his fingers to slide down, down, down his wet slit and trace where his cock is splitting him open, leaking around the intrusion of him.

He's so big.

Bucky doesn't know how it fits in him.

He doesn't know how big Steve really is, he's got nothing to compare him to, but he just knows that it feels like it's in more than his pussy--Steve's filling his belly and fucking into his throat. That's why Bucky can't breathe. That's fucking it. He's so chokingly full.

And Bucky is having the fucking time of his life.

Choking, sputtering, and writhing as Steve goes at him, buried within him and showing him what he's never known before. Their chests heaving and hitting together, colliding perfectly.

Steve is fucking him so good, his hips rolling smoothly, just hard and deep and fast enough. It's perfectly good, making Bucky really fucking feel every inch of him, clenching, trembling around him in a daze of arousal. Eyes rolled back. Feeling like he can't do anything but take it.

Take it.

Steve's cock is plunging expertly into his wet, squelching cunt, moving to the rhythm of a thudding, window-shaking, whole-body-rattling house-music-style song that Bucky can't hear but shamelessly revels in anyway; Steve's hands caressing his body like he's precious, touching him everywhere and making him sweat like crazy, feeling so much, and filled to overflowing with heated desire; Steve's lips on his, colliding hard and swallowing his sounds down, then smearing hungry kisses across his face to his jaw to bite and suck at his neck, the thin, delicate skin there so much more alive then Bucky ever knew it could be, crackling with want; Steve's hot, honey-dripping words meeting Bucky's sounds of pleasure in the scant few inches on thick, humid air between them, so charged that it's hard to take any oxygen into his lungs, barely breathable, too, too much--

Steve chuckles, amused and pleasantly teasing as he tells Bucky, "you can touch me, too, sweetheart."

He's been doing that all night, coaxing him into participating in his first time more and more. It's active. He's taking but he's also giving. Bucky loves it.

Bucky fucking loves sex.

And, really, Bucky had not realized his hands were just shaking in limp, unsure fists by his sides until Steve's words finally process in his mushy brain. He blinks open his eyes, fighting against the sticky, too-thick lust poured over him, weighing him down, making him slow. Dumber. And for a long moment, the best he can do is arch his back. It feels so rauchy, but he's possessed. Bending. Breaking. His head is dropped completely back against the pillows. His neck couldn't hold the weight of his head if his life depended on it. He... he... he feels like he's moving through molasses, trying to lift his arms and touch Steve.

It's nearly impossible. Bucky is spread so thin, melted into Steve's mattress like a thin layer of marmalade on hot toast.

He's never going to recover.

He gets about halfway into holding his arms up, muscles trembling weakly before Steve takes pity on him and uses his sure, knowledgable grip to loop his arms around his neck. Bucky moans, feeling how feverish and sweat-soaked Steve is--it's not just him. Steve's in it, too. He's here with him. And Bucky uses all of his wimpy strength to push his quivering fingers into the short hairs at the base of Steve's skull, cupping his head and staring foggily into his ravenous eyes. He looks ready to swallow Bucky. Something inside Bucky adores it, preening and pushing his chest forward, feeling big and bold and wanted. Desired, even. It's hot as fuck. Bucky wants to feel like this forever.

"Yeah," Steve rewards him with a groaning word of agreement and a lewd kiss, tonguing him, no, fucking his mouth with his tongue as his cock just fucking keeps at it, grinding, digging, carving into him.

Bucky can't breathe, he can only gasp.

"Yeah, that's it, baby," Steve encourages, "why don't you hold onto me, hmm? I know it feels good--"

Bucky whines. It does. It feels good. It's so good he could cry.

"--and I know 's a lot, so just hold on and touch me a little while I fuck you, yeah? Don't worry about anything else, jus' right here, touch me, lemme in, c'mon, babyy."

Bucky nods uselessly, letting his hands slide down Steve's body, openly adoring and admiring his unreal body, squeezing the meat of his hugely broad shoulders and following his fingers with his eyes, nearly going cross-eyed when--

Oh.

His vision is fucking filled with the overwhelming, gut-punchingly hot vision of Steve's chest. Bucky felt up his chest when they were making out just before this, he knows he has big, tight, high pecs. Part of his unreal, gym-sculpted physique. He didn't--he doesn't know--how was he supposed to know that his pecs would jiggle when he's fucking into him?

"Go on, h-honey," Steve kisses his temple, just a little sloppy as he moans against his skin, "touch 'em," he urges him on, "grab my tits."

Bucky does. He doesn't need fucking brain cells to follow those tempting directions. He just does. He wants to bite Steve's tits and, fuck, he's never had such an aggressive, intense urge before but it doesn't matter. He has no ability to process it. He just feels it.

He wants to bite.

Further--because that's not it, of course, that can't be it--Bucky fucking holds on for dear life, he wraps an arm around Steve's muscular fucking back and lifts himself forward an inch, maybe not even that, clinging to him, shoving his face against Steve's neck, feeling his pulse thunder through him, and smashing his hand tight against Steve's pecs--his tits--and his own heaving chest.

Just that little bit changes the angle, and suddenly, a squeal is ripped out of Bucky.

He has no choice but to cling tighter, curling his legs around the formidable line of Steve's body, needing him even closer, deeper, tighter, more, shoving them together tip to tail. Christ. His body couldn't be hungrier. He needs. He--

He accidentally shoves his clit tight to Steve's pelvis changing the angle, making the hot, hard line of Steve's body rub harshly against his clit with every thrust into his soaking pussy.

"OH!" Bucky's mouth drops open wide, hardly muffled against the junction between Steve's neck and shoulder. His hold, arms and legs wrapped around Steve's body, is like if he were drowning in shark infested waters and someone threw him a life preserver. It's frantic.

Fervent.

Steve doesn't even have to touch him between his legs anymore. His cock can do all the work. And he's free to plaster the huge, heavy hand, not holding himself up against the small of Bucky's back and keep him there. Keep him tight. Keep him close. Keep, keep--

Keep thrusting.

Bucky is fucking losing it. No. He's lost it. Already.

He's squealing, he's hyperventilating, and he's crying. He's crying not because it's so beautiful and emotional like he might've once assumed losing his virginity would be, hell no, it is beautifully filthy with every wet sound of Steve's cock fucking into him and every cry of pleasure from them both, but, instead, tears are prickling his eyes, hot and pressurized behind his squeezed shut eyelids, because it's so fucking good.

He's crying and he's tipping over the edge with Steve inside him and against him and overwhelming him and he's cumming so hard that he can feel it in his teeth.

It's official: Bucky's imagination doesn't hold a candle to reality.

[theunbearableweightofpedropascal]

Best Friend's Brother

Will Miller x f!reader

Warnings: (infidelity, possible unlikeable reader/Will, fingering, p in v, creampie, no safe sex, dirty talk, cursing)

A/N: Don't mind most of my smut wear condoms. Also I needed more Will fics out there.

Summary: With enough liquid courage you tell your best friend's brother exactly how you feel about his fiance.

Word Count: 4.3K

“You know if you interacted with anybody here you wouldn’t have to read so many romance books.” Benny’s breath tickles your ear as your eyes are glued to the words on your phone screen. Your favorite author surprise dropped a new chapter and you retreated from conversation to read it.

“After I finish this chapter.” You barely pay any mind to your best friend. 

“You said that 10 minutes ago.” For such a large man Benny has a talent for sounding like a whiney child when he wants. 

You heave a deep sigh before placing your phone on the table. The moment your irritated eyes land on Benny he sheepishly slides two whiskey shots in front of you. Internally you’re already gagging but you shoot them back and grimace at the burning in your chest. The warm air of the bar did little to help the heat flourishing through your body. 

“You couldn’t have grabbed me a soda.” Temporarily a frown is etched on your face until the bitter taste goes away. 

“I drank it while you were reading.” His answer makes your head snap to him but before you could respond he abruptly stands. “Will!” His booming voice does little to disturb the patrons around you, but the name he calls makes the hair on your body stand up. 

The two golden boys meet in the middle to hug each other and you try to calm your overactive mind. You could say you’ve had a lingering attraction to the older Miller brother, though it would be downplaying the amount of times you’ve thought about him. 

When you first met Benny his brother was already away so you only knew him through the stories Benny would tell. From the way he described his brother, you thought he was too good to be true. But when you met him you were proven wrong, and soon you were under his spell. 

“Hey, Buttercup.” Your thoughts halt when you feel Will’s hands squeeze your shoulders before taking the seat to your left. His nickname for you never failed to warm your cheeks, even if technically he had a fiance.

“Hi Will,” The cheery tone of your voice causes Benny to roll his eyes at your abrupt change of mood. You never brought up how you felt about his brother but it wasn’t hard for him to put together the pieces. 

Benny checks his phone before telling the both of you he’s getting more drinks for when Santi and Frankie arrive. 

“How’s the book going?” You playfully roll your eyes at the mention of your pipe dream from when you were 19. 

“Still on page 3, inspiration has yet to strike.” His smile makes your heart beat so heavily in your chest you think he can see it. 

“Hard to believe that,”  His hands grab at the half-cold fries on your plate. “What genre are pushing for anyway?”

“Most likely historical romance,” The whiskey shots settle and you feel your body become lighter. “The old-timey English is hard to get into though.” 

“Coming from the walking encyclopedia.” His words are slightly muffled by the fries he’s shoveling into his mouth. 

“What’d we miss?” Santiago’s voice cuts through your conversation and you look up to find him and Frankie occupying the seats in front of you. 

“Not much Benny’s getting the drinks.” Will rubs his hands on his jeans to rid his hands of grease. 

As usual, the men around you dive into sports commentary as if they’re the analysts they watch on TV. In the meantime, you skim over the food menu trying to figure out what else you want. With two more people at the table, the heat from Will’s arm brushing against you makes you lean closer to him. If he felt the difference he didn’t let anything on. 

Two pitchers of beer slosh against the plastic as it's being set down before a flight of whiskey is placed directly in front of you. An eager smile graces Benny’s face and you know exactly how this night is gonna go. As the two of you go shot for shot the three veterans look at you both in amusement. 

“How’s the wedding planning going?” Santiago smiled as he nudged Will

“It’s going,” Despite his lack of answer the way he feels is written all over his face, and everyone at the table knows it. 

“It can’t be that bad man.” Frankie tries to give the benefit of the doubt but he unknowingly releases the floodgates.

“She told her family to send pictures of what they were gonna wear to the ceremony,” Will gulps the rest of his beer before continuing, “Then she proceeded to veto her grandmother’s peach pantsuit because it was too close to white.”

Everybody has variants of shock written on their face except you, though your reasons may have more to do with animosity. Melody, his fiance, had first been introduced two years ago. From the start, you could tell they weren’t right for each other, but your mouth remained shut until Benny brought it up. 

Leave it to your best friend to be the one feeding into your delusions. 

“And don’t get me started on the flower girl fight, she had both her sisters send test shots of their daughters.” You adamantly aim to keep your mouth shut, knowing the liquor has loosened your lips. The last thing you wanna do is rattle down the long list of reasons you don’t like his fiance, namely because she’s his fiance. 

“You sure know how to pick em’ Ironhead.” Santiago whistles while he thinks of all his previous relationships. 

“Maybe it’s just the wedding.” His tone was even but laced with something like doubt. 

“Maybe it’s a glimpse into your future.” Benny tries to bring the lighthearted energy back by wiggling his fingers and mimicking a ghost. 

A smile cracks Ironhead’s exterior at his little brother’s antics. 

“Drinks anyone?” You look around the table watching them nod in agreement before taking off to the bar. 

The counter is busy when you approach so you take the time to go over what you want. Two pitchers of beer and two Long Island iced teas. A hand connecting with your lower back causes you to swivel your head to accost the perpetrator, only to find Will. Relief floods through you but not for long.

“You’ve been quiet all night, it’s not like you.” Will leans his other arm over the bar, caging you in. 

“Your brother’s been force-feeding my shots all night what’d you expect.” You hope you can stir him away with humor but he knows better and so should you. 

“What do you think? Am I setting myself up for failure again?” The sincerity in his voice pulls at your heartstrings. You know how he feels about this being his second engagement and nobody could blame him for wanting to be sure. 

“Look if you’re happy what does it matter what those idiots are talking about?” Will’s eyes narrow and you give in to the voices in your head. “Honestly, she’s always lacked valuable character traits.” You avoid eye contact with the man next to you as you flag down a bartender to give the order. 

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” His blue eyes bore into yours and you find your eyes lowering to his lips. 

“And how exactly am I supposed to bring that up in conversation?” Your conversation ceases for now as the bartender places your drinks in front of you. 

A silence falls over the both of you even after you return to the table. Thankfully none of the other guys notice you averting your eyes from Will’s direction. 

……………

All Will could think about was what you said. 

Sure he noticed how self-centered Mel could be but it didn’t bother him because he had his fair share of baggage. Even when the guys were making their jokes about how she acted on a camping trip, he didn’t care. Yet the moment you opened your mouth he couldn’t shake the feeling that this engagement wasn’t right either. 

For the past hour, he’s been looking your way, hoping to catch your eye, but you purposefully avoid it. He watches you engage with everyone else until you feel his gaze burning and return to sipping on your drink. 

He checks his phone only to find a string of complaints from Mel. 

“I should get going.” Will reaches for his wallet and places enough bills down for the tab and tip. Much to the dismay of everyone else at the table. 

“We’re supposed to be treating you man.” Frankie scrambles to get his wallet but Will waves him off with a charming smile. 

“Next time.” He promises.

“We should probably head out too.” You peer over at Benny with pouty lips 

“I can take you.” William wastes no time volunteering to get you alone, he’s never been one to squander an opportunity. 

For the first time in an hour you look up at him and he can see the panic swimming in your eyes. You want to object but that would look suspicious so you nod your head and gather your things. Each of the guys hugs you goodbye before Will’s hand finds its way back to your lower back to guide you through the crowd. 

You know it’s a friendly touch still, excitement swirls within you.

Outside the bar is just as crowded so Will’s hands remain on you. In fact, he slides his right hand around your waist to bring you closer to him. People walking past would assume the two of you were together the way you were glued to each other. 

“When you said she lacked character traits, which specifically do you mean?” Will’s rough voice shocked you with how close it was to your ear. 

“This feels like a trap.” You look up at him with suspicion. 

“It’s not, I promise.” He laughs at your hesitance, “You’ve just never said anything and if you had…” He drops his sentence but you know what he’s implying. 

“You really care about what Benny’s best friend thinks?” You jab his stomach with your elbow.

“You know you mean more than that to me.” He leaves no room for argument and you’re left speechless at his side. 

You take a moment to digest his words because it isn’t the first time he’s said them, but it feels like it. 

“Sometimes it feels like you care more for her than she does you.” Your voice is quiet. “And it’s not like I would be telling you out of the purest intentions.” The words leave your lips before you think better of it. 

“What intention would you have?” You realize too late that he’s slowed the pace and now you’re standing face to face. 

“For you to break up with her.” You see no point in lying, and it’s not like you’re the only one who feels that way.

“And that’s it?” Will looks down at you like you're his prey. Clearly, he already knows the answer.

“Mhmm.” You lied. “How away far is your car?” 

“It’s right there.” He tips his head in the direction of his truck but his eyes and body don’t move from you. 

After a few seconds, you turn to make your way to the car but Will’s hand prevents you from leaving your spot. 

“Is that all you’d want me to do? Leave her?” That gruff voice is going straight is going straight down to your core. 

“No.” Your eyes are glued to the ground. 

For now, your answer seems good enough because he pulls you back into him for the remaining three feet to the car. He opens the passenger door for you and you take a short reprieve to gather yourself. 

Of course, Will could read how desperate you were for him. Dread settled in the bottom of your stomach when you think of how awkward this ride is gonna be.

“Look I’m sorry, here I am criticizing Melody for her character-” You spew out your thoughts hoping to do damage control. 

“I’m not upset Buttercup, when the guy's rib on Mel’s antics it’s one thing but when you say it…” He plays with the scruff on his chin before continuing, “Santiago has yet to be in a serious relationship, Frankie is working his way back from the doghouse, and Benny is Benny.” 

Your giggle rings through the truck's cabin despite the tense atmosphere and Will can’t help but join you. 

“Seriously, I’m no better especially since I want to be in her position.” Your eyes are focused on your lap but you almost feel the wind from Will’s head craning towards you. 

“You what?!” Based on his tone of voice he didn’t know that tidbit and you were the one to give yourself away. 

“Shit.” You clasp your hands over your face as you feel the car pull to a stop.

“What do you mean you want to be in her position?” The fact that he softened his voice made this the stuff of nightmares. 

“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory William.” You deadpan without bothering to look up.

“Indulge me.” You remove your hand from your face but keep your eyes locked in front of you. 

You make sure he can see your eyes roll before you continue, “She’s worried about how everything’ll look to other people but if I were the one marrying you the only thing I’d be worried about is how much lingerie I could reasonably pack for the honeymoon.” 

“How long?” The thought of your words causes pools of blood to gather below his waist. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Since I met you.” You say matter-of-factly. “I thought it was just a crush but it progressed over the years.” 

“Why didn’t you or Benny say anything?” Will’s upper body almost completely faces you. 

“Are you saying you would’ve been receptive?” You ask the question but you already have an inkling of what he’ll say.

“I don’t know-” Will feels like the rug was swept out from underneath him. He’d already had doubts but he was willing to settle, at least before you opened your mouth. 

“Exactly.” You don’t let him finish in the hopes that he’ll pull back onto the road. 

“To be fair I have a decade on you so legally speaking, it’s a little touchy.” Of all the times he graced you with his humor it was not appreciated right now. 

“More like a decade and a half but okay.” Despite yourself, you smile while his drops at your statement. 

“And yet that didn’t deter you.” Suddenly the cab feels small and you don’t know when but the two of you got closer. 

“That’s because I never said it was a bad thing.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Tonight you were full of surprises. Will thought he knew everything there was to know about you but he hadn’t seen this side of you. Your blown-out pupils and plump lips call out to him like a siren’s song. The faint scent of whiskey and strawberry chapstick wafts his way. Intoxicating is the only way to describe how you’re making him feel because the beers he had did nothing. 

He doesn’t register his hand reaching out to rub his thumb along your bottom lip. The moment you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck he loses every thought.

Will removes his thumb only to replace it with his lips. It doesn’t take long for you to kiss him back with even more vigor, this was your chance and it wouldn’t go to waste. You feel your bottom lip being sucked into his mouth but somehow he isn’t close enough. Your hands find their way to the back of his neck, bringing him closer while you tilt your head.

Your soft hands feel almost ticklish on the back of his neck and a deep groan passes his lips. 

Will reaches out to your waist, pulling you closer until he feels your tits pressed against his chest. You make the lust-filled decision to swing your knee onto his other side and sit on his lap. The denim skirt you’re wearing rides up, almost showing him your panties.

A gasp escapes your lips when you feel what you thought was Will’s zipper. One look at his smirking face tells you you’re mistaken.

“Is that-” Your eyes zero in on where the two of you meet. 

“Mhmm,” Will confirms your dream and arousal bubbles in your core. Before you can say anything he rolls his hips perfectly hitting your clit in just the right spot. 

The sound that leaves your body is a culmination of all the years you’ve spent yearning for him, for a moment like this. You’ve never felt more desperate in your life. Quickly you lay your head in the crook of his neck and rock your hips back and forth. Your hands find themselves squeezing his biceps for purchase. 

All of your breathless pants make him throb with need, as good as you feel like this he wants it all. Will inches his hand up your inner thigh, planting himself on your moving hips. 

“Buttercup?” Will talks to you like he’s rousing you from sleep.

“Hm?” He watches you focus with your eyebrows furrowed and your bottom lip jutted out, there’s no better view. 

“Want you to sit on it.” He can tell when you register his words because of the decline of your movement.

In all of five seconds, you’re clawing at his pants and all he can do is look at you. There’s no denying you’re gorgeous, sweet, funny. Now that he thinks about it he did care a little more for you than he should. Hell, sometimes you would go to him before Benny and he always felt great when he could problem-solve for you. 

While he had been staring at you and daydreaming you managed to pull him out of his pants. If he thought your hands felt good before they feel even better now that they were stroking him. 

“You’re so big Will.” Even your fantasies couldn’t live up to the real thing.

“Yeah?” Will rubs over your wet fold through your panties, “You’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me right?” He slides your panties to the side before teasing your entrance with his middle finger. 

“Whatever you want.” And you meant every word. 

He barely has his finger in and you’re already clenching around him. With your hands now on his shoulders, you impatiently rock your hips showing him you’re ready. Will groans when he feels your warm walls clenching on his finger. He takes his other hand to your chin to bring you closer before telling you, “You’re perfect.”

Before you fully realize what he said he adds another finger to your aching core. Your eyes meet his almost pitch-black ones, and again you feel like his prey the way they bore into his. When he curls his fingers inside you you involuntary buck your hips for more. 

You wonder if you’ll leave bruises the way your fingers dig into Will’s shoulders. Suddenly his lips are on yours in a bruising kiss, his teeth slightly rub against yours before he deepens it. Dizziness fills your head from the way his fingers pumped into you to his warm tongue licking into your mouth.

You were ruined for anyone else after him. 

The sounds in the truck consist of heavy breathing, moans, and squelching. A pit formed in your lower stomach and you felt like you were falling in it. You feel too much at once and you feel yourself pulling away from the kiss to calm down but Will moves to your neck. As he sucks and licks at your neck his fingers expertly pull you over the edge. 

You would’ve fallen against the wheel if he hadn’t held you in his arms. He rubs his hands over your back until you come to. Somehow your orgasm felt like a shot of espresso and you’re right back on Will. 

Without pause you sink down on his leaking tip and slowly inch him deeper. You watch his face while you do it and you almost miss his blue eyes, but he looks so much more hypnotizing. You couldn’t look away and neither could he. 

Will couldn’t imagine his night would end up like this, not that he was complaining. 

With you finally taking all of him you let out the airiest sigh before rocking your hips. Your knees were burning from the seats but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Will’s hands move down your back to grip your ass while you rock and bounce on him. 

“Fuck,” He is the first to break eye contact but only to look at where the two of you meet. Your juices leave a ring on his dick and he almost cums at the sight. “I can’t wait to taste you next time.”

“Next time?” You try slowing your hips to comprehend what he just said but he picks up your slack. With his hips rutting into yours from below the pleasure must be clouding your brain to imagine things. 

“You thought I was gonna let you go after this baby?” An unforgiving pace brings that familiar pit in your stomach that has you pawing at his covered chest. “You know me better than that Buttercup.”

Will’s hips sputter before you hear a guttural groan and warmth being shot into you. Even as he’s cumming he uses his hand to urge you to rock your hips against him. When everything slows to a halt all that’s left is heavy breathing from the both of you. 

“Did you mean it?” You bring yourself to ask as you fiddle with your fingers 

Will lifts his head from the headrest to look at you, “Of course I mean it.”

“You know you still have a fiance right?” 

“You didn’t have to put off by that a few minutes ago,” His playful grin lets you know he’s only messing with you. “Seriously though it wouldn’t have lasted, I just didn’t think anybody else would want me.” 

“I mean you make it easy.” You haven’t looked up at him yet.

“You’re one to talk.” Will tilts his head before giving you a kiss. “Let’s get you home.” Heat fills your face at his charm.

With a hiss, he slowly helps to lift you off his now softening dick. You’re quick to move your panties back in place before any of his cum drips out. He tucks himself into himself back into his pants.

Before he even turns on the car you’re lying across the the front seat and nodding off. He takes the jacket he always keeps in his car behind the seat and drapes it over you.

He takes a look at his phone and sees missed calls from everyone. It’s almost 3 in the morning and Will winces as he looks at the messages asking him where he is. Instead of staying here for another hour, he heads in the direction of your condo. 

Your porch light is on when he pulls into the driveway in front of your house. One look over at you and he can see that you’re dead to the world so he searches for your purse. When he finds your keys he runs to open the door before circling back to pick you up. 

Once in the house, he kicks the door closed then locks it. He already knows the way to your room since he basically set it up for you. In fact he moved most of your furniture for you, not wanting moving companies to take advantage of you. 

Your room has clothes strewn on the floor in what looks like failed outfits you tried on. A laugh escapes Will when he realizes you ended up wearing a short jean skirt with a v-neck. It’s only two steps to the bed and he lays you down gently not wanting to wake you. 

He tries replacing the jacket over you but your fingers have gripped it so he settles on laying the comforter over you. When he’s sure you’re settled he rounds your bed to sit on the other side, unlacing his boots. After that are his shoes socks, jeans, and shirt. 

A relaxed sigh is let out the moment his back hits your bed. Although it makes no sense to cuddle, he saddles his body close to yours. 

Bacon and potatoes infiltrate your nose the more awake you become. Last night quickly flashes through your mind as if your brain urged you to remember. Your room is exactly how you left it and the thought of Will seeing it sends shame through your body. Of the discarded clothes you pick up some lounge shorts to throw on. 

Your hunger overpowers your drowsiness so you make your way to the kitchen. Will’s naked back is a welcomed sight anytime. 

“Good morning.” He grins when you make an appearance next to him. 

“Morning Buttercup.” The spatula he’s using to stir potatoes is cast aside so he can run rub circles on your lower back. 

Now that the afterglow faded you wondered what direction this is heading in. 

“I ended things with Mel this morning, she’s pissed to say the least.”

“I didn’t plan for this to happen.” Guilt creeps into you now that your chickens have come home to roost

“I know, but I’m glad it happened.” Without waiting for your reply he's back to cooking like our conversation never happened. “You can sit down if you want it’ll only be five more minutes.”

The debrief call with Benny will be one for the books.

[musings-of-a-rose]

First sentence fic game!

“I don’t understand why you can’t leave things unbroken, myself included!”

Broken

Pairing: Frankie Morales x wife!reader

Word Count: 670+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

“I’m so sorry, querida.”

“It was supposed to be just a few days.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t even want you to go in the first place!”

Frankie is quiet for a moment before sighing. “I know. I should have listened, but-”

“But you just do whatever he tells you to do, right? Whatever Tom wants?”

“He was my leader for so long it’s just habit.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t give me that shit, Frankie. You’re a 43 year old man.”

His eyes fill with tears and for one second, I want to drop this argument, run to him and hold him close, tell him everything will be alright. But I promised him I’d never lie to him, cover my emotions, that I’d always be upfront and honest no matter how hard it is, so instead I stand my ground.

“I begged you not to go, Frankie. Begged. You left me. You left us,” I gesture towards our daughter’s bedroom across the hall. “You almost made me a widower and not for the first time! But then you almost made her fatherless. How could you do that?”

“I went to get the money to make a better life for you both.”

“Please. You went because Tom told you to and Santi batted his stupid eyelashes at you and you couldn’t say no.”

“That’s not it at all. I want to take care of you. Both of you!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about money, Francisco! I only cared about you!”

“I lost my job, querida. What do you expect me to do?”

“Not get yourself killed! You’ve put me through so much hell, and then I got pregnant and you did it again with the drugs, and then you up and disappeared for nearly 2 weeks to Colombia on some..some…heist or whatever! You could’ve died in those mountains and I’d have never known-”

“I know, I’m sorry querida-”

“I don’t understand why you can’t leave things unbroken, myself included!” I sit down on the bed, burning my face in my hands as tears roll down my cheeks.

Frankie walks over to me, hesitating before putting his hand on my leg, rubbing small circles into my exposed skin. I let him do that for a few moments before I lean my head on his shoulder. Immediately, he shifts towards me, pulling me into his broad chest and embracing me as I cry, heaving tears that are so no classy as I let out all of my fear and worry and anger from these last 2 weeks. I drop my hands and bury my face into his chest, inhaling his scent and feeling the warmth seep from him into me, grounding me and comforting me as he’s done so many times before. 

“I thought you’d left me forever, Frankie.”

He squeezes me closer. “I almost did. But I fought for you, for our daughter. I had to get back to you. I was so scared I wouldn’t make it, but I fought. I love you, querida. I will always fight for you. And I’m sorry for…everything.”

He holds me in silence for several more moments before speaking quietly, brushing his lips across the top of my head as he presses a kiss into my hair, inhaling my scent.

“Please don’t leave me.” He says it with such a small voice, almost no hope behind it, like he’d understand completely if I did. I sit up, my hands moving to cup his face, scratching the little patches in his bead. Frankie sighs into my touch, briefly closing his eyes before opening them, his eyes wide and worried.

“I could never leave you, Frankie. I just need you to be on our team. Talk to me when you’re having a hard time. I didn’t sign up for only your good parts. I want all of you. Ok?”

Relief floods his face, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I promise, querida. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Frankie.”

—----

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry

[smehur]

Drarry fic recs #6

[podfic] Kill, Fuck, Marry written by @lettersbyelise and read by @timothysboxers

Malfoy leans toward him with a baleful look. “I do believe Pansy Parkinson, my best friend, paid you to spend the evening with me. It’s my birthday, Potter. So you’re going to get off your Gryffindor arse, and you’re going to dance with me. I want to dance. I want to win. I want that bloody trophy on my shelf before the end of the night.” Harry and Draco unexpectedly meet again on Draco’s birthday, years after their last encounter.

A delightful fic and a phenomenal reading! There are few things I love more than ex-rivals Harry and Draco discovering they actually enjoy each other's company, especially when it's done with such humor. The game of kill, fuck, marry was hilarious, and so was the dancing. And Draco's final birthday wish, well. 🔥 A phrase seen in many stories but rarely delivered with quite that much cheek. I'm all smiles and biting lips just thinking about it. 10/10 would read/listen again.

ready, able by @garagepaperback

“Well, even if we went through with it, it wouldn’t work. But thanks for the grand heroic rushing in. A certain element of purity is needed to break it." Malfoy licks his lips, "You’d have to be a virgin.” Harry keeps every muscle on his face particularly still, hoping it looks to Malfoy as absolutely blank as it feels to him. Half a minute passes. “No,” Malfoy, already doing a poor job of sitting normally on his chair, bends in half, nearly falling out of it. He’s laughing. “No, Potter, no. No- don’t- you’re twenty-five years old!” “And?” Harry asks, heat staining his face. - Malfoy has a problem, Harry wants to help.

Apart from being captivating, tantalizing and touching, this story is also an interesting (and, for this reader, unique) take on the fuck-or-die trope, which I'll generally read "for fun" but will only take "seriously" if it's somehow challenged and reshaped till choice reasserts itself. Like in this fic! Which, on top of everything, (spoiler alert!) ends with one of the hottest sex scenes in my HP reading so far. Truly exquisite. 👌

Savage by @marguerite26

In a post-war world that lives in fear and ignorance of werewolves, Draco Malfoy has taken every step to keep his condition hidden. When the delicate balance of his life shatters in a single moment, it is Harry Potter alone standing in his defence.

Another instance where excellent fic managed to sell me a trope I'm not a fan of: werewolves! It's a phenomenal story, with an interesting, political plot, excellent pacing, flawless characterization and steaming hot sex. What more could one hope for?

Virtuous by @heyjude19-writing

Draco is only sin inverted.

I loved this short piece down to the last word. It's so multifaceted! At face value, it's a confession of an unredeemed Draco, but is he? Is he really? Or did "fake it till you make it" work a little better than he expected? I'm fascinated by this because it touches on the question of whether a person can really change, which is, obviously, central to Drarry. Does a selfish motivation behind an act of kindness make the act less kind? I don't know the answers. But I do so enjoy fic that asks the questions!

Draco in Darkness by plumeria47

Following an accident in his seventh year, Draco loses his eyesight. After Harry elbows his way into Draco's dark world, both boys find themselves in a strange new friendship, and they each learn new ways to see each other … and themselves.

This story is very old and predates the canon ending of the series (thus missing out on a lot of canon Drarry content that would've made it even better). It's also a bit old-fashioned, compared to the fic I mostly read these days, and it triggered some of my technical pet peeves. Yet it hooked me within the first few paragraphs, and I grew to love it with a slow-burn passion. Draco's sudden disability is depicted in a very straight-forward, matter-of-fact, incredibly effective yet sensitive way; and his manner of coping with it is perfectly in character. Meanwhile, Harry is blind in his own way, which helps build the tension but never crosses the line of being too contrived. I had so many feels reading this. It's just beautiful, warts and all.

As always, my heartfelt thanks to the authors of these, and all other lovely stories shared within this amazing fandom, and to the readers helping spread the word. 🥰

[lexosaurus]

stained teeth leave the aftertaste of rot (part 3)

Part three of my @ecto-implosion fic for @antleredweirdo's art [right here]! (seriously check it out it's amazing)

Characters: Danny Fenton Tags/warnings: minor character death, gore, ghost hunger Summary: Danny was just sick. It was probably some sort of ghost flu that was making his body heavy, his stomach hollow, and his eyes burn with fatigue. There was no way he was—no, he wasn't going to think about that. He wasn't. In the darkest corner of the room, something shifted.

[read on ao3]

[part 1] [part 2]

****

The days blurred together. Danny didn’t know if it was Monday or Wednesday or some other day that week. 

The only way he could confirm that time was passing at all was how each morning when he woke up, he saw the shadow standing slightly closer to him than it had the day before.

The first morning, he’d tried to order it back into its corner. But it just smirked at him and refused to move.

So Danny had given up. And now he was wandering around Amity Park because…he couldn’t remember. Was he trying to go to Tucker’s house? Or was he coming home from Tucker’s house? He thought Tucker might have been the reason he was outside at this hour and still in human form, but he couldn’t quite remember…

There was no reason to be in his ghost form, anyway. There was nothing to patrol. Ever since Johnny 13, Danny hadn't seen his normal rotation of ghosts. Skulker seemed nowhere to be found, and Ember hadn't stopped by either, which was strange because she'd said she was going to debrief with him after the new Dead Teacher single dropped and now, some unknown days later, he hadn't seen her even once. 

Maybe she'd forgotten?

Usually at this point, Youngblood was bored and looking for people to play a new game with, and the Box Ghost was out seeking new boxes to attempt to stake a very flimsy claim with. But strangely, neither of those ghosts had crossed over to the Human World either.

Since Danny was still sick with this ghost flu, he didn't particularly mind the peace and quiet. But, it did set him on edge all the same.

Why had no one appeared? 

Had something happened in the Ghost Zone?

Or, maybe Johnny 13 had told them Danny was tired and needed a break?

...Yeah, no. Danny amended that thought as soon as it popped into his head. He'd complained about being tired many times before and the ghosts had never particularly cared. Maybe their years of being dead had made them all forget what it was like to have human needs like sleep. Regardless, his human necessities had proven to have little effect on their abilities to cause chaos in Amity Park.

So, if not that, then what? Why? Why were they staying away?

And why did he care? 

He stopped, shaking his head. Was he seriously getting offended right now about this? Why did it matter if they were staying away from him? 

Do they know? a corner of his brain asked.

There was nothing to know, he argued back.

The shadow laughed silently next to him.

"Stop following me around," Danny shot at it.

That only seemed to make it laugh more.

His core groaned, and he paused on the sidewalk, lightheadedness swarming his head like a beehive. He leaned against the building beside him and rubbed his forehead with clammy fingers that seemed too pointed to be human any longer. His core had begun doing this a few days ago. It had been whining at him to transform for a while now, but for the past few days, it was pulsing with a desperation he found almost impossible to resist.

And he was resisting.

He told himself that he wasn't transforming into Phantom because there was no need to. With all the ghosts seemingly avoiding Amity Park, there was no reason for him to become Phantom. It was too dangerous, anyway, with the Guys in White constantly patrolling, as well as his parents, Valerie, and all the little contractor ghost-hunting companies that Vlad Masters (that douche) had begun to employ.

Lies... the shadow seemed to say, though it hadn't said anything at all. It didn't have a mouth to speak with. It didn't have a face to gloat. It didn't have eyes to glint at him, nor lips to grin mischievously at him with. But Danny could feel that all the same. 

"I'm not lying," Danny grumbled, his voice hardly loud enough to reach the air a few inches away.

The shadow, strolling across the middle of the road toward him, still with no ears to hear with, didn't seem to have a problem understanding him. You're lying.

"I'm not."

The shadow simply grinned a wicked smile at him in return, and Danny could imagine the ghostly fangs poking out from the corners of its lips.

It was all in his head, all in his head.

His core shuddered, and Danny closed his eyes, sweat beading on his forehead as he tried to repress the frost that crept up his throat. But he wasn't strong enough, he couldn't hold his breath forever in his human form, and eventually when he opened his mouth to let out the air he'd been holding hostage in his diaphragm, a blue wisp containing microscopic ice crystals and snow escaped his lips.

His ghost sense.

The pull was overwhelming. And suddenly, it didn't seem to matter if his human half required air or not because he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe right now. There was simply no oxygen in the air.

Aura took over his eyes and, like an addict searching for his next hit, his gaze whipped around the air, searching desperately for the ghost. 

It was here. He didn't see it, he didn't see it. But it was here. It had to be. 

His ghost sense never lied.

He felt the overwhelming tug of his core again, and he realized with a mouth-watering hunger that it was directing him. 

Boundless relief rushed through him. He was saved! If he just listened to his core, he could find the ghost after all!

Everything was going to be okay.

But then the human part of him stepped back in, begging him to listen to reason, to turn around and go home because if he listened to his core, if he gave in to the goading of the shadow and the hole in his body then he would lose every last drop of his humanity that his ecto-infused cells still clung to.

It was disgusting how easily his transformation snuffed out the screaming of his human consciousness.

Finally silent, his brain exhaled. Now, there was no confusion. No moral drama to tend to. All he had to do was follow his core. 

Yes.

Finally.

Phantom floated down the street as if in a daze. He rounded the corner, and continued on his merry way, humming happily. His core whined, and he shushed his body, promising to fix it all soon.

He didn't have enough sense left in his brain to pay attention to where they were going. He didn't know whether there were humans around him, or if any of them were trying to get his attention for a selfie or a Tiktok as they often did. He found that, for the first time, he didn't care about anything as insignificant as the wants of other humans. Why should he? He was a ghost, after all. And besides, he was busy.

Hunting.

The prey was near. He could sense it. The switch in his core, from electric whining to a hushed hum. He shifted out of visibility. For most ghosts, that wouldn't matter; they could sense when another specter was nearby. But for a ghost like this...

Phantom peered around a building and saw it: his target.

"Will you be my friend?" the ghost asked a cat rubbing itself against a wooden post.

The cat made no motion that it'd heard or even cared about the green ghost in its pink-striped pajamas. It stepped forward, letting the rough wood on the pole stroke across its body, and then turned around to get the other side of its long body.

"Why does nobody want to be my friend?" the ghost wailed, bringing thick fingers up to hide its face. It bowed, bobbing until its blond hair brushed over its fingers as if it were trying to bury its face in shame.

Well, it wouldn't need to feel shame for much longer.

Phantom crept forward, slowly, raising invisible claws but not directing power yet to the tips of his fingers. He needed to get closer if he wanted to make this clean.

Perhaps he was more eager than he'd realized at the prospect of bringing down this great beast because he'd hardly moved more than a foot around the corner of the building when the ghost sensed him.

A startled grunt escaped its lips as its head shot up from its hands. "Who's there?" it asked.

The world tunneled, and darkness began to shroud the edges of Phantom's vision. He grinned, the tips of his teeth pricking the delicate skin of his lips, but he could hardly feel it.

"Do you want to be my friend? I'm looking for new friends."

Phantom prowled forward, inching slowly. The muscles in his claws flexed as anticipation shot up his spine.

The weak smile slipped off the ghost's face, and its hands raised in submission. It said weakly, "Please come out."

Phantom's core cackled. This ghost was scared. It could sense his intentions. Good. Be scared. 

"I just want to make friends."

Phantom was sure the smile on his lips was wicked. And suddenly, some ghostly part of him urged him to drop his invisibility. To let the ghost see how easily it'd been overpowered by him. 

So Danny unshrouded his body from the linen robes of invisibility and watched in glee as the ghost's face relaxed in recognition.

"Oh, Phantom? It's just you. You know, for a second I thought—"

Phantom glided closer to the prey, the points on his claws turning knifelike as his teeth sharpened dangerously.

The ghost's mouth fell open in horror. 

"Wait, please. Phantom—I—please..." it babbled, trying to scramble back.

One last flicker of humanity, the part that recognized this ghost as one with a name, with personality, as Klemper, yelled at him to stop, please, stop! But Phantom just laughed, his chuckle twisted and cruel, biting the air with the acrid taste of starvation. Because Phantom was starving, and this was the solution.

Phantom's acid eyes slowly meandered back to the trembling, lowly ghost hugging its torso with baggy, pink arms. Its red eyes stared pleadingly, welling with tears as its broken voice let out one last whisper.

"I thought we were friends."

The last of Phantom's patience drained away in an instant, and he surged forward, closing the distance to the prey before it could react. His claws made contact with something soft, and he pushed power through his palms, throwing the prey into the alley behind it. It hit the wall hard, cracking the brick as shockwaves pounded the air. 

"Wait!"

But Phantom was done waiting.

His aura glowed like a blizzard as he followed the prey into the alley. The air was growing darker, darker, and there was his prey, glowing with fresh ectoplasm.

He shot forth, sinking his claws into the prey. His fingers tore through the pajamas easily, knifing the ectoplasmic body underneath and slicing the membrane skin like it was putty.

The moment the scent of fresh, liquid ectoplasm hit Phantom's nose, his eyes stopped seeing, his fingers stopped feeling, everything his brain knew and loved was green.

The first drop of the nectar of the gods hit his tongue, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. His body was a black hole, devouring ectoplasm with drunken craze as this sweet, citrus liquid candy flowed into him.

This was beautiful. This was everything.

He hadn't known why he'd been so afraid before. Why he hadn't let himself indulge in this incredible delicacy. Why he'd been so foolish as to let himself starve.

Now, he was saved.

The cries of his core lulled as he filled his stomach with ectoplasm. He could feel his energy rising again, and the black hole in his chest began shrinking, shrinking, until it was nearly gone. But not quite.

His body was alight with the thrill of the hunt, the enchantment of this feast. He scooped more ectoplasm into his sticky fingers and poured it down his throat. At last, his core let out a satisfied purr and settled down for a nap, and with a flash of light, the urge to dine was over.

Awareness came to his senses again. The gravel digging into his knees, the tingling of his feet as it ached with sleep, the chill of the evening air prickling his wet skin.

His wet skin...

He felt the blood drain from his face first. Then, nausea rolled through him like a tsunami, crushing his heart and lungs and brain with a sea of putrid green battery acid.

The urge to run had never felt so strong, and yet he couldn't move. His legs were plastered to the ground under an inch of ectoplasm. Ectoplasm that he alone had put there.

The pink-striped pajamas were nowhere to be seen, likely having dissolved to join the rest of the spilled ectoplasm the moment Danny tore Klemper's core from his chest. 

Klemper. Oh Ancients, Klemper.

Danny was shaking—violently—eyes searching for a ghost that no longer existed as the world began to spin. His eyes darted around the carnage, frenzied as he searched for Klemper's toothy smile. But Klemper wasn't here. 

Klemper's weak words, his last, defeated muttering of "I thought we were friends" bounced off the cavernous walls of Danny's mind. And then he felt sick all over again. He bent over, gagging, trying to expel all the poison that he'd just consumed. Klemper, it was Klemper. But nothing came up. His body refused to let him eject the disease within.

Ectoplasm dripped down his chin, and he furiously tried to wipe it away. But his hands were too sticky with the substance, and all he succeeded in doing was smearing the remains around his cheeks.

He trembled, and the cold bit him. His hands were still shaped more like claws than human fingers, and the taste of lime and acid and something sweet was still on the back of his tongue. His breathing picked up, ragged and icy, as an invisible hand reached into his chest and squeezed his lungs.

Delusion was still fighting his brain, and for a moment he could almost convince himself that Klemper had gotten away. Danny had injured him, but he was okay. Danny hadn't...he wouldn't...

No.

No!

Danny shut his eyes and rocked back and forth, the tips of his claws digging into his cheeks. Danny was the good guy. He was the hero. He wouldn't kill another creature, even if that being was already dead. He wouldn't. 

He wasn't a murderer. 

Where was Klemper?

His eyes flung open, desperate to try searching one last time for the ghost, and then he froze.

Standing at the entrance of the alley was the nameless, faceless shadow. It stood between the glow from the street lamps and the ectoplasm puddled on the ground watching him without eyes, without expression. It made no attempts to come closer, nor back away. Its posture wasn't tense, nor relaxed. And where Danny expected a goading grin, it had none.

"Say something," Danny growled at the shadow. "Fucking damnit, say something!"

But it just stood there doing nothing.

It didn't have a face. It didn't have a mouth to grin at him with. It didn't have any body language to even hint at an emotion.

And it never did.

It was just standing there. That's all it'd ever done.

A lampost in the street flickered, and the shadow wavered like a candle flame brushing the wind. And then, to Danny's horror, he realized that it wasn't a humanoid shadow at all, but the shadow of a trash bag lying next to the dumpster.

His stomach pitted once again, and his eyes glazed over. 

He thought back to this week. At the shadow in his bedroom—the curtains wavering in the open window—or the shadow following him to his classes—had there been a shadow at all? 

All this time. All this damn time. There wasn't anything there. There'd never been anything there.

He bent over now, his breath hoarse. His lungs burned with ice and acid, and every time he opened his eyes, all he could see was the wreckage that he'd done.

Him. Danny Phantom. A murderer. 

No. 

It was too much. Too much. His ribs were collapsing on his body, and everything hurt.

He forced himself to stand. To get up. He looked away so he didn't have to see the ectoplasm clinging to his jeans like a child glued to their mother's legs. 

"I—I'm—" Danny tried. I'm sorry. But he couldn't.

He couldn't do it.

So instead, like a coward, he ran. The ectoplasm squelched under his shoes, crying tears of abandonment, and it sickened him how he could remember how good it'd tasted, how he could still taste the remnants on his lips.

The hurricane winds slammed his brain, and he snapped, triggering his transformation and shooting into the air. Invisibility was quick to cover him again, hiding his crimes from the public eye and himself. 

He didn't know how long it took him to fly home. Time no longer mattered to him. But, crossing through his windowpane, he didn't stop. He was dirty, covered in ectoplasm that had begun to dry on the flight home, and he couldn't let it stain his body. He needed to get it off, to clean his skin, to cover and lie and hide every particle of the monster he'd become from the world.

The water pelted his back like ice pellets. He didn't have time to wait for the shower to warm up. He was too dirty for that.

He stood unmoving until the water heated, head bowed as he watched green mix with water and swirl down the drain. Steam began to cloud the air as the water turned scalding, but he refused to look away. Refused to turn away as Klemper flooded his drain.

He's still alive, his brain tried to reason. You didn't kill him. You wouldn't.

No, Danny knew. He was a monster. A cruel, evil monster.

He was shaking again. His limbs were growing heavier by the second. It took all his strength, but he managed to lift his hands—he had human fingers again—and scrub every inch of his skin and hair. Then again. And again, until the water that pooled at his feet was no longer tinted green.

He shut the shower off and watched the water as it slid down the drain. His legs refused to move until he could be certain that Klemper wasn't going to try climbing back out of it.

Danny wished the ghost would.

His bed was as soft and comfortable as ever when he reached it, but he didn't deserve it. Only humans could sleep in beds. And Danny wasn't human. So he lay on top of his comforter instead, letting the cold air nip at his skin. But his Phantom core thrived in the cold, and it was delighted to have the night to feel the chill air, and Danny wanted to hurl his phone at the wall and scream because his ghost core didn't deserve anything after what it'd done.

He got up and paced his room, human fingers gripping his hair and pulling while his arms shook and his stomach sloshed with ectoplasm that it refused to let Danny hurl up. 

Monster, monster, his brain yelled. He was a monster. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. His shivering limbs and shuddering breath wouldn't allow it. 

Eventually, he crawled back into his bed and stared wide-eyed at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. Delusion was still creeping into his brain, lighting candles of hope that Klemper was still alive somewhere. That he'd snuck away invisibly. That he was hiding and recovering. That it wouldn't be too long before Danny saw his toothy smile and heard his annoying voice asking for friendship again.

Danny was too tired to fight the delusions this time. He turned over in his bed and let them take him into their fantasy. And maybe, when he opened his eyes again, the fantasy would be real.

****

"Jeez, what happened over there?" Sam asked.

"What?" Tucker peered from the video he'd been showing Danny on the phone.

"Look!" 

Danny looked over at Sam whose purple-gloved hand was outstretched and pointing up ahead. Danny followed her finger along the sidewalk until he spotted something that sent his stomach plummeting through the pavement.

There was a trail of green on the sidewalk leading around the corner into an alley. It was ectoplasm, Danny knew implicitly. Even though it was beginning to dry and its glow had died down, Danny had seen enough ectoplasm to know with absolute certainty that this was it.

He hadn't realized that this had happened so near his house. That it was on their path to school.

Denial was a stubborn creature, and at once Danny's brain was trying to throw out possibilities. That this was from a previous ghost fight, that the sidewalk had always been green here, that his altercation with Klemper hadn't been bad enough to lead to this much ectoplasm outside of the alley—but he knew, as he approached the entrance with his friends, that this was from last night.

The sight of the ectoplasm only grew as they approached the alley, and Sam and Tucker sped up, gawking at the bloodbath. Danny trailed behind, trying not to throw up the contents of his breakfast in front of his friends.

"Holy shit!" Tucker exclaimed, reaching the entrance.

Sam blinked, her jaw opening and closing as if searching for the right words to describe what was before her. Finally, she settled on, "Holy shit is right."

The last few steps felt like wading through wet cement, but at last, Danny caught up with them. 

He looked up and took in the scene.

A sea of ectoplasm met his eyeline. It painted the ground with dry edges and pools of ectoplasm in the middle. Slashes of it crawled up the brick wall and tagged the dumpster, painting trash bags around it.

It was a massacre. A feral, insane massacre.

It was Klemper. 

It was all that remained of Klemper.

Any last thread of denial that Danny had still been clinging onto in the aftermath of his shock faded in an instant. There was no way Klemper had survived this. Even if Danny didn't remember flashes of his disgusting hand reaching into Klemper's chest and ripping his core from his body, there was far too much ectoplasm here for anyone to recover from.

"What the hell happened here?"

Silence hung in the air, and it took Danny a moment to tear his eyes away from the gruesome scene to see Sam and Tucker staring at him questionably.

As if they knew.

Danny glanced down at his hands, half expecting to see claws dripping with green, but only his human fingers remained. Then he remembered that Sam and Tucker weren't asking because they'd seen him in the alley, but because he was the town's protector, and this was a lot of ectoplasm.

An excuse crawled up his throat, but he faltered. His hands began to tremble again, and he shoved them in the pockets of his hoodie. His mind was drawing a blank. He didn't have an excuse.

He could tell them what happened. He could spill his secret right now. He could say that he was a monster, that he'd been craving ectoplasm for weeks now, that he'd ignored it because it was a repulsive desire and he wouldn't do it. But in ignoring that need, he'd starved his ghost half, which retaliated in the most brutal way possible. He could talk about how he'd lost control of his morality and had given fully into his desires just like Vlad would and that he was no better than his worst ghostly enemies.

He could tell them.

But then they would hate him. They'd see him for the monster he truly was and they'd never speak to him again.

It was selfish of him to want friends he didn't deserve. But he was a ghost, and ghosts were selfish.

So, he shrugged.

"You didn't see anything on patrol?" Sam asked.

Danny shook his head, not trusting his voice to answer. He wasn't sure he could speak without cracking.

"Well, whatever it was, it must have been brutal," Tucker said, awe tinging his voice.

It was brutal.

"One of the ghosts didn't make it out, I'll say that for sure," Sam echoed.

She was more right than she knew.

"Maybe feuders?" Tucker turned to Danny with a raised brow. "You know, ghosts that died fighting each other so their unfinished business is that they try to hunt each other down? Maybe they accidentally fell through a portal and ended up in the alley, and one finally finished the other off."

"Probably," Sam agreed. "Definitely looks like some sort of animal fight."

Danny shrugged and looked down at his shoes. It was an animal fight. A rabid, crazed animal fight.

Hardly a fight, the shadow in his brain said. It was an extermination. 

Danny recalled how delirious he'd been without any sense of right or wrong, willing to murder his friend if it meant not having to starve. It was despicable, the way he greedily swallowed each mouthful of ectoplasm as if it were the first and last meal he'd ever eat in his life. It was sick and twisted and vile and now here was the aftermath.

Klemper had never stood a chance.

Sam and Tucker gave the alley one last glance and turned away to continue down the sidewalk. They had school to get to, after all. And as they began walking, Danny heard their conversation slip back into video games or whatever they'd been talking about before coming upon this bloodshed.

But Danny couldn't turn away. He remained in front of the alley, staring into the mess of gore and the last of Klemper's life and blood splayed out in front of him.

"I thought we were friends," is what Klemper had said.

There was no way anyone could be friends with a monster like Danny.

****

Thanks for reading!

And HUGE shoutout to antleredweirdo for the amazing art!! I literally saw it in the submissions and it immediately went to the top of my list. I've always wanted to write a super dark Ghost Hunger AU fic, and this was the PERFECT opportunity! Loved playing around with the shadow, and ahhhhh the whole art piece is amazinggggg!

Hope y'all enjoyed!

****

< part 2

[cositapreciosa]

I love your narcos fic so much.i read all of them and i wanna say thank you for writing so many masterpiece and sharing with us 🙏🏻🙏🏻💖💖💖can you write some short fic about Pacho Herrera x gn/reader? pls 🥺🥺🥺

Colombian gold

Pacho Herrera x gn!reader, (nothing very bad, the usual for the show) 2512 words "you have a date? how much did you pay them?" by @novelbear

a/n : thank you !! <3333 enjoy this maybe not short fic of his

As always it's the fictional, not the real deal, enjoy xx

Tagging the narcos fam @narcolini @drabbles-mc @anunhealthydoseofangst @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos

Pacho doesn’t really know why he is here. Sure, maybe it is Miguel's birthday party and he was invited, maybe it might also be about the bigger picture, that Miguel fucked up with the US government, fucked up with their shipments, this event a good occasion to make sure Miguel knows who he is working for. This could be a phone call, he could have sent someone else, but why keep himself away when he could come to Mexico, enjoy the drinks, the food, your company.

He likes to think he is bigger than this, those events, the gluttony of it all, bigger than the jealousy that pierces his chest when he sees you across the pool, someone’s arm wrapped around your own. This jealousy is hot, burning through his chest in a way he has never felt before. It overpowers him, but he can only watch and clap with everyone else as fireworks boom and light up the sky. He catches eyes with Miguel a few meters away from you, he is sulking, as usual. Oh, Pacho thinks, what wouldn’t he endure to get what he really wants.

He is almost grateful when he exits the chapel. The air is refreshing, he needs a new drink, and there is an extra stride in his steps when he eventually notices you, leaning against the bar, alone. He feels it again, hot, burning, tearing him apart. The cold glass counter soothes the burn as he props himself next to you.

‘’ You have a date? ‘’ He starts. ‘’ How much did you pay him? ‘’

You turn to him. There is a pink tint to your cheeks, something glossy about your lips, a few drinks perhaps, something irresistible. Your eyes shine from the lights above you, they twinkle as you recognize him.

‘’ I don’t pay for dates, I’ll let you know. I usually turn down offers. ‘’

‘’ Hmm. ‘’

Pacho knows you don’t have to pay for them. Of course, you don’t, not when the silk covering your body fits you like a glove, not when the gold wrapped around your neck makes your skin glow.

He remembers meeting you for the first time, a few steps behind Miguel at all times. Pacho didn’t know your name back then, but he noticed your sharp thinking, the clues and pieces of puzzles you picked up that others would never have seen. You were the smart one he had quickly realized, out of the bunch, those that would only follow, monkeys.

He remembers when the lines had started to blur, when his hand would press the small of your back to direct you to your seat, to his apartment. He would call you on occasion, pretexting work, shipments, and anything in between. Pacho knew you could see through it all, the small gestures, the gifts, you had to, how could you not?

Pacho hated how the Plaza could not see your potential in the same light he would. Greed and jealousy run the world, and it certainly motivated your colleagues too. He had tried to make you see through it, how little they thought of you, how you could do so much more if you left them, joined someone else, him.

‘’ I can’t. I owe Miguel everything, you know that. ‘’

‘’ Loyalty is what will get you killed, they will betray you if they have to. ‘’

‘’ You don’t know that. ‘’

‘’ Are you willing to wait and find out? ‘’

Pacho knew you weren’t, he knew there was something in you that was meant for better, greater things.

‘’ Did Miguel tell you coming to his birthday party alone was forbidden? ‘’ He continues, digging for more information.

‘’ Well, Maria sure does tell me every day how sorry she is for me that I am single. ‘’ Your eyes squint, taking him in, ‘’ But I see that you didn’t get influenced by the backhanded comments. ‘’

‘’ Well, I thought my favourite Mexican would be single for the night, that would have fixed the problem, don’t you think? ‘’

He can see the red that colours your cheeks now, a nice blush. Your eyes burn into his with intrigue.

‘’ Chapo is indeed single. I knew you liked them short and moreno. ‘’

He laughs with you on that one, maybe, he thinks, but he does like you better. More his type, more everything, addicting.

‘’ So, ‘’ the ice inside your drink clinks as you swirl the liquid around, ‘’ What brings you to this part of the world, colombiano? ‘’

‘’ You. ‘’

He could have thought this through a little bit better and made it seem like he was coming for business anyway, that this was just such a happy coincidence, but he couldn’t, not after how you had left last time. It always started like it usually did, music, wine, deep conversations over the balcony, but it also always finished the same, accusing fingers, your clothes back in your suitcase, the betrayed look on your face when he would mention how he can’t believe you are letting them walk over you once more.

There is no point in walking around it because he knows now why you plague his mind, you have got to know too, you have to. Maybe he has had one too many drinks.

‘’ I think you know why I always come back, why I come to waste my time en ese campo with those half-assed associates of yours. ‘’

‘’ Pacho. ‘’

A warning maybe. Do not say such words it means, not now, but he can’t seem to care. At home or overseas, he is a king, untouched. He is so close to you he can see the dots of gold in your eyes better now, raise his hand and feel your forearm with the inside of his palm as you let him. He could kiss you, he thinks, right now, in front of everyone and feel no shame. It would show them, he thinks, payasos.

‘’ Don’t kiss me, ‘’ you plead, eyes glued to his, ‘’ Not here. I can’t, I- ‘’

More fireworks set off in the distance, and another whiskey is pushed toward him by the bartender, but just when he thinks that everything is okay, that this could still be your moment, even when all the noise comes back, even after everyone starts moving again in your peripheral vision, your date puts his arm around your waist.

He doesn’t like how you tense, caught off guard. There is a ringing in his ears, a call for fury, anger, of knives and guns, whatever he can get his hand on. His fingers tighten around his glass, he doesn’t know this one, whoever you decided was fit enough to join your side for a few hours, and he doesn’t care to.

‘’ I suggest you bring your business elsewhere tonight. ‘’

‘’ Pacho, please- ‘’ You pitch up, trying to stop him, the threats, the powertrip, but it is useless.

‘’ I won’t ask twice. ‘’ He continues.

Pacho knows his gun is easily visible tucked into his pants, and quick eyes up and down from your date tell him he saw it too. It does not take much for him to leave after that, after Pacho makes a show of sipping his whiskey and leaning back to display the loaded pistol. You nod to the poor man to go, freeing him from the spectacle.

‘’ Now you are just being mean. ‘’ You tsk.

Pacho’s eyes are still following the man’s back into the crowd until he is but a speck of colour in his sight.

‘’ I didn’t see you try to get him to stay either. ‘’

You bring the last sip of your drink to your mouth.

‘’ What is it Pacho, what do you want? ‘’

Your empty glass is pushed to the side as you lean toward him, your eyes serious.

‘’ And don’t say me, don’t say any other business chingaderas. I want the truth. ‘’

Pacho catches the bartender’s attention and he orders you another glass, something sweet, exactly how you like it. Too much sugar will kill you. Maybe, but I’m pretty sure smoking will get to you first. Mostly it is to kill time and take this moment to think about how to say it, if he should at all. What has been bothering him for a long time, what he knows now since the chapel. Pacho lets you take a sip first, and you let him pay without fighting for the bill.

‘’ Miguel is not being honest with me, I know he is planning something, but I am not sure why. ‘’ He clears his throat. ‘’ I’d like you to listen and, if you want, report anything concerning to me. ‘’

Your reaction is instantaneous, like you have been stung by his words, your body reacting in disbelief. He knows how hard this must be for you, as it is for him too. He loathes how political your relationship has been lately, that you are just a piece of the puzzle being tossed around between them, always trying to win, to triumph. Your laugh is dry, void of emotion.

‘’ You’ve gone insane. ‘’ You shake your head. ‘’ And here I thought for a second you liked me. ‘’

‘’ You know how I feel about you, when has it ever been a secret? ‘’

Your eyes trail off elsewhere, in the crowd, the tiger in the cage. Pacho takes a step closer, approaching again when you let him. His hand moves up, thumb touching your chin, fingers pressing on your jaw, gently bringing your gaze his way.

‘’ Only if you want. Think about it, ‘’ About everything, about what we could do together. ‘’ I won’t hold it against you if you don’t. ‘’

His thumb caresses your bottom lip, a touch for the road, a touch to remember. He smiles, softly, trying to smooth out the tension in your body.

‘’ Enjoy the party, okay? ‘’

He means it. Your tongue rolls around in your mouth, biting back words as you shake him off you. And then he leaves, simply because there is nothing else he can do, he walks to the car, drives to the hotel, home and then he waits. However long it would take.

.

One morning the phone rings, the one he keeps with him at all times, the one he reserves for your number only, no one else's. It feels heavy in his hand, burning through the skin, through his heart, he hadn’t heard from you for weeks now. It takes him a few seconds before he reacts, pressing the button and bringing the phone to his ear.

‘’ Pacho. ‘’

He hears the crackle of your voice over the receiver, flat, his name an acknowledgement, barely a hello. You had only called once after the party, mostly to yell at him, drunk and incoherent. A time when he could do nothing but listen and send a car to your house to make sure you didn’t accidentally hurt yourself. Something he still hadn’t received a thank-you card for, no apologetic phone call, just a deafening silence in return, no more late-night conversations, your side of the bed still cold.

He had thought you wouldn’t call again after that, not when you had been so angry, how you had told him that this must have been all a trick from the beginning. Like a snake, you had spit at him through the phone, trying to break the ranks, the long-earned trust.

Letting you plant doubt into my head at Miguel’s birthday was a mistake.

‘’ Are you there? ‘’

I am. He is, holding onto the satellite phone like his life depends on it.

‘’ I want you to listen very carefully, ‘’ You begin, ‘’ I’ll only say this once. ‘’

This call is moving too fast. Pacho knows this isn’t an apology, and frankly, he doesn’t expect one, but he had hoped you would have been a bit more forgiving, less strategic, less straight to the point. He hears you move around, doors closing and opening, probably at home from what has been reported to him lately.

‘’ Miguel will talk to Don Juan in Matamoros before your meeting. This is what you wanted, right? Information like this? Because this is the last time, I’m done, I’m leaving Mexico. ‘’

He feels like he has been stabbed, straight through the heart and pulled.

‘’ Why? Where are you going? ‘’

Come to me, he wants to say, I’ll fly you in, I’ll protect you.

‘’ Listen, I know you can one-up his deal. ‘’ Hair brushes against the receiver. ‘’ Miguel will know I ratted out the second he gets to your meeting, use it wisely. ‘’

‘’ Don’t hang up. Talk to me. ‘’

He calls your name through the phone, pleading, he knows how desperate his voice might sound, he knows he is. Tell me what happened, and I’ll take care of it. Pacho knows running away is your next step, hang up and disappear, leave and hide, but he won’t allow it, not when he can take you in and make sure you are safe.

In his arms forever at last.

‘’ Miguel wants Guerra to get into the cocaine business, if it works he’ll have leverage, and if the Caribbean corridor closes you’ll- ‘’

‘’ No. ‘’ He has to take a deep breath, remind himself to stay focused on the task at hand. ‘’ No, not that. What happened? ‘’

Why are you leaving? What did they do?

‘’ I- Pacho, I can’t stay on the phone much longer- ‘’

He holds the phone in a tight grip, sweaty fingers, gold rings crushing the plastic.

‘’ I am sending someone to pick you up. Don’t leave your house. ‘’

He can feel your hesitation over the phone, all the planning that would have to be thrown out the window, what it would mean to be seen by his side. This is not just business anymore to him, it hasn’t been for a long time.

‘’ I owe you that. Let me. ‘’

He had longed for this, a phone call, a letter, news of your well-being. A chance to save you, steal you away.

‘’ Okay. ‘’ You sound small, resigned. You know better than to refuse, ‘’ I’ll wait. ‘’

The second you hang up, Pacho is on the move, snapping fingers left and right, setting up cars, planes, whatever it will take to get you out. It scares him to death, the idea of you alone in Mexico, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for someone to figure out something is wrong, to see if Miguel would act on it.

He has a different feeling this time, nothing hot or burning like before. It spreads through him, a searing pain. It isn’t jealousy anymore, fear perhaps.

Maybe it is, he realizes.

Letting you plant doubt into my head at Miguel’s birthday was a mistake.

Maybe it was.

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

I Still Do

A/N: Track 1 from my Everybody Else is Doing It , So Why Can't We? soundtrack fics. One day I'll write a super fluffy Matt fic. That day is not today, but someday! Listen to the song here

Warnings: None unless you count angst.

Word Count: 976

Matt Murdock was sure of two things. The first being that the path he was choosing to walk, being Daredevil, meant that he had to walk it alone. There was no room in his life for anything else - there couldn’t be. To have someone discover who he was and then use that against him? He didn’t want to entertain the idea more than he already had. 

The second thing Matt was sure of? He loved you. He loved you more than he would ever care to admit. You had come into his life like an unyielding flame consuming him from the inside out. He would happily die at your altar, burning himself to keep your flame alive. That was what he was doing now. Walking away so that you could never be hurt because of him. No matter his feelings for you - it was best for you. 

That was what he told himself at least. When Foggy had asked why you’d stop coming around Nelson and Murdock, he’d made some lame excuse about both of your jobs taking up too much of your time. Foggy didn’t buy it for a second, but he didn’t push. Matt wasn’t sure if he was grateful for it or if he really wanted Foggy to rip into him. 

Matt had made it a habit to listen out for you on his nightly patrols. There was one close call a few nights ago. A mugger had gotten the wrong idea, but Matt had beat him to it. You knew better than to walk alone at night, he supposed you probably didn’t have any other better option. He had made sure you made it into your apartment, waiting for the gentle click of the lock before he left. 

He was exhausted now, files strewn across his desk haphazardly. He listened halfheartedly to the computer reading to him. Matt took off his glasses hoping to rub the exhaustion from his face. If he wasn’t so tired he might have heard it. 

“Uh, Matt, buddy?” 

“Yeah, Foggy?” 

He could hear Foggy swallow, sense the heat rising off his skin - flushing. Matt furrowed his eyebrows as Foggy’s heart spiked. 

“Foggy? What is it?” 

“Well, you have a visitor.” 

“A client?” 

“No, more of the ‘best thing that ever happened to you that you let slip away’ variety”. 

“Foggy-” 

“Sorry, Matt.” He could hear Foggy fleeing from the room. Matt let out a short breath. Inhaling, he could smell your shampoo. He could hear the gentle thumping of your heart, even and calm. 

He tilted his head to the side. Matt couldn’t say the same about his own heartbeat, erratic and wild. An addict with his fix within his grasp. 

“Matthew, we need to talk.” Your voice was clear, sharp. 

He simply nodded at you, as you closed the door behind you. Matt tried to breathe, to calm himself, but all he could sense was you - consumed again by your flame. 

He cleared his throat. “What did you need to talk about?” 

You scoffed at him. “You’ve been following me.” 

You said it like a statement, an irrefutable fact. You weren’t wrong of course. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Matt leaned back in his chair, his palms still flat against the table. 

“Oh, come off it, Matt,” you nearly whined, “You really think I don’t know?” 

Matt swallowed thickly, his hand unconsciously moving to loosen his tie, “I really don’t-” 

“The bruises,” you started, “the black eyes, the never ending bandages all over your body-” you stood up now, leaning across the table, your face inches from him. “There are only so many accidents you can explain away, Matt.” 

He could feel your eyes on him, feel the heat rising off your skin. 

“Just tell me why.” 

“Why?” He knew his voice was hoarse, raspy. He hadn’t felt this trap since Foggy’s confrontation when he found out. 

“Why follow me? I mean God, Matt, you broke up with me! You…you-” you caught your breath, leaning away from him. “You told me that you could never have a life with me. That you would never feel that way about me.” 

Your heart was pounding now, it almost overtook the clear pain in your voice…almost. 

“Why can’t you leave me alone then, huh? Why would you want to put up with me presence any-” 

“I don’t-” 

“Please, Matt, don’t make me feel any crazier than I already do.” 

He could hear your heart muscles constricting, your breath growing more shallow. It nearly broke him. 

“I can’t let you get hurt because of me. This is the only-” 

“Don’t you see, Matt?” your voice growing more frustrated, “something could happen to me no matter what. You don’t get to make that choice for me- only I can make that choice you stupid asshole.” 

You placed your hand on the door, your breathing trying to even now. “Either be with me or don’t. You can’t have it both ways.” you cleared your throat, “Despite all of it I still love you, Matt. I choose you, Matt. Knowing all of it, I still choose you. What do you choose?” 

You opened the door and walked away, leaving Matt with the weight of your words. 

Foggy popped his head in the door, his hand anxiously rubbing the door frame. 

“Matt-” 

“Please, Foggy.” 

Foggy merely nodded at him before closing the door. Matt felt his heart racing. His thoughts moved in rapid succession. 

Matthew Murdock was sure of two things. The first being his path of isolation. The path he had thought he needed in order to keep everyone he loved safe. He thought he was ready for the sacrifice. 

The only thing Matt Murdock was sure of now was that he loved you. He needed you. But how far could you push someone you love before they just break?

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

Taglist: @thecutealien

[hurthermore]

Haaiii i wanted to come here to express how much i love A Misconduct of Love, bbygrl had me reading until 2am when i had work at 10 today 😭😭😭 i work at a library and im pretty much in the computer lab the entire day (which is exactly where i want to be because i have sweet F-A to do in here, so you're fic has taken me🩷🩷🩷) literally sitting at my little desk, kicking my feet and twirling my hair reading Alastor fawn over Reader even if his intentions are slightly ill-intended AKSHSODJWI only slightly, but I support Alastor's wrongs 🩷🩷🩷 i dont know if you listen to Will Wood at all, but I was listening to his song Vampire Reference in A Minor Key, all the while conducting my own little delusion of your Alastor having this push-pull relationship with Reader. Where its already established how crazy they are for each other, but Reader has yet to leave her vile husband (its the roaring 20's, so it's not like she's really in a place to divorce him anyway, unforch, but that does make their affair all the more enticing) (also im totally and entirely disregarding NY in this scenario btw, lemme be delusional xoxo) and I can see Reader like. Drugging her husband every night to make him drowsy and crash before he can force her into anything. Then she sneaks off into the night where she finds herself at Alastor's doorstep, and he welcomes her with open arms. Being the gentleman he is, he'll encourage her to share her feelings, how her day has been, what that disgusting husband of hers has been up to and more importantly, did he hurt her today? Is she okay? If shes harmed, he'll do his best to take care of her, console her before leading her into a soft and slow, passionate kiss. One that Reader's been desperately craving and she reaches out to hold his face. He's pulling her in and leaning her back into the couch until he's hovering over her. They're groping each other and Reader, desperate to be loved in a way thats meaningful, reaches for Alastor's collar first. Her fingers are clumsy but determined as shes releasing the buttons on his waistcoat. This certainly isnt the first time this has happened, but Alastor remains pleasantly surprised everytime she initiates first, but that doesnt mean he'll giving her the satisfaction of pleasuring him first. No matter what, its always his utmost duty to treat her until shes had her fill - until shes begging for him to finally be inside her, and god knows he could never deny her. With Alastor, she wants it all. She wants his everything and anything he is willing to provide her. Dare she say, she wouldnt even mind if she ended up pregnant with Alastor's child (i have a breeding kink IRL, and I strongly believe, after falling into bed with Alastor so many times, she'd develop her own breeding kink with him as well) 🩷 they'd become addicted to each other, and it'd be even sexier if she did end up pregnant by Alastor, falsely allowing her husband to believe its his child until both Reader and Alastor reel up and incenerate his ass together 🩷 (burn his ass alive in that horrible, awful house shes been forced to live in for the last year. And listen tearfully as Alastor begs her, genuinely and tearfully begs her to come live with him. Be his wife and let him love her the way she deserves to be loved. And they can be happy together, they can build a beautiful life together with their little one. He genuinely cannot live another day without her, and she feels the same🩷)

.....sorry for writing essentially my own fanfic of *your* fanfic in your inbox, you can delete this if you want!! You have me romanticising at my job today, trust that I will be thinking about Alastor and Reader for the rest of my afternoon xoxoxo ilu 🩷✨️

AHHH TYSM FOR ENJOYING MISCONDUCT!! I also LOVE this so much, unfortunately it’s not where I plan to take misconduct sorry.

But don’t apologise for writing this! I loved it and I kinda wished more people would write things like this for misconduct it makes me so happy sksks

Ty for taking your time to not only read misconduct but write all of this! I’m working hard to try to finish the next chapter!! 👉👈

[just-some-random-blogger]

Kiss It Better

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: If you love someone, show them. If you're feeling broken, cry. And so if someone you love asks, 'are you alright', when you shed your tears, do not feign falsehood so not to worry them. After all, what point is it to fake your temperament to your love who's memorized you like verse and would burn the world if your tune ever soured?

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: gender neutral reader, war criminal daemon™, yn having a bad day (aka me), hurt/comfort?, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: hello. im not having bad day per se, its mostly just that i find myself unable to do anything creatively, which is horrible considering im a music major and its our midterms and i have to do creative stuff. and i also have many reqs waiting to be done. anyway, writing this to manifest daemon to come into my life and kiss it better, also as like... a palette cleanser. hopefully i can write reqs soon <3 Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise also @sloanexx because you said you watch hotd now you can read my hotd fics too <3

"You there," Daemon calls the attention of a passing servant, "have you s-" He is caught off-guard when the tiny woman makes haste before he could finish his statement. The prince can only watch as she flees.

Well, it was not out of the ordinary for servants to shudder under his gaze and quiver at his requests in certain moments, but he was not particularly threatening today... at least not yet. Daemon would say he woke up particularly chipper actually, so he had no idea as to why that girl fled.

No matter.

Again, he was in a good mood, he can simply go about and continue looking for who he was looking for-- his fire, his heart, his love.

What cruel ridicule it was of the gods to make his person precisely opposite to him on this day.

Much like other instances, Daemon was successful in finding his beloved in the place that he often did. And so upon opening the library doors, he was both relieved and concerned to see his darling sprawled in the middle of the room, looking up to the ceiling as though it held the meaning of life.

He turns over his shoulder, aware of how much talk your position on the floor would elicit from blabbermouths, and closed the door behind him.

Daemon's brows knit. He did not think that the carpet was clean enough for your current use. He made internal note to have someone clean it later.

He turns back to you as you sigh as though many troubles plagued you. And so the prince reacted the way he normally did, he snorted under his breath and shook his head. He did not doubt that you were likely overanalyzing whatever chronicle it was you found entertainment in this time.

Daemon places his hands behind his back as he walks over. The concern in him reemerges when you don't at all move in your place, but then he supposes you knew it was him that was approaching, thus did not bother, since there was no threat.

"Mmm," he leans slightly forward, "enjoying yourself down there, my love?"

You do not move, save for your pupils that dart to him.

Daemon finds himself chuckling under his breath. He raises his brows, "what would you have done if it were not I that walked in?" He clicks his tongue, "not even I can save you from your beloved teachers."

A lie. He would never not save you from anything.

You furrow your brows a fraction. You retort as though you were offended, "I knew it was your footsteps, Daemon."

Daemon straightens up, allowing his hands to fall to his sides, "that does not answer my question."

The prince then walks over you, heading to the chair near the lit fire place. Daemon sits down and watches. You remain a log on the floor. He leans on the back and sinks into his seat, widening the gap between his legs as he looks out to you.

Daemon shakes his head, "come now, you hammy babe. Pick yourself up before I drag you over by your heels."

He calls out your name. He narrows his eyes when you do not answer. He calls out again, and by the third time, he finds offence and bangs on his armrest. He sighs when you still do not move still.

He waits a moment. He waits for your response. Nothing comes. He crosses his arms at your deviance.

"Will you make me repeat myself?" he words slowly.

Still, nothing.

He growls your name out.

Finally, you growl yourself and turn to him. Daemon raises his brows in response. You grumble something under your breath as you begin to shuffle and sort yourself up until you were on your feet.

Daemon watches as you walk over to him. He hides his pleased smile by tutting at you and clicking his tongue, "are you giving me attitude?"

You roll your eyes, "no, your grace."

Daemon tilts his head up, bringing his hands back on the armrest once you're before him, "you just rolled your eyes."

"It's a show of affection, my prince."

He masks his amused breath with a sigh, "very well. I will allow it," he pats his thigh, "now sit on your throne."

You sigh in response. He knits his brows when he spots the pout upon your lips. Daemon pulls his head back and takes your cheek into his palm. Surely, you did not react like this because of his jest.

Daemon is pleased that you chuckle. You claim your spot, legs dangling on the right side of the chair while your head rested on his left shoulder. He kisses your neck and pulls you into him by your thighs, "better, is it not?" He exaggeratedly dusts off your clothes, "you're filthy now."

"Was the plot your most recent read so tragic that you're so woeful?"

You look up at him, pout intensifying, "I can't read, Daemon. I haven't read anything in weeks," you reiterate with much more emphasis, "I. Can't. Read."

He knits his brows tightly before raising them. He watches as you crash your head into him. He looks at your frustrated face, finding his own copying the expression, "well, I never thought you of all people would forget such a skill, but if I must, I will teach readily, starting from the alphab-" he cuts himself when you begin to push yourself off him. He breaks into a laugh, hooking his arms around you, "alright, alright, ñuha jorrāelagon, perhaps it wasn't very funny of me."

You find yourself quickly unable to wrangle when he seals you in his arms. You look at him, unamused look, but he only returns it with a smirk, "I say, it was, in fact, hilarious."

His body pulses with his soft laughter. You roll your eyes, "I'm glad you find this amusing."

"Of course it's amusing," he chuckles, "you're awfully dramatic about it, my whiny baby."

You scoff, flicking his nose, "says the boy who landed Caraxes on the roof of the Lord who dared try to dance with me."

Daemon yelps, clutching his nose before clutching your jaw, "that hurt."

"Oh, please," you hiss, "you're so dramatic about it," you mimic with an exaggerated Daemon impression.

He snorts then grunts. He takes his turn rolling his eyes.

You stick your tongue and headbutt his shoulder before nuzzling into the crook of his neck, "doesn't feel nice, now, doesn't it?"

Daemon leans his head against yours, "it feels nice when I do it you though."

You hum, "that says a lot about you."

For a moment, you both enjoy each other in the silence. Daemon rubs up your arm and massages your scalp, "are you truly so torn about not being able to read books?"

In truth, it was a ridiculous question. Of course being unable to read was not enjoyable to a reader. Daemon knew that sometimes even he stood nothing against bound pieces of paper in your eyes. He's glad you explain your emotions to him anyway.

You huff, "it's... it's just so frustrating. I want to read something. I want to read something so badly, but at the same time, I can't bring myself to do it. The idea seems exhausting, daunting, even."

You let out a laugh as you brush the lines on his face with your thumb. He softens at your affection, "perhaps it would be better if you stop reading for a while then."

You turn to Daemon. Your face twists at his expression, seemingly so appalled by the thought and so genuinely trying to make sense of it.

"Daemon, I haven't."

"Well, stop thinking about wanting to read."

You knit your brows at him as he continues, "maybe your mind is tired of reading the same stories over and over again."

You snort, "I barely make sport of rereading my favorite stories. I'm afraid I won't like them anymore if I do."

"Then if that's the case," Daemon says, "reread something."

You watch him brush his hands on your thighs, "if new stories are too daunting, then something old will comfort you, surely. After all, you already know what happens. It takes less work, since you won't wonder what happens next."

For a moment, you look at your prince, your rugged prince who had no place for reason when it came to certain matters of you, your darling that flew to the North on a whim because you mentioned there was were tomes there that you had always wanted to borrow, your Daemon that broke a pageboy's arm in anger because he accidentally spilled hot soup on you. He seldom made sense, and yet here he was, offering you all the sense he's got.

Of course, his lack of sense you had to make up for, as you personally apologized to the Starks for the theft of their beloved books, and, of course, you tended to the poor boy Daemon injured yourself while apart from offering a much needed generous compensation.

You look at him and feel your stomach mush at his gentleness.

"You don't think I've gone mad?" you mutter.

Daemon's face twists. He opens his mouth for a moment before speaking, "do you truly believe you would be the mad one between us?"

You laugh. You laugh because he's right. You laugh into his shoulder, curling into a ball of delight. You laugh at yourself but explain, "it's quite mad for me, don't you think?"

You roll your eyes at him.

Daemon pulls you close. You wrap your arms around his torso and kiss his jaw. He releases a deep sigh, "oh, yes. How utterly tragic. I've not yet made you a Targaryen, and yet here you are, succumb to madness," he raises a brow at you, "I ought to do something about it, shouldn't I, my sweet little lunatic?"

Daemon kisses you. Your mind slips into a haze at the feel of his mouth, "pardon me. I meant my mad Targaryen."

[strangersatellites]

somebody somewhere shared my fic I've got this burning desire to set you on fire recently and the kudos on it jumped so fast!! so I wrote part two as a treat!! thanks to whoever that was lmao

this can be read as a standalone or as a companion ficlet to the original fic linked above!

Steve’s students sit with rapt attention under the dimmed lights and Eddie’s theatrical storytelling. While Eddie sits in Steve’s desk chair, his arms gesticulate wildly with a flair like no other. Steve props against the arm of his chair and drags his hand softly up and down Eddie’s back while he lets himself fall into the memory. 

Last October

Corroded Coffin’s show at The Venue at Fourth and West is the biggest they’ve played yet.

Seven thousand people and Steve and Robin, as always, take their rightful place on the front and center barricade. 

Eddie’s on stage, adrenaline pumping and energy high as they play through their last song before the encore. 

From his vantage point he’s got a perfect view of Steve singing his heart out and dancing with Robin, wearing a smile so bright it puts the spotlights to shame. 

If Eddie’s heart wasn’t already pounding at the sight it would be as he holds out the last chord of the final song on their set. 

As the noise in the room swells with the crowd’s cheers and applause, the lights dim and Eddie sees the other three guys slip off stage.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Eddie meets the stagehand to his left and switches his Warlock for an acoustic. 

Where he stood centerstage previously, there now sits a stool and a mic stand. He makes himself comfortable, sat far back with one foot anchored to the ground and the other braced on the stool’s cross-rod. 

A single spotlight beams down directly on him as he leans over to speak into his mic.

“Alright, alright. I’ve got one last song for you today and it’s pretty special. Now I’m saying this once and I don’t want to hear shit about it again, got it? I do not care if you do not like this song because it's not for any of you motherfuckers!” 

Laughter ripples through the crowd and a few people in the audience yell back. 

Eddie scans his eyes across the crowd and they land on his boy once more. He can only imagine his smile mirrors the one he sees on Steve’s face.

“Hey baby,” he starts and lets out a breathy laugh when Steve rolls his eyes and hides his face in his hands. “Don’t hide sunshine, I’ve got a song for you.” He snaps and waves at the security guards and waves them Steve’s way. “Come on up Stevie, you know the drill.”

Know the drill he does. While Steve hops the barricade and is led to the stage, Eddie addresses the crowd once more.

“Like I said, this song is not for any of you so I do not want to hear shit from any of you, okay?” He sets to loosening the strap on his guitar when Steve makes it to center stage with him.

Just out of earshot of the mic Steve props his hands on his hips and grins. Asks, “Okay, what’re we doing this time?”

Eddie smirks and holds his guitar out to his right and pats the front of the stool for Steve to sit.

Steve snorts as he makes his way over. “If you think my ass is going to fit there you’ve got another thing coming.”

Eddie barks out a laugh and shifts further onto his stool as Steve sits, his back pressed tight to Eddie’s chest. He smacks a kiss to Steve’s cheek and waggles his eyebrows.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”

He swings his guitar back over his own shoulder and across Steve’s chest, hooks his chin over his shoulder and adjusts his grip.

Steve giggles down at the action and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

“How many times did you make Gareth practice this with you?” He laughs.

“Too fucking many!” Gareth yells from his place in the wings.

Eddie shushes them both and kicks his mic stand a little closer as he starts to strum. He leans in close to Steve’s ear and whispers “Love you Stevie,” before he starts humming into the mic.

Realistically he knows he has approximately seven seconds before Steve catches on. He savors the brief moments where Steve just smiles and sways along.

At second six the recognition flutters across his features and he snaps his head towards Eddie.

“Is this fucking Taylor Swift?”

Eddie laughs and says “Eddie’s Version.”.

Steve laughs and rubs a hand down his face. Eddie hears a muffled “Oh my god” just before he begins to sing. 

Hey Stephen, I know looks can be deceiving

But I know I saw a light in you

And as we walked we would talk

And I didn't say half the things I wanted to

Robin, god love her, Eddie sees has taken her role in this whole shenanigan very seriously. Having rounded up every photographer and videographer right up in front of center stage. Her own smile is barely contained where she covers her mouth with her hands.

Of all the guys tossing rocks at your window

I'll be the one waiting there even when it's cold

Hey Stephen, boy, you might have me believing

I don't always have to be alone

Just before he makes it to the chorus Steve’s laughter has calmed down and he’s left with a pleased smile as he sways to the music braced against Eddie’s chest. 

Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel

Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so

Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you

Can't help it if there's no one else

Mmm, I can't help myself

He swings his guitar up and over Steve’s head and tugs him back onto the stool as he steps off. Steve looks at him with a confused smile but he doesn't go too far. He props a foot up on the cross-rod and leans in close when he starts again.

Hey Stephen, I've been holding back this feeling

So I've got some things to say to you 

I've seen it all, so I thought

But I never seen nobody shine the way you do

He spins around with a flourish and props on Steve’s other side and flutters his eyelashes to make Steve laugh again.

The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name

It's beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change

Hey Stephen, why are people always leaving?

I think you and I should stay the same

Before the second chorus he breaks out of his Steve induced trance and looks back to the crowd and laughs when he’s met with a sea of flashlight beams swaying back and forth. When he looks back at his boy he finds him giggling with a look of awe on his face.

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel

Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so

Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you

Can't help it if there's no one else

Mmm, I can't help myself

He leans in close and says “Alright we’re gonna switch it up here Stevie, you ready?”

Steve smiles as bright as the sun. “For anything.”

Eddie takes his guitar off and hands it off to someone, he doesn’t know who to be honest. Doesn’t really care. 

Gareth and Jeff take up playing the song while Eddie takes the mic off its stand.

They're dimming the stage lights

You're perfect for me

Why aren't you here tonight?

I'm waiting alone now

So come on and come out

And pull me near

And shine, shine, shine

The boys keep playing as Eddie’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest. He looks at Steve one more time, sees him smiling and happy. 

He reaches a hand into his back pocket and feels the box he’d snuck in when he switched guitars.

Takes a deep breath and drops down to one knee.

If he could hear over the blood in his ears he’d hear the crowd go crazy and the incessant sound of camera shutters.

But as it is he swears he can hear Steve’s sharp intake of breath when he realizes what’s happening.

Hey Stephen, I could give you fifty reasons

Why I should be the one you choose

All those other girls, well, they're beautiful

But would they sing this song for you?

Steve’s got his hand covering his mouth and tears in his eyes and he’s nodding. He’s nodding even though Eddie hasn’t asked yet and he loves Steve so much.

I can't help it if you look like an angel

Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so

Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you

Can't help it if there's no one else

Mmm, I can't help myself

He doesn’t even get to finish the rest of the lyrics because Steve is up and off the stool and has both hands pressed to his cheeks dragging him into a fierce kiss before he can even think. 

Eddie’s smiling and laughing so much that it's all teeth. But he’s so happy it's all teeth, it's all love, it's all Steve.

His arms are around Steve’s waist and the mic is somewhere, he doesn’t know or care.

“Stevie, baby. Baby I haven’t asked,” he laughs onto Steve’s lips.

Steve wraps his arms around his neck and buries his face in his shoulder.

“Yes. A hundred times yes. Don’t care. Yes!”

Eddie pulls Steve to face him with two hands on either side of his face, one still holding the box.

“Stevie, will you marry me?”

Steve's laugh resembles a sob but he’s smiling and nodding again and Eddie’s never been happier. 

“Yes.”

~~~~~

“You proposed with a Taylor Swift song?!” The curly-headed kid in the front row screeches.

Eddie uses his context clues to assume this is Dustin. 

Steve pipes up from his spot beside him. “He used to sing me that song when we were dating and it always made me laugh. I especially liked it when he would sing it in a Metallica shirt.”

Several of the other kids snort.

The door swings open in a flourish and Robin comes barreling in.

“Dude, are you holding your kids hostage? What’s goin– Oh hey Eds!” She waves.

“Hey Birdie.”

Steve looks at his watch and swears under his breath. “Alright guys, who’s going to Miss Buckley’s class next? Get out of here. I’ll sort the rest of you out.”

Eddie waves him off. “Don’t worry about it Stevie. I told Ms. Loretta in the office to let Nance and Jon know they’d be late to next period.”

Steve scoffs in shock. “Loretta likes you too much. I don’t know how you got in her good graces. Why would you do that though?”

“Well I thought your kiddos,” he gives the students a pointed glance,” would have figured me out by now and I wanted to bug them about their super cool, hot teacher.”

Steve claps his hands together in exasperation. “Okay, that’s enough. Everybody out!”

Students zip up their bags and filter out of the room and Robin knocks them on the back of the head as they walk out the door.

Steve shoves at Eddie’s shoulders. “You too! Go talk to Ms. Loretta, I have assignments to grade!”

Eddie laughs and ambles towards the door. He stops in the door frame and looks back at Steve who has his hands on his hips behind his desk. He wolf whistles and smiles back at him.

“See you at home big boy,” he winks. 

“Out!”

[creaturecomfxrts]

wip huskerdust fic ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

let me know what you think! i want to finish it but…. whos to say….

Angel Dust shifted in the satin bar stool he was currently perched upon. In one of his many hands he swirled an obnoxiously fruity cocktail. In another, he propped his head up, slender fingers curled as his knuckles rested against his cheek, ever conscious of how he looked. If the spider didnt look like a slutty pin up doll from every angle, it wasnt enough. At least its not a floozy nightclub, he thought , sipping the drink as he surveyed the room. The pink liquid burned delightfully on the way down. It wasn’t as good as the custom drinks Husk made him. He missed the little umbrellas.

The place was huge and packed with people, gold studded walls, crystal glasses teeming with whiskey on the rocks and overblown confidence. Poker tables were spread out among the floor and sinners in gaudy outfits cashing in their life savings as the cards, chips, and booze flowed. Casinos weren’t his outing of choice, but he’d decided to join a mission that the radio demon had sent Husk on, if only because he was bored out of his fucking MIND in the hotel. It had nothing to do with the genuine companionship he had begun to feel toward the grumpy old man. Absolutely fucking nothing. Their present goal was to topple a rising new overlord’s empire, or at least begin the process of doing so. The two were here strictly to collect as much information as possible, get as little dirt on their hands as they could. Alastor had said the overlord was “unchivalrously inching closer to his territory”, whatever the hell that meant, and he simply would not allow his power to be contested. Husk, being a former overlord of gambling himself, was perfect for the job, much to his chagrin. Alastor had recruited him for task earlier that day, slinking over to the bar with his signature grin stretching at the edges of his face. Husk grumbled about it as much as one would expect, but largely held his tongue, accepting the assignment. Angel empathized, knowing the cold and sickly pull of the leash just as well as his friend. Alastor kept his cards closely tucked to his chest, no doubt the trait that scored him husks soul, so very few knew the cat’s affiliations with him. They both preferred it that way. now, hours later, they had arrived at the casino, and angel found himself with nothing important to do. Husk had told him as soon as they walked in to simply just “sit and look pretty” over by the bar while he worked the room. With no shortage of innuendos on his end, Angel and Husk parted ways to opposite ends of the joint. It had barely been an hour and the spider already had to fend off multiple overly handsy patrons with gold toothed smiles and flashing eyes, promising to win big just for him, or more likely, for whatever they hoped to get from him in the cheap hotels lining the streets outside the joint. None of them offered good information, not yet, anyway.

With nothing better to do in the moment, he found his gaze utterly drawn to Husk. There was nothing particularly eye catching about the man, at least at first glance. He was short, often rude, and had a prickly personality to match his rough appearance. Angel had originally not given him a second thought, just being glad that the cat kept the booze coming cheap and convenient, but the more time they spent tossing lighthearted animosity over the counter of the dingy bar, the more he found himself genuinely appreciating the bond they’d tediously settled into. He, only in the privacy of his own thoughts, tentatively called the man his friend.

Said man, in the present, was leaning back in a mahogany booth, cigar (where the fuck did he get that? Angel wanted one. The fuck?) lit, the smoke lazily propped between two wickedly sharp claws. Husk’s expression, though not close enough to read poperly, was completely relaxed. His poker face was immaculate. Even from here, he could see the other players tensed shoulders and baited breath, no doubt unnerved. Husk had piles of chips on his side of the table, and it would take a blind and deaf motherfucker to not predict the outcome of this round. Girls in seqiun miniskirts and too tight dresses leaned as close as Husk would allow, enamoured by his expertise. Angel bristled a little, then remembered himself. What the fuck was he jealous of? He could pull anyone in this place. He pushed the feeling down as quickly as it arose, refocusing on the center of his attention. They had barely been an there an hour, and Husk already had half the room wrapped around his finger. He was magnetic. Angel turned, only for a moment, to guesture for a refill when an enraged wail came from the far table of the casino. He whipped around, comically, alongside the bartender, who was just as engrossed in the match as he was. Husk must be somethin’ special if he could get the staff’s attention, Angel mused. The wail had come from a particularly sore loser, an imp in a finely pressed suit with his tail lashing as he forked over his previous winnings. Husk, fittingly, was grinning like a cat who just got the cream. Angel snickered at his own stupid joke. He felt something flutter in his chest at the confident expression gracing the cat’s face. It was so different from his usual tightly wound, brow-perpetually-furrowed, glowering kind of look he seemed to always have. Angel decided pontedly to not dwell on the fact that he paid close attention to the bartenders expressions to be able to even notice that in the first place. He took a rather large sip from his drink.

Snuffing out the cigar on the provided ashtray, Husk rose frim his seat, brushing past his new admirers with a flick of his feathered tail, heqding in Angel’s direction. The smug look had settled into a satisfied grin as he thumbed through the fat stack of cash between his paws. He slid onto the barstool next to Angel, placing his earnings between them with a happy sigh.

“This place is a shithole compared to the casinos I used to run, but by God, its good to be back.” He nearly purred, finishing up his tally of the money.

“You really know ya’ stuff, dontcha kitten?” Angel hummed, beginning to like this new side of Husk. The cat stretched, bones popping, no doubt from staying still so damn long.

“What the hell do you think?” His retort held no bite to it. “I didn’t become an overlord by fucking around, thats how I lost it.” He Paused, lost in thought for a moment. “Anyway, any luck, Legs? I aint got much information on my end, but another few rounds should get them talkin’, I’d say.”

“Nope. Justa bunch of horny freaks. nothin’ useful.”

“Keep workin it baby, your next drinks on me. Holler if you need anything.” He slid a hefty sum of cash to Angel, turning away as the spider retorted that he could buy his own drinks thank you very much.

“Think of it as a thank you for luggin’ your ass out here with me” The cat said over his shoulder, before slinking back into the fray to look for a new game to decimate. Angel watched him leave, the fluttering feeling back with a vengeance in his chest, somewhere underneath all the fluff and heartache.

After that brief yet confusing interaction, Angel drowned himself in cocktail after cocktail, getting comfortably wasted. He flirted with everyone, played his best “you can look but you cant touch” game he could. It was hard. Husk was far too distracting. The cat was drifting from slot machine to roulette table to poker game, round and round, only stopping to drop off his earnings with Angel. With each jackpot his eyes grew brighter. His posture straightened. His honeyed drawl grew smoother. His tail curved at the tip and twitched ever so slightly, a sign of happiness, and perhaps the only emotion he couldn’t mask from his adversaries across the table. Angel would never admit that he’d looked it up (He’d been curious. Could you blame him? The man never talked feelings. Angel had to learn to read body language, that was it.), and worse, found it ridiculously endearing. After not so subtly letting down yet another drunken suitor with no valuable information, he felt a brush of feathers against his back. Husk joined him at the bar, yet again with more winnings. “Making good use of that cash, huh, spider?” He quipped before flagging the bertender for a shot of whiskey.

“You know it Daddy” he cooed with a drunken grin, leaning in to the other demons personal space.

“Shaddup with that shit.” Husk grumbled, pushing Angel back, soft paw shoved into his face. “I aint your client.” Perhaps Angel was too drunk, but he swore he saw a hint of color tinge the other man’s furry cheeks. Husks brow furrowed, and the moment passed. “Wait… Ive got an idea.”

Angel cocked his head, curious.

“Theres a lot of pompous freaks in this casino. More so than many i’ve been to. Its clearly the atmosphere the overlord of this area wants to cultivate.” He continued. “You fit right in—

“Hey! I-“

“Let me finish. You fit right in to these motherfucker’s wettest dreams. You’ve had no shortage of suitors tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately.”

Wanna be my arm candy?”

Angel felt his face explode with heat.

“What.”

“I- ahm- ‘scuse me. That came out wrong, sorry doll.” Husk coughed. “I mean, will you act as my arm candy for the evening? with your pretty little face on my arm, ive got a feelin’ people are gonna be a lot more loose lipped.”

Angel blinked. He blinked again. “You think thatll work, Husky? really? I mean i know im hot but i dunno…. you seem to be workin the crowd pretty damn well, kitty cat. Wouldnt wanna break yer stride.” He fidgeted with his many hands, not sure what to do with such a polite yet bold proposition. Normally, people dont ask, they just take. If Val wanted arm candy, he grabbed whoever he wanted whenever he wanted, including Angel. Especially Angel. This was different. He was snapped out of his head when Husk replied, kind as ever.

“Trust me, kid. It’ll work wonders. Whaddya say?” He slid off the stool, downing his shot before holding out a hand to Angel.

Angel nearly tripped over himself taking it. They walked shoulder to shoulder like a proper couple, elbows linked. Husk leaned closer, “New place, same job. Sit and look pretty. Do whatever you like. Flirt all ya want. But, if ya dont mind, just let me do the talkin, okay?”

Angel could only nod, butterflies swarming in his stomach so ferociously he felt nauseous for a moment.

[readychilledwine]

Cassian Week Day 2 Prompt Gentle-

A/N: Cassian has My heart, but I rarely can write him as a love interest the way some people so amazingly can. When I think of Cassian, I think of my older brother. A kind, loving, and gentle person who, due to his larger size, was cast into this role of a dominating force, and Cassian embraced it. "Gentle" is my absolute favorite prompt from this week, and I had planned to keep this to myself, but I have so many little fics and drabbles already locked away that I wanted to make sure anyone else who sees Cassian as the safe big brother also had something to read.. So enjoy 💜

Warnings- implied injury and unedited (you know the best warning)

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

Reader is the youngest Archeron sister, and after being made, has begged Rhysand to allow her to have combat training. Hand to hand doesn't go as planned, though, when Azriel gets asked to spar her so Cassian can watch and take notes on her progress.

—----------

Your back hit the training mat with a loud thud. All you could do was blink the shock from your system as Cassian ran over to your side separating you from Azriel. The loud cough and gasp you released as your body screamed for oxygen had you rolling to your side.

"What the fuck, Az?" Cassian was in shock. His voice was muffled to your ears as you tried to focus on calming the burning sensation in your lungs.

"She was doing so well, I just-" Azriel sighed at the look Cassian shot him, "I got caught up in thinking it was someone more experienced. I thought she could handle it." Azriel's own guilt hit you instantly as he watched you curl up on the ground. "Y/N, I am so sorry. I didn-"

"We haven't even begun to discuss what to do when someone is about to throw you or slam you down. She has only trained for a few weeks, Azriel." Cassian moved to you, kneeling on one knee at your side as your body continued to try to breathe through the pain in rushed pants. "Y/n, are you okay?" Cassian's rough hands braced your neck softly as he sat you up and leaned you against his thigh. "Arms above your head, baby. You knocked her breath straight out of her." Cassian moved you again, trying to stop you from decompressing your chest and stomach, "Next time, push your body weight the opposite way he is throwing, y/n. Do not let Azriel rag doll you." Azriel scoffed at the comment, kneeling down next to you on the other side and holding your hand in his.

Cassian pulled you in closer to him with a glare. He was softly rubbing his hand up and down your spine slowly to coach you into deep breaths. "Breathe sweetheart, you're okay. In through your nose, out through your mouth. There we go, just like that." Cassian smiled brightly at you as your breathing became more regular. "Rhys and Nesta are going to kill you." He looked at Azriel with a serious expression. "Ness already is upset we are forcing her to train. She might actually steal a knife and stab you."

Azriel sighed deeply. "That would get Nesta out of her room at least." They both watched as you cracked the smallest smile before leaning into Cassian more. "I think she's done for today. That will leave a nasty bruise. I'll have one of the twins go to the room to rub salve on it."

Cassian nodded in agreement. Your eyes met the upset ones of another male as Cassian began to speak again. "I'll carry you up to your room, y/n. Az, can you clean up here? I want to talk her through what she did well and wrong. Y/n, Please don't tell Rhys about this.."

"He already knows," you whispered softly before pointing to the doorway where your sister's husband stood. His hands were tucked into his pockets as he studied the scene before him. Anger graced his face as he took in your disheveled, messy braid of dark brown hair, your red face, and your soft pants from being unable to take a full breath yet. Cassian chuckled lowly while looking between Rhys and Azriel. "Be nice, Rhys. I asked. It was-"

"I told Cassian to train you," the high lord said sternly. "Strictly for this reason. Now I get to tell Feyre you were hurt tonight when we speak."

Azriel was the first to turn as Cassian gently picked you up, supporting your knees with one of his arms. "Let's go get you a bath, princess," he whispered gently into your ear. "They're about to fight and it might get ugly. Our dear Rhysie has some pent up anger that he does not want to admit to, and Azriel is always more than happy to fight him."

You nodded, arms going around his neck so you could tuck yourself further into his chest. "Why did he want you to train me?"

"I would never throw you this early. Soft gentle movements until you have more experience, more balance, better strength. Az didn't want to baby you. Rhysand and I did. Because. Well. You are the baby." His voice was soft as he reached the room you and Azriel had begun to share since being made.

He continued after opening the door. "Azriel felt that was unnecessary. That you were capable and babying you after you begged us to ensure you never felt helpless again was unfair."

"And he won because of the bond?" Cassian nodded to the question as he set you down on the bed and Sat beside you.

"We compromised. I told him I would train you with progress updates every two weeks where he was involved. That is why he was there today. To spar you while I watched to see what I needed to fix, what we could progress on. I will be talking to him, though. You were not ready for that level of hand to hand. He needs to be more gentle with my baby sister."

Cassian's hand continued rubbing up and down your back as he held you. "Your footing was wonderful. You have made so much progress in the past couple of weeks. Feyre would be proud." He smiled down at you, then switched to a serious face, "You had a few strikes we need to work on, and we need to teach you how to get out of a few holds again. You did very well, though. I am very happy with your progress."

You smiled against his chest. "It must be the good, gentle teacher."

Cassian hummed as he placed a kiss on your head and pulled you in for another warm hug. "Or the aggressive dedicated student."

[cheezeybread]

American McGee Alice anon, back at it again [if I keep this up, I might label myself something cheesy like "Anon McGee." How does that sound?]

I was going to gather more to send your way regarding the topic of the last request, but I couldn't actually put much together today. So, instead, I'm delivering some potentially mildly incoherent ramblings and a lot of creative freedom to take them wherever you'd like.

I'm thinking especially of something along the lines of- likely post Riddle Overblot- a gradual shift into the MadAlice Reader becoming more genuinely comfortable with everyone in Heartslaybyul as they begin to create a differentiation between them and that which hurt them in the previous mental wonderland they'd retreated to.

Obviously there's still plenty of Rocky moments to be had- just because they're comfortable doesn't mean all will always be well- but overall, I'm just thinking of a bit of a fluffy-ish scenario that encapsulates the reader growing closer to the students of Heartslaybyul. Maybe hurt/comfort at best, but still comfort nonetheless.

Again, take as many creative liberties as you want here, I'm doing my best to balance being vague enough to allow wiggle room but also trying not to keep too many details out to the point it's just entirely unclear, lmao.

YEAAHHHH ANON MCGEE BACK AT IT AGAIN! Totally start calling yourself that now, it has such a silly ring to it!

Don't worry, I totally got you (unless I don't oops), so have this little sucker of a one-shot! I haven't written very many comfort fics lately, so I might be a taddddd rusty, sorry!

𝐅𝐭: 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞, 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐲, 𝐀𝐜𝐞, 𝐃𝐞𝐮𝐜𝐞, 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

..••°°°°••..

You had woken up sooner, rather than later, to the relief of the entire Heartslabyul dorm. But no one was more relieved than Riddle.

As soon as you woke up, Riddle was there, leaning his head down to read out of a thick textbook. You almost didn't recognize him at first...he wasn't wearing the attire you normally saw him in. Instead of the crown and wonderland-esque uniform, he had on a shirt that looked to be a size too big, and a baggy pair of sweatpants.

You sat up slowly, the movement sending a dull throb through your back. Geez, how long were you out? The shuffling of the bed made Riddle's head jerk up, and the tension on his face faded as soon as he saw your eyes opening.

"You...you're awake," He said, his voice in a whisper.

You couldn't think of what to say to this guy who was practically a stranger to you, so you made a small "mhmm" back.

Riddle looked back down to his textbook before closing it softly, setting it down on the ground beneath his chair. He took his time before looking back up at you, his gaze focused on your shoulder rather than your eyes.

"I wanted to say that I'm...sorry," He started, a bit awkwardly. One of his hands reached down to his sweatpants, idly pulling at the fabric "For everything. I wasn't very kind to you, which went against one of the rules of the-" He stopped himself, furrowing his brows "I mean, it wasn't nice of me. And I knew that you had some...issues with our dorm. But yet, because of me, you kept having to be dragged back there. Even though I could tell how much it was hurting you."

Riddle sat up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath before continuing "I was....wrong. It was wrong of me to treat you like I did, and I was wrong about so much other stuff, too. The Quee- sorry, her rules aren't everything, and since my accident, I've come to understand that the person with the most power isn't necessarily the most right, much less the most righteous ruler there could be." He folded his hands in his lap "I know that you have issues, I can see the burns on what little parts of your skin show. I hear from Ace, from Cater, everyone who's seen you, that you have something happening. Some sort of paranoia. And I cannot express how deeply apologetic I am for playing into your fear."

You swallowed thickly, trying your best not to remember the events that transpired just before you blacked out. You tried not to see the malice and hatred in Riddle's eyes now that you had seen before. But it was hard. "M'kay," was all you could manage.

"I won't disrespect you by demanding you tell me what's going on, or what had happened to you in the past," Riddle continued "I only wish for you to help me act better, for you to tell me how I can help. I wish to improve myself, and my dorm, to become a place where you can rest easier than you have in the past. Or, if you'd rather be left alone by us entirely throughout your stay at this school, I can do my best to ensure my students won't get in your way in the slightest."

He...he actually wanted to help you? After all that happened, after all that he himself went through as well? The thought brought a small smile to your face, and you reached out a shaky hand, resting it on top of Riddle's head

"That sounds nice."

Riddle gave a small smile in return, his relief palpable. He had expected you to blow up in anger, based on how he acted. To see you holding no ill will towards him was more than he could hope for. He stood up quickly, nodding his head towards you in a professional manner, before he walked out of the room.

It wasn't until a week later that you realized he had not worn his uniform so that you wouldn't panic at the sight of him.

★・・・・・・★

Things were slowly getting better. For real this time.

It wasn't easy, but no recovery ever should be. But with some baby steps, you were on your way to a better place, mentally and emotionally. You could tell that Riddle was healing alongside you, which made the path to happiness a little more rewarding.

You never did tell the Heartslabyul dorm what had happened to you in detail. Only offhandedly mentioned your scars coming from a house-fire. And they never asked for any more information, despite their intense curiosity that you could feel oozing out of them with every glance towards you. You suspected this was mainly because of Riddle's influence over them. You were grateful for it.

Speaking of, Riddle kept his word, true and deep.

You gave a text everytime that you were about to come over to their dorm, and Riddle would instruct his student to change into their loungewear, even if they were in the midst of doing work. He told Ace and Deuce, knowing that the two of them were around you more often, to warn you when there was an Unbirthday party at their property, so they could, in turn, warn you.

He even asked if you'd like them to wear makeup over the card symbols on their skin. It was an enticing offer, since the symbols still made your heart sink every time you noticed them...but you denied it. You had to learn to deal with some things, or else you may not heal fully. Besides, Riddle and the others were bending over backwards for you as it was, it would be unfair for you to make an obscenely large amount of demands of them.

You cooked with Trey, who always made a habit of telling you when he needed a "hand in the kitchen", even though you knew he'd be better off without your held. The two of you would talk about anything under the sun, except for cards, parties, and painting roses red. And in the end, you would get a slice of whatever dessert you two whipped up.

You went on walks with Cater, who kept you up-to-date on the latest trends and scandals going on both in school and in the world around you. He always found some silly story to make the two of you cackle and howl, and eventually, the conversations would drift from real-life stories to fantastical tales involving dragons, knights, and magical geese who could blow up the world with a single honk! They weren't the best made-up tales, but you two had fun with them.

You played games with Ace and Deuce, who were both masters at trying to one-up the other. Sometimes they would get caught in a prank war between each other, and each one would recruit you to prank the other, which led in a lot of back-and-forth banters and ended with them laughing about how you "betrayed" them by joining the enemy's side. Sometimes they would teach you how to play video games, and sometimes you would play a lame version of basketball with the mediocre players.

And you would hang around Riddle while he studied in the library. In return for your company, he would tell you stories about his own life- keeping careful watch of what he said so that he wouldn't slip and begin talking about the Queen- about his mother, his unhappy childhood, and how he had struggled throughout his life with feelings of being inadequate unless he was at the top of the list in anything and everything. He found comfort in telling his secrets, and it almost made you want to tell him yours. But he never asked to hear yours, and in the end, you were content to keep your own secrets.

You were getting better, day by day.

°°••....••°°