#glad to know were all in constant yearning and suck at feelings though

[jourbilee]

tumblr is a weird site half of it is pretty pictures and ridiculous stuff that makes me laugh and the the two half feels specifically designed to call me out on thoughts and behaviors i don't wanna evaluate yet1

[ephemerlskies]

constant craving | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: drabble series, angst, unrequited love, idiot!jungkook, idiot!oc, basically everyone's an idiot

⇢ word count: 1.7k

⇢ warnings: unreciprocated pining, explicit language, themes of hopeless romanticism (!!), (slightly) unedited

⇢ summary: your best friend decided to confide in his best friend on how to win his girlfriend back after a fight. you tell him exactly what to say to her, however he is unaware that what you were saying was a sincere delivery of your once undeclared love.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: hello my little loves!! this was definitely ;) not ;) an impulse write and release ;) ;) sorry for being so inactive lately. i've been focusing on myself (i know how cliche that sounds but it's true). anyway, enjoy this incredibly angsts fic i wrote at 2 am for absolutely no reason at all other than i'm an emotional sadist and a masochist. love u!!!! <3

part one: control

He was coming over for the third time this week. Third time. Three times is two more times than he'd gone over his girlfriend's house, but you did everything in your power to convince your inconvincible heart that it meant nothing. Friends see each other more than their girlfriends, right?

It was making a racket in your chest, that muscle that strained much harder for a man who had his pumping for the girl of his dreams.

But, he was coming over for the third time this week.

The first time he said this visit ranked, in his words, 'out of the question' on the degree of necessary that he come over and show you Star Wars. You played a good game of reluctance when asking if it was the entire series or just one movie, and in your head, you hoped to God it was the entire series. For him, you'd watch the series four times over if it meant you sat through this outrageously nerdy movie next to the even more outrageously nerdy love of your life.

The second time was particularly funny to you. He called while you were cooking dinner, almost as if he was in stride with you in a way that was an ounce too synchronized to be platonic, and asked if you were whipping up a delicious meal that he could mooch off of. Knowing he was a terrible cook, plus the fact that when he begged so politely you felt your posture unbind into to a puddle, you more than happily obliged.

This time, the circumstances made it harder to say yes, but not yet impossible. And it was a second or two before you heard that knock on the front door that had your once pounding heart come to a complete halt. It was still, waiting for you to make a decision.

Since it was Jungkook, of course, you'd say yes. And your heart would continue beating. Beating, as in sending sharp jabs that stained the inside of your chest with bruises. Beating, as in when the time came, the final blow of your constantly craving heart would devastate your entire being.

"Thank you so much, ___. God, I'm such an idiot." He walked in with all the confidence of someone who was a bit too familiar with your company. Jungkook's feet reintroducing themselves to your floors in the same manner as he would the night before, and the night before that, and the countless nights you kept secured in your collection of memories. As if he belonged there; as if he was coming home.

"An idiot with a great friend." That last word nearly withdrew the bile you had been ever so gracefully holding in.

"Yeah yeah." And he was comfortable with that same word, 'friend', that deepened your bruises into scars. He had absolutely no clue. Idiot. "I can't believe I broke up with her. I was so angry and acted on that instead of logic. Fuck, why would I do that to myself? I love her."

"Well, you never know. Maybe..." You hated yourself for not resisting the selfish temptation that was about to fall from your lips. The words you've been internally screaming to him to leave her and fall in love with you instead were diluted to something much more tame when your tongue formed them into sound.

"Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you guys are better off apart? To, um, grow or whatever."

"No." He said that with too much certainty and too little hesitance and just enough conviction to sink another wound in the organ exhausting itself in your chest. "She's the one. I know it"

"Jungkook."

He looked at you with all the earnestness of a man who carved his utmost and unchanging dedication to her. A look that any love-induced sap would kill for. A look he would never direct towards you.

Your eyes weren't under your control as of now. The glue that held them to his eyes, his lips, his hair, and every other part of him you dreamed of was more than a marathoned yearning. It was an adhesive twelve years in the making, not showing the slightest sign of wearing away.

"The way you love is something to die for..." And then he smiled at you, but still not for you.

You were utterly crushed.

"She'll take you back in a heartbeat. I mean, she has a brain, so of course, she will. Anyone would."

I would.

"I hope you're right." The couch was four feet wide at most, but there was an impressively vast space between you and the man who was sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what to say? You know I suck with words."

"Uh... Yeah. Of course. Anything."

If breaking hearts were a crime, then Jungkook would have much to atone for. You'd be convicted as a willing accomplice for holding on this long. Up until this point, you've let every small glance, every shy smile he sent your way, every eyebrow twitch conveying a meaning only you knew well enough to retrieve him from whatever awkward situation he needed rescuing from, every accidentally brush of his hand against yours, every purposeful embrace that lasted so long your tears stained his right shoulder string you into a knot of miserable, unrequited love.

And up until this point, you had hope he would choose you.

Each ring of his phone worked in tandem to reduce your undying devotion to Jungkook into a compressed seed of denial.

I don't love him. He's just my best friend.

Your pulse pronounced itself loudly in your ears, as a not-so-gentle reminder of how much you hated him for loving him. Somehow, your heart beat faster. Then again, anything was possible when it came to him. Anything except the miraculous event of him hanging up, declaring his love for you, and living in the land of happily ever after that only existed in your deluded imagination.

"Hey Irene! I'm so fucking glad you picked up."

He gave you that look. With the arched eyebrow, his widened doe eyes, and the slightly hung jaw, you read each feature better than words and nodded to signal you knew exactly what he needed.

"I'm sorry about what happened." You said, in a whisper, though the deflated volume of your words carried no implication of the unbridled sincerity sealed in them.

"I'm sorry about what happened." He repeated, laying down that same Irene-contrived smile on you that fostered a smile of your own, knowing fully it surfaced as a reflex from hearing her voice.

"It might be crazy to try this, because I don't know how you feel."

If the thing people say about your life flashing before your eyes during encounters with death, then you were sure your heart was about to consume its last pulse of blood. The scenes of you and Jungkook spending your Friday nights when you were a ripe city dweller in your shoebox apartment doing everything and nothing at all had convinced you that you were certainly about to go into cardiac arrest.

"It might be crazy to say this, because I don't know how you feel." Jungkook was so many things, however emotionally perceptive was not one of them.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you." Those words tasted sweet despite fermenting in a chamber of your heart you kept preserved since, as you said, the very moment you met him.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you."

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

He repeated your words, but dehydrated all of your sentiment from them. You were left with the remnants of the feelings, and none of the words from him you were so desperately starved of. He took them right from your throat, along with the very breath that seemed to keep returning because of Jungkook, molded them into his own, into a sequence of sounds that were meant for Irene. You were left hungry, breathless, and forever wanting.

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

Irene must have been smiling right about now. Who wouldn't smile hearing those things from someone like Jungkook?

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Then, you began to ask yourself another question.

If you make me complete, Jungkook, will my story ever end?

You knew the answer to that. You swore your heart beat in a morse code that told you everything you needed to know.

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Jungkook looked to you, before Irene could form the proper response, and smiled. It was the third time he smiled at you today because of course, you were keeping track. You knew it was his own physically linguistic version of a 'thank you' or a 'you're a life saver' but somehow, to you, it translated to something similar to a 'goodbye'.

Your legs miraculously rose and carried you to the back porch. The sun was just beginning to dip in the horizon, proliferating a warm orange that was about to subside to an indistinguishable and unpredictable dusk. Whatever color came after the sunset, you were ready to accept it, to memorize how it reflected against a world without the possibility of him. And even though the night will always embody undertones of orange, it was time to focus on the colors around it.

It was time to let go.

a/n: i might make this into a drabble series!!! if anyone would be interested in that please let me know :)) thank you for readinggggg <3

[ickle-ronniekins]

break me like a promise

desc: he wanted to tell you how he felt. he wanted to let himself love you. he wanted to do all of these things, but first he made a promise that nobody would get hurt. but when fred was busy looking out for your heart, who was looking out for his?

word count: 3.8k

pairing: WELL THERE ISN’T ANY PAIRING IS THERE???? because unrequited love sucks and i’m feeling real sad and wanted to make fred feel sad too (sry i’m mad at myself too it’s alright you can hate me)

warning(s): angst/sadness/pure heartbreak/i hate everything

A/N: i’d like to personally apologize to fred weasley/people who love fred weasley. might i suggest listening to the piano version of all too well by taylor swift whilst reading this. feel free to cry with me, thanks. PS: i do NOT give consent for my work to be reposted on any other platform.

Just how many times had he heard the words, “Best friends always fall for one another”?

He’d very much like to tell the people that had told him that to kindly piss off, thank you very much.

He’d been hurt many times before. Of course he had. Fred was used to it at this point, he reckoned his body had adapted easily to the constant blows to the shins or knees and things. As a brother, he was always getting ragged on and wrestled with by his other siblings. He’d ended up with black eyes, split lips, knees to the stomach more times than he could count on two hands. As an athlete, he’d taken countless bludgers to the body, either on the Quidditch pitch or in the comfort of his own backyard. George had been prone to getting hurt, too. Of course, Fred had always jumped at the chance to help George feel better, whenever he needed it. Fred loved being the older of the two. He always took his job as “big brother” very seriously, and it only got stronger once Ron and Ginny were born. He wanted to be somebody they could need.

But there was something different about this type of hurt. He couldn’t control it. He couldn’t make sense of it, and nobody could fix it, not even his own twin.

On the outside, Fred had always put forth an aura of confidence. Nothing could get him down, could it? He’d be dammed if he ever let anyone see him with nothing but a huge grin on his face, that usual mischievous glint in his eye. But on the inside, he was just like everyone else.

As a hoarse cry escaped him, he clamped his hand over his mouth, desperate to not let the sounds of his broken heart echo their way down into the common room, to where his friends were indulging in hot cups of butterbeer, cheering for Harry’s tumultuous win versus the others in the tournament, all the while unaware of Fred, unable to control his emotions and crumpling to the ground like a pit of scrap parchment thrown into the bin.

It was his own fault really. He shouldn’t have been so bloody stupid in the first place. He had this coming from the start. He felt a painful, unfamiliar burn in the back of his throat before his vision turned blurry yet again. He didn’t want to replay the sound of you saying I’m so sorry over and over in his head, like a broken record. He muffled some sort of expletive under his breath, and though he’d never admit it, all he yearned for was nothing more than a tight embrace from his brother.

He shouldn’t have let himself say yes.

He could have said no,

but he would’ve hated himself if he had.

“D’you reckon I’d be able to punch that smirk right off of his ugly little rat face?” you’d asked one day, brows threaded together in annoyance. The two of you were sitting in the middle of a Charms lesson, and you were glancing over toward a Ravenclaw who was busy charming his way through every single female student surrounding him with nothing but the batting of his eyelashes. 

You turned back toward Fred and your features twisted into a grin. “I mean, just look at him, would you? What an arrogant little git. Thinks he can just woo his way through a lesson. Ridiculous.”

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” Fred asked you. Playfully, he elbowed you in the ribs, causing you to recoil a bit, and he continued, “wasn’t it just a few weeks ago that he’d been wooing you? Besides, Y/N, pretty sure I’d heard you ramble on about how he’s the best looking bloke in school,” he flipped his long hair dramatically in an attempt to make fun of you and earned himself a nice punch to the arm.

You frowned and folded your arms across your chest. Sneering a bit, you said, “Yeah, that is until he opened his mouth,” You huffed and narrowed your eyes, “He really is a git, you know.”

“So you’re telling me,” Fred started, “that if he came up to you right this moment and asked you to go to the Yule Ball, you’d reject him?”

You nodded and widened your eyes, as if it were obvious. “Well, of course I would!” Flitwick dismissed you all, and you and Fred and the other students filtered out into the corridors to head to the next lessons. Fred gently guided you through the massive sea of students, and you two found a semi-empty spot near the Great Hall. “Sure, he’s good looking and all, but I don’t quite fancy spending the evening with a bloke who’s going to chat my ear off about the origins of his last name and how his parents are basically royalty, and all that.”

“He does not do that.” Fred laughed.

“Swear to Merlin, he does, Fred.” you replied, folding your hand across your heart. Then your eyes brightened. “Besides, why would I want to go with him when I’m going with you?”

That wasn’t the first time Fred had ever felt his heart soar. He’d been mad for you for years, hadn’t he? Yet, each and every time it took him by surprise, because what the hell was that going on inside of his chest? He never wanted to admit to himself how he felt about you, but it got to the point where he couldn’t deny it anymore; not to himself, at least. But nevertheless, he painted a look of confidence across his face so you wouldn’t be able to tell what he was feeling on the inside. He smirked at you, and watched a bit of panic sweep itself across your features. Your eyes widened. “Shit. I mean, you will go with me, won’t you?”

“Oh, was that the plan? Glad to have been a part of it,” he chuckled, hoping his voice didn’t sound too wobbly. He then poked you in the hips and said, “Of course I will. As long as you promise to not hurt me.”

You peered at him with a confused expression and he laughed. “Relax, Y/N. I mean just don’t step on my bloody feet all night.”

You sucked in a deep breath and then rolled your eyes and slinked your arm with his. “Thank Merlin. You didn’t really think I’d go with anyone else, did you? Come on, Weasley. I expected more of you. Now let’s go -- I reckon we’re in for quite the adventure, aren’t we? Can’t wait to see all these Gryffindors fall flat on their feet when McGonagall begins dance training today!”

You tugged on his hand to lead him into the Great Hall, but he merely floated through the air like a leaf being pushed and gently guided by the wind.

-- -

He shouldn’t have let himself get swept away.

He could have let himself go with someone else,

but he still would’ve been thinking about you.

George and Ron had told him to make a move after the Yule Ball. “Just go for it, mate, what could possibly go wrong? It’s obvious how she feels, isn’t it?” Fred wished he knew then just how wrong it could possibly go.

Fred resisted, though. He didn’t want to ruin a good thing. You two had danced the entire night away, you in your pale pink dress and white trainers. You two had been the last on the floor, and only left merely because Professor McGonagall had tapped you both on the shoulders to let you know that the evening was winding down. The band had stopped playing, anyway. And Fred, keen on wanting to make this a night to remember, kept everything exactly as it was. He gave you a small embrace in the common room at the end of the night before heading up to your respective dormitories. He didn’t want to mess anything up, and so he ignored his brothers’ advice and kept his lips shut.

He then began to panic, just as he always did. He began to pretend as though his feelings were fleeting, if only to fool himself. These feelings for you, they weren’t real, right? The way he wanted to hold you close and dance with you forever, the way he felt his heart constrict at the way your lashes fluttered when you looked down nervously toward your feet when he’d complimented you, the way he wanted desperately to lean in and kiss you at the end of the night. They couldn’t be real, because you two were just friends. Perhaps, he reckoned, maybe it was the excitement of the ball. The decorations. The dresses. He’d decided late that evening, still swimming in his high from the Yule Ball, that it had been exactly that -- the ball. It wasn’t you making him go all romantic, it was merely the excitement of the evening, and the tournament, and everyone being paired off in dates and things. He didn’t really fancy you.

He was proved very, very wrong the next morning when he waltzed into the Great Hall and saw you sitting at the table sipping your tea, back in your everyday clothes, back to normal -- just friends, as it had always been. And yet when you turned toward him and smiled, the sunlight highlighting your features in a way that made his heart jump, he knew that he was in over his head, because of course he was! He was mad for you and always had been, no matter how many times he’d tried to convince himself otherwise.

“Freddie!”

He nervously walked over to the table, suddenly feeling ridiculously self conscious for the first time in his life, and you tugged on his arm so he’d sit himself down next to you.

“Was just telling George here how McGonagall had to basically pull us off of the dance floor last night, eh?” your eyes scrunched near the corners when you smiled so deeply. To George, you continued, “He’s quite the dancer, your brother.”

George sipped his coffee casually. “Oh yeah?” he raised an eyebrow up in surprise and smirked, but not for long, because Fred kicked him inconspicuously underneath the table and he groaned in pain.

This went unnoticed by you, Fred gathered, because you kept on talking without so much as a batted eyelash at the twins’ little rift. “Of course! Wildly talented, he is.” To Fred, you said, “We had a lot of fun, didn’t we?”

Fred couldn’t help the immediate grin that spread across his face. “Yeah, we did.” His voice was soft as ever in his own ears, and everything around you both froze, until he heard George cough a bit on his piece of toast. Fred hated nothing more than being so vulnerable, so he attempted a joke, “Except for all the times you stepped on my feet. Blimey, woman, thought I wasn’t going to be able to walk at the end of the night.”

George started to laugh, and you kicked him under the table and swatted Fred with the sleeve of your sweater. “Hey! It’s real bloody hard to dance gracefully in trainers, alright? It’s too bad this doesn’t happen every year, or I’d be able to prove to you how good I actually am.”

“You mean to tell me you’d go with this git to the Yule Ball every single year if we had one?” George asked, throwing Fred a smirk.

“Why not?” you shrugged. “We make a good team. Why, you jealous, Georgie?” you giggled, reaching across the table and snatching his piece of toast and biting into it. The younger twin just glanced at you, unamused, all while Fred could hardly keep the loud pounding in his heart from growing.

You and George became fully immersed in conversation, but Fred was barely paying attention. He was too busy peering at you, indulging his feelings, because he’d have to be an idiot not too, right? He just keep watching you with a new type of admiration in his eyes, and he admitted to himself right then and there, when you glanced back at him mid-laugh as George made some stupid joke, that he was completely and utterly and irrevocably in love with you.

-- -

He shouldn’t have kissed you.

He could’ve just embraced you like normal,

but he would’ve been yearning to feel your lips on his anyway.

It was the one and only time he got to, and now of course he wished that he hadn’t, because all he could remember of it was the surprise of you and the salt from his own tears as they fell down his cheeks and onto his own lips as he rushed toward the Gryffindor tower.

“Oh, Freddie! You’ll never guess what I’ve just heard,” you’d called to him in a sing-song sort of voice down the corridors. You skipped toward him, bag slung over your shoulder as you made your way through students, only to come face to face with the ginger boy in front of the empty Transfiguration classroom you’d both end up in for lessons later.

“Well you going to keep me waiting, or what?” he asked, a bashful smile on his lips, and he couldn’t quite get over how adorable you looked with that cheeky grin on your face.

“Just had a little chat with Alicia,” you started. You grabbed his arm and shook him, “she needs someone to fill in for her in the upcoming match since Madam Pomfrey still won’t let her play, right? So take a gander, Freddie, at who she picked to replace her?!”

“If the answer isn’t you, then this is a terrible story.” he winked.

You cocked your head to the side and folded your arms across your chest. “Lucky it is me, then, yeah?”

For a moment, he thought you were joking until he noticed the evident sparkle in your eye that could only come from being told you’d be able to play in an upcoming Quidditch match. You didn’t even try and hide your excitement; a huge smile split your face and Fred picked you up in his arms and whirled you around, all while shouting how proud he was of you and how he couldn’t wait to take to the Qudditch pitch with you. “Bloody hell, you’re brilliant! No wonder I’m so mad for you.” You didn’t seem to notice his voice of words, because you just giggled like a little kid in his arms and were breathless when he set you down.

He shouldn’t have done it. He knew that. But with all of the excitement and adrenaline were surging between you both, he just had too. How could he not when you peered at him, eyes filled with wonder? How could he not, when he’d been hiding his feelings for so long? How could he not, when you were mere inches from him, and all he wanted to do was know the taste of you?

He shouldn’t have kissed you, but he did anyway. He placed you down gently and you began rambling on about how the entire Quidditch thing had unfolded a few moments before, and he was so filled with overwhelming love for you that he leant in and slowly pressed his lips to yours. At first he thought your shock was a good thing. Perhaps he’d taken you by surprise in the best way, and you’d melt into him and breathe that you’d been waiting for him to do that forever. You’d tell him that you’ve been crazy for him this entire time too, haven’t you? You’d smile and laugh like a little schoolgirl and tug him into a nearby empty classroom to make up for all the time you two had missed together.

But then you pulled back and pure panic took him over. He searched your nervous eyes and furrowed brows for some sort of answer, but all you seemed to be doing was collecting your thoughts. He watched as you tugged anxiously on the strap of your bag and your face flushed a deep, crimson red. He watched you for answers, but the more he searched, the more he felt like he was caught in a rip tide pulling him further and further from the shoreline.

He opened his trembling mouth to speak, but all that escaped him were nervous “um’s” and you kept on shaking your head. “Fred,” you said hoarsely, and he hated how terribly different and foreign his name sounded on your lips. “What.. what are you doing?”

“I --” he stammered, and he felt like a complete idiot for not being able to get the words out. Since when had Fred Weasley ever been tongue tied? Since when had he ever lost his confidence? Since when had he ever let anyone see him so open.. and bare.. and painfully, heartbreakingly vulnerable?

He couldn’t help but notice just how heavy you were breathing. From nerves, surely, because he was doing the exact same thing. In fact, as deep as he breathed in, he still felt as though he couldn’t fully catch his breath.

“I thought you, erm..” you started, and Fred could see the tears trying to push past your eyelashes, “Fred, we --”

He finally found his voice, because he stupidly blurted out, “I’m mad for you,” and he wished he hadn’t. Your face dropped and you peered at him with a longing he’d never seen before.

Your voice was painfully soft as you looked toward the ground. “You’re -- you’re my best friend, Fred.”

His questions must’ve been written across his face plain as day, because you grabbed his hand and began pleading. “I mean, the Yule Ball, we’d gone as mates, hadn’t we? We’re friends, Fred. We’ve always been friends.”

Bloody hell, how many times could you say the word friends? Felt quite like a dagger straight to his heart.

He wanted to ask, You’ve never felt the same way, have you?

And he knew you’d respond, I love you like a friend, Freddie.

“Fred,” you breathed, and squeezed his hand, but he couldn’t seem to say anything. “Fred, please, I-I’m so sorry,”

With every ounce of strength he had, he swallowed his tears and sadness and vulnerability and painted a smirk onto his face. It didn’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes though. “No, listen, don’t.. be sorry, Y/N -- I-I just.. read things wrong, I s’pose. I'm the one who should be sorry.”

By the look in your eye, he knew you didn’t believe him, and he didn’t really believe himself either. How could he possibly be alright when he felt as if he were being thrown from a cliff? You ignored everything he’d just said, and instead opted to try again. “Fred, you’re my best friend -- please, I’m so sorry, I can’t take it if you’re mad at me,”

He hated seeing you cry. He hated seeing you so upset. He cupped your face in his hands and forced out a laugh that could almost pass as real. “Y/N, stop. I’m not mad at you. How could I be mad at you? You’re my best mate! I just.. it’s fine. Let’s forget all about it, alright?” He hoped his voice sounded firm, because he wanted you both to do just that. Forget. Just then, the bell rang and students began pouring out of classrooms and filtering into the corridor. Fred let go of you and looked toward his feet before backing away and meeting your gaze again. “Have got to get to Dark Arts. I’ll see you later, yeah?” he grinned, though his heart was not in it.

Before you could say anything more, or before Fred fell to the ground in pure agony, he walked swiftly passed you in the complete opposite direction of Defense Against the Dark Arts and picked up speed, because he just needed to get to his dormitory. What the hell was this pain he felt in the back of his throat? He didn’t look back -- he couldn’t. He didn’t look back as his vision became blurry, and he didn’t look back to see you standing there in the place he’d left you, a hand clamped over your mouth and tears streaming down your face at the thought of breaking your best friend’s heart.

-- -

He shouldn’t have let himself fall for you.

He could’ve tried seeing someone else,

but he would’ve been fooling himself if he pretended to be in love with anyone but you.

There was no way he’d be able to face you now. He’d stealthily snuck through the crowd in the common room and had ignored the faint sounds of your voice calling his name. Nobody had noticed, really, for they were too busy celebrating Harry’s victorious second place win in the second task and eagerly discussing the third.

He wasn’t hiding it anymore. It was written plain as day on his face, he reckoned, his eyes wet with heartbreak and his cheeks flushed red from all of the crying he’d been doing. How could he have been so stupid? Of course you didn’t feel the same way. You’d said it yourself, hadn’t you? Friends. Always been friends. And that’s all you two would ever be.

Sometime later on, after he’d been lying in bed for upwards of an hour staring at the ceiling, the tears started again. And this time it was worse. This time, they were big, fat, heart-wrenching tears and hoarse cries he couldn’t stop. They were involuntary. Someone quietly made their way into the dormitory. Fred looked up through his blurry vision. It was George.

Being the elder of the two, Fred had always cared a little bit extra about George. How many times had he comforted the younger twin? When George had scraped his knee running around their yard, Fred had cleaned him up. When George had fallen off of his broom and broken his arm, after Molly had warned them not to fly that way, Fred had patched him up. When George had to wear his glasses to lessons one day during their first year and had been made fun of by some annoying, rude Ravenclaw, Fred held George when he cried in their dormitory. So now, when George peered at his older brother biting back tears, he merely bit down on his lip to fight back his own, and opened his arms.

Maybe it was the vulnerability of the moment. Maybe it was because George knew without Fred needing to even tell him. Maybe it was the way that George knew, deep down, just how broken Fred felt. Broken like a promise. Maybe it was a mixture of lots of things that made Fred collapse into his younger brother and not hold back his tears.

Maybe it was the way George had said, “I know, mate,” that made Fred hold onto him a little bit tighter and a little bit longer.

All Fred knew was that, in that moment, his brother was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

He shouldn’t have fallen in love with you.

He could’ve stopped it, if he’d tried hard enough,

but he would’ve just fallen even harder.

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[fallenrepublick]

please your majesty, please offer us a nsfw alphabet for the son 🥺🤲

Incredible idea, my friend. I shall provide this day...

A is for Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He isn’t usually the kind and gentle type. But... if it’s at a point where he’s come to care for you, where these times are more about his connection with you than they are about seeking distraction, he’s inclined to do more. He doesn’t want you to leave, he wants to see you the rest of the night, to sense you there as if you were still connected. He makes every attempt to be kind and careful, especially considering how harsh he was, hoping that just maybe you’ll want to stay.

B is for Body Part (their favourite body part of their partner or themselves)

Do not think for a single second that he won’t suck on your tits

C is for Cum (anything to do with cum basically)

There is..... so much...

D is for Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Your first time together was when he actually realized he was in love with you. He knew that... something was there before, but had always told himself he was only lonely. He’d never admit to this, though.

E is for Experienced (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Of course he knows what he’s doing. You think he’s spent all that time alone and hasn’t at least done some experimenting? Nevermind that he can make you cum from his voice alone, you’re left breathless and exhausted by the time he’s finished with you.

F is for Favourite Position (what’s their go-to sex position?)

Anything, as long as he can pin you down.

G is for Goofy (are they more serious in the moment or are they more humorous?)

Definitely more serious. Honestly, he’s more amazed with these moments than anything, barely believing the odd feeling of being so close to someone, how different it is to be connected to you. He loves it. So he wants to savour and enjoy all of it as much as he can.

H is for Hair (how well groomed are they?)

Pretty sure I don’t have to answer this

I is for Intimacy (how do they act during the moment?)

He’s more aggressive, but it’s a low, calm sort. You may be held down, unable to move no matter how much you try, but his voice is still quiet, almost smug, and the way he gives you orders in that way you love so much is enough to ensure he doesn’t have to ask twice.

J is for Jack Off (Masturbation)

Oh of course. So many ideas play out in his head about you that more often than not, he has to do this simply from the very thought. Clearly he prefers the real thing, but after being alone for so long, he’s learned to make do.

K is for Kinks (one or more of their kinks)

Knife-play, blindfolds... Probably breeding also, which is a shot in the dark depending on species compatibility.

L is for Location (favourite places to get dirty)

He mostly likes to stick with the bedroom. That’s where all the fun things are, anyhow.

M is for Motivation (what gets them going)

A lot of it is his own imagination. When he isn’t with you, he’s thinking about it. When you come home, he’s already insanely needy. It doesn’t take much after that to get what you need from him...

N is for No (something they won’t do in the bedroom, turn offs)

Nothing. He often assures you that he is no coward.

O is for Oral (giving, receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s a receiver for the most part, enjoying the feeling of power when you’re on your knees, taking him so well. But he’s done his fair share of giving as well, loving how desperate you get and how much you beg when he backs away right before you cum.

P is for Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

He may start out slowly, but it quickly becomes rough, every sound you make like a reward that he’s become addicted to.

Q is for Quickie (their opinions of quickies versus proper sex)

He actually prefers not to have quickies. He finds them unsatisfying, and would much rather have you to himself for a few hours instead of having to rush.

R is for Risks (do they like to take risks and experiment?)

He does love risks. He’s the type to want and need things to be kept interesting, so changing it up and trying something new is practically required.

S is for Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?

He’s basically a god. You haven’t tested his limits, considering they far surpass your own...

T is for Toy (do they own toys? Do they use them?)

Absolutely. There is a room.

U is for Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

He is a horrible tease. It gives him a feeling of control, knowing that he can decide what you feel, when you’re pleasured, how long it takes for you to climax.

V is for Volume (how loud are they? what sounds do they make?)

He is loud. He couldn’t care less who hears him. Every moan and gasp echoes through the room, as does the sound of the headboard each time it collides with the wall.

W is for Wild Card (random dirty headcanon)

He wears the marks you leave like trophies. From the scratches on his back to the fingernail shapes on his shoulders, he’s glad to have them, as if he still has you with him through them.

X is for X-Ray (what they’re packing)

He’s over seven feet tall, you do the math

Y is for Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Constant, never-ending. He’d never stop if he had the choice.

Z is for Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep after)

You’re not even sure if he does sleep after. He’s awake when you fall asleep, as well as when you wake up. Surely he wasn’t simply holding and watching you all night, right? ...Right?

[hardkinkbardkink]

G axii's J, at the beginning making him curious about what G tastes and feels like. Maybe he ends up licking G's stuff while getting off but it's not enough. G axii's him into being curious while G sleeps so J hesitate at first but lust wins over and starts licking and touching G at night and G made it so he's more aroused than he ever has been and it takes him just a few touches and licks to get off. Then G makes him desperate to get fucked while G sleeps. J knows it's wrong but so desperate

ok so this continues to not be the prompt i meant to post a week ago but jesus h christ on a bicycle i just,,, loved this so much it wrote itself

i struggle with finishing shit because life is stressful but im trying my darndest loves x

***

It's like a horrible, burning itch that Jaskier can't quite scratch.

He drools at just the sight of Geralt's thick, leather-clad thighs squeezed around the saddle, longing for it to be his own head crushed between them instead.

A deep, long drink from his waterskin bares the elegant line of Geralt's throat, little glittering drops slipping down the skin, and it's enough to have Jaskier's cock swelling in his breeches.

He barely gets through the day, squeezing himself periodically just to keep the desire at bay, though it stirs in his belly each time his witcher as much as breathes.

Nightfall is a blessing and a curse all at once.

It's a blessing because Geralt goes off to take care of his contract, disappears between the trees and leaves Jaskier alone with his dirty, filthy thoughts.

It's a curse because Jaskier gets left alone with his dirty, filthy thoughts, and no one to stop him indulging in them.

He drops to his knees on Geralt's bedroll, hand already fisting his cock frantically. The smell is faint when he pressed his face to the material, faint and unsatisfying and Jaskier knows what Geralt smells like after a day's journey, he--

Jaskier takes a deep breath and gathers his composure, grip slipping from his cock. Focus. Focus.

Geralt's bag is stuffed full of dirty clothes in need of laundering. Or, rather, dirty clothes smelling so incredibly strongly of stale sweat and musk and manthat Geralt insists are clean just because they aren't splattered with guts.

The scent used to repulse him, once upon a time. Now, fuck, now it makes his head spin and his cock drip, so Jaskier gulps down hungry lungfuls of it. He draws out a shirt that Geralt wore just yesterday, buries his face in it until it nearly smothers him. Reluctantly, he goes back to stroking his cock, Geralt's scent in his nose making it feel like he'll spill any second now. Jaskier's tongue darts out on its own volition, the linen rough against it. Jaskier searches desperately for any trace of Geralt's taste; imagines the way the shirt stretched across Geralt's broad chest, tight around his biceps. In his mind's eye, Jaskier sees himself worshipfully sucking Geralt's nipples through the fabric, wanting only for a taste, a tease, anything Geralt would give him.

Jaskier comes into his fist with a choked gasp and fabric on his tongue, wishing only it were Geralt instead.

***

How does it only get worse when the urge wasn't there at all just a fortnight ago.

A muscle twitches beneath his eye, Jaskier's entire body pulled taut in restraint. He can't move because if he does--

He blinks. The bed creaks. He finds himself on his side, so very close to where Geralt lies asleep, warm and gorgeous and Jaskier--

He blinks again. There's a hand resting on Geralt's bare abdomen. With considerable horror, Jaskier realises it is his own. He tries to pry it away, he wants to just get a grip, go back to sleep, stop thinking about--

Geralt holding him down, taking whatever he wants from him. Pulling on Jaskier's hair and pushing his face into his taint, making Jaskier suck on his balls and choke on his cock. Spit, slap, bite. Take, take, take, until Jaskier's all fucked-out and dumb and Geralt goes in for more.

He can't. He can't have that. But if--

Well, if he just--if Jaskier leaned in, just a little, if he just pulled Geralt's bottoms down a bit, if he tasted his beautiful cock--

It'd make him feel so much better, Jaskier can feel it. Just a taste and he could sleep, and his skin would stop crawling with need, and his prick would stop leaking.

Just a taste, he thinks feverishly as he slips the waistband of Geralt's pants down. He tucks it beneath his balls, his cock soft and still so, so big, resting against his hip.

Jaskier leans down, tongue already out, and the first touch of it to hot, glorious flesh makes pleasure shudder through him. He can barely contain the moan that yearns to spring from his throat. Taking just the fat head of Geralt's cock into his mouth, Jaskier sucks and licks and drools on it until it begins to swell, each twitch making his own arousal throb through his veins. He slides lower, and when Geralt's half-hard cock threatens to enter his throat, Jaskier comes all over the sheets underneath him, harder than he ever had, whining even with his mouth full.

He's still shaking when he starts to gently bob his head. It feels like someone's touching his prick, like a constant, tortuous drag of warm flesh against him even as he thrusts his hips into the air. He whines, again, and Geralt's cock twitches as he tries to fit it all down his throat.

Jaskier's eyes stay shut; there's no need to open them, really, when he quakes through another release that sends them rolling back before he'd even managed to come down from the last one. Gods, he never wants to stop, never wants to live again without knowing what Geralt tastes like, what he feels like, what he makes Jaskier feel. His thighs shake underneath him. Jaskier almost takes Geralt's beast of a cock all the way to the base when he's flung into another mind-numbing release. Tears fall freely from his eyes. His prick throbs, spent, and yet it feels like he could come forever.

A pleasant fog settles over Jaskier's mind, and for some moments he exists only suspended between sucking Geralt's cock and coming, coming, coming again and again until his prick can't get hard anymore, just hangs limply between his legs, pulsing come.

It takes Geralt a long time to come, but Jaskier sobs with relief when he feels it. He can't quite taste the seed when it spills so far down his throat, and he wails at that, frantically pulling off to catch as much of it as he can on his tongue. His body seizes with a release so powerful he can't breathe, curled in on himself, pleasure like a current rushing through his veins.

Jaskier swallows and cries himself to sleep, mourning the fact that he can't keep Geralt's cock in his mouth forever.

***

It's too much.

Too far.

Too--

Jaskier can't, he cannot, he thinks as he rides his own fingers, shoulder pressed against Geralt. The bed moves with him and he bites his tongue, glad for how deeply Geralt sleeps after a hunt.

He's close to tears already with how desperately hollow he feels. Even sucking Geralt's cock can't quench this ache between his legs. He thinks two fingers are probably enough when he wants it to hurt, wants to stay tight so Geralt--

No. Gods, no, he's not going to--

"Fuck," he whines, not meaning to do it out loud.

Would Geralt mind, if Jaskier took his pleasure? If he offered pleasure in return? Geralt always comes when Jaskier touches him at night--and Jaskier comes so many times he can barely look at his abused prick without hurting--so maybe he'd want this, too?

Maybe?

Jaskier finds himself slobbering too eagerly all over Geralt's cock, though it doesn't give him the usual rush. He needs it, needs it more than anything, so he's quick to straddle Geralt's thighs, quick to seat himself all the way on that godly, magnificent cock. A sob shakes his body, and then a moan, and Jaskier spills violently over Geralt's abdomen as soon as he's full. His hole spasms. His head spins, but he hopes it's good for Geralt. He hopes it's so very good for Geralt as he begins bouncing enthusiastically, feeling like his release never tapers, like he's coming for minutes and hours and years, trembling through it.

He can't keep quiet anymore, pitiful moans scratching his throat raw, only them and the slick sound of his greedy, needy hole working Geralt's cock.

Jaskier thinks he might go mad of this curse of an orgasm doesn't release him from its clutches. He could pull away, make it stop.

He doesn't want to.

Instead, he goes faster, rides Geralt with devotion and determination, spasming around him frantically, drooling his own seed to catch in the hairs on his witcher's belly.

He wants--gods, but he wants--

Geralt's wrist is limp when he picks it up, though his hands are still so big and strong and rough. The unrelenting ecstasy seems to only spike when Jaskier brings Geralt's hand up to wrap it gingerly around his own throat. He puts his own palm over it and squeezes, all sound dying in his windpipe. A good thing, with how badly he wants to scream his pleasure to the world.

He nearly does scream, though in fear, when the fingers twitch against his skin and the grip grows tight, tight, tight, spots of colour stealing into Jaskier's vision. Golden eyes stare at him intently aa he writhes in Geralt's lap, impaled on his cock, squeezing around him like a good little whore.

"What a mess."

Jaskier shudders at the rough gravel of Geralt's voice, flushed with hot shame. He scrambles to drag his fingers through the seed he'd smeared all over Geralt, tries his best to lick it off with his lungs throbbing dully and his mouth hanging open.

He blinks, but maybe it's just him slipping out of consciousness. No matter; he's on his back, now, Geralt's cock drilling into him insistently, rearranging his insides, his whole world to fit him. Jaskier comes, and comes, and comes, and when Geralt pumps him full of hot seed, he screams.

[xmemeanonx]

Tough love

The second part of my yandere Luther Hargreeves fic which was based from @yanderepeterparker s (❤️) headcanons for said character.

The story will be told from your POV and Luther's POV.

Tw. emotional abuse, kidnaping, past talk of physical abuse, disabilities, past noncon talk, Luther's basically no help

Darker than the last one DO NOT READ IF THE WARNINGS OFFEND YOU

Enjoy! :)

= = =

The squeaking of the wheelchair on the hardwood floor became a normal sound to the both of you. Though it made each of you feel very different emotions.

To him its a symbol of his love towards you, a mark of every generous thing he has done for you. The vague reminder of the noise puts a smile on his face.

To you, a constant reminder of the type of monster he truly is. He calls it love, you call it bullshit. This isn't love. Love is selfless and understanding, his love is selfish and one sided.

But he doesn't see it that way. Never did, never will. Stubborn bastard.

= = =

“What would you like for breakfast, dear?” He chirps. He’s facing the counter but you can tell he's smiling.

You cringe on the inside. “Can I make my own breakfast, Luther?” you say quietly, picking at wood on the table.

He turns to you silently, frowning. “It's not Luther, dear.”

He tries so hard to be a normal “couple.” From pet names to breakfast in bed, he tries everything that normal couples would do. But it all feels so empty, so forced. Even his love for you feels fake. Sometimes you wonder if he even truly loves you, or if it's just something to take his mind off of how much he hates himself. You want to confront him on it someday, but for now it's easier to just play along.

“(Y/N)? dear?” he says expectantly. You look up at him.

“Sorry. . . . . honey. I was just thinking”

His smiles, eyes softening. “Its okay, dear. What were you thinking of?” he says expectantly

Your stomach turns, “oh. . .” you gulp, look up at his smiling face, fake smile on yours. You sit up in your wheelchair.

“I-I was just thinking about how. . . . happy I am with you.” The words felt disgusting on your tongue. Heavy and tough to say.

“Oh, that's great dear.” He grabs your hand, holding it gently. “Im happy with you too.”

Its silent. You clear your throat, turning away. He takes the sign.

“So uh. . . breakfast?” he asks.

You nod.

“. . . . eggs?”

You nod again.

= = =

“Honey?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Can. . . . can I go outside? Please?”

He stops pushing you, next to a window. He looks out to the backyard. “Sure, we can go outside. It looks like a nice day out, kinda grey though.”

You sit up, turning to look at him. “No. . . Can I just go out by myself. . . . honey?”

Brows furrowed, he frowns, “no, dear.”

“Why not?!”

He scowls down at you. You forgot how quickly his moods changed, almost like he was waiting for you to “mess up.”

“Because I said so.” You almost scoff at this. Did he really think you actually cared about him, or hell, even his opinions? Fucking idiot.

You put your head down, sighing.

You felt your emotions build up, yet you swallowed them down. You know they will come out as bullets one day. Wanting to pierce his skin, directly into his heart. Hopefully killing him, lord knows he deserves it, especially after everything he did to you, but that’s just wishful thinking.

“(Y/N)” he growls, gripping your shoulder. “Talk to me.”

You shake your head.

He grips you harder, “(Y/N). . . . .”

You put your head down lower, tearing up. Picking at the skin around your nails, you get the same feeling you got when he crippled you. He’s going to do something bad to you very soon, you felt it, but really. . . . . what did you really have to lose?

Your life? His lost.

“(Y/N), say something!” You sob. That shuts him up. Good, he talks too much. Now it’s you turn to speak.

You turn, eyes leaking hot tears, smiling dryly at him. “Why?”

“Wha-“

“Why do you want me to talk, Luther?” It's becoming too much for you to handle

He squints, “(Y/N) I’m not playing your games.”

Way too much.

“Is it because you can’t handle the silence? Because you know that, then you’ll be alone with your thoughts? Maybe then you’d actually think about what your doing, instead of keeping, crippling, assaulting and abusing someone who barely even knows you.”

He punches the wall beside the both of you. You suck in a breath, looking between it and him. Ohhhhhh shit, you messed up.

This happens quite often actually, surprising or not. You mess up and he get pissed. He's going to get angry now and you're going to pay the price of his “mistakes.”

Mistakes. That's what he calls them. As if your legs were a mistake. He says they'll heal but you don't really care, he would just do it again if you tried to run. And you will try again.

But that's how it normally goes, you “misbehave,” he loses his shit, he takes it out on you, then cries and begs for forgiveness. You give him what he wants, fearing for your life, but recently you're getting really desperate.

“. . . . . I'm sorry. “ you say quietly. He can tell your lying.

“Were going to bed.”

You may have no respect for him but at least you`re not stupid.

“Okay, honey.”

= = =

After helping you get ready for bed, with surprisingly very few words exchanged, Luther's body ached for a shower. He felt tiredness like he never felt it before when he had to deal with your childness. If he told his younger self that this was what love was like, he would have never even bothered. But he's changed so much hasn't he?

He'd never enjoyed showers, even as a child to now, with his grotesque body. He remembers his mother telling him that they were good for him, especially after training. She said it was a great way to get clean and to calm down.

He still thinks about her now, Pogo too. But what had to be done to keep you safe was done. Every risk, chance, or possibility of you being taken away from him, he'd take care of. Even if it means removing his own family from the equation or taking away your dignity.

Yes, it hurts him to see you cry, but what are his other options? He's never been good with words.

= = =

Lying on his bed, waiting for him, had to be the longest 20 minutes of your life. Picking the skin around your nails, silently listening to the shower water falling on a human body would normally be a calming thing for you, but nothing about this is calming is it?

You knew what was going to happen but that didn't help the feeling of dread coursing through you.

You weren't a virgin when he first did those things to you, but it didn't make it any less painful. You pissed him off real bad, but you didn’t run or try to fight, you just yelled, you spoke out, and that was enough for him to force himself on you.

You remember lying there, wishing you were dead. You told him to stop, you told him no, screamed it even. But he didn’t care, in fact, he made it even more painful. All for his amusement, his pleasure.

It was when he just left after he finished, not caring for your comfort, you realised how much of a monster he truly was.

Now your scared he’s going to do it again.

= = =

“You do this to yourself, you know?”

“. . . . . “

“I’m only doing this because I love you.”

“. . . . . “

“I love you so much.”

“. . . . . “

“(Y/N)?”

“. . . . . “

“Please”

“. . . . . .”

“Please (Y/N), please just say it back.”

“. . . . . “

“I know you wouldn’t mean it bu-“

Oh, so he does know. Even with him spooning you now, he knows just how much you hate him. Honestly you’re surprised. Considering how much he plays into his little fake domestic life with you, he knows just how much you hate him. You can’t tell if you feel bad or if it makes you hate him even more. But for once, why not play a bit too?

“I love you too, honey.” You say, petting his hand in fake comfort. It’s hard to say, but in a way, you hope it would comfort the pitiful, love-hungry beast behind you.

“O-oh. . . That’s. . . . n-nice to hear.”

“I’m glad, honey.” You feel his tears on the back of your shirt, they make your shirt damp and uncomfortable.

It’s silent. A comfortable silence surprisingly. But then he asks you a question that surprises you. Something you’ve thought about for so long, yet sounds so awful coming from the person it’s directed at.

“(Y/N), do you hate me?”

Yes. oh my god, YES! Oh how much you wanted to tell him that! Yet, you chose not to, especially after what he did to you legs. Broken, yes. But they will heal. At least that’s what he says. But you don’t really trust him do you?

You wanted to tell him the truth, for your sake, not his, never his. Although you try and think of you options and their possible outcomes.

If you say no, you continue to lie. Possibly fueling the already smoldering fire inside of him, feeding his ego yet, at the same time, his insincerities.

Yes on the other hand could burn the whole forest down. It would either burn you or him to death. And honestly, at this point you can’t decide which is the better possibility. You, finally being brought the sweet relief of death, or him, being left to care for a person who he knows hates him while he constantly yearns for their, although fake, love. It almost seems like the better choice is the one where both of you get burnt.

You know which one is the better answer, you even say it what a smirk on your lips.

“Yes. Yes I do Luther.” Your words pierced him right into his heart.

Closing your eyes, listening to his soft sobs behind you, you felt something you haven’t felt in a long time. . . . .

Satisfied.

Because now, he knows the meaning of tough love.

= = =

Hoooooo! That got intense! I’m so sorry if this offended anyone, but I did put a warning at the top. Also Happy New Years, y’all! Hope y’all have a great 2020! Love you! I have a lot more ideas for Luther and the umbrella academy so I might write more. But please request more in general, requests are always open for the umbrella academy!

[leahdarkspear]

Paranormal Picnic

As promised, a short story detailing Ja’mez’s appearance from beyond the grave!

It felt odd, putting on her old commander’s armor, her Darkspear tabard. She looked at herself in the mirror - Leah, daughter of Zin’Taj and Ayi’da, huntress of the Darkspear Tribe, Spear of Vol’jin, Commander of the Horde - all of those titles seemed miles away from her and the life she had lived in Zuldazar over the past year. 

Her uniform fit a little less snugly than it had in the past. Even though she had been trying to do better about taking care of herself and having regular meals than she was after Ja’mez’s death, she still found she didn’t have much of an appetite and occasionally still forgot to eat. Leah smoothed out her Darkspear tabard as she inspected herself. She really should get a new one made, this one had faded a bit over the years. Still, it would do for now.

The huntress moved from her bedroom down the long, winding staircase of her treehouse. In Leah’s mind, the living house seemed less vibrant than it had when Ja’mez was there, and she wasn’t sure if it would ever seem quite as alive again.

Down in the kitchen, Leah prepared a picnic basket with a few slices of raptor haunch, some fruit, a loaf of bread, and some cheese. After packing the plates and utensils, she set out toward the eastern outskirts of Dazar’alor, to the burial shrine where Ja’mez’s remains lay.

As she had many times before, she sat before the shrine. “Hey, love,” she said, speaking to a mate who could no longer hear her. “I, uh, was just comin’ by ta tell ya dat I might not be around for a while. De scourge be back… somehow.” 

Leah shook her head. She had thought, like many had, that when Arthas was defeated, the threat had been eliminated, and yet here the Scourge was again, attacking outposts like the Crossroads and Razor Hill. And like many others, she was growing weary of the constant calamities that plagued Azeroth. The huntress sat in quiet contemplation of the situation before slowly beginning to put out two place settings from the picnic basket. “It’s just one thing aftah anothah,” Leah sighed.

“What be in de basket?”

“What de?!” Leah’s ear twitched in the direction of the sound. Immediately, she snapped her head around to look. Though it had only been a whisper, it was a voice she could never mistake. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the nearby area. Finding nothing, she shook her head as if to shake away the confusion, then resumed setting out her picnic. “Anyway, I'm not sure how long I'll be away. I'm leavin' de critters at de Kraal just in case…”

From out of nowhere, something whirled around Leah. She looked up to find Sun, the tiny celestial cloud serpent, her mate’s boon companion, who hadn’t been seen since Ja’mez’s death. Before she could address the little serpent, she noticed the hazy outline of her beloved druid reaching out to pet his friend. The ghostly silhouette looked her way and waved.

Leah squinted hard. The look on her face wasn’t one of fright or shock; instead she looked rather perturbed. This was it. She had finally cracked. She heaved a weary sigh. “Ya know...I kinda always assumed my grief would eventually drive me crazy, but I figured it would take longah…”

“I be ‘ere, Leah.” Great. Now her hallucination was trying to speak to her. She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “Oh really?” Her voice dripped with skepticism. “Dis ain’t my imagination?”

Ja’mez broke into a wide grin. “Nope!” he chuckled.

Leah’s face twisted into a scowl. “YOU LEFT ME!!” She screamed as she grabbed the plate in front of her and stood to chuck it at Ja’mez’s head. Then she turned away and folded her arms over her chest to pout.

Ja’mez didn’t try to dodge or even flinch as the plate flew through his body and crashed on the urns behind him. He seemed perfectly accepting of Leah’s anger. The druid tried to smile as he stepped toward her. “I thought ya’d be happy to see meh.”

Leah turned back to face her ghostly mate. The pain on her face was evident. “Well, I'd have preferred seein' ya alive, I gotta be honest. Ya broke my heart, love.” She flopped back down on the ground next to the picnic basket and sighed. “Sorry I threw stuff at ya.”

“It’s okay,” Ja’mez smiled. “I deserve it, I think. Though,” he said as he looked around, “I’m not sure exactly how ta handle dis.” 

Leah cast him a sympathetic glance and gently shook her head. "I'm not mad at ya. Not really. It's just been hard. I miss ya so much. You been okay?"

The question seemed to catch Ja’mez off guard. He looked down and tapped his chin as he gave it thought. “I suppose I'm as good as a dead guy can be.  It's just too good ta see ya, love."

Sun seemed determined not to be left out of this reunion. He whirled around the couple and came to a stop at Ja’mez’s side. The druid reached out to pet him again. Whether Sun could feel it or not, he seemed appreciative of the gesture, giving a few loop-de-loops in the air.

“Haven’t seen him in a while,” Leah gestured to the serpent, “he didn’t stick around aftah. ‘Course, he was always your baby, not mine.” 

Leah wanted badly to reach out for Ja’mez, to have him hold her. However, if the plate was any indication, it would be a futile effort. Also, his spirit was cold, and Leah could feel the chill radiating off him like an early morning fog in autumn. It would hardly be the warm embrace that she had yearned for the many nights since his death. She knew this, and so she refrained. 

Ja’mez also sat silent. Just like in life, it was imperceptible what might be going through his mind. Somehow Leah took comfort in the familiarity. And yet, there was something that gnawed at her.

“I got somethin' dat's botherin me. It's kinda a long story, but I suppose you got time." Leah cracked a smile at her own joke.

Ja’mez was glad to see his mate smile finally. He had never been one to handle sadness well. “Apparently I do. I don't even know what's goin' on fully though yet.”

Leah arched her eyebrow at Ja’mez. She wasn’t sure what exactly he meant by that. “Ah well, maybe ya can answer me dis, even so.”

Ja’mez shrugged. He would certainly give it his best. “Ya.”

“So a while back, before... ya know... I started havin' dese dreams. Like, I knew ya were in trouble, or ya were gonna be. What I didn't know at de time was N'zoth had gotten to me, I just knew I needed ta find you. Den aftah ya died, it got so much worse. He almost got me. My friends, dey stopped my heart ta get de corruption outta me. I was only out for maybe a couple minutes, but when it happened, I saw dis place.”

“What did ya see?” Ja’mez leaned forward with interest.

Leah pursed her lips. She didn’t like recalling her vision, but she had to know what it was, if Ja’mez could answer. “It was dark, and I knew it was somewhere I didn't wanna be. But I couldn't get away, it was pullin' me down. And I could feel so much agony. Like, dere be people down dere and dey all be sufferin'. What is dat? Dat's not where you be, is it?”

“Nah.” Ja’mez shook his head. “I wouldn’t be ‘ere if dat be de case.”

Leah felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Ever since she’d had the vision, she’d been worried for Ja’mez. “Do ya know what it be, though?”

Again, Ja’mez shook his head. “Nah. But I know it’s definitely a place ya don’t wanna be.”

Now it was Leah’s turn to lean forward. “You’ve seen it?”

“For a bit I did,” Ja’mez nodded.

“But it tried ta pull me so strong. How’d ya escape?”

“Bwonsamdi. He be out dere doin’ somethin.”

Leah clutched her chest and exhaled with relief. “Oh, praise dat creepy ol’ loa! I knew he got de offerin’ I made for ya.” A smile spread across the huntress’s face. There would definitely be more offerings to be made in thanks. “So you be on de Othah Side den. Dat’s good, I be glad. Well, actually, I’m not. I prefer ya be here… Wait, so can I ask ya somethin’ else?”

“Of course, love.”

This question had burned at Leah since even before she learned of Ja’mez’s death. “Why didn’t ya take me with you? When ya went ta fight N’zoth? I mean, we made a good team, didn’t we? Maybe… maybe things woulda turned out different.”

“Ny'alotha is like de Nightmare,” Ja’mez explained. “I wouldn’t dare ask anybody I care about ta go dere.”

Leah glowered. “So what, ya think I be some frail human wife, sittin’ around frettin’ while my mon goes off ta fight de big bad?” She sucked her teeth. “Ya know dat ain’t me.” 

“Would ya let me go if we switched?”

The huntress had to stop herself from blurting out a yes. Would she really let Ja’mez go if she had the chance to keep him home, to keep him safe? However, after giving the question consideration, she found her opinion unchanged. “Yes.” Her tone was calm and resolute. “Because ya be de one I want ta have my back when things get rough. I mean, I kinda figured if we didn't grow old togethah, we'd die side by side on top de corpses of our enemies.”

Firm in his resolve, Ja’mez refused to relent. “It wasn’t pretty in dere, Leah. People lost their minds, turned on each other, even. I wasn’t gonna let somethin make me hurt ya.”

Leah cast her mon a reassuring glance. “You be strongah dan dat.” The look on Ja’mez’s face said that he wasn’t so sure. Leah sighed. “Eithah way, I would have rathah died with ya dan have ta live without ya. You were my everything, love. But I keep on goin’ because what de hell else am I s’posed ta do?”

Ja’mez didn’t speak. What he was thinking, Leah couldn’t say. Ultimately, she supposed, none of it mattered. None of the questions, none of the regret could change what happened.

A change of subject was in order. “So how come I just be seein’ ya now? Loas know I been comin’ here for months.”

Ja’mez shrugged. “I really got no idea. But it was much easier to show, now dat the veil be broken.”

“De veil be broken?” Leah parroted. “Like, between here an’ de Othah Side?

Ja’mez nodded. “Somethin be terribly wrong.  Bwonsamdi be doin all he can to save souls from da darkness.”

“Ah, shit…” The realization hit Leah. “I wondah if dis got anything ta do with de Scourge comin’ back…” 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Ja’mez replied. “But somethin’ gotta be done. De question is, what?”

Leah nodded in agreement. “Okay, well, I be goin’ ta Icecrown ta help handle dat situation, so maybe we can figure somethin’ out.”

“We gonna have to, ‘cause none a dis be right.”

The huntress held up a finger as a sudden thought occurred to her. She then motioned to Ja’mez’s remains. “So, dis is gonna sound dumb. Should I take you with me?”

Ja’mez looked at his body. “Dat… is a good question.”

“Well, I mean, can ya come back anywhere, or did ya only come back here because dis where ya body be?” Leah clarified.

“I ain't been dead long, so I don' know all da rules yet,” the druid chuckled.

Leah was already putting way too much thought into this. “I s’pose I can fold ya up real tight, stuff ya in my bag somewhere…dis gonna be so weird,” she muttered to herself.

“I would leave dem here,” Ja’mez stated. “Dey safe, yeah?”

“Of course.” Leah pointed to the large voodoo constructs patrolling just yards away.

The druid looked at his huntress. The problem was probably much bigger than either of them knew, he realized. “Ya know, whatever work needs done, it probably be on de Othah Side.”

He was right, of course, but that wouldn’t deter Leah. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Leah let her eyes linger over Ja’mez for a moment. “I’m guessin’ ya can’t stay?”

“I don’...” Ja’mez wasn’t given the chance to finish. His spectre flickered out briefly. He looked down at himself.

Sensing this was her last chance, Leah called out to him. “Hey.” Ja’mez looked at her. “I love you.”

His spirit was already fainter, but Leah could see him smile. “Love you too, Lee.”

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Dandelion | What A Play

Prompt: ‘I expected you to be much bigger...’

Word count: 2100+ Warnings: Smut, swearing, public sex

Looking at myself in the mirror, I fiddled with the fabric of my dress. Tonight, I would go on a third date with no one other than Dandelion himself and my, was I nervous. I didn't know what we were going to do, as he told me he wanted to keep it a surprise. Sure, we had held hands, cuddled, kissed... But that was it. My desire to take it a step further had grown over the past few days - I loved to imagine him on top of me, groaning and grunting my name. Part of me was afraid he would turn me down, or that he wanted it to be a case of "friends-with-benefits". The other part of me dared to just rip the clothes off his body as soon as I saw him tonight. But I didn't want it to be just once. Dandelion was so much more to me than just a friend, and I yearned for him. As I was pondering this over, a knock on the front door was heard. '(Y/n)?' I looked up and rushed towards the door to open it. 'Hey Dandy.' I said with a small smile. Dandelion showed me a charming grin, raising an eyebrow. 'Really princess? Dandy?' A smile tugged at the corner of my lips and I pulled him into a hug. 'Do you mind?' He sighed, resting his head on my shoulder. 'Not at all.' After a moment, he pulled back. 'You look gorgeous.' A blush spread over my cheeks and I gave a twirl, the dress flowing around my hips gracefully. 'Thank you, Dandelion.'

He took my hand, kissed the back of it and guided me outside my house. I locked the door and followed him towards his horse. He helped me mount it and sat behind me soon after. His hands grabbed a hold of the reins and urged the brown mare to go forward. I closed my eyes and leaned back into his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Dandelion wore a new kind of cologne I hadn't smelled on him before, and it made me blush a little. 'You smell nice.' I complimented him. Dandelion pressed a kiss on the top of my (h/c) hair. 'Thank you, princess. So do you.' We rode in silence until we reached Novigrad. 'Ready for the surprise, (Y/n)?' I heard him ask. His voice vibrated in his chest and I hummed. 'More than I will ever be.' 'Well,' Dandelion began as he halted his steed in front of the Kingfisher, hitching her against a post before helping me off. 'We are going to see a play!' 'Oh.' I replied, putting on a fake smile, but disappointment grew inside my chest. That wasn't much of a surprise - we had been going to plays together already several times. I loved spending time with the poet, but it had grown boring to go on the same dates time after time. 'What is it called?' I feigned interest. 'It's called The Bear And The Honeypot.' He replied, taking my hand in his as we walked inside. The inn was already busy with townsfolk, the only table left in the back of the room, a bit isolated from the rest. 'What is it about?' Suddenly his cheeks flushed bright red. 'Well... It's quite erotic, I've heard. Something about sex.' I felt the blood raise to my face and I nearly fell off my chair. 'I... Okay, sounds fun!' Jaskier looked at me for a few seconds, surprised with my answer. 'Really? Not too raunchy for your tastes? We could go see something else if you-' 'It's fine, Dandy.' He smiled at the nickname. 'After all, I kind of like a good sex scene every now and then.' 'You've been to this play before?' 'No!' I said a little too loudly, causing a few patrons to look at me with furrowed brows. 'No.' I repeated, my volume now decreased, 'But I like to read sex scenes in books that I have.' 'Oh.' Dandelion smirked, leaning closer. 'And what do you to yourself while reading things like that?' Just as I was about to reply, a chipper red-haired maid came to our table. 'What can I get for you two lovebirds?' 'We'll have two mugs of Sodden mead, some dried fruits and some bread with goat cheese, please.' Dandelion ordered. As soon as she left, he turned to me again. 'You should tell me more about your books.' 'Should I, now?' I teased him, smiling a little. He opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of a lute caused us to become quiet and focus our attention to the stage - even though it was difficult with Dandelion next to me, egging me on how I should tell about touching myself while reading erotica... "This is the story about a bear, the crush of a bee, The bee brought him honey from over the sea. But then the bear fell in love with the honey instead, And the bear strangely brought the sweet liquid to bed!" 'How odd!' I whispered in Dandelion's ear, 'It's an animal who is going to-' 'Hush now, Princess. It's art, don't question art.' The maid brought us our food and we watched the play in silence. Despite of it being erotic, it was cringe-worthy. A bear (played by some old dude) eating out a pot full of honey - but literally though, it was weird. Who came up with this shit, I thought. Looking over to Dandelion, I saw that he was enjoying himself. He sipped from the mead, laughing about an obscene joke, face flushed of the alcohol and the constant innuendos. An idea began to brew in the back of my mind... Wouldn't it be a bit cheeky if I just...

I put my hand on his thigh, letting it inch closer to the edge of his trousers. 'What are you doing?' he questioned, drawing his attention away from the play. I smiled sweetly at him, leaning in. 'What does it look like?' 'If I didn't know better, I thought you were trying to get into my pants.' he chuckled, putting an arm around my shoulders. 'Can you promise me something?' I breathed against his cheek, kissing it lightly. 'Hm?' 'If we are taking this relationship a step further, I don't want this to be a one-time-thing.' Dandelion closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of my hand teasing him. 'O-Of course,' he stuttered, 'If anything, I was afraid that I was the only one wanting something more...' As my palm rubbed against his crotch, his leg shot up, hitting the table rather loudly. A few guests looked up angrily at the noise it made, angrily shushing us. Giving them an apologetic look, I still let my fingers ghost over Dandelions growing erection. 'What if someone sees us?' he hissed, wrapping his hand around my wrist to keep me from opening the button of his pants. 'We are sitting in the back of the room, honey,' my voice was practically dripping with lust, 'Unless you moan out loud, no one will hear us.' We locked eyes for a moment before he gave me a small smile. 'You naughty thing.' he mused, leaning in to press a kiss to my lips. 'I really want you to be my girlfriend.' 'Do you, now?' I purred, finally able to push his underwear down. Against my hand his now bare bulge pressed, the skin hot and growing stiff against my palm. 'I ah... Do you want to be my g-girlfriend?' he whispered. I was quiet for a few moments, just looking at his face twist and his bottom lip slipping in between his teeth. He was obviously trying to withhold a groan. I gave him a small nod. 'I would very much like that.' I told him, looking over to the stage the very moment that loud music started playing - something about the bear getting chased by some hunters. With one hand, I eased Dandelions cock completely from his briefs, a sigh of relief leaving the minstrels lips. 'You're rock hard.' I gasped quietly, becoming more and more aroused when I imagined it being inside of me. As the music blared through the room, I grinned uncontrollably. I sank to my knees, crawling under the table. Dandelion let out a gasp, putting a hand on my shoulder. 'What in the hell!' he hissed, 'What are you going to do!' 'Be fucking quiet, OK?' I whisper-shouted back. I shifted to sit somewhat more comfortable on my knees, eyeing his crotch for the first time. I took him in my palm, feeling it become erect against my touch.

'I expected you to be much bigger...' I teased him, jerking my hand against his erect length. He grunted slightly, putting his hand in front of his mouth. 'Holy shit, (Y/n), we will be caught!' he whispered. 'Don't get me wrong, I am very glad that you want to give me a blowjob, it's just- Hmm, oh, fuck... Not the right time right now- Shit!' I didn't listen to his protests, sliding my damp hand against the base of his cock, fingers teasingly squeezing for a moment. I leaned closer to him, brushing my lips against his tip, giving it a light kiss. 'I want to milk you...' I felt him twitch in my grip, 'To take your seed in my hand and rub it all over my wet cunt.' Dandelion let out a sigh, closing his eyes tightly. 'You want us to get in trouble?' 'They won't notice.' I took his testicles into my palm, starting to massage them. 'How can you be so sure? Fuck, that feels good...' He slightly bucked into my hand. I smiled. 'Can't we go to a more private setting for a moment?' 'Do you want to walk through this inn with that tent in your pants?' Dandelion wanted to respond, but we were interrupted by one of the waitresses. I chose that time to fully envelop him with my mouth, taking him till the hilt.

'Is everything to your liking?' I expectantly gazed at Julian to make him answer. 'Hm, y-yes. My date has gone to the r-restroom for the moment, that's all' I continued teasing his cock, pulling back with a quiet pop,  licking across the vein that ran across his length. 'Do you wish to have another drink?' she asked him, noticing the empty cups on the table. Dandelion bit his lip and nodded. 'Y-Yes please...' he sighed as I pulled back his foreskin, starting to suck on his tip firmly. As she walked off with the mugs, Dandelion's eyes shot towards me. 'What the fuck... You're good with your mouth, Princess... If I knew you were into such things, then...' 'Sssh!' someone hushed from the crowd somewhere. Jaskier put one hand on my head, lacing his fingers through my hair. 'Just... Keep quiet.' I murmured, 'Let me take care of you, alright?' I took him in my mouth, starting to bob my head up and down. His grip tightened, hips rolling upwards as I continued blowing him in a steady pace. 'Holy fuck, (Y/n)... You're so good...' I gave his thigh a squeeze so he would shut up, fully taking him till he hit the back of my throat. I suppressed my gag-reflex, wishing I could've seen his expression right now. He twitched in my mouth and I pulled back with a small gasp for air, pressing open mouthed kisses over his length. His leg twitched and he slightly sunk downwards in his seat, fingers grabbing my hair tightly. 'Do you want to cum, baby?' I coaxed him, jerking him off. 'Fuck, stop, (Y/n). The maid is coming back with our drinks!' That knowledge only egged me on to continue fondling him. I saw her legs approach us and as soon as she was very close to our table, I fully took Dandelion in my mouth, swallowing around him. 'Your drinks, sir.' He had stilled in his trembling, his spend spilling into my mouth shamelessly. I closed my lips tightly around him at this unannounced orgasm and caught every drip of it with my tongue. 'T-Thank you.' he said with a hoarse voice. 'Are you alright, sir? You look a little shaken.' 'I think it's the alcohol.' he muttered, one of his hands gripping my hair. 'Alright. Enjoy your night, then.' As soon as she had left, Dandelion leaned down under the table. 'What was that?!' he hissed, face bright red and eyes lust-blown. I smiled at him, licking the remnants of his cum off his length. 'That's one way to fucking time this.' 'Well, I liked the thrill.' Julian shook his head in disbelief. 'The longer you keep looking at me, Dandy, the more suspicious you'll become.' He sat back up and I tucked him back into his pants, wiping my palms across my face to see if something of his excitement was left on it. As if nothing had ever happened, I sat back down next to the poet, innocently smiling at him. Dandelion leaned closer to whisper something in my ear. 'Just wait until we get home, you little minx.'

[malakhai-ozera]

Discord Thread II Malakhai & Ella

Discord thread featuring: Khai & @ella-isms

Mentions:

Where: Ella’s Penthouse.

When: Thursday June 11th 2020

Description:  Khai goes to the Penthouse he once shared with Ella and they get reacquainted.

Trigger Warnings: Smut

❦. єℓℓα .❦

To say that she was waiting with bated breath wasn’t even an exaggeration. Ella hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind since the other night and because she literally couldn’t wait any longer, she had to text him. Part of her knew that she probably shouldn’t, she should just let him be, move on. But she couldn’t. Ella has the tendency to be selfish and when she wants something she’ll stop at nothing until she gets it. When it comes to Khai she usually knows how to get her way, it’s why she’d dressed in the barely there pink bra and panty set before she even sent the text. It didn’t take much convincing to get him on his way and she was glad about that. The blonde was grinning at her phone when he agreed, she wanted him all to herself even if all he could give her was a couple of days. Hearing him knock on the door after he eventually arrived, Ella opened the door and immediately ushered him inside, closing the door behind him when romeo approached happily, stealing her greeting time. “Guess we both miss you,” she took the bag off of his shoulder.

ღ мαℓαкнαι ღ

Khai knew it probably wasn’t the best idea for him to spend the weekend with Ella. But, all rational thoughts went out the window when she told him that he was carved into a part of her brain. It made him feel wanted and desired, and god he needed that so bad right now. Even with her turning down his proposal and breaking his heart, none of that mattered. He still loved her, and he was pretty sure she knew that. He made his way to the penthouse they both once shared, and he could feel his heart begin to race. So many memories came flooding back so fast he could barely contain his emotions. Especially since he had been recently sober and his emotions were still raw and all over the place. He knocked on the door and smiled when he heard Romeo barking. His smile only growing wider when Ella opened the door wearing a barely there pink bra and panty set. “Damn, you look sexy” he complimented. Placing his hand on the side of her neck and leaning in to kiss her cheek. Lips just barely brushing the corner of her mouth before he was bending down to pet Romeo. “I missed him too. How’ve you been boy” laughed. Watching Romeo run in happy circles before taking off back into the penthouse. Khai stood back up and placed his hand on Ellas’s waist. Pulling her closer to him. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since we bumped into each other at Throuple” he admitted. Not giving her much time to respond before he was pressing his lips to hers in a fervent kiss.

❦. єℓℓα .❦

Clearly Ella was surrounded by reminders of him and of everything that they had together. Constant reminders of what a terrible partner she had been and how much she hurt him. It hurt her too, he’d caught her off guard with a proposal and she freaked out. She was scared and rather than facing fear head on she pushed him even further away. The fact that there was a place for him carved out in her brain was entirely true, there was a place carved out in her heart, as well. A smile played on her lips when she opened the door, she was genuinely happy to see him. “All for you,” she reminded him. Her breath was held briefly as he leaned in, there was no doubt that every nerve in her body was pushing with anticipation. “Tease,” the blonde pouted, even though she knew it was only fair to the dog that he get a bit of attention too. Ella, however, was horrible at sharing attention. She was learning, or trying to, kind of, though she usually failed miserably. “I’ve been wanting the same thing,” she admitted with a nod. Her lips responded to his instantly and as her hands rested on either side of his face, she tilted her head to add more depth to the heated kiss, her tongue immediately snaking it’s way into his mouth to find his own. She was hungrily devouring the taste of him that she missed.

ღ мαℓαкнαι ღ

It was no secret that Khai liked to bury all his stress and aggression into love making, and if Ella was like anyone else in Kingsboro. She had a pretty good idea of all the tension he had been under recently. It definitely didn’t help that he hadn’t been with anyone intimately since his accident. Except for Roman, which probably wasn’t the best idea at the time. That didn’t matter though, he was just as addicted to Roman as he had been to the drugs before him. He let his hands slide down Ella’s sides to rest just beneath her ass and lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. Her legs wrapping around his waist in the familiar way they always had. “Am I a tease now?” he asked. Immediately connecting their lips once more as his tongue battled with hers for dominance. He carried her to the bedroom, his memory guiding him through the area. Before laying her on to the bed and kneeling over her to remove his shirt. Once his shirt was tossed to the side, he pulled himself over her and began to kiss and bite at her neck. His ribs were still a bit bruised but he didn’t care. He always got off on pain mixed with pleasure anyway. He wanted her, and he was pretty sure she wanted him too. That was all that mattered.

❦. єℓℓα .❦

To the same point Ella could just let herself go during sex, it would clear her mind and rid her of any stress that might be buried there. She wouldn’t consider any physical sexual act she participated in lately as making love, that hadn’t happened in quite some time because that would mean feelings were involved and that hadn’t been the case. At least not for her lately. This would be different, it always was with Malakhai, there would always be feelings involved. Feelings she hid from most other people. she was toeing a dangerous line and she knew that but that didn’t stop her from diving in head first. As her legs wrapped around him, her hands tangled themselves in the back of his hair, “I don’t think you will be for long,” she explained with a grin. She didn’t think that either one of them would be able to hold out too long in order to get away with teasing. At least not for the first round, there was far too much eagerness between them. As soon as her back hit the bed she was pulling him down with her and while he removed his shirt, her hands were already at work pushing down his pants, she wanted to feel his skin against her skin, she needed it. Her fingertips traced over the bruises as they were revealed but soon enough her hand traveled down his side and over his abdomen, sliding down past the waistband of his boxers to palm his length, her thumb moving down to tease the tip, her eagerness was apparent she knew that much and she wasn’t attempting to hide it, “I’m so fucking glad you’re here,” she breathed out a moan leaving her lips as his tongue hit a familiar sweet spot on her neck.

ღ мαℓαкнαι ღ

Just being in the familiarity and comfort of her arms again made him feel as if nothing else mattered. He missed her so much. The way she moved, the taste of her lips, the feel of her touch. It was all almost enough to leave him feeling completely intoxicated. She removed his pants and let fingertips trail down his body. Gliding slowly over his bruises and stopping once his length was cupped beneath her hand. “Fuck” he breathed out in a yearning whisper. Her touch felt so good and he was becoming more and more erect with each sound escaping her lips. He moved his kisses down her chest and let his hand navigate to her back to unhook her bra. Almost instantly taking one of her breast into his hand and sucking her nipple between his lips. He gave it a teasing nibble before kissing down her belly. Pulling  her panties off and placing a few love bites along her inner thigh before tasting her wetness upon his lips. “Mmm you’re so sweet” he hummed. Looking up at her from between her legs as his hands continued to caress her breast.

❦. єℓℓα .❦

It was easier than she ever could have expected to fall into this familiar routine with him. Yes, Ella sometimes liked adventure and the thrill of something totally new, but that seemed dull in comparison to the high she was feeling off of the pure comfort of being with someone who knew her better than anyone else ever had. They knew how to read each other’s bodies without giving it a second thought. Her free hand worked on pushing his pants and boxers down the rest of the way, letting her feet kick them off once they reached his ankles. Her other hand would pump his member reveling in the feeling of him growing beneath her touch. Feeling his mouth on her flesh had her heart racing already, her teeth sunk into her lower lip as she tried to stifle a gasp. The gasp was released as her breath hitched in her throat feeling his mouth on her core, “I need you,” she breathed out, lifting her head to look down at him.

ღ мαℓαкнαι ღ

All Ella had to do was tell him she needed him and he was quick to oblige. Crawling his way back up her body to reconnect their lips as he aligned his length with her opening. The heat coming off of their eager bodies pulled on him like a magnet as he pushed himself deep into her core. Thrusting into her deep and slow at first as he moved his hand to grip her face just below her chin. “Tell me you missed me” he demanded. Although it came out more as a plea. His other hand lacing through hers as he pushed the back of her hand into the pillow above her head. She was everything he needed at the moment and he body felt so good pressed against his. Even with the pain shooting through his body with each increased  thrust. It felt euphoric to be intertwined with her again.

❦. єℓℓα .❦

Her legs were already opening for him as he moved back up her body, a moan escaping her lips as he entered her and one of her legs moved to wrap around his waist pushing him in even further. “I missed you,” she murmured against his mouth, her teeth tugging on his bottom lip, “I miss you,” Ella repeated as her hips moved up to meet his thrusts. Her fingers of one hand laced with his and her other hand draped over his shoulder. While her hips rolled up against his her nails dragged along his back. Soon enough she let her lips catch his again, her moans muffled against his mouth while her tongue mingled with his, she already couldn’t get enough of him.

ღ мαℓαкнαι ღ

Hearing the words he so desperately needed to hear from her, made him sink into her even further. Like fire melting on ice he could feel himself evaporate into her skin. He kissed her back ravenously, letting her consume his lips with each and every moan echoing against his mouth. It was like he couldn’t get deep enough into her, as his body shook with intense need. He began to thrust harder, ramming himself into her core as he began fucking her with more vehemence. Biting and kissing at her lips and jawline as his hand tightened around her neck “fuck... you feel so good” he growled. Trying to hold back just a bit as he picked up speed in the rotation of his hips.

❦. єℓℓα .❦

With him moving deeper within her, it was as if they were melding into each other. Every thrust was like an electric shock being sent through her body, all of her nerve endings standing at attention as they fired off in pleasure. The blonde moaned out his name as his pace increased, her eyes were hazy and hooded with lust as she gazed up at him. Her nails dug further into his shoulder as her back arched up against him taking him in as deep as possible. “You’re incredible, I’m so close,” she muttered, her mouth over his ear before her teeth pulled at the lobe, “fuck...” her head was falling back into the pillow, her body already beginning to near it’s release, he was already making her become undone.

ღ мαℓαкнαι ღ

Khai could feel Ella’s walls tighten around his girth as she neared her orgasm. But this didn’t slow him down at all. He continued to pound into her, pushing his way as deep as he could into her g-spot. Giving her exactly what he body was aching for. “Oh yeah, I want you to cum for me love” he moaned through hard breaths. His own release building inside of him as he squeezed her neck tighter. Just barely cutting off her air supply. He kissed her mouth hard, biting and sucking at her lips as his entire body tightened. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum” he growled again with pleasure. His muscles practically pulsating with concupiscence.

❦. єℓℓα .❦

Both of her legs found themselves winding tightly around his waist to insure that he was as far inside of her as physically possible. His panting caused her heart rate to naturally increase and her hand that was resting on his shoulder latched onto the back of his hair giving it a firm tug as her entire body tensed up, “cum with me,” the blonde moaned before eventually letting go as she rode out her orgasm. Her body shook against his own as she came and then soon enough she was nearly limp as she attempted to catch her breath.

ღ мαℓαкнαι ღ

Cumming with her was unlike anything he had remembered. It was different and intimate, and he could barely keep himself from collapsing on top of her. He kisses her lips slowly and softly, savoring the feeling of them. Unlacing their hands and letting his fingers stroke through her hair as he fought to catch his breath. “You....” he breathed out. A wide smile spread across his face with satisfaction. “I missed you so much” he continued. Kissing her once more before cradling his head into the crook of her neck and placing soft kisses to her shoulder.

❦. єℓℓα .❦

Using the word euphoric to describe their intimate encounter may have seemed like an exaggeration, but it was perhaps the most accurate. At this moment she wanted nothing more than to keep him close and buried inside of her, she had zero desire to untangle herself from him just yet. She wanted to bask in the afterglow, her hands moved to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheeks as her eyes took in his features while they both panted breathlessly, this was a moment she wanted etched into her memory. Leaning in she pressed a kiss to each corner of his mouth as his smile grew, “i missed you too,” the blonde agreed returning the kiss. Both of her arms looked around his neck as he buried his head into her shoulder, her fingertips traced lightly up and down his back “nobody knows me like you do,” she whispered. And she wasn’t sure anyone else ever would. If she could freeze time and relish in this moment for as long as possible, she would do it in an instant. “I’m glad you came over,” a giggle escaped her lips as her brain power was starting to come back as her heart rate began to slow down.

[cavitymagazine]

Haptic Narratives: The Absurdly R EA L Artifacts of Dale Brett / / / [part 2]

[D]: Lately though, most of my influence has come from other forms of media opposed to writing. I have found the more I write, the less I read – at least long form. Music, animated series/films - both Japanese anime and stuff like Adult Swim and internet culture - all of these things come through in my work.

[W]: Music.

[D]: Definitely music. I often try to write with a type of musical style I enjoy in mind. This is, believe it or not, one of the reasons I decided to re-commence writing fiction. I was sick and tired of googling combinations of "vaporwave + fiction + dream" or "shoegaze + literature + drugs" to try and find works that fit a certain aesthetic that did not exist. So why not create them myself? For instance, ambient and to a lesser extent dreampunk, would be the genres I was trying to build on in Faceless in Nippon. With Ultraviolet Torus it is no secret that it is my shoegaze project. As you know with our mall collaboration [cloud mall and maze/mall], this will be vaporwave-heavy in aesthetic and theme. I think these musical styles also take me right back to the original interests that I have garnered from literature: how to feel and express oneself in light of the consumerist dream, how to find meaning in the face of a constant blurring reality. I want to produce words that create a sensory experience. Words to touch your skin, words to make you see refracted colours, words to make you realise life sucks but it's all okay.

[W]: Aesthetics are important to me as well. The depth of the surface. The synthetic, simulacra. I suspect any "honest" portrayal of our day-to-day life, even a so-called "realist" presentation, would be sci-fi, at least in part. The kitchen-sink realism of today would include game realities and all sorts of "tropes" – or what one used to call tropes – of sci-fi. DeLillo’s White Noise is a big work for me, related to some of the consumerist themes. The three layers you refer to are impressive – you've put a lot of thought into where your work comes from, what it's shaped by. I've never thought in those terms really. Although "Pessoan cyberpunk nihilism" as a blurb would have me buying whatever that book is. Abe's The Box Man - I read that in I think 2015 or so. I see Abe's tone in some of your prose. That is a hard tone to tap. It's soft and dislocated. Requires a gentle hand, and a kind of amorphous thought process. In recent years I've taken influence more from video games and commercials and music than anything textual. I assumed your influences now were primarily visual. Graphic novels, anime, bad TV movies - I cull more from kitsch than I do from literature now. Would you tell me a bit about your time in Japan? And how would you describe Faceless in Nippon to a reader who knows literally nothing about it?

[W]: I relate very hard to your not being able to google, say, "vaporwave + dream + fiction" and get a hit. You had to create your hits. I feel the same way. It's like I want "Borges + USA Up All Night" or something similarly niche and not-quite-available-elsewhere. The established subgenres you mention, like dreampunk, are still these largely unexplored parks of the mind. There aren't a whole lot of titles. Do you view Faceless in Nippon as your first book and Ultraviolet Torus as a sophomore effort?

[W]: One aspect of your work that struck me right away is its sensory nature, and its desire to make complex emotions like melancholy or lostness more tangible or tactile.

[Ed.:  racetams with caffeine are ingested.]

[D]: I really like your description – “the depth of the surface.” This really fits what I’m trying to achieve with writing. I try to attain a certain sensory experience with abstract imagery, but endeavor to maintain a somewhat conventional narrative or “everyday” story underneath. For instance, Faceless in Nippon was always meant to mimic the feeling of floating in/on water, gently bobbing through society’s ambient capitalist waters attempting to find a purpose. This incorporeal imagery juxtaposed with the more straightforward vignette format and story arc of a young western male living abroad. With Ultraviolet Torus, the prose and format are more unconventional – it was designed to mimic gemstone/mineral structure and shoegaze music, with the narrative underpinning the imagery taking the form of the rise and fall of a standard relationship. I agree that even a “realist” presentation is somewhat sci-fi these days – it is unavoidable. Our friend, contemporary, and collaborator James Krendel-Clark and I have often spoken about how the only thing left for sci-fi is this almost meta-sci-fi angle, where all the tropes have become so cliché and ingrained that really any attempt at sincere “world building” is futile. It’s better to experiment in syntax and delve into what another contemporary of ours, Nick Greer, likes to call “hyper-genre”. Use the tropes, but explore them linguistically, see what they do for the reader sensorily, opposed to using them as the building blocks to create another mundane genre narrative. I have certainly done that in shorter form through the Concentric Circuits: CODA stuff on Surfaces. I think my sci-fi influence comes through in both Faceless in Nippon and Ultraviolet Torus, certainly in the way that I frame the setting or landscape as a character almost, similar to how Ballard and Gibson craft their prose. I have had a lot of time to think about the aforementioned literary influences. I am slightly OCD too, so I often create these massive lists and Venn diagrams and shit of artists/works with certain styles and aesthetics that overlap. I do like to think of myself as a modern-day Walter Benjamin in the way I compile notes and lists and memories that form the basis of my artistic and existential exploration. I think Benjamin would have had a hell of a time with the notes app of a smart phone.

[D]: Regarding Kobo Abe, you are correct, certainly not an easy tone to master, and one that I definitely have not. My writing is not as sound as a master like Abe, which I think is why I subconsciously fall back on the sci-fi landscape syntax/prose mentioned above and the more colloquial twenty-first century alt-lit style to strive forward in my work. I am still developing though, and hopefully, opposed to just replicating Abe’s tone, one day I will be in a position where people are speaking about a tone entirely of my own that others will use as an influence. Abe is also a good segue into other forms of media that influence written work, as he has often been an inspiration to artist’s in the visual field such as filmmakers and video game creators. It is no secret that he is Hideo Kojima’s favorite author.

[D]: Since re-commencing my fiction-writing, which was at the beginning of 2019, you are accurate in your inference that I have primarily relied on other forms of media to influence my work. I have barely read any novels at all in the last couple of years comparative to the previous decade of reading. I garner much more from music, anime, and internet culture these days. I am glad you brought up the influence of commercials – I think we certainly share an avid interest in exploring the consumerist sphere and its effects on art and society. There are a number of important moments in Faceless in Nippon dealing with commercials, products, stores and their underrated aura. Hell, I even created fictional beverages and advertisements for the book.

[D]: My time in Japan was an incredibly formative experience for me. I really only returned to my home country, Australia, when my wife became pregnant. Otherwise I would probably still be there, cruising around upper-class malls, lower-class malls, drinking massive cans of Asahi on the train, staring at LED signs from concrete overpasses at night interminably. I certainly still yearn for my time there. I did go back to visit friends recently and it was a strange experience, like I could not re-create the feelings of my time there in the past no matter how hard I strived. It became apparent that my yearnings were purely for a time in my life while stationed there, opposed to the setting itself.

[D]: I would describe Faceless in Nippon as a meditative, aqueous travelogue on what it means to exist as a middle-class person in the twenty first century, the entirety of which is set in urban Japan.

[D]: I really admire artists that have an unmistakable aesthetic stamp on their work. Auteurship, if you will. For what it’s worth, I think you are one of the few that has a singular, univocal voice in the online “outsider” lit community or whatever you want to call it. I would like to think mine is the same. That people will read it and go, “Oh fuck, that’s Dale alright.” I have been told before that my work reads like MDMA. I am exceedingly happy with that comparison. I would be pleased if that was how I was known as an artist after my “career” or whatever you want to call it is over. Basically, I want to create things that are uniquely my own, things that have not been attempted before. Another reason I think that you and I gel well together as creatives is that despite our many differences in aesthetics, we are enamored by the depth of so-called low culture and continually mash it together with the supposed “high culture” of literature. 

The "Borges + USA Up All Night" example illustrates this perfectly.

[D]: Both Faceless in Nippon and Ultraviolet Torus will be available at similar times. However, there is no doubt that Faceless is my first book. It is the first thing I started working on when I didn’t know it was going to be what it became. Torus was a more experimental foray into the literary field. I compiled Torus, an exploration of gemstone and dream imagery, between drafts of Faceless. I was particularly taken by crystals, shoegaze, and giddiness over my interactions with some beautiful people on the internet at the time. It proved to be a fruitful break from Faceless rewrites, as not only did I let the novel marinate and become better before publishing it, I also gave birth to another creative treasure.

[D]: Making emotive words tactile, rendering the textually intangible tangible. This is something I want to see extended even further as we continue collaborating on our mall project. I want to delicately wrench the phaser knob on these effects and really see where we can go with our adventures in the literary sensorium.

[W]: I remember you saying you wanted Faceless in Nippon to "feel like floating in water." It made me think of a novel as a kind of sensory deprivation tank, the floating and the effects. Did you think of Ultraviolet Torus as a gem, in the abstract, or was the structuring of it more precisely gemlike? James [Krendel-Clark] and I wrote the rough draft of this Blanchot-bodyhorror, broken-videogame-reality novel called Cenotaph, and much of it deals with irrational spaces and Phildickian pulp. As far as sci-fi goes, the more subjective my take, the more "sci-fi" it seems to become. Just last night I drifted between three realities - one in which I was an unemployed writer living under Covid-19, one in which I destroyed an organic ship/braincraft with a cyber-tank, and another where I trained as a druid mage in a treacherous cursed desert. Of course these last two were games and that doesn't even entail any other branching realities that came about as well with regard to books, narratives, televisual influences, lies we tell ourselves, 5G brain-attacking waves, et al. It's late and I'm stoned and tired but yeah. Nick Greer is a fascinating individual. I didn't know you knew him. We spoke about set theory once. Gödel. I read very little, yeah. Or I should say I don't sit and read a physical book as often as I used to. I read rigorously for a good 20 years. If I'm awake enough to read, I usually would want to spend that time writing, or perhaps gaming. Or dreaming. All of these beats - the fictional beverages and ads and playing metafictionally with products and whatnot - I kind of live for that shit. I do that more and more. And it's not even a critique or any kind of satire of it for me - like the low-rez haze of 1-900 commercials was a fuzzy heaven in a box for me as a kid. The K-Mart cafeteria did possess a unique and strange power. I think we're kind of on the same page here as far as we share a kind of reverence for the artificial, the things rendered meaningless through mass production, and other similar slippery intangibles. There is a wonder here that sets it apart from, say, a satirical/scathing view of consumerist life. God, yeah, your experience in Japan. I think I've experienced similar stuff. I remember a time in 2000 when Boca Raton, Florida, was kind of magical for me. I went there a few years back; it's just any place now. Such a strange thing. And sad too. This is the only kind of interview I'd conduct, one with a writer whose work I think truly good. You might've remarked upon the melancholic allure of vending machines coding out at night. Or something similar. It's that sort of sentiment I recognized straightaway as what I consider tuned-in to a cryptic aesthetic I love. I was relieved to discover your wordcraft was honed – that's usually the big problem for me liking someone's work. One of the big draws for me about your work is the stuff you're able to do that I really dig but am not really suited to pull off myself, such as the MDMA vibe, or the ennui mixed with light, hope, etc. There are a dozen or so singular voices around in the online outsider-lit community/whatever, voices I'd consider distinctive: you, Clark, Elytron Frass, Durban Moffer – a few others.

[W]: Your themes I would say demand nuance and control. We've talked about how our mall project is slow-going because it seems very painstaking, almost like etching or surgery or something. Introspective, in any case. Although I just sort of dismissed reading a second ago, I do believe that a unique body of work is made unique by a dizzying variety of blendered influences. I had that 15-year stretch in the suffering cubes to read pretty much constantly, and haphazardly, as far as selection, in a lot of ways, so my influence map is like really fucking bizarre and extensive, which I think makes my stuff appear unique, when all that is unique about it probably is my little perspective or whatever subjectivity is injected into this array of eclectic influences.

[fallingin-like]

november 29

baltimore blues by @spanglebangle  [requested by @foxsoulcourt​ and @sig66​]

see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post!

you’ve probably already read this fic, but in case you haven’t, it’s an amazing exploration of andrew’s perspective on the binghamton riot and baltimore. this fic has fantastic scenes with introspection and is just so impressive to read.

i remember reading this fic for the first time, shortly after having finished the books. i was hesitant to turn to fanfics because i enjoyed the books and nora’s extra content so much and didn’t want to move on, but more than that i was desperate for more content. like most people, i think i was looking for andrew’s perspective on the baltimore scenes. you did an amazing job at capturing it and the moments around it.

parts that stood out to me:

the idea that andrew’s body is tired after a game too. he does spend a lot of time not trying and the rest of the time using a lot of natural talent, but it’s exciting to me (and definitely exciting to neil) to see the evidence that he’s putting so much effort into exy

”he felt pummelled and worn out but despite it all, there was a tiny fizz under his skin. it was something like satisfaction to have denied the other team their goals and having made them curse and yell in frustration, a pleasant bit of spite he could chew on all day” this whole section is such a great vocalization of andrew’s thoughts, and it’s wonderful to see andrew slowly… finding satisfaction from playing, even if it’s based out of spite.

ooh i love the shower routine description, the post that you linked didn’t work for me, but a lot of it was the execution of it, i love the way that you really show trust, but the fact that andrew still carries his trauma with him and still struggles. recovery is a long road and it’s important that this is portrayed

andrew swapping his armbands is interesting to me, i guess i would have imagined he just bring his clean pair with his towel so that he can change it in the stall. with this though, i think it demonstrates the bit of trust, too. even if he makes the switch subtly, i think he wouldn’t do that if he weren’t as comfortable with the foxes

”he’d let andrew ask whatever, demand whatever, and would deliver it if it tore him to pieces” oh this is so beautiful

”it figured, that andrew would meet somebody who finally understood the full weight of a real promise, but would be too apt to take it like a martyr at any opportunity… and yet, being trusted to ask anyway… it put an itch under his skin, an uneasiness and yearning and odd kind of contentment that bothered him endlessly” i think this is the perfect example of a description of andrew’s true feelings about neil. it’s not as simple as liking him or being attracted to him and just saying that he hated him instead. this is a wash of emotions, unfamiliar and at times overwhelming and it kind of feels like a lack of control, which is what andrew really hates

”it felt wrong to demand answers when they might be freely given, if only andrew was patient enough” this whole paragraph is gold!! this is exactly why i think that neil and andrew both work so well together. they know when to push and pull and when to leave the other person alone. 

a whole paragraph on andrew thinking about neil’s affinity with languages? what a mood, i love polyglot!neil. what a perfect request of andrew, something that he thinks neil would enjoy and something that would cause them to become closer, both because they would spend time learning it together and it gives them the privacy to communicate in front of the team

”a pair of campus police edged their way into the crowded room… actual professionals, then” NOOOOOOOOOOO I HATE THAT ANDREW EVEN SEEMS TO TRUST THEM A LITTLE BIT THIS IS TERRIBLE KNOWING WHAT THIS MEANS EVEN THOUGH I KNOW IT’LL TURN OUT ALRIGHT.

oh no, andrew repressing his feelings ;-;

really interesting to see how you write the riot, there’s not that much included in the books, so it’s always fascinating to me to see what andrew does, who he goes to first, what the rest of the foxes are doing, and how he gets that bruise by his eye. and, of course, the realisation that neil’s not around. i like that you have them know right away, while the riot’s still happening

”he wended through corridors and broke locks to see if neil had scarpered for safety in the heat of the moment and found somewhere quiet to hole up and lick his wounds” ooo i like this sentence a lot 

andrew holding on to the keys?? ahhh it’s so much

okay okay okay. non-verbal andrew is something that i really like having included, the confusion, not understanding what people were saying to him, it really immerses me into the fic, i can’t stop reading and i find it really special that i can’t wait to find out what happens, even though i already know that neil is okay, that they find him.

the switch to have andrew speak again is so good, how difficult it is to separate him from kevin, the way that andrew can’t hide his emotion this time

”he knelt and picked up the phone and keys as gently as he could, feeling appalled he’d let them go for even a second” this is such a soft moment amidst the churning, sharpness of andrew’s anger

”andrew found himself hauled away again like a child having a tantrum and plonked outside the bus” lol cute!!

andrew losing time? yeah

”it hit him around ten that he was grieving” ANDREW NO THAT’S SO SAD HOW DARE YOU BREAK MY HEART LIKE THIS

”apparently neil’s refusing to talk to them until he sees your ugly mugs again” LOL so affectionate

andrew finally being able to sleep is so good

love that andrew is keeping the keys and phone with him all the time!!!

yes, another wymack lecture would be good any other time than this coach!

it’s always interesting to see how different authors/artists interpret the wounds that neil received. i think that, as gruesome as yours are, they seem something most similar to what i expected. burns that are a mess, and many of then, completely destroying that side of his face. i can’t imagine lola stopping at one or two of them and moving on to his arms

”they were a mirror image of crushed glass and barbed wire on high walls” yes!! this whole paragraph!!! so amazing

”andrew wanted to hate the spark of amusement and almost relief in his chest, at seeing neil be the unapologetic firebrand and fierce instigator that had snagged andrew’s attention over and over again this year, even battered and injured and shaken” your word choice is so great here, the way that you built this sentence i can’t even describe how much i like it

”it often was, andrew thought distractedly. it had taken so little to stop tilda” andrew is probably the only fox that truly understands wanting a parent dead

”he listened attentively to the story neil gave the interviewers, but everyone else’s voices slurred and mumbed together in a confusing, exhausting mess.” i love the way that you describe andrew being overwhelmed by everything. his one focal point is, and always has been, neil and keeping him safe.

”’stop it,’ andrew commanded, because he couldn’t bear the thought of neil’s hands being permanently damaged” oh it’s so interesting hearing how you interpreted this

”he leaned back against andrew’s side. it was more soothing than andrew wanted it to be” this is so soft!

”before starting the engine, he took the cigarette lighter from his dashboard and tossed it calmly out the window and into a trash can” yes! even more significant because andrew probably actually used the cigarette lighter previously

”he drove his pack back to the campus roads” andrew calls them his pack!! that is so cute

”being yanked out of the closet so violently had never been his plan, but it seemed oddly fitting for the general pattern of his life” i’ve spend a long time reading fanfics instead of the actual series so i forgot for a moment that before this, nobody knew andrew was gay. and the last part, oh. it really sucks that so many things that people learn about him are not his choice. 

andrew stopping himself from the spiraling thoughts, taking breaths and calling bee? amazing, wonderful, for once andrew is a good example to others

foxpile!!!

agh, andrew exposing himself to be close to neil, so good

”at the very least, if any hitmen tried to come in they’d trop all over the foxes lying there and wake everyone up” LOL

”he knew his own strength was largely in the physical - he’d walled off his emotions and shut down his mind long ago instead of learning better coping mechanisms. neil’s strength was in his head, in his fiery heart and acid tongue and fierce determination to live as much as he could in what little time he could gouge from the world” THIS IS AMAZING, the wording and everything, just so so wonderful

”hello, hello, you’re here, i was grieving you but you’re alive, hello, things haven’t changed so much, hello…” oh i love this

i like the checking that andrew does, i liked seeing how you describe his constant reassurance that what he’s doing is okay

”he was wanting and planning and… hoping” andrew :”)

your characterization of andrew is amazing to read, how you captured his the contrast between his thoughts and emotions that he hid with the reactions that he allowed through. did you find it challenging? i can imagine there must have been pressure because readers have seen some of these scenes from another perspective, so there’s not as much flexibility with his actions or the dialogue

your descriptions of everything were wonderful and reflected what i imagine andrew to be like. his rationalization behind his actions and how he reacted to fear after so long of repressing his emotions. i’m glad that this was one of the first fics i read for the fandom, being exposed to this high quality content definitely helped draw me in. thank you so much for writing this!

[pedroscurls]

Title: Reassure Me

Anonymous requested: Could you do some denny fluff, where he is getting back home ? // How about denny being a little self concious about his scar and the reader helping him? 

Character(s): Denny Duquette and Reader Summary: After being released from the hospital since his heart transplant, Denny feels a bit self-conscious with his new scar. Word Count: 1,605 Warning: None. Author’s Note: YAY! Another Denny request! I decided to join these two together since they can be paired with one another easily! Thank you to both anons who requested this! We can never have too much Denny, I think ;-). Enjoy! <3

Denny was more than ready to get home. The heart transplant had been successful and after staying in the hospital for another few months, he was yearning to be in the comfort of his own house. However, you made sure that everything with his health and the heart transplant was approved by many doctors in Seattle Grace Hospital. You could never be too sure and you always wanted to be careful.

“I’m ready, baby,” Denny said, hooking an arm around your waist.

It felt great again to be able to just lean against him and have him tower over you. It brought back many memories from before he was diagnosed with his condition. Now, you and Denny were engaged and you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him now that he had a clean slate for his new health.

“I know you are. You’ve been ready for the past few months,” you teased.

“What can I say? I’m ready to go home and familiarize myself with you and our bed,” he winked.

“Not so fast, tiger. No strenuous activity yet. Doctors orders,” you smiled.

“That’s all right. You can be on top.” Denny smirked, dropping his hand to grasp your backside.

You squeaked and gently poked his side, causing him to jerk away from you. “You’re dirty.”

“Clean me up then,” he winked.

“You never quit, do you?”

“I’m a virile man who has been deprived of sex. I plan on doing a lot of making up,” Denny confirmed. “I’ve got a new heart, so I’m going to utilize it to the best of my ability.”

“And sex is one of them?”

“It’s at the top of my list,” he chuckled, leaning down to peck your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Denny.”

“Thanks for sticking by my side the past five years…” he whispered, cupping your cheek. “I don’t think I would have waited that long if not for you.”

“Yes, you would have…”

He shrugged. “You gave me more meaning to my life, and now, we’re getting married.”

“Yes, we are,” you grinned. “And I can’t wait to become Mrs. Duquette.”

“It sounds perfect,” Denny smiled.

“Like it was meant to be,” you added.

Denny looked into your eyes as he maintained his own smile. “It was,” he confirmed.

“Well, let’s continue this moment back home. We can get something to eat on the way too,” you suggested.

“Let’s get some groceries. We’re going to be home now and I miss your homemade meals.”

“Mm, and I miss your cooking too,” you added.

“It’s a good thing we both know how to cook. Our kids are going to be lucky,” Denny grinned.

“Kids, huh?”

“Oh, I want plenty with you.”

“You just want to do the deed as many times as possible,” you laughed.

“Is that so wrong?” Denny chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Let’s go home, baby.”

You and Denny had been home for three months now. Still, Denny had monthly visits to the hospital to make sure that the new heart he received was working and there were no problems whatsoever. Once he was cleared to start exercising, he had taken you home and ravaged you like some sort of beast who had been deprived of food. Needless to say, it was the best sex you ever had.

Since then, you and Denny had sex at least twice a day. He made sure to go to bed after having sex because he loved the way your body felt against his. But for today’s hospital visit, you could tell that his demeanor had changed.

He was quiet, even while the two of you were waiting for Dr. Burke to call you into a room. You knew that his stitches healed, but Dr. Burke wanted to make sure that it was healing correctly. Denny didn’t say much, but you knew that the visible scar had made him self-conscious about himself.

“Denny, it’s so good to see you,” Dr. Burke grinned.

Denny stood, taking your hand and leading you to the room where Dr. Burke led you both to. “Nice to see you too, Dr. Burke.”

“You’re looking good, man. When’s the wedding?” he asked with a grin.

Denny looked over at you and smiled, shutting the door behind him. “In November. We’ve got a Fall wedding.”

“It’s going to be great,” you added.

“I’m glad that you both have the details finalized. I’m still waiting for my invitation,” Dr. Burke teased.

You smiled and replied, “Invitations will be going out in the next month actually, and I can assure you that your name is on the list.”

“Great. I’m sure it’ll be a wonderful ceremony.”

Denny nodded, “Can’t wait to marry this girl.”

“Oh, I know. You’ve only talked about her every time I came into your room to check your vitals,” Dr. Burke laughed.

“Well, I love her. Gotta let everyone know,” he winked in your direction.

You sat down at the chair near the wall while Denny hoisted himself up onto the examining table. He removed his shirt per Dr. Burke’s request and looked away from you with a subtle ashamed look on his face.

“Scarring is healing up nicely,” Dr. Burke commented. “Unfortunately, it’s going to be a permanent scar, but it’s a constant reminder that you fought and fought and in the end, your persistence won. You’re alive because of it.”

Denny nodded, pulling his shirt back on. “Yeah. It reminds me every day all right.”

The rest of the check-up went smoothly. Dr. Burke listened to Denny’s heartbeat and asked him to take deep breaths as well as to walk to and from the room and down the hallway.

Once Dr. Burke released him with another successful visit, you took Denny’s hand and led him out of the hospital. He was quiet, but he didn’t distance himself. Though, you knew him too well to know that something was wrong.

The ride back home was filled with an uncomfortable silence. There was an ‘elephant’ in the room that needed to be addressed, but neither of you wanted to say anything. Instead, you went straight to the kitchen and began preparing for dinner. Denny went straight to his office and shut the door quietly, keeping himself isolated in the room alone.

Preparing and cooking dinner took longer than you expected, but Denny hadn’t emerged from his office since arriving home. You had set up the table for the both of you and decided to talk to him. You didn’t want the tension while eating dinner anyway.

With a quiet knock, you heard him mumble a quiet ‘come in’. Walking inside, you noticed him dropping the lower half of his shirt to cover his body. You knew he was staring at his scar.

“You okay?” you asked quietly, walking towards him.

“I’m fine. Is dinner ready?” Denny walked past you, but you sighed and grabbed his wrist, turning him around.

“Talk to me…”

“Nothing to talk about, baby. I’m all right,” he shrugged.

“Is it your scar? Is that why you’re acting like this?” you blurted out.

“What? No.”

“Denny…”

“I just—That scar will always be there. I won’t be able to wear v-necks or tank-tops or walk around the beach without a shirt because people will stare,” he mumbled.

“So? You’re alive because of that new heart, Denny… Scar or no scar, I still love you. You’re still handsome to me.”

“You’re just saying that because you have to.”

“I’m saying it because it’s the truth. Do you know how many women turn their heads when you walk by?” You asked, dropping your hand to lace with his fingers. “Sure, people will stare, but that scar is proof that you beat your condition, Denny. You’re here with me because of it.”

“It’s not appealing whatsoever,” he mumbled.

“We all have flaws. We all have scars. Yours? It’s proof that you’re alive because of it. You have spent five years in and out of the hospital, baby… That scar is nothing to what you have been through,” you replied reassuringly, standing on your toes to peck his lips.

“I guess I’m just a bit self-conscious about it that’s all…”

“That’s totally fine though… Just don’t shut me out,” you sighed. “How can I help you and reassure you when I don’t know what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize. I love you all the same. I may even love you more now because we have the best sex every night,” you smiled, blushing.

“Best sex, huh?” he grinned.

“Oh yes. The way you go fast then switch it up by dragging it out with your long, deep strokes?” You bit your lower lip, absently squeezing your legs. “I love it.”

“Mm, okay. Let’s eat before I take you over my desk,” he winked.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Bend me over and take me from behind, Denny,” you whispered seductively.

He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush to his chest. “Minx.”

“You love it,” you smiled.

“That I do, and I love you too.”

“Good because I love you just as much, Denny.”

He smiled and pecked your lips. “Thank you for making me feel better.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” you nodded.

“I thought you were here to suck my—”

You shook your head and covered his mouth, looking into his eyes lovingly. “Hush. Let’s go eat so we can head on up to our bedroom for a night of fun.”

Denny chuckled, gently nibbling at your palm. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, Denny.”

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[jazzyhazzy]

There are certain things in life that you feel like no matter what, you will never get over. It doesn’t matter how many days that tick by like clockwork, there is that constant ache in the back of your mind that yearns for something you used to have. A year can pass, and you still think about it every day when you're in the shower, rinsing the conditioner from your hair and thinking about how different your life could be if he hadn’t ended the best thing you’ve ever had. You can learn to live again, but this old feeling won't budge, the feeling like you’ll never feel the same way about anyone ever again. Still holding onto the small belief that one day he’ll stop dating that other girl and you’ll get to stop hearing about her. Maybe your stomach won't twist at any mention of her name, and maybe you’ll someday have enough self respect to stop pretending to be his friend, insisting that the thought of him like that is disgusting to you. When in reality, all you really want is to go home to him at the end of the day and help him take his suit off and curl into his side and laugh at some stupid TV show with him. One day, maybe, it won't anger you, that she is slowly seeping her way into the lives of your friends. 

One day things will be different? Right? I mean, a year and a half later and I’m still thinking about it all in the shower, and on the train to uni, even when I’m feeling alone in a room crowded with my friends, my mind slips away and I think about the person I would be today if things had been different. Would I still be the happy, hilarious girl I was before he came into my life? Would I just be happier in general? Most likely. 

Like every other time I have plans with friends, it’s a struggle not to succumb to my inner thoughts and opt out. Choosing instead to lay in bed and re-watch Grey’s Anatomy for the umpteenth time, snacking on chocolate and pretending that I’m not missing out on anything. But tonight I made a promise, tonight I celebrate finishing the semester of uni. Tonight I’ll ignore the fact that I only passed one of the three papers I was enrolled in simply because the thought of leaving the house and going to uni was unbearable. My mind constantly making me feel like everyone would be talking about me and watching me, saying to their neighbour how pathetic I was to still be hurting over him. 

Regardless of whether I wanted to go out tonight and celebrate or not, it was apparently no longer my decision. My best friend Lydia practically forcing my pinky finger in a lock with hers as she explained that I was promising to come out with her tonight. We were going to meet up with some friends after a concert, and have a night out on the town, just like we used to. She reminded me of the night I kissed 18 different boys, and insisted that I bring that attitude, because as she painfully pointed out yet again, I haven't even kissed anyone in 18 months. 

I pucker my lips in the mirror, sweeping some nude lipstick onto my bottom lip and smacking them together, pouting at myself before sighing and shaking my head. I needed to stop thinking about him, he had moved on and I had to too. It was time for me to let go. Time for me to stop replying when he texts me every day out of habit. Time for me to learn to live without him, for real this time. Otherwise how else will I ever move on? 18 months is pathetic enough as it is. 

Straightening up, I smooth my hands down my skirt, an embroidered denim mini that I was braving. Having laid out in the sun for the past few weeks my skin wasn’t looking as ghostly as usual and Lydia had insisted that I get my pins out for the boys. Unsure of what boys she was talking about, seeing as we live in a relatively small city at the bottom of the world, it was slim pickings, but somehow she managed to find a tall, foreign rugby player to string along for the duration of the night. I was praying that she would find some tall, dark and handsome guy to distract her early on in the evening so I could slip into a taxi and go home, crawl back into the safety of my bed and not come out until 11am the next morning.

The sound of my name being hollered from the front door only told me that Lyd had arrived, her palm slapping against the door of my 3 bedroom flat. I shared the flat with my 2 friends from uni, though they had both gone home for the holidays after their exams had finished. I had the flat to myself over the summer, and the thought of it excited me as much as it upset me. Pushing the bolt aside, I let my persistent best friend in and she takes me in, looking up and down “Hubba hubba Rubes!” she exclaimed, bending down to run her hand down the back of my calf to make sure I’ve shaved my legs, happy with the result, she stands up and hugs me tight. “I am so excited for tonight!” I lie, but I’m very convincing. She beams, pulling a bottle of tequila from the paper bag in her arms and grinning, holding it up and shaking her hips from side to side in a silly dance. She’s wearing her classic black ankle boots with a black denim skirt and a dark blue camisole paired with her black leather jacket, her usual kind of outfit for a night out. 

Tequila and I used to be great friends back in the day, I’d knock it back until I couldn’t remember my own name and I’d let loose and dance with everyone I came across. I was fun, and loved a good time, I would jump around and sway my hips until my hair clung to the back of my neck with sweat, I would stand in the lines to clubs and flirt my way to the front, I’d share a dart with some hot guy on the street, run from one club to the other and pretend to be sober and joke with the bodyguards until I charmed my way into whichever club I wanted.  My heart ached at the thought of who I used to be, I’d give anything to go back to being that girl, even if it is just for one night. But then again, fuck it, there’s no reason that tonight can’t be that night. 

Tonight could be the night, I’m sick of being this depressed, pathetic shell of the girl I used to be, the girl I really am. Why am I wasting the best years of my life pining after some mediocre guy who chose to let go of me and downgrade to some mediocre mug of a girl? I at least owe it to myself to try, even if it only lasts one night, I know that I should try. My phone vibrates in the back pocket of my skirt, and I fish it out, seeing his name appear on the screen. Unlocking the phone I open up the text message.

Are you going out tonight?

Fighting the urge to reply, I remind myself that he’s got a new girlfriend. Granted, she’s a downgrade, but she’s a girlfriend nonetheless. A friendship with him is something that I never really wanted when he broke up with me, but he insisted we could make it work, while he flirted with me for months on end, stringing me along and cruelly playing on the fact that he knew I still loved him. Now that I look back on it, it was just a sad way of keeping me there, like a backup. I don’t need his friendship. 

I ignore the message, biting my lip and deleting the thread after holding onto it for years, just because I didn’t want to erase all the I love you’s, and the rest of it. If I’m going to take this step, I’m gonna have to commit to it. If Lydia wants her Ruby back for tonight, then that’s what she’ll get. 

“Let’s fucking do it Lyd” I say, digging two shot glasses from the back of the cupboard and slamming them down on the table, I reach for the bottle and she yanks it away, “Come on Rubes, we’re civilised 22 year olds now” she scolds me, pulling two lemons from her bag and chucking them at me one by one. She definitely came prepared, jumping up onto one of the barstools and connecting her phone to my speaker while I chopped the lemons into perfect wedges, rummaging around in my pantry until I find the salt grinder. My mouth salivates in excitement, my stomach growling, reminding me that I haven't eaten since lunch. I internally shrug, eating is cheating... right?

She finally gets the speaker connected to her phone and puts on her music, I reach for the bottle again and this time she lets me grab it, approving of the lemon and the salt. She has a point, we’re not 18 anymore, we don’t need to be having straight shots of tequila when we can do the whole package with salt and lemon... like real adults... Sliding the shot glass across the bench to her and grinding some salt onto the back of her hand before licking my wrist and passing the grinder to her so she can salt my hand too. 

Raising our glasses, “To old Ruby” she cheers, “To old Ruby” I cheer back, clinking my glass to hers, before licking the salt from my hand and throwing back the shot, jamming a lemon wedge into my mouth straight after and puckering at the sourness. My insides warming immediately and a smile creeping onto my face as she is already pouring the second shot, we’re not messing around tonight apparently. 

Knocking back the second shot and cheers-ing to “Rubes sucking some face” I feel the warmth spreading throughout the rest of my body. “Fuck it” I announce, “Let’s get everyone over”

***

“If two mind readers read each others minds, whose mind are they reading?” Cory quizzes. I squint my eyes and think harder than I’ve ever thought before, but my thoughts are all jumbled and I can’t make any sense of it. The ink on my hand keeping a smudged tally of how many shots of tequila I’ve had, but the lines become more and more wonky as the night goes on and now I’m not sure if it’s twelve or twenty. The pounding of the blood throughout my entire body hints that it’s more towards the twenty end of the spectrum.

“Who invited Cory?” I groan, slapping his shoulder and laughing as he faked hurt before pinching my knee, “I’ve gotta say Rubes, I’ve bloody missed you love” he leans over and tells me, grinning at me madly, glad to have his old friend back once more. 

For the first time in a long time, I feel good. I don’t feel like I need to put on an act just to be around my friends. I don’t have to pretend that I’m having a good time, even though I’ll be thinking about him, waiting for him to reply to me, checking how long ago he was online and having that stupid feeling that he’s been active since my last message and feeling disheartened that he ignored me. Tonight, I don't seem to care at all and I’m loving it. 

In the corner of my eye I see Lydia trying to climb up on my kitchen bench with the help of Ava and Hettie, her legs wobbling as she struggles to stand before regaining her very drunken composure. “Alright people, the concert is over and the others want to meet up with us in town, so scull your god damn drinks and lets get a move on! Town awaits!” she announces, raising her glass and downing it whilst everyone around us follows suit, cheering and grabbing their belongings before shuffling out my front door, linking arms and belting out something about bottles of beer on the wall.

I grab my bag and check for keys, ID, card and yank my phone from the charger, slinging the bag over my shoulder and taking one last long swig of tequila from the bottle before grabbing Lydia’s are and following her out of the door, locking it behind me.

Everyones excitement is contagious, and I’ve been on a high all night. Kicking myself for not choosing to do this a year ago. I could be a completely different person right now if I had done this back then. Maybe I wouldn't have failed two papers this semester, maybe it would have been days, or weeks since I last kissed a boy, instead of 18 months. Shaking the thought from my head, I focus on the here and now, skipping off down the street to catch up with the rest of the group. 

We dart into the first club, and only stay for a short while. Over the course of the  night the group dwindles and breaks down into 3-4 people, clinging to one another and attempting to locate the others. Lydia has managed to hold onto my arm all night as we’ve moved around, and I’m surprised she hasn’t yet found some tall athletic guy to dance up against and forget about me. But tonight I no longer want to sneak off back home and crawl into bed, lonely and sad. I ask the others if any of them needs to go to the bathroom, having to shout at the top of my lungs to be heard over the thumping of the music. Hettie nods at me, grabbing my hand and leading me through the mass of bodies to the bathrooms. We duck into the same stall together, taking turns at peeing before washing our hands and rejoining the dance floor. 

In the short time it took the pair of us to go to the bathroom, Lydia had found herself a guy, over 6 foot tall, with short, dark hair. The build of a rugby player, which is exactly her type. Hettie looks at me and rolls her eyes, my eyes find Ava trapped next to Lydia, she makes her way over to us “That didn’t take long did it? Bloody typical Lyds” we all laugh in agreement. I’m definitely beginning to feel the happy tequila buzz wear off, and not wanting it to end, I march up to the bar and buy another 2 shots of tequila to keep me going for the rest of the night. At least enough to tide me over until it was an acceptable time to go home without being ridiculed by Lydia the next morning. 

Pulling out my card to pay for the shots, the barman puts his hand up, slapping my card away “It’s been taken care of love” he informs me, sliding the shots over to me and nodding his head in the direction of the corner of the bar. I look over, confused. Seeing only one guy there, and he’s hunched over looking at his phone anyway. Shrugging my shoulders, I toss the lemons and take the shots without, feeling the familiar warm burn in my throat as they trickle down and warm up my insides again. Looking over to the corner again, the guy who was looking at his phone is now watching me. I raise an eyebrow and purse my lips, watching him back. 

His hair is pushed back in a bandana, but I can see it’s not too long, and it curls up at the ends, a rich chocolate brown, the kind that you’d see on a shampoo commercial. His green eyes are somewhat piercing, his lips set in a line as we continue to watch each other. I huff a sigh, deciding it won't do any harm to go up and thank this attractive guy for the drinks. My body too drunk to be nervous, the liquid confidence of those last two tequila shots are really helping me out tonight. I have to navigate through a few groups of people to get around to him, but he doesn't turn in his barstool to face me until I’m standing right next to him, tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Hey there” I announce my arrival, doing my best to hide my sharp intake of breath as he turns to face me. I didn't see it from across the other end of the bar, but this guys is totally fucking hot. Like next level delicious. "Hey back” he grins at me, flashing a crooked smile and some perfect dimples and my legs almost give out from beneath me. He pats the barstool next to him, inviting me to sit. I take up the invitation, not trusting my legs to be as cool as the rest of me is desperately trying to be. Also, if that’s a British accent I can hear, there’s no hope for me.

“I just thought I’d come over and thank you for the drinks” I say, leaning closer to his ear so he can hear me over the music, my hand resting on his knee to steady myself, not realising that it’s probably a bit forward. Especially for me. My hand retreats back into my own lap and I already feel myself flushing with embarrassment. What is wrong with me?

“My mother always told me that buying a girl a drink is the ultimate test” he replied, watching my face as my brow furrowed, was I being tested? “Hmm, and have I passed the test?” I ask, watching him sip from his own drink before turning back to me, “With flying colours, love.” he answers, and I can’t help but grin proudly. “You see, if you buy a girl a drink, it will go one of three ways. One: she will ignore you, take the drink and go - which means she’s either in a relationship, or she's just not the kind of person you’d want to talk to anyway, I mean, rude. Two:” he paused, holding up two fingers for effect. “she will flash you a smile, or mouth a thanks in your direction, but won't come over and thank you personally, too shy, or again, in a relationship.”

Holding up his third, long finger with a silver band ring wrapped around it, “Third: the girl could accept the drink and pluck up the courage to come and thank me personally” he finished, “And what does that tell you about her?” I press, wanting to know what he was thinking of me. 

Blinking at me, I can't help but notice the length of his eyelashes, “She’s cool, she’s confident, she’s not afraid to put herself out there.” he trails off. I can't help but laughing to myself, getting the giggles, simply because he could not be more wrong about me if he tried. “What’s so funny?” he asks, I shake my head, not wanting to give up the charade just yet. 

Talking to this guy is strangely captivating, and makes me feel warm inside, and I know it’s not just the tequila. “I’m Ruby” I offer my hand for him to shake, he looks at my small hand for a while, hovering in mid air before enveloping it in his big, warm hand, pulling me in so he can kiss my cheek. “I love that name, like my favourite Stones song, Ruby Tuesday” he murmurs, our faces inches apart after the kiss on the cheek. “Believe it or not, thats not the first time someones bought up that song to me” I retort, pulling away, not quite sure how I should be acting. The tequila definitely clouding my better judgement, pair that with the fact that I haven't even interacted with another boy like this for over a year and I’m a confused mess. 

“I can barely hear you, Ruby” he says into my ear, and I love the way my name sounds in his accent. “Let’s go somewhere else?” he suggests, finishing off his drink and picking up his jacket from the back of his stool. I scan the room to see if I could locate any of my friends to let them know that I’m leaving with this guy I’ve literally just met at the bar. I am almost as bad as Lydia, ditching my friends for a boy. Failing to spot them, I decide to just flick them a text instead, opening up my messages to find another text from him. 

Unlike you to not reply, everything okay? x

I see the x on the end of the message and my chest tightens, but its not like how it used to be, its not the feeling of hope, or the fluttering of butterflies at the tiniest sign of affection. Instead its a chest tightening of a more sickening kind. I feel my face flush red with anger, and internally kick myself for falling for all of this bullshit for so long. He is still trying to string me along and keep me waiting on the back burner even though he has a girlfriend, its sick. I delete the message and tell Hettie and Ava that I’ve left and will call them in the morning, before turning my attention to my mystery guy. “All set?” he checks, casually brushing a thumb across my reddened cheek, making me turn red for an entirely different reason. I nod, and he offers his hand for me to take, leading me through the club to the exit, keeping his head down and ducking out the back entrance instead of the front, which I thought was odd.

Oh jesus, I haven't just fallen into some kind of trap have I? Have I fallen into the arms of some dishy, hot guy with an accent and now I’m going to be murdered in an alley while all of my friends dance only metres away? He leads me away from the club and down the street, turning to me and looking startled at the look of alarm on my face. He stops in his tracks, pausing to check my face, “What’s wrong?” he questions, looking worried. “Where are we going?” I ask timidly, looking around, there were plenty of people around to help me if I screamed out.

His brow furrowed, “I was hoping you could suggest somewhere a little quieter for us to talk?” he answered plainly, not seeming like any kind of murderer at all. Just a guy wanting to talk to a girl. “We could go to the library” I suggest, knowing it would be a good place to go to, they have more private and intimate booths and tables. And bloody good cocktails and desserts too. “I know I said quiet, but a library wasn't exactly what I had in mind...” he trailed off, looking confused. I chuckled, and took his hand in mine, leading the way, “Just come”

It only took a couple of minutes to get to the front door, and I released his hand to get my ID out of my bag to hand to the bouncer, flashing him my most sober and friendly smile. He looked at the ID and then back to my face and nodded, handing me back my license and I headed inside, waiting for him to join me. “I’ve never needed ID to get into a library before” he shook his head and followed me up three flights of stairs, I could feel his eyes watching me from behind as I ascended. Coming to a stop in front of a  door that looked like a bookcase, I knocked three times before it opened and we were permitted entry. 

His eyebrows raised as he followed me inside, taking in the surroundings. The walls were floor to ceiling bookcases, with real books too, everything from Martha Stewart Cookbooks to the Twilight saga. “Table for two please” I  requested from the man at the counter, nodding a timid hello at James, who flats with the ex. I followed through to our booth, as the waiter handed us menus and poured some cucumber flavoured water before leaving us to decide. 

“Wow, this place is pretty amazing” he credited me, gazing around in awe at all of the books, while I gazed at his sharp jawline and the way that his curls brushed against the skin of his neck, feeling the bizarre urge to kiss the spot. “You still haven’t told me your name yet” I declare, wanting to put a name to the beautiful face before me. He moved his eyes from the books, and locked them with mine, “Harry” 

“Pleasure to meet you Harry” I say, sipping my cucumber water and wishing it was something a little stronger. Something that would continue to give me the liquid courage to be the Ruby that I used to be, the Ruby that would happily chat away to a deliciously hot guy all night without thinking of her stupid fucking ex. 

Flicking through the drinks menu I settle on an Old Fashioned, simply because it sounds cool in movies and it has bourbon which must make me look pretty hard core. Trying to impress here, Harry is probably used to English girls, and I have no idea what their drink of choice is. He raises his eyebrows when I place my order, cursing internally that of all the staff that could be waiting on our particular table, it has to be James. Harry goes for a Rosebud, and I am in turn surprised, because that is one of my favourite drinks ever. 

“So is this some secret place that only the cool people know about?” Harry asks me, a cheeky look on his face. I snort, not feeling like a cool person in the least, “If thats the case then I definitely shouldn't know about this place” Harry shakes his head, “I think you’re pretty cool so far. But seeing as you’ve bought me to a library, I feel like I should probably ask what your favourite book is?”

Very smooth. I find myself panicking, trying to think of all the books I have read, and also thinking about picking one that would at least make me sound cool, something like The Great Gatsby, or Lolita, a classic like that would make me seem like an intellectual. But the only books I can seem to think about are Harry Potter ones, probably because I’ve read them all dozens of times. Deciding that honesty is probably best, I give Harry Potter as my answer, trying my best not to blush. 

Harry leans closer to me, locking eyes with a very serious look on his face. “But, which one is your favourite?” he asks. “Probably.... The Prisoner of Azkaban, aaaaaaand The Half-Blood Prince.” I answer, hoping that my answer is satisfactory enough for him. He slaps his hand on the table and shakes his head, “No way! Goblet of Fire is hands down the best!”

My mouth drops open, shocked. “Ok... says every wannabe fan ever” I tease, and he looks offended. We argue about the pros and cons of each of the books and movies until our drinks arrive. 

I take one sip of my Old Fashioned and almost spit it out immediately. It takes a lot to swallow my sip, and I’m pretty sure my disgusted face gave me away. “Not nice?” Harry asks, an amused look on his face. I think about acting cool and playing it off, but honestly, I’m pretty sure this is straight bourbon, with an ice cube and a slither of orange. I feel like a total idiot, thats for sure. Shaking my head, I push the drink towards him and he studies it for a moment before taking a sip. His eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise at how strong it is, before swallowing. “Yeah thats bloody awful! Order something else, like a classy and classic Rosebud” he suggests, waggling his eyebrows and taking a sip of his drink, closing his eyes and sighing in contempt. 

Who the hell is this perfect guy and where the hell did his perfect face come from and why the hell is he wasting his perfect time talking to me of all people!? It makes no sense to me!

I order a Rosebud the next time James comes by, giving him the Old Fashioned to take far, far away from me. 

***

Harry and I sit together and talk for hours upon hours, discussing everything from our favourite foods to who we would have as a guest to dinner - which I note, is a great question to ask on a date... Even though this isn't a date. But how I wish it was. As those hours went by, I found myself having drink after drink, feeling more and more content and outgoing with each and every sip. At least, I think it was the alcohol, it could also just be the fact that he is wonderful to talk to, and I’m surprised at how much we seem to have in common. 

A barman calls last drinks, and I check my watch, my eyes almost falling out of my skull when I see that it’s almost 4am. “Holy shit, it’s almost 4″ I announce, genuinely surprised that I haven't felt tired yet. Spending so much time at home in bed on my own has made me an unbelievable Nana, always in bed asleep before midnight at the latest. “Past your bedtime?” Harry teases, winking at me. Fuck, I never knew a wink could be so hot. I feel a weird twisting feeling in my stomach. Am I really that turned on by a mere wink?

“Come on, do you live close by? I’ll walk you home” he offers, and I nod, taking up the offer. Planning and scheming all of the ways I could invite him inside whilst still looking cool and not at all desperate for his company. Shuffling out of the booth, I stand up straight and stumble ever so slightly, not realising that I have had that much to drink. Wow, old Ruby really did come back tonight. Shit Lydia is going to be so proud of me when I tell her about all of this, please GOD let me remember this all in perfect detail tomorrow. 

Harry’s hand catches my elbow and he puts a hand on my hip to steady me, “Steady on Ruby Tuesday” he chuckles, easing his hold once he is assured that I can stand and walk independently, though I miss the feel of his hand on my hip. So big and warm. 

“Had a good night guys?” The staff at the cashier asks as we go up to pay. Shit, I really should not have had that many drinks, these cocktails are not cheap and I don't even remember how many I’ve had... I grab my card from my bag and Harry steps in front of me, his hip nudging me out of the way. “I’ve got this” he tells the cashier. I frown, pouting “We’ll go halves” I insist. “Ignore her” Harry interrupts me, swiping his card and entering his pin before I can argue further. “Keep the receipt” he insists, tucking his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans. It’s a wonder he can fit anything into those pockets, his jeans are so tight. 

“Have a good one Ruby” James calls out as Harry and I are leaving, I look back at him and nod, knowing full well that he is going to go straight home and tell him everything that he saw here tonight with Harry and I. But instead of feeling afraid, I feel smug, I feel happy. For once, I feel like I'm the one thats not replying, I’m the one who’s too busy with someone else to give him the time of day. “You know that guy?” Harry asks, holding the door open for me. “Yeah, he’s a friend of a friend.” I shrug it off casually, not wanting to ruin such a great night by having to talk about my stupid ex. 

Once we’re outside, I shiver, forgetting to bring a jacket with me when I left home because I thought the booze blanket would protect me until I could ditch Lydia and take myself back home to bed. I would have been in bed 4 hours ago at least if I hadn’t have met Harry. He grabs my hand and my stomach flutters, I haven’t felt that flutter in a really long time, and I smile to myself, shaking my head. This is definitely too good to be true. 

“So what brings you to New Zealand?” I quiz him, wanting to do a bit of digging to see if it would even be possible to see him again after tonight. He clears his throat, “Uh, I’m here to play some music, actually.” he answers, cautiously watching me as if I’m going to go running for the hills. “Oh thats cool! are you in a band or something?” I ask, maybe I could go to one of his gigs to watch him. Could be a good excuse to see him again. 

He scratches the back of his head, “Uh yeah, I used to be, but I’m kinda doing my own thing now.”

“That’s cool, what kind of music do you make?”

He slows to a stop and gives me a look, like I might be missing something. 

“What’s the matter? Have I said something?” I ask, panicky.

Harry shakes his head in awe, “Without sounding like a wanker... Do you really have no idea who I am?”

I frown, taking a moment to study his face. He does have a bit of a familiar look about him, like the kind of person you’ve seen in an advert over and over again, but you don’t actually know who they are. “I mean, you look a little familiar. Should I know who you are?” 

Shaking his head again, he takes my hand back and keeps walking, “I’m just Harry, that’s all you should know” he smiles, and it touches his eyes in a way that makes me feel like maybe I should know who he is, and he’s appreciative that I don't. I can’t help but shiver as we keep walking, a bit of a wind picking up and blowing a cold breeze over my exposed skin. “Oh my god, how un-chivilrous of me! Here, take my jumper” he insists, letting go of my hand to haul his grey jumper over his head. “No it’s fine! My flat is just around the corner and I don't want you to get cold too!” I insist, content in just holding his big warm hand for now, although I do take the opportunity to hug a little closer to his side as we walk to bask in the warmth that is coming off his body.

As we approach my flat, I’m suddenly feeling extremely flustered and panicked. What if I never see him again? I’ve felt more like myself tonight than I have for years, and I hate the thought of having to go back to being miserable tomorrow after the excitement of tonight has worn off. “Are you staying far from here?” I ask, “I actually don’t know where I am right now” he chuckles uneasily. I want to smack my head, of course he doesn't know where he is, he’s not from here after all. 

Before I even know what I’m saying, the words are out of my mouth “Well I’ve got an empty flat at the moment, you’re more than welcome to come up and crash here?” I suggest. 

What the hell has gotten into me. I didn't even feel comfortable enough to leave the house tonight, and now I’m inviting a guy I’ve only known for a few hours to stay the night in my empty flat with me. I don’t know how people have the courage to have one night stands, staying at the house of a complete stranger AND having sex with them too. 

Harry looks around, just to make sure that he is well and truly lost. “I’ll even drive you back to wherever you're staying tomorrow” I offer, hoping that I don’t sound too pushy or desperate. 

“Alright then, you’ve pulled my leg. But I do think that I should probably share a bed with you, just to make sure you warm up properly. I would hate for you to get hypothermic.” he winks, squeezing my hand, my breath catches in my throat. The thought of sharing my bed with someone else, especially a boy, and especially a boy that looks like that, is crazy. I’ve been alone for so long it has made me nervous. 

“I’ll allow it” I breathe, managing to get the words out without squeaking and giving myself away. I unlock the door and let us inside, I’m instantly flooded with warmth. Our living room has huge windows that look out over the city, and we get all of the afternoon sun, which ends up saving us a lot of money when it comes to heating. It’s pretty darn nice for a student flat, and being an all girls flat, we generally keep it quite tidy and put a bit of pride into the decor. 

“Uhh, bathroom is that door over there” I point to the door next to the kitchen, “Those two doors at the end of the hall are my flatmates rooms, and I’m down this end here” I say, opening the door and flood the room with light. Thank god I tidied up today, and that my floor is not covered in dirty laundry like usual. 

“It’s very homely” he compliments, stretching into a yawn, his fingers brushing the ceiling and I can't help but notice the strip of tanned, smooth skin above the band of his jeans. 

I instantly feel extremely sober, and self conscious. I can feel myself starting to retreat back to that same hole of self loathing and depression that I’ve been sunken into for the past year. This guy I’ve just met is here, in my room, in my space, in my safe haven. I can feel my guards piling up, and I wish that I could just be a normal, cool girl that just doesn't care about this whole situation, I wish it was easy for me to just accept him into my bed without having to think about a million other things. Without having to think about what he would have to say about it. 

As if sensing a bit of my discomfort, Harry grabs my hand and squeezes it, “I can sleep on the couch if you’re not-”

“No” I cut him off before he can finish, “It’s totally fine, I promise. It’s just been a while since I’ve shared my bed” I admit, hanging my head, embarrassed. 

“Come on, don’t  be embarrassed” he insists, lifting my chin with his finger. “I just want to make sure you’re nice and warm, I won't even kiss you, I swear” 

I can't help but smile and feel at ease. He’s given me no reason to feel uneasy, I’m just so in my head that I work myself up over nothing. Sharing a bed with him is totally fine, nothing has to come of it after all, although I wouldn't say no to feeling those perfect lips on mine. 

After I get changed into some pyjama shorts and a singlet, wash my face and brush my teeth, I crawl into bed, feeling so exposed without any makeup on. I pat the bed next to me and he comes over, sitting on the edge and pulling his shoes off, taking his wallet and phone out of his impossibly tight pockets and placing them on my bedside table, laying back fully clothed on top of the covers. 

I stare at him like he’s crazy. “You’re not really going to sleep like that are you?” I ask, he turns his head to look over at me and shrugs, “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything” he murmurs, I can’t stop looking at the way his lips move when he forms words. 

“I believe you said you’d make sure I was warm and all... can’t do that from all the way over there.” I insist, glad that I’ve somehow found enough confidence to at least be a little forward. Also surprised that he is being so conservative, I was under the impression that most guys would be trying to get me naked by now. A cheeky smile creeps across his face, and he stands back up and strips down to just his briefs. I feel like I should look away, but I physically can’t. He’s lean, and muscular but not in a gross way. His skin is smooth and tanned and absolute perfection. He looks warm. 

Harry pulls back the covers and gets back into my bed, shimmying over to me and offering an arm, I lift my head so he can slip it underneath my head. We lay facing each other and smiling for absolutely no reason at all. “Am I warm enough yet?” I ask, he moves his hand to rest on my hip, thinking about it for a moment before shaking his head, pulling my body towards his and wrapping his other arm around my waist. 

My stomach flutters at the proximity, and a part of my brain is screaming at me to take off his briefs and ride him off into the sunset, but thats not going to happen. 

“I’m really glad I bought you those drinks” he whispers, before turning out the light. 

“I’m really glad I came over and thanked you for them” I respond, feeling like he can tell that I have a smile on my face. 

My eyes flutter shut, a sudden wave of exhaustion consuming me.

The last thing I remember before falling asleep is a soft brush of those perfect  lips I’ve been staring at all night on mine. 

Face claim here

[whitewolfofwinterfell]

Hey, Shannen! As my fave tvd meta person these days, what are your thoughts on the way Stefan's story ended in particular? I am pissed off about SE and the way they made Damon the better brother, the better man, but I've always thought Stefan would die, somehow maybe sacrificing himself so in a way as sad as it made me it also made some sense even if the circumstances as a whole sucked.

Hey there! Aww, that’s such a huge compliment, thank you so much! This is an interesting question to get asked and I’m so glad you did ask. This isn’t a simple topic to discuss, so get yourself comfortable, because this is probably gonna be a long one. 

Well, currently I have mixed emotions about the way in which Stefan’s story ended. On the one hand, just like you said, I feel like Stefan sacrificing himself was very fitting with his character. From the very beginning Stefan has always been the hero of the story, there’s a reason why pretty much every characters (even the villains) have referred to him as being one - because it’s true. He said that as a human he cared about others and felt their pain and that as a vampire that became amplified and I really feel like that’s always been at the core of Stefan’s character and it’s part of the reason I love him so much, because I identify with that. That feeling of not being able to separate yourself from someone else’s emotions, particularly those you care about, of somehow always feeling responsible when they’re hurt or suffering and of wanting more than anything to ease that in anyway you can, even if it’s not necessarily your place to. That’s what Stefan has always been about and it’s the reason he was the Ripper - because as a vampire carrying that constant burden was too much to handle and instead he took to being the complete opposite and turning it all off and instead inflicting pain on others instead of helping them. But the point of me pointing this out, is that Stefan’s sacrifice in 8x16 was yet again him somehow feeling as though it’s his responsibility to save everyone, that he should be the one to die so as to give everyone else their happiness. Why did he have to do that? He didn’t. When you really think about it no one had to sacrifice themselves, they could’ve all worked together to find a way to stop Katherine. But this is classic Stefan, him assuming responsibility for everyone’s well being, and particularly when it comes to Damon and Elena. 

And this is where my issue stems from regarding Stefan’s sacrifice - it wasn’t for a purposeful enough reason. This is Stefan Salvatore we’re talking about, if he was going to die I wanted it to be for a real reason, but it just didn’t feel like that to me. First of all, the initial impression is that he sacrificed himself to save Mystic Falls from being devoured by hell and to save everyone he loved, which is great and everything, except for a couple of flaws: 

1. Why couldn’t Stefan have worked with everyone to bring Katherine down? That way no one would’ve had to of died. 2. Out of everyone, why/how the hell was having Stefan - a human - be the one to kill Katherine logical? 

But the biggest issue of all is that this isn’t why Stefan died. Stefan died because he decided to give Damon the cure. Of course he was going to sacrifice himself to take Katherine down, because he was going to die anyway. And this is what bugs me, because no matter how you look at it, Stefan dying was largely done to prop up Damon and Elena’s happy ending.As Elena said herself, she owed her entire life to Stefan, and so did Damon. What’s even more annoying is that yet again, it wasn’t even necessary. If Damon wanted to be human, why couldn’t he have taken the cure from Elena, who wouldn’t have died since she’s only 19 years old? 

I understand that it’s not necessarily about whether Stefan had to die or not, it’s the fact that being the person he was, he made a choice to sacrifice himself without a second thought for his brother’s happiness. I think that the writers intended for Stefan’s death to be the ultimate tribute to the Defan relationship. That in the end, Damon did redeem himself, he did become a better person and Stefan finally saw that (because let’s honest, although Stefan has always tried to be there for Damon he’s always seen the worst in him and never truly believed he could change) and Stefan wanted and was happy to die to give that man - the one he told Elena about in their final scene - to have a chance at a happy, human life with the woman he loved. The sentiment of it isn’t completely lost on me, but it doesn’t stop me from questioning why. 

Just because Damon redeemed himself (which that is an argument in itself, because did he really?), why did he deserve to have everything he wanted whilst Stefan died? Stefan was always a good person, he went on the same journey as Damon in terms of trying to overcome his darkness and make amends for his past, so why did Damon get rewarded with the happy ending and Stefan didn’t? 

It’s definitely easy to perceive Stefan’s death as being the writers favouring or choosing Damon over Stefan, which makes me so damn angry, but if you look at it from a different perspective, the fact that they killed Stefan actually proved that the writers loved and respected Stefan more than anyone else on the show. I discussed this in response to another ask I got where I explained why I thought Damon would be the one to die, and what I said was that I thought Damon would be the one to die because the writers love him so much that they want the finale to be all about him getting a poetic and heroic ending and that by killing him it would actually be making it all about him. Now I can see that I was partly right, I just believed it about the wrong brother. Stefan was the one they believed deserved that heroic ending, he was the one they wanted to accredit with being the reason for everyone’s happy endings. As a writer myself and someone that’s always read a lot, I know what the symbolism of a major character death is, particularly when it’s at the end of a story and it’s a sacrifice such as Stefan’s. Writers only do that to their most loved characters, because by killing them they actually make them the most important and well remembered and loved character. So in a backwards kind of way, Stefan’s death was actually an honor to him of the highest caliber. 

Having said this, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s unfair that Stefan didn’t get a chance at a happy ending. I’m not a Steroline shipper, but he’d just become human, he’d married Caroline and was literally in touching range of that shot at a normal life that he’d always yearned for. And I don’t care what anyone says, he did deserve that. He deserved a shot at happiness just like everyone else and in reality, he was the only one on the show that didn’t get it. I know that he technically lived for 177 years which is more than a long and full life by any human’s standards, but at the same time he was still only a 17 year old boy that hadn’t had the chance to just live as a human and have normal human experiences. 

But when you factor in the concept of afterlife the writers created in the finale, it puts a different spin on things. Just a little note before I get started, whether or not those final scenes where Elena reunited with her family and Damon with Stefan were meant to be literal representations of the afterlife or imagined is up to interpretation, but I certainly took it as being literal and for the purpose of what I’m about to say next, that’s the theory I’m going with. So, the idea of there being an afterlife or heaven whereby the characters are reunited with their loved ones and live eternally with them means that Stefan’s death is so much easier to accept and be happy about. I mean, everyone knows that Stelena is my OTP of all OTP’s, but do you want to know the scene that really got me emotional? The one that got my heart pumping, made my eyes bleary, caused a lump to form in my throat and made me laugh with joy? The scene where Stefan reunited with Lexi. Like honestly, after Stelena Stexi is my biggest ship for Stefan (platonically not romantically) and that scene was so special to me. Before I go off on a tangent about this, my point is that if Stefan died and got to be with Lexi, his best friend, for the rest of his life and then his brother when Damon died, I’m totally okay with that. Let’s be honest here, Stefan had a pretty miserable life and although there were happy moments in between the bad ones, there was just a constant string of suffering for him. We’re led to believe at the end that Elena and Damon led some semblance of a happy life together, but that’s a far-reaching, if you ask me. When Stefan became human it undid his compulsion, what do you think would’ve happened when Damon’s compulsion reversed? These are the kinds of things the writers forget about, because let me tell you, Damon’s compulsion becoming undone would rain a shit storm of shit onto Damon and Elena’s picture perfect life. Not to mention that being human again means that Elena’s the doppelganger, so surely that means she’d be coveted again. What I’m trying to say here is that in the lives of these characters and the world they’re a part of, there’s no such thing as happy endings. Becoming human doesn’t magically sever their ties from that world. The things they did, the enemies they made as vampires still exist. Even if Stefan would’ve lived, the terrible things he did as a vampire wouldn’t have magically reversed, there would be humans and vampires alike that would’ve wanted to make him suffer and how long do you think he would’ve lasted? So when you think about it like that, the idea of Stefan dying is the happiest ending he could’ve had. He is finally at peace. It might be in the afterlife, but he is human, he is free from the past, no longer running from various villains or having to sacrifice himself for others and he’s with his best friend. He can just be Stefan now. No more vampire Stefan or Ripper Stefan or hero Stefan, just Stefan. 

And because I haven’t necessarily answered your question in simplest way, I just want to confirm that given everything that’s happened across the 8 seasons, I am reasonably satisfied with Stefan’s ending. He got the chance to be human (even if it was only for a short amount of time), he got to marry someone he loved and he died as himself; as a hero, making a sacrifice for the person he loved most in the world - his brother - and he finally found peace with him and the other person he loved most in the world - his best friend.