#i just want to read zero escape fics

[kayzero]

FELLAS

you ever have such a bad body day that you can’t even READ FANFIC?!

this sucks.

[meowsticmarvels]

who else up thinking about the 3-4 month gap between ZTD's D-END 1/C-END and the reactors going off. it isn't rly elaborated on much but i think whatever happens there is very obviously extremely horrific and tragic the whole time. it makes me crazy to think about. there's probably timelines where sigma and phi and anyone else vital to the project didn't make it to april. more in tags. it is crazy and i need to know peoples thoughts

[barleyo]

678-999-8212.

Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: part two for my last fic!! ermmmm once again ily if you know the title's reference :3 this is a short addition too but idk i don't think part one required a super long part two! please read the tags, leon is mean in this one :c

Part One: here

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), age gap (21-50s), degradation, choking, hate-sex, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, non-con, striking/smacking of the face, alcohol mention

Wordcount: 1k

Leon had never driven this fast before. To hell with every red light in his way, he needed to get home. Foot sat firmly on the gas pedal, inching further and faster the more he thought about the series of events that led him here. 

His daughter was an absolute slut. How many men had you 'entertained' like that before? How many filthy calls had you made to men who were possibly even older than himself? More than that— how had he fallen into your trap? 

He made a silent promise to himself to put the bottle down, seeing as it left him in that situation. A promise that was an empty one, but it offered him solace in the moment as he pulled into his driveway. 

Leon's feet struggled against the pavement. He was still unbearably drunk and dizzy, now with added anger and unfounded horniness. He felt gross, disgusted by the erection popping in his slacks, but he couldn't help it. He was fathering a damn siren, and god did you know what you were doing. Your sickening voice, overly sweet moans, and your slick and noisy cunt that cried for him over the phone. It was all too much.

"You fucking slut!"

Leon had never been a rough dad. He wasn't a yeller, not one for heavy discipline. After his unfortunate discovery about you, though? He was quick to slam the front door shut and run up the stairs, feet clashing against each step with a violent speed. 

Whatever you had been watching on your television was quickly shut off when you heard his tone. You scampered under your blankets and feigned sleep. You had zero clue what he was on about, but you knew it would turn ugly just by the sheer anger in his voice. He couldn't yell at a sleeping beauty like you, could he? 

Yes, obviously he could and would. Stubborn old man.

"I know you aren't asleep," Leon spat, ripping the covers off of you. You stayed still, breath pausing in your chest. "Don't act innocent, brat."

Fine, so there was no escaping this. Damn it, what was this all about?

You begrudgingly relented and opened your eyes. Arms crossed defensively over your chest, an equal mix of fear and discomfort on your face as you scanned over your dad. 

You took in everything about him. His eyebrows were drawn together. His jaw was clenched tight enough that you thought it could pop at any minute. Fists balled up at his sides. Eyes dark. Dick hard— oh. Oh?

"You wanna tell me what you were doing earlier? Any specific calls y'made?" 

"Say it."

You had never heard your father speak so roughly, and anything close to the tone he used was never directed towards you. You were his sweet girl, daddy's baby forever. Now, though, each slam of his hips into yours made you feel like a cheap whore. 

"It's not true," you said. "I'm not a slut! I'm not, I promise."

You felt his large hand's grip over your neck tighten. Tears were threatening to spill, to run down your red, stinging cheek where the mark of his hand was freshly placed. You held it in. Daddy told you not to cry, that you had no right to. 

"Was just a mistake. I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, real convincing." Leon sneered down at you. It stung more than the unrelenting thrusts, more than the way his palm met your cheek. He never looked at you like that, like you were nothing. You wanted it to stop. "I didn't raise you to be a whore. You think you're fuckin' grown, huh? Showing off for whoever rings you up like some call-center bitch?"

You wanted to kick and cry, but the words stopped in your chest. Shameful wails sprouted from you. It was all true, every word he said.

"I just wanted attention," you were finally able to make out, despite the ever firmness of his hand around your throat. "I'm sorry, I'll never do it again. Promise."

Deep down, Leon felt awful for treating you like this. He tried to reason with himself. You needed to learn. How could you learn from a 'mistake,' as you called it, without a proper punishment? He was doing the right thing. He was sure of it. He couldn't have a whore-daughter, at least not such a shameless one. 

"Yeah? How's it feel now? You're getting all the attention you want now. Not enough for you, greedy bitch?"

Thankfully for you, he released you from the chokehold he had you in. He internally winced at the already forming bruise he left. His hands found your lower stomach and he pushed down. Hard. 

"There you go. Feel every bit of my cock."

God, he was so mean. His head knocked into your cervix roughly, no regard for your pleasure. It hurt, but the friction of his girthy cock dragging against your abused walls helped a little. 

Small flutters of pleasure peaked through the rough treatment, making it semi-worth it. Maybe if you came, if you focused real hard on getting over the edge, then maybe you could forget his awful words.

He wasn't nearly that nice, though. He kept grumbling under his breath, spitting out vile insults about you. Even as his voice cracked, he couldn't help but let his hips stutter forwards into you, whispering the harshest things. 

With a final, especially rough thrust, he came. He didn't bother to pull out, he didn't even try. Rather, he burrowed further into your sore walls and marked you with his seed, claiming you like the territory you were. 

As you tried to pull away, feeling utterly used and unsatisfied, you felt his strong arms yank you back. 

"Where do you think you're going?" 

His face softened a little. Good, at least he wasn't scowling at you any more. 

"We aren't done...?"

"Not even close." He pushed your legs back, resting them over his shoulders. "Whores don't get breaks. We aren't done until I'm good and fucking satisfied."

He leaned down, dipping his head so he could spit. He watched the dribble of saliva coat your hole. 

"If you aren't gonna be my good girl anymore, the least you could do is put out."

[junovrsmp4]

one of the girls

part 2. the escalation

read part 1. here

Chris Sturniolo was bad news. You knew it, every girl within a 100 mile radius knew it. Your own brother had warned you to stay away from him, despite being his best friend. That didn’t stop you from wanting him though.

pairing: chris x reader

pt.2 summary:

warnings: ABSOLUTE FILTH, very very plot heavy, rough sex, oral, choking, over-stimulation, mild bdsm, p in v, degradation, slight age gap, zero communication, angst

word count: 6.9K (lmao i think this is going to be a thing)

author's note: so, i found out as i was writing this that @worldlxvlys has a fic with a very similar premise because its inspired by the same song, check it out if u havent already, its so fucking good

Sex with Chris became frequent after that night at the party.

It was a rush, like being swept up in a storm, each moment together like a collision between two giant forces. Rough, loud, painful, and so, so satisfying.

You were currently on your knees, face pressed against the coarse carpet that covered the floor of your bedroom and your ass high in the air, being pounded by the guy who had taken up significant space in your life over the years.

Thank the lucky stars you were home alone tonight, because there would have been no doubt about what was happening in your room.

“Fuck, fuck-” Chris groans, and you feel the way he grips your ass and spreads you apart, likely to watch his own dick moving in and out of your stretched-out pussy. “You’re always so fucking tight-” he says, punctuating his words with hard thrusts.

All you can do is moan loudly against the carpet, your mouth agape as you squeeze around his unrelenting thrusts. You can’t even tell how long it goes, only that he makes you cum, over and over, until he eventually chases his own release.

The clean-up that followed the sex was always quick but efficient, always done in silence. And once Chris was done with that, he always left with a quick kiss and pat to the cheek.

Sex with Chris hurt in the best way possible, and left you craving for more. And he never kept you waiting for long. You don’t think too hard about all the other places he must be getting sex, all you focus on is the fact that he always comes to you eventually, even if you don’t call for him.

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

“Chris-” you whine against his mouth as he thrusts up into you, the head of his dick ramming into that spongy bundle of nerves inside you that whites out your vision and has you gasping for air. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his t-shirt, stretching it as you pull, pull, pull, while he pushes, pushes, pushes into you, his lips sliding over your cheek, barely audible groans escaping him as he holds you back against the counter in this random bathroom at this random house party.

The noise outside the bathroom is loud enough to drown out the sounds of Chris fucking you, devouring you, and your head thrums from the bass, the sensation in your body reduced to just that spot inside you, your lower back, where the edge of the counter digs into your skin, likely leaving bruises, and your hips, where Chris’ hands grab and knead at the flesh as he drags you down onto his cock while thrusting up into you, over and over and over.

If anyone noticed how you limped for the rest of the night, no one pointed it out.

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

Another party, another chase. You’d spent a good hour and a half keeping Chris on his toes as you trailed from room to room, flirting with other guys and getting increasingly tipsy. At least, that’s what you’d thought, until you spotted him leaning over some girl, trailing his fingers up her thigh.

You’d decided to just grab the guy closest to you, quickly ask for his name before demanding that you kiss him, and he does, does it with fervor as he runs his hands all over you, trailing them up over the back of your thighs before kneading your ass cheeks over your jeans, pulling you close. Through the corner of your eye, you see Chris, now kissing the girl he had been talking to, except his eyes are locked onto yours.

You watch the corner of his lips lift slightly, and you feel like you keep losing this game you created in your head.

Ten minutes later, Chris has you on your knees on the bathroom floor, the cold tiles digging into your skin as he shoves his dick into your willing, open mouth. He uses you, makes you choke and gag on it, tears streaming down your face and spit trailing down your chin as he thrusts it in and out of you.

Another ten minutes, before he comes down your throat and shoves you off his cock, leaving you gasping for air.

He doesn’t say a word as he extends his leg forward, pressing the toe of his shoe against your clothed cunt, rubbing it against your jeans.

You know what he wants. So you give it to him.

You rut against his shoe, clawing at his leg as you sob and beg for more.

“What was that?” he asks with a mocking tone. “You want to get fucked?”

You nod furiously, forehead pressed against his thigh.

“Go ask that guy you were all over earlier.”

That was the first night you’d kissed a guy that wasn’t Chris, and in front of him too. It was also the first night he’d left you without making you cum.

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

Chris had one hand clamped tightly over your mouth, while the other was trapped between you, furiously stroking over his dick while he rutted against your stomach.

You’d barely had the time to process it at the time, but Chris had climbed into your room through the open window and proceeded to pin you down on your bed and kiss you fiercely.

That was a few hours ago. Since then he had fucked you twice, once on your back, before he’d flipped you over and fucked you on your knees, your face pushed into your duvet and his hand still clamped over your mouth to make sure you didn’t get too loud.

“You’re so good, you always take it so well.”

“Such a good girl for me, you like that don’t you?”

“You’re mine, yeah? Tell me. Only mine.”

“One more, you can take one more right?”

And you did take more, over and over and over again. Because it felt good. Only because it felt so good, despite the growing pang in your chest that became stronger every time Chris left.

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

Chris was…an enigma.

Despite the casual nature of your ‘relationship’, Chris tended to say and do things that confused you. And perhaps that was what got so many girls hooked onto him. The way he treated you like you were all his, all that he wanted, even though his womanizing nature was well-known.

At first, it seemed like a calculated move on his part, like he knew exactly what he was implying with his words and actions, a vague promise for more, even when both he and his girls knew there was no chance of it happening.

The more time you spent with him however, the more clear it became that Chris seemed almost sincere most of the time. Or maybe that was the delusional part of you, hoping he might be?

Is this what all the other girls he’s with go through? A constant spiral of wondering what was real and wasn’t, with their relationship with Chris?

A soft snore pulls you out of your thoughts and back to reality, where Chris, the man who usually doesn’t stay long once he’s done the deed, was now sleeping under your covers, one arm slung across your middle, while you leaned against your pillows.

It was surreal, seeing him like this, looking the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. You’d expected him to help clean you up and leave as soon as he’d fucked you, but instead, he’d stayed, waited for you to take a quick shower, before he too snuck into your bathroom to clean up and eventually crawled back under your covers.

It wasn’t the first time he’d stayed, but you still find yourself asking-

“What are you doing?”

“Shh, I’m tired, let’s sleep for a bit,” he mumbles, eyes already closed, one arm hanging off the edge of your bed, while the other pulls you close.

“Isn’t this like, against your rule or something?” you ask, trying to fight back the urge to cuddle up against him and run your fingers through his hair. It looked so soft, fanning against your pillow, the moonlight creating a slight halo around him.

He looked beautiful.

“Do you do this with your other girls?” Another question you’d asked before, the first time he’d slept over.

All he does is hum dismissively in response, just like last time.

You settle down under the covers, relishing in the warmth of Chris’ body, exhaustion from your earlier activities settling into your bones as the fresh scent of your own body wash wafting off of both of your skins sends you off into a dreamless sleep.

Hours later, just before sunrise, you’re startled awake by the sound of a branch hitting your window. It was still dark, but there was the noticeable lack of a body next to you, and the warmth that was quickly fading.

That was the one of the rare nights when Chris had stayed the night. And just like always, he left without a trace, the only reminder of his presence being the soreness between your legs and used condoms and tissues in the waste basket under your desk.

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

You knew this was getting out of hand.

Things were only escalating with Chris. What had started out as an experiment of sorts, a game, one that barely had rules to begin with, was starting to feel like a trap. The way he was attentive and disinterested in equal measure, the way he was so attuned to your pleasure and somehow still came across as a selfish jerk who only cared for his own, the way he always, always made it hurt in just the right way…it was almost degrading how exhilarated it made you feel.

You hadn’t accounted for how addictive Chris would become.

Speaking of addiction, you were currently experiencing withdrawal symptoms.

You pull out your phone and scroll through the last few texts you’d exchanged with Chris.

> Can i come over?

> uh..is everything okay?

> Yeah.

> Why?

> u usually just.. show up lol, why’re u asking this time?

> Heard you were prepping for college apps

> yeah

> Busy?

> kinda? u can still come over if u want..

> it’s been a while

> Have you been counting the days since we last fucked? Lol

> shut up ohmygod

> r u coming over or not?

> Yeah, gimme a few.

> okay

That had been a week ago. Chris had never showed up.

You had tried your best to ignore how hurt you’d felt. You’d instead just focused on your applications, working on your essays and filling out endless forms. You’d even gone out with your friends to take your mind off of everything, attempted to hook up with another older guy at a bar, but he’d turned out to be much older, and married at that, which had put you in an even more sour mood than before. You’d promptly decided to go back home then.

Your shitty mood must have been really obvious, because your brother, who was back home for break from college, showed up at your bedroom door, leaning against the frame as he watched you do your nightly skincare routine. He’d seen the way you’d walked up to your room, scowl so deep with a faraway look in your eyes.

“Did something happen at the bar?” he asked, stepping into your room and closing the door to make sure your parents wouldn’t overhear your conversation.

You pause, watching him through your vanity mirror as he flops onto your bed, displacing your carefully placed pillows and plushies, sending one of them tumbling to the ground.

A deep inhale.

“No, nothing happened,” you say with a deep sigh. “Well, there was this one guy-”

“Fucking hell, what’d he do?” your brother interrupts.

“Relax, nothing happened. He was flirting with me, but turns out he was married. Made me feel icky so I left right after.”

“Oh, okay. What a loser.”

“I know, right?”

You and your brother enjoy the special kind of comfortable silence that only being in each other’s company provided.

“You’ve been kind of off lately,” he finally says. “You wanna, um… you wanna talk about it?”

So much for comfortable silence.

After a few long seconds, you reply. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You’re kind of a shit liar, kid.”

You ignore him, focusing instead on smoothing some oil into your hair before braiding it. Behind you, your brother sighs, shifting on your bed. Incrementally, his sighs get louder, and he rolls back and forth on your bed, rustling up the covers and making an even bigger mess than before.

“Stop that, will you?” you snap at him, glowering at him through your mirror.

“I’m bored.”

“Go be bored anywhere else.”

“Not leaving until you tell me what’s been bothering you.”

“Get out.”

“Nuhuh.”

“You’re so annoying, oh my fucking god- stop messing up my bed!” you yell, chucking your hairbrush at him. You let out a satisfied chuckle when you hear a yelp.

Silence.

“Want to go on a drive? Like we used to?”

You turn to face your brother who is now sitting up on your bed, legs crossed as he picks at one of our plushies. When your don’t answer right away, he looks up at you, giving you a conspiratorial grin.

“Let’s sneak out and get food,” he whispers, eyes wide and eyebrows raised with a wolfish smile.

It makes you laugh, the idea of sneaking out as a fully grown adult with your older adult brother, and you won’t know until much later, but your brother had let out a sigh of relief at seeing you relax a bit.

Abandoning your plans to head to bed, you and your brother quietly make your way downstairs, grab your jackets and head out in his car, and everything felt simple again. The two of you used to do this a lot more often when he was still in school. Every time you seemed stressed, he would suggest an impromptu late night drive around the town, making stops at either a gas station or one of the many restaurants near you to get a late night snack.

You sat, once again in comfortable silence, listening to a song you didn’t recognize softly playing through the car radio, as the two of you dug into the lamb shawarmas you’d decided to get as tonight’s late night snack.

“Oh, this shit’s so fucking good,” your brother groaned through a big, messy bite, making you laugh and gag at the same time, and you shove at his shoulder, exclaiming about how gross he was being, before the two of you just end up shoving at each other and giggling like little kids.

You felt good. Normal.

“You know you can talk to me about anything right,” he says, sauce still smeared across his lip and cheek.

“I know, I know,” you say, as you shove a few napkins into his face.

“Unless it’s about sex. I don’t wanna hear about you fucking some dude. Or girl, I don’t care.”

“Wow, okay.”

“But if what’s got you down- and don’t lie, I know something’s up- has something to do with some guy- or girl, like I said, I don’t care- you’ll tell me if it gets too bad right?”

“Define ‘too bad’…,” you say, picking at the wrapper on your now half-eaten shawarma.

“Don’t want you to get hurt, kid, that’s all.”

You look up at your brother, who is looking straight ahead, still chowing on his food. You feel overwhelmed suddenly, and everything from the past week catches up to you.

The stress from wondering if you’ll get into college, the doubt from figuring out if college was even what you wanted to do, and then there was Chris, and oh, how could you tell your brother about any of that? He would absolutely flip, and you feel so ashamed.

You settle on telling him it’s just the stress of college applications.

“Right,” he says, drawing out the word. “Makes sense, makes sense. You know, if you need help with any of it, just let me know yeah?”

You weren’t going to ask him for help. You nod anyway.

“Oh, by the way,” your brother turns to you, leaning against the car door with an excited gleam in his eyes. “Did you hear? The triplets are going to L.A.!”

“What.”

“Yeah! Apparently, their channel is really hitting it off, so they’re like prepping to move there, ‘cause that’s where all the youtubers and influencers are, right? More opportunities and things like that. Isn’t that cool? I’m excited for ‘em.”

Your brother goes back to blissfully munching on his food, leaving you shell shocked and dazed.

“Yeah…good for them.”

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

The next couple of days went by in a blur. You threw yourself into applications, now extending them into a job search to desperately keep yourself occupied. The initial plan had been to take a gap year after school, which is why you’d been so lax with your college prep. Some of your friends had already heard back from their dream schools and were already preparing to move to different places for the upcoming academic year, some were already working, and you were just, in limbo. And you didn’t mind until now, until you’d realized that you’d end up getting left behind by everyone.

Even…Chris.

That asshole still hadn’t texted or called, and the only time you heard about him was through your brother when he’d vaguely mention about seeing the triplets when he went over to their house. You knew that you could just as well contact him, but pride and your hurt feelings kept you from doing so. Instead, you wallowed in shame and anger at having let this man leave you feeling so disoriented.

This wasn't the plan. The plan had been to hit it and quit it, see what the hype around Chris was all about but he’d managed to crawl under your skin, leave you wanting more.

Just as you’re about to work yourself into another spiral over the man, you hear a series of sharp taps against your bedroom window. You look up, startled, to find exactly the person you didn’t want to see right now.

“Since when do you lock your bedroom window?” you hear Chris ask, voice muffled through the glass.

You remain seated on your bed, leaning against your pillows, frozen, before you slowly pick your phone up from where you’d dropped it beside you, and pretend to mindlessly scroll through it.

“Let me in, babe, c’mon-”

A few more seconds go by, with Chris alternating between tapping your window and texting you to get your attention. Worried that he might end up waking the whole house, you finally make a move to open your window.

“I almost fell off that fucking tree waiting for you to-” Chris starts to say, but one look at your face has him stopping in his tracks.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

You weren’t sure what he was seeing, but you could feel a knot building up in your throat, a slight tremor in your limbs. The last thing you wanted to do was cry in front of this man.

“What do you want, Chris?” you ask, sitting down on the edge of your bed, refusing to look at him, instead focusing on a loose thread on your sheets, picking at it while trying to get your breathing under control.

You feel him step closer to you, until he’s standing right in front of you, your face now level with his waist. Chris’ hand comes up to grab your chin, lifting your head up with a gentleness that surprises you.

“You mad at me, baby?” he asks with a soft smile, and it throws you off, makes you angry, because why the fuck did he have to go sounding like a boyfriend coming home to a girlfriend who’d gotten upset over something trivial?

You huff, rolling your eyes at him, which makes him grab your chin slightly harder.

“Don’t give me that attitude right now,” he says, voice dropping an octave. “Why wouldn’t you let me in?”

Your attempt at looking passive was failing, and anger takes over, making you glare daggers at him.

“Two weeks, Chris. Almost two weeks of radio silence, and what, you expect me to just be here waiting for with open arms? What the fuck is wrong with you?” you spit out, smacking his arm away from you, making him let you go.

“Oh come on,” he drawls out, body going half limp as he lets his head roll back. “I got busy! Didn’t think you’d be this mad, and- and, hold on- I didn’t expect you to be waiting for me, I just don’t get why you’re mad!”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Well yeah, but you already knew that, didn’t you,” he says with a cocky smile, hands reaching out to grab yours. “Stop being so upset, I’m here now, yeah?”

“You can’t just show up whenever it’s convenient for you and expect me to be okay with that. You made plans that night to come to me and just ghosted me! For weeks!”

He looks puzzled, like he genuinely doesn’t understand why you would be upset and that just makes you even more upset.

You feel like an afterthought to him. To a man who had taken up significant space in your life, you were just…nothing. And you can’t blame anyone but yourself for this situation you’re in because you knew **what you were getting into, you knew this was all it would be and yet…

“When were you going to tell me you were leaving?”

Chris freezes up, his fingers that were running up and down your arms stilling against your elbows.

After a brief pause, he sighs, dropping to his knees in front of you and burrowing his head into your lap, bringing your hands up around his shoulders.

“How’d you find out?” he asks, voice muffled against your t-shirt. “Wait, let me guess. Your big-mouth brother?”

That makes you chuckle. “Yeah, he mentioned it a few nights ago.”

“I wasn’t lying, I’ve been busy preparing to leave. Nick is the one working on the logistics mostly, but yeah…”

“You could’ve said something,” you whisper, hand coming up to hover over Chris’ head. It seems like Chris senses your hesitation, because he grabs your hand and places it on his head, which you take as permission to run your fingers through the soft strands, combing through the slight knots that were close to his nape and gently smoothing it out.

“We weren’t gonna tell anyone until we had everything figured out.”

“So how did my brother find out?”

“Stupid Matt probably mentioned it when he came over.”

In a distant part of your mind, you think about how weird this all is, having Chris like this, soft and vulnerable, so unlike his usual domineering self. You’re still upset with him, but it feels nice, having this Chris.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. I didn’t wanna slip up and end up telling you, which is why I stayed away for a bit.”

“You still could’ve texted, told me something came up.”

“I know,” he whines. “Would you believe me if I said I did mean to text you but every time I thought about it, something else would come up and eventually I just…forgot.”

“Right. You forgot.”

The sharp pain in your chest was starting to feel normal in conjecture with Chris at this point. Of course he just forgot to text you, because that’s how insignificant you were to him.

You pull your hand away from his hair and gently try to move out from under him.

“When are you leaving?” you ask, sitting at your desk to put some physical distance between the two of you, even though your body was screaming to just fall into his arms.

Chris looks at you with an expression you can’t read, before moving to sit on your floor and lean against your bed frame, leaning his elbows over his knees.

“End of the week.”

“That’s two days away.”

He hums, letting his head drop back against your bed.

“Guess your roster of girls are going to have to find a new way to occupy their time, huh?” you say in hopes of lightening the mood.

It undoubtedly does the opposite.

Chris makes a noise that sounds somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. He lifts his head back up and fixes you with a gaze that makes you shiver, his eyes now cold and distant as he smirks up at you.

“One last fuck before I leave? You can find another guy after that, but I doubt anyone here is gonna be anywhere near as good as me,” he says as he runs his fingers through his hair.

And that’s how you find yourself under Chris, wrists caught in his hands and held up above your head as he fucks into you.

It’s different this time.

He watches you intently, and it makes you uncomfortable, his unrelenting gaze, but your focus is split between that and the fact that he’s fucking you with deep, slow drags of his cock against your inner walls. He’d eaten you out right before, worked you up and left you wet and sloppy, close to squirting before pushing into you, eyes locked onto your face as he slowly stretched you out.

You could feel it build up inside you, the pressure to release, but he was going slower than usual, focusing on fewer but deeper thrusts that left you biting into your lip to keep you from crying out loud.

“Tell me, who’s gonna fuck you like this, hm?” Chris asks, his free hand coming up to wrap around your throat. “Tell me.”

You gasp, your pussy clenching around him as he tightens his grip around your throat.

“No one,” you breathe out, voice low and rough from your throat being squeezed. “No one, no one else, please-”

“Yeah? You’re mine, aren’t you?”

You nod against his grip, near sobbing at this point, begging for him to just fuck you harder and let you cum.

“Say it. Say the words”

“I’m yours, I’m yours, please- please fuck me harder, please-”

Chris lets go of your wrists, but you keep them where they were, and he lets out a satisfied hum which has you preening.

Chris sits up, his hands moving to grab your hips, and you brace yourself to be fucked hard, but Chris keeps up with the slow pace still, as he pulls you onto his lap, making you cry out in frustration, a fresh set of pleas falling from your lips in hopes of urging him to just take from you like he usually does.

You watch through blurry, tear-filled vision as Chris runs his hands up your stomach, palming at your breasts while he bucks up into you.

“Chris, please…”

He ignores you, fingers now drawing invisible lines across the planes and curves of your body, thumbs dipping into the crease between your cunt and thighs, feeling you all over while he watches you with his intense blue eyes.

You almost miss it, what with the blood rushing in your ears and your own moans, but you hear Chris whisper, “I’m going to miss this.”

And that’s what sends you over the edge, the prospect of Chris missing you, even though a rational part of you knows it’s probably just the sex, just this, your warm body under his to be used by him.

Still, it makes you cum harder than you ever have before, leaves you sobbing and almost screaming. Chris holds down your body, your hips thrashing wildly as your cunt leaks and squeezes rhythmically around him, which sets him off and makes him come inside you.

Everything after that follows as usual. He rolls off of you, methodically cleans the both of you off, discards the used condoms and tissues, and tells you he’s leaving.

You watch as he makes his way to your window, back tense as he runs his fingers through his mussed up hair.

“Bye,” you whisper, trying to ignore the fact that it will be a while until you see him again in person. Months, maybe a year, instead of just a week and a half.

Chris turns then, and you can’t make out his expression in the dark, with his back lit by the moonlight.

You watch, breath catching in your throat as he makes his way back to you, hesitating for the first few steps.

He leans over you, knees bent awkwardly as he angles himself to your height. His hands come up to rest over your cheeks, thumbs rubbing across them, before he completely takes you by surprise with a final kiss.

It’s not the kiss itself that catches you off-guard, but the gentleness and timing of it. You and Chris have kissed before, in fact, you’d done it every time he’d fucked you, but only during. Always during. Never after.

He nips at your bottom lip, licking into your mouth when you gasp, his fingers carding through your hair as he angles your head to deepen the kiss. Your hands clutch at the front of his shirt, stretching the fabric. The next few moments are just this, soft touches as you break apart and keeping going back in for more, quiet but heavy breathing in your dark room as you drink each other in.

You feel tears building up behind your closed eyelids, melting into his touch, and it’s almost funny how much this feels like you’re bidding farewell to a long-time, steady lover. One who wasn’t just a casual sex partner.

It makes you laugh, a wet sound that barely covers up the sob that follows it, and Chris chuckles too, leaning his forehead against yours.

“What the fuck am I doing?” he asks to no one in particular.

“I don’t know, Chris,” you answer anyway, your fingers playing with the chain on his neck. “You tell me.”

One more kiss, pressed hard against your lips with a sigh, before he stands back up and makes his way back to your window.

“I’ll see you later,” he says without turning back.

And with that, he was gone.

That was the first and last night Chris had kissed you after sex. It was also the last night you’d see him before he left for L.A.

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

You hadn't realized how big of a gap Chris would leave in your life.

Things kept changing, time kept moving, albeit slowly, but you were still waiting to catch up with everyone else.

You try to fill the void by hanging out with your friends, getting drunk and high, chasing phantoms of Chris at different parties, finding yourself pressed between bodies that were distinctly not his.

You dated. Like, actually tried. Chris had been in your life since you were sixteen, and you hadn’t sought out anyone for two years after that, but it was high time. You’d stayed loyal to a guy who wasn’t your boyfriend and maybe that had been your mistake. Maybe you should’ve pulled a page out of Chris’ book and just slept around like he did, maybe then you wouldn’t have felt so…lost right now.

But you hadn’t wanted anyone else. Not like you wanted him.

Still, you tried, but it was becoming increasingly clear that you had a pattern. The only guys you ended up actually talking to all happened to be older than you, friends, or friends of friends, of your brother. Subconsciously, you were probably seeking out for a proxy of Chris, some way to replace him in the best way you could.

Elijah had been sweet. He took you out on dates, bought you gifts, and was a real gentleman. Your brother had eventually caught on, and when you’d expected him to be mad, he’d actually approved, told you that Elijah was a good guy and that he trusted him to take care of you. That didn’t stop him from giving Elijah the shovel talk though.

It was good, for a while. Elijah was sweet, maybe too sweet. He was soft with his affection, and it made you feel undeserving.

You felt broken, for being unsatisfied with a man as amazing as him.

The breakup was rough. There were tears, both of you an absolute mess as you tried to explain why you were feeling the way you did without giving away too much, and to his credit, Elijah took it well. He was respectful, didn’t pry, and wished you the best.

“I’ve grown to care for you, a lot,” he’d said, holding your hands in his. “I want you to be happy, and if that’s not with me, I’ll just have to learn to live with it.”

You hadn’t realized how serious it had been for him.

You felt like a bitch.

Jason was…wild. He was loud and obnoxious in a fun way, and reminded you of a certain someone. The two of you had hooked up in the back of his car upon your second meeting at a bar, the first one being at your house when he’d come over with a bunch of other guys to help your brother move out and into his own apartment closer to the city.

It didn’t last long. He was not a good lay, and that was that.

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

Ray was amazing. You started talking to him a little after you’d decided to go to community college to get your life in track. You’d gotten accepted into a few colleges of your choice, but in the end, you still didn’t know what you really wanted to do, when the local community college’s brochure caught your eye, and you found some exciting writing and teaching courses.

Ray was supportive, knew what he wanted and got you thinking about what you wanted too. A great listener, and even greater in bed. He was a little emotionally distant sometimes, but even that he’d patiently talked to you about, explaining how he had a hard time expressing emotions in front of people.

You were still going strong, many months into talking and dating, and he had yet to do anything that put you off. He’d even come over to your house for dinner with your parents and brother, and everything had gone well.

Days were exciting again, especially with an amazing boyfriend who you seemed to match really well with. The two of you were amazing at communicating, especially because Ray was good at it, and he was influencing you in such a positive way. You were also sexually so, so compatible, and it just, worked.

Everything was going well.

Until one night, when you’re getting ready to go on a date with Ray, and you hear voices downstairs, loud excited exchanges. You figure it’s Ray and your brother just chatting it up before you have to leave, so you hurry up, fix your hair and put on your heels, before rushing downstairs to greet your man.

The sight that greets you has you stopping dead in your tracks.

“Oh.”

At the sound of your voice, all heads in the room turn toward you. Nick, Matt, and Chris had come back to visit their family, and had decided to stop by your place to see their best friend. Your parents and your brother were there too, and suddenly everyone is exclaiming about how great you look.

You feel disoriented, trying to keep your reaction normal as you brush off compliments from your parents, Nick and Matt. Your brother just rolls his eyes with an affectionate look, while Chris remains silent, his eyes raking over your figure.

“Well, you’re way too dressed up to just be hanging out with friends,” Matt comments eventually. “Date?”

Your mother answers for you. “Oh, she’s been seeing Ray! He’s such a nice boy.”

Your father grunts, muttering something under his breath but nodding all the same.

To anyone else, besides his brothers perhaps, Chris looked like the picture of impassive, but you’d learned to read his body language over the years.

He was pissed. You could tell.

Thing is, even after Chris had left, the two of you had kept in touch. You’d done your best to avoid watching the triplets’ videos, especially after you’d come across ones that featured Chris with different influencers, the prettiest girls you’d ever seen. You didn’t need to work yourself up over the fact that he was around all these beautiful people now. It didn’t matter anymore.

But avoiding the videos was different from avoiding the man himself. You couldn’t help it, texting him every now and then, asking about life in L.A. He always answered, even if sometimes it was days late. Neither of you brought up what had transpired on the last night he’d spent with you before he left, and neither of you talked about the casual sex that had preceded it.

It was an interesting development, talking to Chris like he was just another friend. He didn’t seem like he way trying too hard to maintain a certain facade, like he was trying to hide parts of him.

The two of you talked a lot more in the almost one year apart than you did in the two years you’d been in each other’s vicinity.

You’d conveniently left out the part about you dating Ray though, or any of the other guys, from all your conversations. You didn’t feel the need to. It’s not like Chris was talking about all the dates he was going on, and you were sure there were plenty of those back in L.A., so in the interest of keeping things friendly and casual and normal, you didn’t talk about your love life.

You announce to the room that you’re going to grab a drink from the kitchen, hoping to escape the chaos and wait for Ray in there.

Your parents retreat back to their room. You hear your brother and the triplets chat for a while before you hear Chris ask if there was any Pepsi in the house. You hear your brother offer to grab him one, but he politely says he’d just get it himself.

A few beats of silence, before you hear soft footsteps that get louder as they get closer to the kitchen.

“How long?” Chris asks, as he appears in the doorway of the kitchen.

“What?” you ask, hands gripping the counter as you watch him move closer to you.

“Ray. How long have you been seeing him?”

He pauses right in front of you, towering over you, as he waits for you to answer.

“It’ll be our six month anniversary in a couple of days,” you answer, looking down and choosing to focus on your own clothes, picking at a hem of your sleeve.

“Funny, you didn’t mention him in any of your texts.”

“Didn’t feel the need to,” you reply, turning your head to the side when you feel his face moving closer to yours. “Besides, it’s not like you were telling me about all the people you were dating back in L.A.”

“I wasn’t dating anyone.”

“Dating, fucking, whatever.”

Chris tenses at that, before stepping closer, hands caging you against the counter, and you catch the faint whiff of weed on his clothes.

“You look good,” he finally says, hand coming up to brush against the fabric of your dress where it was cut against your thigh.

“Thank you,” you mumble, wondering how no one had come in to see what’s taking either of you so long in the kitchen.

Just as you’re about to suggest that you both go back outside to sit with others, before you do something you regret, you hear the doorbell ring, and Ray’s voice calling out for you.

You jump, trying to get past Chris, but his hands stay where they are, palms on the counter as his head drops to your shoulder, mumbling something you couldn’t quite catch.

“What?”

“I missed you, baby. Couldn’t fuck anyone without thinking of you.”

And before you know it, he’s stepping away and backing out of the kitchen, his Pepsi forgotten on the counter.

You stay frozen, trying to process what happened. Ray eventually comes to you in the kitchen, greets you with a smile and a deep kiss, tells you how beautiful you look before whisking you away and into his car for your date.

And the whole time, all you can think about is Chris.

author’s note: idk how i feel about this one, it's plot heavy and angsty and i feel like idk idk if anyone's gonna like it but here (: likes, comments and reblogs r much appreciated <3

taglist 🩵 (comment on my pinned post to be added or removed):

@luverboychris @bigbeefybitch @liz-stxrn @slut4chriss @slut4mattsturnio1o @sturniolosgirl @coochiedestroyer1 @cutiepiess4l @kvtie44 @vschrissturn @hercigaretteblush @fwskullz @m4rriii @anabanana28 @sturniolosange1 @webbersturn @odeezier @johnniesrealwife @freshsturns @marlenafortuna @carolineheartsmatthew @incndescentglow @starniolosposts @urfavgirllyyyyy @mattsturniolosworld @lilyloveschris @sturniozo @lookingformyromeo @heartss4matthewq @lanasturniolo @zina25sworld @ezziewinchester @s-s-842 @sturnlova @whyarefictionalmennotreal @55sturn @cheetahmadi @sturniolowhore @cupidsword @sturnsblog @lovehoneygirll @breeloveschris @littlemisswhore @worldlxvlys @sturniolo04 @sturnioloco @littlemisswhore @pandacake128 @chrizznmetswife @spideylovin @sturnclouds

[beomboomboom]

Falling for you (literally)

genre: fluff, best friends to lovers, drunken confession

pairing: Soonyoung x reader

summary: You never would've thought that helping a drunk Soonyoung go home would lead to him falling for you both literally and figuratively.

warnings: a little bit of swearing, mentions of drinking and alcohol

note: Drunk Hoshi never fails to make me laugh 😭😂. This fic is part of an ask for drunken confession fics. Enjoy reading <33

"Come on, let's go home," you sigh when you catch sight of Soonyoung's slumped figure in the bar, his friends nowhere to be seen.

"I don't wanna. I'm tired," Soonyoung wines in response as he leans his body weight on you, his face puffy and flushed a light shade of pink from all the alcohol.

You should've known better than to believe Jeonghan when he called saying that your best friend was feeling sick and needed someone to take him to the hospital.

When you realized Jeonghan lied and called you only because he didn't want to be the one to haul Soonyoung's drunk ass home, to say you felt betrayed would be an understatement.

"I swear to god Jeonghan I will get you back for this," you mutter and curse Jeonghan under your breath as you take Soonyoung's limbs and attempt to haul him out of the bar. "Come on Soonyoung let's get out of here."

"Nooo~," Soonyoung whines as tears begin to escape his eyes, "I never got to beat Jeonghan in his drinking game."

"It's okay, next time you can try to win against Jeonghan," you say as you try to reason with Soonyoung, while knowing very well that with his alcohol tolerance he has about a zero percent chance of ever winning any drinking game whatsoever.

"Your house is close by, so you can walk a little right?" you question as you silently asses Soonyoung's condition. He seems a bit unstable so you wrap his arm around your shoulders and let him lean his weight on you. When you feel his hot skin meet yours you try to brush off the speeding up of your heartbeat, praying desperately that Soonyoung is too drunk to notice.

"Mhmm...I can walk," Soonyoung says with a drunken giggle as he stumbles out the door of the bar and leans his head on your shoulder.

"Careful, there's stairs here," you warn, slowing down so that Soonyoung can gain at least a bit of stability.

"Okayy~" Soonyoung giggles in response before letting out a scream as he trips over his own two feet and tumbles down the stairs.

"SOONYOUNG," you yell, panicked as you quickly run down the stairs. "Are you okay?"

"hehehe~" Soonyoung drunkenly giggles. "I fell for you."

Your mind goes in overdrive the moment you hear his words. On one hand you're concerned for him after just falling down the stairs seconds ago. The blood running down his knee and forehead has you wanting to rush him home so you can quickly take care of him.

But on the other hand, your brain is stuck on his confession that seems way too fake to be real. His confession that, if true, means your feelings might not actually be one-sided after all.

It must be a joke.

After all, Soonyoung makes a ton of jokes when he's drunk.

"No, you fell down the stairs. You should really learn to hold your liquor," you respond jokingly, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible and ignoring Soonyoung's past comment.

"Nooo~ I'm being serious," Soonyoung whines as tears begin to fall down his cheeks while he clings to your body. "Why can't you believe what I say? I like you."

You swear your heart stops in that moment. Gently, you cup Soonyoung's flushed face with your hand as you let out a fond laugh. "I like you too, but let's talk about this when you're sober."

Soonyoung lets out an excited squeal when he hears your response. "I guess my seducing techniques worked. I purposely wore clothes I knew you would like and-," Soonyoung begins to ramble before being interrupted by your embarrassed scream.

"You were doing that on purpose?!" You let out a embarrassed laugh as you give Sooonyoung a playful shove. "Anyways, we should go to your house. There's blood all over your knee and forehead"

"Can I have a kiss on my scratches? I think it'll help it get better," Soonyoung pouts while looking at you earnestly.

"That's kind of dirty though. There's blood-"

"Please?"

"Fine. But this is only because I like you," you relent as you gently kiss his knee and forehead.

"Okay, now a kiss here," Soonyoung says as he giggles and leans in closer to you to give you a kiss on the lips.

"Not right now. We need to get you cleaned up first," you say while ignoring Soonyoung's cries of protest. "I'll give you as many kisses as you want but only if you can walk with me to your house."

The second Soonyoung hears your words he jumps up and happily stumbles after you as you lead him to his house.

You let out a fond smile as you tuck in a passed-out Soonyoung.

"I'm falling for you more and more every day," you whisper into his ear as you give a small peck on his forehead, right where a tiger printed band-aid sits (Soonyoung cried until you let him have the tiger band-aid) evidence of where Soonyoung quite literally fell for you.

[manufactured-pleasantry]

Those of you reading my fic 'Hundred Day Curse' on AO3 may enjoy this snippet. It's a scene with Alfred and Bruce, set in the future of the fic that may or may not make it into future chapters. IDK yet. I like it, but it might not fit with how I eventually write the rest of the fic. Even so, it's a spoiler for them meeting again, so click read more at your own risk! (It's 1700~ words btw)

Bruce stared at Alfred as discretely as he could. He wasn’t entirely sure Alfred hadn’t noticed - he was Alfred, after all - but the man continued on as if he hadn’t so Bruce kept watching. Alfred was brewing tea in the suit he’d always worn; dark suit, white shirt, dark tie, and white gloves. His butler suit.

'Love me.'

Bruce hadn’t signed any employment documents recently so he was confident that he hadn’t rehired Alfred as the Wayne butler. Even if his parents hired Alfred for a lifetime, Bruce was rather certain that became null after Alfred had formally retired. Lifetime employments don’t tend to resume after retirement. Alfred couldn’t just rehire himself, could he? Why would he do that? Maybe Alfred was under the impression that the only capacity he could be in Wayne Manor was if he were a butler.

'Love me. Love me.'

That was silly. The kids invited Alfred over (because they couldn’t trust Bruce to take care of himself and Alfred was being shackled with him again after he finally escaped—) and Wayne manor was as much the kids’ as it was his. (Even though they didn’t really want it.) Surely Alfred knew that the kids saw him as something like a grandfather—he didn’t need to be a butler to stay here.

'Love me. Love me. Love me.'

Alfred placed a cup of tea in front of Bruce. It was doctored exactly how Bruce like it - the current Bruce, not the old man that actually enjoyed bitter things, because somehow they were still sweeter than his decrepit soul. With milk and an overabundance of sugar. An insult to proper tea but the only way Bruce was able to stomach it back when he was a child.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce murmured. Because he wasn’t in a speaking mood but manners were a must.

“Your thanks is appreciated but unnecessary, Master Bruce,” Alfred responded.

Master Bruce. He drank some more tea. For surely the milky beverage would drown this ugly emotion in his chest. It was better than Mister Wayne, he told himself.

'Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me.'

Alfred had not made himself his own cup of tea. He busied himself with making lunch instead. Cute little tea sandwiches, including the cucumber sandwiches that he knew Dick hated but Bruce secretly liked. Usually Alfred would have the sandwiches prepared before he served tea but Bruce wasn’t going to complain. He liked watching Alfred cook. Alfred’s movements were always so fluid, so sure, never pausing as he moved from one step to another.

'Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me.'

Bruce would enjoy this more if he hadn’t been basically ordered to remain by Alfred’s side while his kids busied themselves with work. Ordered, like a misbehaving child in desperate need of supervision. Bruce hadn’t been misbehaving. He’d been good. He broke zero rules and took care to ensure he didn’t break the not-really rules either. Bruce didn’t need Alfred to be his nanny again.

'Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me.'

“Sandwich, Master Bruce?” Alfred offered.

Bruce nodded and Alfred plated five different tea sandwiches on his plate. He didn’t thank him again because apparently his thanks was unwanted. The sandwich was good and exactly how he remembered them tasting.

“Alfred?” he inquired, after he finished his lunch. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I here in the kitchen or why am I here in the manor?”

“The latter.”

“The children informed me of what happened and I thought it best if I were here to help,” Alfred answered.

'Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me.'

“You’re retired,” Bruce stated.

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“You’re no longer a butler.”

“One does tend to disidentify with their job title once they’re retired, yes.”

“Why are you here?”

“I believe I’ve already answered that, Master Bruce.”

'Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me.'

“You’re being obtuse,” Bruce growled before freezing. He had no right to growl at Alfred like that. No right to lose his cool. No right to be so rude.

Alfred sighed and Bruce braced himself to be dragged into Time Out. He knew Alfred didn’t do Time Out but prepared himself anyway.

“I was informed that my ward had reverted to that of a child’s physique. It is only natural that I have returned.”

Ward? “I have not been your ward for decades.”

“You’ve been in my charge since you were born, Master Bruce.”

'LOVE ME!'

“Uncle Philip is my legal guardian.”

Alfred’s fluid movements stuttered for a moment before resuming. “I seem to recall that he entrusted you back into my care after a scant two years.”

“You were my employee.”

“... Indeed.” Alfred opened a drawer and retrieved the silverware. He began to polish them.

“Alfred, why are you here?”

“What answer are you seeking, Master Bruce?”

He fell silent and watched Alfred polish the silver. Alfred would never give him the answer he desired.

'Why won’t you love me?'

“I want the truth.”

“I’ve told you the truth.”

“Then why are you dressed like a butler?”

“I’m comfortable dressed like this.”

“So you’ve not rehired yourself?”

Alfred’s mouth twitched. “No, I have not. I’m still retired, Master Bruce.”

“Then why are you here?”

Alfred sighed. “I’m starting to suspect that you do not want me here.”

'Will you ever love me?'

“I just want to know why. You left.”

“So did you. For four years, with only a brief visit in between.”

Bruce clenched his fists. “No, you went home.”

“I retired, Master Bruce. I did not go home.”

“Why are you here?”

'How do I earn your love?'

Alfred put the silverware down and made eye contact with Bruce. “My retirement was dreadful. I had not desired it, certainly not in the way I spent it. I had rather been here instead of retiring.”

“Then why retire?”

“Because, Master Bruce, I’ve noticed over the years that whenever I went on vacation, you were more careful on patrol. You got hurt less. You ate consistently. You slept more. I figured I was enabling you by virtue of being here and assisting you in everything you desired. I lacked the willpower to simply refuse you and so I remove the temptation and I retired. I wanted to return many times but feared that I would go back to enabling you. However, considering you’ve managed to embroil yourself in greater troubles than previously thought possible, I figured my retirement made no difference and saw no need to torment myself any further.”

“... You retired for me?”

Alfred huffed. “I retired out of misplaced judgement. I was simply being a fool, deluding myself. Trust me, I shan't be doing that again any time soon.”

Tell me.

“Am I correct in assuming you wish to come out of retirement?”

“No, Master Bruce.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Tell me what you do understand and I shall endeavour to explain what you don’t.”

“You retired for my own good but you’re back because it wasn’t working and you didn’t like retirement but you’re still retired.”

“I didn’t like retirement because it kept me away from Gotham. I’m perfectly content with being retired in Gotham.”

“But you’re performing butler duties.”

“I’m not.”

“You made me tea and sandwiches.”

“Yes.”

“I do not understand.”

Alfred sighed again and placed the silverware and cloth down. “Forgive me.”

Bruce frowned.

“You’re right. I’m being obtuse. Perhaps I’ve been obtuse all along. I thought you understood our silence, Master Bruce. I thought I understood your silence. Now I realise I’ve been wrong all along. I’m sorry.”

“... I don’t understand.”

“In truth, I haven’t been here in the manor in a butler’s capacity ever since your parents passed that fateful night. Though I performed my duties, that was more from habit and personal enjoyment than anything. I suppose I was also afraid of change when so much already had. I had convinced myself that you needed the familiarity, when the reality was that I that relied on it.”

When Bruce didn’t respond, Alfred continued.

“It was foolish of me and that has cost you and I too much. You especially. Decades of silence, unspoken thoughts left to fester uncontrollably, it has done us no good. Well, my retirement has given me much to think about and this conversation has given the final push I needed. You asked me why I have prepared you tea and sandwiches; I did so because I wanted to, because it is how I show my care, because you are my child and you hadn’t eaten yet.”

To hear it spoken so plainly made it seem so simple. It hurt that his insecurities could have been so easily settled if only he had the courage to ask. If only Alfred had the wherewithal to breach the topic. If only.

“Ask me again why I’m here.”

“Why are you here?” Bruce asked, chin wobbling with suppressed emotion.

“I am here because I am your guardian, your friend, whatever it is that I mean to you. I am here because I want to be.”

“... Because you care for me…”

“Because I love you,” Alfred corrected.

'You love me.'

“You love me,” Bruce repeated, voice thin with tears.

“I do. I always have.” Alfred dabbed away at Bruce’s face with a handkerchief.

“I have more memories of you than I do of my father, even when he was alive.”

“The late Dr Wayne was a busy man,” Alfred admitted. It was the closest Alfred would ever get to criticising his former employer.

“Mama said my first words were an attempt to say your name.”

“A fact I treasure to this day.”

“You’re the one to turn towards when I need help.”

“I’m grateful that you let me.”

“I want you to call me Bruce. Not Master Bruce.”

“Bruce.”

The call was unfamiliar in Alfred’s clipped tones but oh so beautiful. It was what he’d wanted for over thirty years. This simple address. Bruce devolved into a mess of tears and clutched onto Alfred’s lapels. Alfred responded by pulling Bruce to his chest and embracing him tightly.

“I think of you as a father,” Bruce confessed through his sobbing.

“I think of you as a son.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

It was all so simple, really.

[oliveshark]

Griddlehark definitely seems like the endgame, but I think Muir could (if she so chose) write a believable rejection of the idealized romance inherent to these kinds of stories.

Harrow and Gideon despised one another and repeatedly and deliberately harmed each other. In Harrow's case, she abused her authority and allowed crux to torture a child, to the point that Gideon nearly lost her fingers and toes to hypothermia. And there's the aspect of Harrow using violence to prevent Gideon from escaping her "servitude".

Then, in the span of a roughly a week, they form an intensely codependent platonic/romantic bond with one another due to their severe shared trauma in life or death situations. They've never had anyone else that they could form social peer relationships with, they were forever linked to each other regardless of what they wanted, and they were both abused by Harrows parents and by the demands the ninth house. It's not surprising that they would so quickly reverse their feelings.

But I feel like there's a decent foundation for criticizing that. Harrow and Gideon's direct interactions are near-zero post GtN. Gideon killed herself just so she could feel useful for the first time in her life. Harrow went as far as lobotomizing themselves. In the real world this relationship would be seen as insanely toxic and insanely unhealthy. It might even be seen as predatory due to Harrows power over Gideon. Its the type of love born out of unhealthy coping mechanisms. And Muir could write a version of Alecto where they both realize this.

That being said I still read Griddlehark fics every night before bed.

[calware]

what r some of ur fav Hal fics? Currently looking 2 read some and would love some recs!

sure thing!!

fics that are specifically about hal:

Reallocated by breezefulskies mature - chose not to use archive warnings - 324,756 words - 65 chapters (unfinished) Hal finds himself stranded aboard a certain meteor, impact-bound for Houston, Texas circa 1995. And everything spirals out from there. Because sometimes, when a system seems to be just short of defunct, all that is required is to take a step back and reevaluate the materials at hand and redistribute your available resources. And so, with birth comes a countdown on a cycle that begins as it ends: In the red.

hal is mysteriously sent to earth via unknown means and finds himself raising a baby as best as he can, which, given that he's glasses, is not easy. this is my favorite homestuck fic, not just because it's about hal, but also because i love the focus on family dynamics and the plot as it unfolds. begging everyone to read this, i can't say what happens exactly without spoiling things, it's just really really good. at the moment, it updates once a month

Ersatz Abyss by katreal mature - no archive warnings apply - 120,092 words - 39 chapters (unfinished) You look into the mirror to find your own face looking back at you. You laugh. And then you cry. Last, you try and figure out how you got to this moment. The Auto-Responder had long since resigned himself to an artificial existence, his only dwindling hope for escape hinging on a promise that has yet to be fulfilled. Then one day he wakes up, Dirk nowhere to be found. What's the point in getting what you want, if you can't show off a little?

another great hal fic. i managed to get my roommate (who has not read homestuck) to read this and they really enjoyed it, so i'm sure you all won't have any problems liking this one either. there are a lot of fics out there of hal getting a body, but this one is very different in that it's not the happy ending that you might first think it is. this fic perfects the feeling of everything snowballing into a bigger and bigger problem until it all falls apart

fics that have hal in them:

Bound in Ink and Iron by cyphertext (@4lph4kidz) teen - no archive warnings apply - 18,627 words - 3 chapters (unfinished) A prisoner in his own kingdom, the Prince of Derse seeks his freedom through the inadvisable use of a magic mirror. While making his escape he finds himself lost and in the company of a strange boy who lives alone in the ruins of his grandmother’s cottage. Both cursed, both hunted, they agree to travel together in the hopes that they can find some way to save their loved ones from their terrible fates. Or so the story goes.

hal is in this one for one chapter. but so far there are only three chapters... which means he's there for a whole third of the fic ^_^ but for real, i really like the way zero portrays him here. i am a supporter of evil shadow clone rights

Tennessee Whiskey & You by mistlafey teen - graphic depictions of violence, major character death - 12,217 words - 5 chapters (unfinished) When Dirk dies after an aneyursm, Hal and Jake have difficulties coping. Jake drinks to forget, and eventually Hal can't handle drunk Jake and his own grief - so he turns that into anger. “I’m not him, Jake! I can’t fucking- I can’t fix you. Dirk is gone and you don’t get to pretend he isn’t anymore. I can’t be Dirk, and every time you try to tell me I am it fucking hurts. There’s nothing left for you here. If Dirk was the only person that filled a void in you, there is nothing left to make you whole.”

i honestly have no idea how this is going to go but the bar scene in this one lives in my head rent-free. idk if it's ever going to update again though. hal fans forever forced to take what we can get

Falling for the First Time by nobrandhero teen - no warnings apply - 63,818 words - 11/17 chapters The game is over, Alpha Earth resets to 2009, and Dirk's bro doesn't live up to expectations. The movie director who appears so chill and stoic in interviews is actually a talkative, needy dweeb like his teenage counterpart. It's not a bad thing, as far as Dirk's concerned.

for whatever reason, i'm a sucker for fics where the characters somehow end up on earth again post-game, and out of all the fics that follow that concept this one is my favorite. hal is also there sometimes

[daughterofthesunlands]

My 2024 fic i'm most proud of

As we're finishing out 2024, what is one thing from your writing this year that you're particularly proud of? And what is one fic you wrote that you would recommend for others to read?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Thank you @dilettantefeminist for tagging me for this challenge!

I needed a few days to think about this one, because I couldn't decide lmao!

But I think I will have to say it's my tiny 5-chapter fic "Sons and Daughters" on AO3. 2024 was such a joyous year (mainly because of Rings of Power), and don't shoot me, but I really didn't see it for Gil-galad in S1😬🥹 (*booing errupts*)

But S2 literally snatched my wig. HE literally snatched my wig in EP7 with zero warning. I used to see him as this uppity Diva who was mean to everybody. But when he appeared in that golden Armor, chile...

What do you mean you were this dangerous towering bear who destroys everything in his path ALL ALONG?! What do you mean you were just a stressed dad ALL ALONG?!

Oh-oh...

He got me. I didn't peep his game.

As Thorin Oakenshield would say, "I apologize for my deeds at the gate." Ereinion, papi, I didn't know.

And that's how I started taking a closer look at the Elven King. And suddenly I saw this loneliness in him, his solitude, his heart (how forgiving and loving he was with Galadriel, how he tried to up Elrond's morale when the dwarves appeared), his bravery. EVERYTHING.

And I wanted to explore that fatherhood that he didn't choose but in a way has chosen him in that fic. How he, an orphan founder made a family. Because I also think it's really poetic. He the orphan, who will always end up bringing people together in a way. He can't escape it. And people really liked it.

And now I'm writing another fic about him.

So yeah, that one would have to be my favourite fic this year.

If you ant to check it out, pls do:

I would like to nominate @valar-did-me-wrong , @celebrimborsapron & @grrrlsubrosa for the challenge, if you haven't partaken yet.

[martianbugsbunny]

Hour One (A Kalluzeb Fic)

*falling down the stairs* I did it! I finished my post-Zero Hour fic, it's so tasty to me <3 I'm not even gonna ramble about it I'm just gonna get right to the fic bc I love it!!! read on and enjoy!!!

When the ship was safely in hyperspace, Kanan quietly let Kallus into a room on the Ghost that was currently deserted. Judging by the half-made bunk beds against the wall, Kallus assumed it was living quarters, but he was too distracted by the growing pain in his shoulders and ribs to try and piece together whose room it was.

“I’ll give you a minute,” Kanan said. And then Kallus was alone again, with the forgiving, kind voice of the Jedi echoing in his brain. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be spoken to softly. He was lucky these people whom he’d hunted across the galaxy for years had even bothered to pick up his escape pod, rather than speeding away from the Imperial fleet and applying the rule of “serves him right.”

Something in him cracked. He began to sob, silently, terrified of what he had done in betraying the Empire, overwhelmed by a thousand different strident feelings he couldn’t even name. The heavy breaths hurt (every movement seemed to hurt, now that his adrenaline rush was wearing thin) and his head was pounding. Was the world really spinning, or was that just him?

At the first hiss of the door sliding open, Kallus dragged his sleeve hastily across his face to remove any tears or snot that might give away that he’d been crying—a bad decision, really, given his black eye, which stung at the rough contact.

It wasn’t Kanan who stepped into the room, slightly awkwardly and with bright green eyes that reflected back at Kallus those unnamable emotions.

It was Zeb.

Kallus took a step back, hands clenched at his sides. He knew his eyes were red and he could feel spots on his face where he had missed tears, and he hoped Zeb wouldn’t notice. He had no right to cry in front of this man, of all people.

Zeb stared at him for a moment, and Kallus could feel him mentally checking off all the things that were currently wrong on Kallus’s person. Hunched posture from his injured ribs; blotchy face; bloodstains on his uniform and dried blood on his lip.

“I brought you some clothes,” Zeb said. In the other hand he held a medkit, and Kallus realized with a sinking feeling that those supplies were for him. What a waste of resources that seemed. “They’re probably not your size, but they’re better than the Imperial things you’re wearing.”

Kallus took a breath before answering, surprised at how steady he was able to force his voice to be. “Thank you,” he said.

Then there was a horrible pause as Kallus realized he wouldn’t be able to remove his chest armor, much less his shirt, without help, and he could see the exact same knowledge dawning on Zeb’s face. “Karabast,” he said. “You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you.”

Kallus shook his head after only a brief moment of thought. He didn’t have the strength to punish himself any further. Whether or not he was worthy of Zeb’s help would have to wait until he was healed. “If you don’t mind,” he said, taking another shaky breath as he once again met Zeb’s gaze.

He didn’t look angry. He almost seemed…proud? That wasn’t right. Kallus was seeing things; his brain had been shaken up by his escape and he was imagining things that weren’t there. “I don’t,” Zeb said. He crossed the room and set the clothes down on the lower bunk. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the empty space next to them.

Kallus did as he was told, relieved to be off his feet. The leg he’d injured on Bahryn had been hurting horribly since his fight with Thrawn, particularly his knee. He might need to consider getting a brace, he realized, if he wanted to keep fighting—which he did.

Zeb unclasped the sides of Kallus’s ISB-issued armor, dumping it on the floor. “Sabine’ll get a kick out of painting that,” Zeb said. “You can wear our colors instead of Imperial ones.” “Give it to somebody else,” Kallus said. “I don’t want it.” Zeb gave him another strange look that he couldn’t parse. “Whatever you say.” He began to work at the clasps of Kallus’s uniform shirt. They definitely wasn't built for his large, clawed fingers. “So…you’re a Rebel now,” he said. “Still think you made the right decision?”

There weren’t words to describe how firmly Kallus was convinced of it. He was terrified, staring into the face of the unknown, but he knew he’d done the right thing—he just wasn’t sure how to live with the consequences. How to build a new life for himself out of the ruins of his old one…which had been built on the ruins of so many other people’s lives.

So Kallus simply nodded, trying to keep himself from spilling any more tears. The thing that made that impossible was the gentle way Zeb worked the unclasped shirt from his torso, pulling off one sleeve and then the other, grumbling angrily in that deep, rumbling voice when he saw the bruises on Kallus’s side.

“I apologize,” Kallus said immediately, his voice stiff and cracked like old, uncared-for leather. “This isn’t fair.” Zeb helped him get his arms into the new shirt he’d brought, leaving the clasps undone; the medics would only have to undo them again later to treat his injuries properly. Then he draped a quilted jacket across Kallus’s shoulders.

“You just uprooted your entire life, Kallus,” Zeb said, sighing and adjusting a non-existent crease in the jacket. “I would think it was weird if you didn’t cry.”

“Not in front of you. You shouldn’t comfort me.” Kallus moved backwards, further into the bunk, away from Zeb’s touch. He didn’t deserve empathy and he didn’t want pity. “This shouldn’t be your problem.”

Zeb got up from the floor where he’d been kneeling and sat on the edge of the bunk, staring at the opposite wall instead of at Kallus. “Maybe not,” he agreed. “Maybe I should say it’s none of my business. Maybe I should leave you to deal with it alone. But when you worked with me on that ice moon, and saved my friends from the Empire, and fed us all that intel as Fulcrum, I think you kind of made yourself my business.” He turned back towards Kallus, his face serious, his eyes soft. “Now let me check your other injuries.”

Kallus complied, shifting closer to Zeb. Even if it didn’t sit right with him, he didn’t think he could refuse Zeb anything. He would do whatever he was asked, whatever he was told—even allow Zeb to take on some of his burden—if it would make a fraction of a difference. If it would help him so much as an inch towards making amends.

With his broad hands carefully gentle, Zeb put a few stitches in Kallus’s broken lower lip. Kallus wondered where Zeb had learned those skills; if it was gained during his time in the Honor Guard of Lasan or in the Rebellion. For a moment, he was lost in wondering, searching Zeb’s face while he was intent on his task as though he could find an answer there. He only realized Zeb had paused and asked him a question when Zeb tilted his head to the side, staring at Kallus for an answer of his own.

“Could you repeat that?”

Zeb rolled his eyes. “I said, can you see alright? That black eye doesn’t look too good.”

His eyes were dry now, but there was still a blur in the left side of his vision. “Actually, I can’t,” he said, swallowing hard. “Everything to the left is hazy.”

“It'll probably need a while to heal,” Zeb said. “If it doesn’t, we’ll get you fitted with some visual aids.” He dabbed something cold and clear on the bruised skin. “There’s nothing more I can do until we land, but you should be fine.”

The pain in his side begged to argue, and he was pretty sure that something in there was broken, but Kallus nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything."

How could he put that everything into words? Thank you for not killing me on Bahryn, thank you for telling me to look for the answers, thank you for believing me when I was Fulcrum, thank you for picking me up just now, thank you for tending my wounds.

He didn’t need to. The way Zeb was looking at him, he already knew.

“We have enough people on board to handle things,” Zeb said, his voice equally low. “I can stick around here for a while if you want the company.”

Kallus felt a smile tugging at the stitches on his lip. More everything to be grateful for. “Alright.”

They sat there together on the bunk for a while in silence. It was a comfortable silence, somehow, and Kallus finally began to relax, not breathing easily past the injuries to his ribs but certainly breathing more easily than before.

“You were limping,” Zeb said, breaking the quiet. “When you came on board you were limping.”

“Once you’re wounded, that body part becomes a target. It’s not so bad, now that my weight’s been off it.” Zeb leaned back against the wall. “That’s good.” He extended one arm to Kallus. “Come on, Kal. We’ve got time before we land anywhere, you can rest.”

There was a moment of hesitation, of doubt, and then Kallus allowed himself to settle next to Zeb, with a strong purple arm around his shoulders. As he started drifting off, safe for the first time in months and knowing his injuries would be cared for, Kallus thought he felt Zeb’s fingers gently rubbing across his arm, and there was a little pit of warmth in his chest that kept the cold of pain and guilt out.

[wolveria]

Tough Love Writing Advice

I’m seeing this a lot on AO3 lately, so time for a friendly PSA.

In your notes/tags/summary, STOP saying your fic sucks. Even if it’s self-deprecation, it’s not doing you any favors. Think of it this way. If you tell me your story is terrible, why should I keep reading?

STOP saying you suck at summaries, especially in your summary. I want to know what your story is about. I would rather have a "bad" summary than no summary at all. No one cares if you “suck” at summaries. They just want to read.

STOP saying your fic is garbage and you didn’t bother to proofread it. Again, related to above, I have limited time and energy to read. I’m going to choose stories that appeal to me. If you’re telling me right out the gate your fic is garbage and you don’t care enough to even give it a glance over, then why should I stick around? Why should anyone?

You’re doing yourself a great disservice by knocking yourself down before a reader even gets to your story. Even if writing is a hobby for you, it’s a bad habit to start off with the self-deprecation. It builds zero confidence and gives you an escape to not commit to anything.

Not to sound like a hard ass, but I did this for years. Decades even. And it set me back for so long, and it makes me sad to see so many writers doing it.

It doesn’t matter if your fic is actual garbage (I disagree any art is garbage), or that you suck at summaries. You don’t need to announce it! You just keep practicing to get better. And it's hard to get better when you constantly tell yourself what you create isn't good enough to enjoy.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 19/?

Can I offer everyone some distraction and escape tonight? If you have sent a prompt to my inbox, I will get on those tonight and tomorrow. Just wanted to get a longer offering up as well. It's going to get worse before it ever gets better. Do what you have to do to stay safe, and try to do good where you can. I pray for better days ahead.

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3

From the moment Tommy’s coven master stepped into the house, Evan could tell he was powerful.

Not as powerful as Tommy. Not as old as Tommy, either…but definitely not a new vampire. Something about the way he carried himself gave Evan the impression that he was used to being listened to. Obeyed. His dark eyes zeroed in on Evan as he made his way to Tommy’s living room, and even with no fangs visible, Evan absolutely received the message that this man would neither hesitate to kill him, nor feel an ounce of guilt over it. It should have been terrifying. And make no mistake, Evan was wary.

But he wasn’t afraid.

His magic hummed in the back of his mind, strong and ready to use to defend himself. Even if he had not recovered from the effects of using the teleport spell, though…Tommy wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

The knowledge settled in his mind, startling in its surety. Its absoluteness. Tommy wouldn’t let any harm come to him. Evan knew that.

He did not know how he knew that, or why it felt like such an immutable, inarguable fact. It was an insane thought to have. Sure, Tommy had put himself between Evan and danger several times already, but what possible reason could Evan have for thinking that he’d continue to do so? Against his own coven master, no less? He didn’t have one…and yet he was so completely confident in the belief that he met the vampire’s eyes squarely, his magic swirling contentedly through his body.

He listened as Tommy argued back and forth with his coven master, tensing as Alonzo revealed that the vampires were already spreading rumors about what had happened in Greenway’s office. He’d known in the back of his mind that the men who’d attacked them weren’t likely to just ride off into the sunset, never to be heard from again…but the high coven had seemed the larger threat.

He couldn’t even really blame this Alonzo person for asking Tommy to get rid of him, to turn him over to the high coven and just cut his losses. Hadn’t Evan been begging Tommy to do just that before Alonzo appeared? It was the smart play—the only play that could possibly keep Tommy and his coven out of this.

God, he wanted to give Tommy a way out of this.

“I’ve been on my own before. I can manage. Just do what I said before…let me leave and have your coven master lodge a complaint with the high coven. Tell them I spelled you. I don’t—I don’t know what to do about the vampires, but at least that’ll get my people off of your coven.”

“Well. I wasn’t expecting you to be the voice of reason. Listen to him, Thomas. We don’t have a lot of time to go with that story—not even a powerful witch could control you for very long.”

Evan ignored Alonzo, staring at Tommy as he seemed to consider their words. He wasn’t sure how this whole mess was going to end. He hoped Grant and her coven could find what they needed to in time to avoid a coven war…but Evan knew better than most the kinds of things that powerful covens could get away with when they wanted to. He wasn’t terribly confident. He just knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t do everything in his power to give them the chance.

He thought Tommy felt the same way. Like everything else about the vampire, it seemed a ridiculous thought to have. Three days ago, would have laughed out loud at the idea that a vampire could care about innocent people dying in a coven war. But he’d seen firsthand how much Tommy cared about his coven. Despite the horrible way they’d come into each other’s lives, Tommy had been nothing but honest with him. Honorable. Kind.

Protective.

He wasn’t an idiot. And he wasn’t naïve. Tommy had killed people. More people than Evan could probably conceive of, given how old he was. But Evan didn’t think the vampire was faking the disgust he seemed to feel for the wanton violence and cruelty of the party he’d rescued Evan from. He didn’t think Tommy was faking his desire to get to the bottom of whatever was going on in the city. Something inside Evan told him that Tommy wanted to stop what was coming just as much as Evan did.

The difference was, if Evan died in this storm they’d somehow entered into, the collateral damage would be minimal.

Sally had cut ties with him.

His parents had never cared for him to begin with.

Maddie probably thought he was already dead…or had abandoned her.

There was no one left to care if he died, but Tommy had a whole coven who would mourn him. Hell, Evan had interacted with them for less than two hours, but he could tell how close Tommy was with the two vampires who had come to the loft. There was no reason for Tommy to go down this road with him when there were so many people who would be hurt if Tommy got himself killed. He knew Tommy wouldn’t stand for just turning Evan over to the high coven, but letting him go and then taking a story about Evan casting a compulsion over Tommy to them was the absolute best move that Tommy could make. For his coven. For himself.

“I can’t do that.” The vampire’s voice was clear. Steady. Not a hint of doubt or hesitation in the words. Tommy’s eyes bored relentlessly into his, his back ramrod straight as he refused, refused the out Evan was offering him. “Evan, whoever is orchestrating all this, I’m not leaving you to face them down by yourself.”

And…what? Evan startled, barely managing to keep his mouth from falling open in shock. Wait—wait, no, he couldn’t have heard that correctly. That made no sense. That was—

“Thomas, are you insane? You can’t be serious!” Tommy’s coven master sounded as shocked as Evan felt, the cool, calm demeanor he’d been affecting since he entered the bungalow cracking.

He started to pace back and forth, his movements quick and agitated, and Evan tucked one hand behind his back, clenching his fist and focusing on his magic the way Sally had taught him, drawing it tightly inwards, ready to spring forth at his command. No witch was powerful enough to cast without the structure of a spell…but thanks to Sally’s lessons, Evan could cast faster than most.

Tommy stepped deliberately between them, facing his coven master, and Evan felt a flush of warmth he couldn’t even try to deny. Alonzo’s next words, though, were like a bucket of ice water being poured straight down Evan’s spine.

“If you do this, then I’ll have no choice but to disavow you. Sever our alliance.”

He gasped. He knew he gasped, the soft, breathy sound of it punching out of him entirely without his permission. No. No, Alonzo couldn’t be suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting. And even if he was, there was no way that Tommy would—

“Exactly,” Tommy said. His voice was still so steady, so sure. As though he was talking about something as minor as changing the paint color in his living room or what he might make for dinner and not…not…

Tommy and his coven master continued speaking, but Evan couldn’t make out the words over the buzzing in his ears. He felt frozen, stopped, his mind swarming with memories and feelings that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to examine in years. The blood pounded in his head, his focus on his magic splintering. No. No, Tommy couldn’t—he wouldn’t…

“Thomas. You’ll be convenless.”

“I’ve been covenless before.”

Covenless. There were a thousand other meanings for that word, and Evan had lived every one for the last five years.

To be covenless was to be nothing. Less than nothing. When Evan had been banished from his coven, he’d lost everything. His home, his family, his familiar. His future. His identity. Everything that made him who he was had been stripped from him, and he’d been left to rebuild himself from fucking scratch…only he’d never be able to. Not really.

To be covenless was to be alone. Completely alone. Unwelcome in every corner of the world you’d thought would be yours forever, unwanted and uncared for. Evan had lost his coven bonds and he’d become a ghost. He’d lost everything when he lost his coven. How could Tommy just give it up?

Why…why would he do something like that for him?

Evan watched in frozen, horrified silence as Tommy did it. Severed himself from his coven. Turned his back on his home, his family, the people he cared for…for Evan. He listened to the oddly formal words—completely devoid of the power that he’d felt when the Pennsylvania high coven handed down his sentence, and yet somehow just as heavy. Just as important. Some part of him tried to remind himself that Tommy had said vampire covens didn’t function the way witch covens did. Vampire covens were alliances, not bonds that were formed in blood and magic…but it didn’t matter. Tommy was giving up his coven. For him.

To protect him. He’d said it. He’d said he wasn’t going to leave Evan to face this storm alone.

It was impossible. It was irrational. It made absolutely no sense. He was watching it with his own eyes, and he didn’t understand. He’d given himself up for Maddie. He’d sacrificed everything he ever was or ever would be to keep her safe, to make sure that she didn’t suffer for what she had to do to set herself free from Doug. He hadn’t set out to lose his coven because of it, he’d just known it was a likely outcome. Had Tommy known he was going to do this when his coven master walked through the door? Had he looked at the situation the way Evan had all those years ago, his sister’s heartwrenching sobs ringing in his ears as they stood over Doug’s still body, and made the same choice Evan had in that moment? How? How?

It had been an easy sacrifice for him to make for Maddie. Losing his coven had been the hardest thing he’d ever experienced or ever would experience, but it had been worth it to save his sister. Keep her safe. Protect her.

But…but he loved Maddie. Loved her more than anything else in the world, loved her more than he loved himself.

What motivation did Tommy have to give up his coven for Evan?

Tommy was still for a long moment after his coven master–fuck, his ex coven master, what had he done?—left the bungalow. Evan listened to the sound of the vampire's car start up, still feeling like he'd been encased in a block of ice. Tommy's shoulders slumped slightly as the sound of the car faded down the driveway, growing more and more distant, and he cracked his neck a couple times before turning to look at Evan.

Evan didn't know what his face looked like, but Tommy's immediately softened. It was almost unbearable to watch…Tommy had just made himself covenless, how could he have room to feel sympathy for Evan?

“Evan, remember. Coven bonds aren’t like what you’re used to for us. This isn’t…it doesn’t hurt me,” he said, and his voice was so, so gentle.

As if Evan was the one who needed to be handled carefully, as though Evan was the one hurting. Because he was hurting. Evan knew that without a doubt, knew it the same way he’d known that Tommy wouldn’t let his coven master hurt him—it was a quiet certainty, a solid as stone beneath his feet. He felt suddenly sick, too hot and too cold at the same time. His heart pounded in his chest, his magic thrumming through him insistently, and he shook his head.

“Why…” He broke off, suddenly unable to meet Tommy’s eyes, and swallowed hard. “Why did you do that?” he managed to choke out, his voice sounding alien to his own ears.

Tommy tilted his head slightly, a stepped toward him, closing the distance between them until he was right in front of him. “I’m not letting you do this alone,” he said, as though that were an actual reason to leave his coven, to voluntarily give it up.

Evan shook his head again, his head still spinning. “That doesn’t make sense!” he burst out. “Tommy, you’re gonna get yourself killed!”

Infuriatingly, Tommy’s lips twitched into a smile, and he reached up to lay his hand on Evan’s shoulder. There was no heat from the touch, of course, and yet Evan swore he could feel the shape of Tommy’s hand on him like a brand. His magic sparked through him, swirling in his chest like champagne bubbles. “I’ve heard that before, Evan. Hasn’t happened, yet,” he said.

“It’s not worth it,” Evan said.

Losing your coven isn’t worth it, Evan meant.

I’m not worth it, Evan meant.

Tommy’s hand loosened briefly, his fingers twitching like he wanted to move them. For a few heartbeats, Evan had the bizarre sense that Tommy was restraining himself from reaching up, brushing the skin of Evan’s throat, skating his fingers higher and higher to touch Evan’s face. Even more bizarre was the pulse of disappointment when Tommy merely patted his shoulder and stepped back, a strange expression twisting his features.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the vampire said. “Now…are you ready to start this snipe hunt?”

*

“How worried do we have to be about one of those locator spells?” Tommy asked as he guided the SUV onto the highway, heading for the address that his friend Chimney had provided.

Evan blinked, startled out of thoughts that would not stop racing in circles no matter how hard he tried. He was glad for the new topic to focus on, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the window. “Depends. If your, uh, if Alonzo lets the high coven have some of your stuff when he talks to them, it could be a problem. If it’s something you’re really attached to.” He opened his eyes and shot Tommy a sidelong glance. “Do you have a lot of things at your coven house?” he asked quietly.

Tommy chuckled, not taking his eyes off the road. It was hard to get a read on his expression, but he didn’t seem especially upset. “Some. Not as much as you might think someone could collect over eight hundred years. I’ve never really cared about things. Most of what I really give a shit about, I keep at the bungalow. But I can text Sal and Lucy and tell them to hide a few other things at the coven house.”

Evan nodded to himself. “We should have a day or two before it even becomes an issue—and they might not think it’s worth it. It’d be hard to hold a locator spell on a vampire. Most of our really complicated magic doesn’t work so great on you.”

Tommy made a curious hum. “Why’s that?”

Evan shrugged. “No one really knows. Probably for the same reason that you can’t turn witches.” He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “I can cast a charm that’ll let me know if someone’s trying to spell you,” he offered after a moment. “And disrupt it.”

“Will it be a drain on you? I’d rather you save your strength for when we run into trouble.”

“A disruption? Yeah, that’d be hard for me to keep up for very long…but the alert charm is simple. Sa—someone taught it to me when I was a kid, to help me channel my intentions in a spell. Those kinds of things, losing my coven bond doesn’t really, uh, doesn’t really affect me that much,” he finished quietly. “But it’s still a spell. I, I, I get it if you don’t want me casting anything on you.”

Tommy was silent for a long moment, before he said quietly, “I trust you, Evan. Do I need to pull over?”

“Wait, not? You want me to cast it now?” Evan blinked, the calm certainty in Tommy’s voice when he said he trusted him catching him off-guard. Tommy shrugged one shoulder.

“Might as well. I don’t want to risk getting distracted later—and any advantage we can get is worth taking.”

“Um, okay. Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Uh, no, it—you won’t feel anything. Maybe like, a tingle? But it won’t hurt or anything. I can do it while you’re driving.” He pressed his lips together, considering. “Can I have your hand?”

Tommy startled a little at that, shooting him a quick, bemused look. “Sure?” he said, stretching one hand out toward Evan.

Evan took it, cradling it in his palms and resting two fingers on where Tommy’s pulsepoint should be in his wrist. It was odd not to feel the beat of life underneath his fingers, to trace skin that was oddly cool, blue veins standing out more starkly than he was used to. He leaned over Tommy’s hand and started chanting, his magic all but leaping to his fingertips as he murmured the familiar spell. Tommy kept his eyes on the road, but Evan could sense him shooting quick little looks his way, even as he held his hand trustingly still.

It was strangely intimate. The thought skipped through Evan’s head and was gone as he felt the spell building, his hands beginning to glow with the white light of a witch’s power. He breathed out the last words of the spell and pressed the magic gently into the skin of Tommy’s wrist, a sigil glowing briefly before fading to near invisibility. Tommy shivered as the sigil sunk in, his fingers flexing, but he held still until the light of Evan’s magic faded. Moving slowly—almost reluctantly?—he slipped his hand from Evan’s grasp and looked at the inside of his wrist, his eyebrow twitching upwards minutely.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“That’s it,” Evan confirmed, settling back in his seat and going back to staring out the window. “If anyone tries to cast on you, I’ll know.”

“Thank you, Evan,” Tommy said.

Evan nodded silently, watching the LA scenery fly past the window as Tommy sped towards Greenway’s house. He felt like his brain was spinning as fast as the tires, too much happening for him to really get a grasp on it. He needed to. He couldn’t afford to be spiraling with them potentially heading into a hostile situation. Everything—his confusion and disbelief and, yes, all right, his guilt over Tommy giving up his coven, his worry about what they were walking into, his fear for what could happen in this city if they failed, he had to let it all go. He could almost hear Sally’s voice in his head, chidingly reminding him that he needed to stay focused.

Find an anchor, little love. A single thing to concentrate on and hold onto that, no matter what.

Good advice…but advice he’d struggled to take all his life. He looked over at Tommy again, taking in his profile as he tried to read his stoic expression, tried to figure out what might be running through the vampire’s head. Tommy said he trusted him. After knowing him only a couple of days, Tommy was willing to take risks for him that he wouldn’t have asked of anyone in his coven except maybe Maddie. Had made sacrifices for him that Evan knew down to the marrow of his bones his own parents would never have made. Tommy said he trusted him.

Evan breathed out slowly, his magic ebbing through him in time to his heartbeat. In the face of everything, he let the simple truth that had been trying to form in his mind since Tommy had given up his place in his coven to protect Evan wash over him. He trusted Tommy, too. And that was what he was going to hold onto, no matter what.

*

Jonah Greenway had lived on a surprisingly quiet street in a small, nondescript house that was neither especially nice nor especially run-down. Tommy took a couple of laps around the block in the SUV, trying to scout if there was anybody already there. Evan had been slightly worried that the place would already have been under a police investigation, but credit where credit was due—the SoCal high coven was very good at keeping their world secret.

“Looks clear,” Tommy muttered after the third lap around the block. They’d stopped a few intersections and pulled into and reversed out of a couple of driveways to hopefully make it look as though they were just lost to any nosy neighbors who might notice a large SUV with heavily tinted windows. He pulled to a stop about a block down the street from Greenway’s house.

“Wait—how are we getting you in there?” Evan asked, tipping his head towards the window…and the sun-drenched street outside it. It would have been easier to wait ‘til at least dusk to leave the bungalow, but the need to give Grant and her coven enough time to do their own investigations created a sense of urgency that would not be ignored.

“I can take sunlight for a few minutes,” Tommy said, frowning distastefully and twisting in his seat to dis around in the floor behind him. He sat up a moment later with a large black hoodie and pulled a pair of gloves out of one of the pockets. “Although no offense, I’m gonna walk a hell of a lot faster than you.”

“Dressed like the villain in an after-school special?” Evan asked dubiously, his eyebrow climbing when Tommy pulled his sun visor down and grabbed a large pair of sunglasses clipped to the edge. “Really?”

“If you have a better suggestion, I’d love to avoid the third-degree sunburn I’m about to get.”

Evan debated a moment, drumming his fingers on his thigh and poking at the edges of his magic, feeling out the strength. Then he turned in his own seat, staring hard out the back windshield at the corner of Greenway’s house that was visible. There was a decently-sized porch with a roof, and Evan knew any witch worth his salt would have had look-away charms on his house, though they might have lost power when Greenway died. Still, if that was the case, then any hexes or traps he’d laid on the property would also be defunct, and Tommy would be able to break into the place quickly. Evan felt confident he could handle any hexes that were still active, and short out an alarm system fast enough that it would register as a glitch.

“Try not to move, okay?” he said, reaching over to grab Tommy’s wrist as he focused on the corner of the porch he could see, and chanted the spell.

His ears popped, the whole world going quiet and shadowy, sound muffling almost to the point that he was enveloped in silence. The air around him turned absolutely freezing, colder than any Pennsylvania winter, and as the spell ended he couldn’t help coughing. Beside him, he heard Tommy gasp something in a language he didn’t recognize—though by the tone, he could tell it wasn’t polite—and the vampire scrambled to his feet, his wrist twisting under Evan’s to grab at his hand and yank him to his feet as well.

They were standing on Greenway’s porch, well-shaded from the afternoon sunlight.

“What the hell?! What did you do?” Tommy demanded, looking around him in shock. “That wasn’t the same thing you did at the office!”

Evan laughed shortly, pulling away so he could examine the door in front of them. The fact that no defense spells had triggered when they appeared on the porch was encouraging, but he wasn’t going to just take it on faith that Greenway didn’t have something more powerful than simple charms and hexes waiting. “No—a teleport is major magic even when you have a coven bond. I’m not risking that unless there’s no other choice. I took us through the between.” He reached out and let his hand hover over the doorknob, unable to feel the telltale tingle of magic against his skin.

“The…wasn’t that where Greenway hid the flash drive?”

“Yup.”

“And you can…go…there?” Tommy continued slowly.

“If you know how. Most of us just use it like Greenway did. Like a hiding place. Kind of a magical safe-deposit box? But the between is as big or small as you know it is, and it exists wherever you know it will. So, if you know it’s big enough to fit you, and you know it exists where you want to be, you can get to it.”

“That—okay, that actually makes a weird sort of sense and explains a couple of encounters I’ve had over the years. I haven’t met any witch who could do something like that in a century or two, though.”

Evan shrugged, still examining the door. “Not a lot of us can, anymore. It’s old magic. Like, old-fashioned magic, not, uh, not old as in ancient. It’s easy to get lost in, so it’s not like it’s in the normal, everyday lessons. Sally only taught me because—” He broke off, his brain catching up with the amount of private information his mouth was just casually giving away.

Tommy was silent for a moment. “Sally was your familiar?” he asked gently.

Evan clenched his jaw, before nodding quickly. “I don’t think there’s any kind of spell on the door,” he said. Thankfully, Tommy accepted the abrupt subject change, stepping around Evan to grip the doorknob and give the door a fast, almost casual shove with his shoulder. The deadbolt snapped in an instant, and Tommy stepped back to interpose himself between Evan and anything that might be waiting for them inside.

Only silence greeted them, however.

Tommy cocked his head, listening intently, before his shoulders relaxed. “It’s empty,” he said. “But stay close.” He stepped inside the darkened interior of Greenway’s house. Evan took a deep breath and followed, his eyes roving over his surroundings curiously.

The house was surprisingly…sterile. It had all the trappings of a home—comfortable furniture, plush carpets on the floors, bookshelves full of books and mementos, art hanging on the walls. Yet, the place felt cold to Evan. There was none of the warmth and character of Tommy’s bungalow. The place felt like a showroom or a magazine cover. Everything perfectly chosen and placed to present a picture that it just…wasn’t.

It felt, he reflected wryly, like the house he had grown up in.

“Howie and Grant already searched the place for anything useful, but the high coven hasn’t gotten here yet. We need them to think we’re looking for something, get them to waste resources trying to find it first. Toss the place?” Tommy asked, glancing back at Evan with a questioning look. Evan shrugged, turning a slow circle in the large, open-plan living space that took up most of the first floor. Something felt…off.

“They really didn’t find anything?” he asked, his eyes darting around the room.

“Nada,” Tommy confirmed, watching as Evan looked all around him. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“Nothing, I just…there’s something…” he trailed off, the frustratingly feeling of something just out of his reach dancing at the edge of his senses. His eyes fell on a mirror propped up in the corner of a set of recessed bookshelves that had been built into the walls on either side of a large picture window in what Greenway had set up as his living room. Directly in front of the window was a large, ornate wooden writing desk. Evan tilted his head and followed the line of where the mirror was facing…to another mirror mounted on the wall by the stairs to the second story. The mirror was positioned oddly, slightly off-center of where Evan would expect it to be, just enough to look a little wonky. In fact, if he stood in front of that mirror and followed the line of where it was facing, he would find…

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Evan muttered.

“What?” Tommy demanded immediately.

In answer, Evan spun another slow circle in the center of the room, tracing the sightlines of multiple mirrors positioned all around the room. That was what he was feeling. He hadn’t quite shaken the chill of the between from his senses, after all…and there was quite a lot of the between in this room.

“He hid something else here,” Evan said, finding the mirror that was positioned in the northernmost part of the room and pacing away from it until he was as close to the center of where the sight lines of all five of the mirrors around the living space met as he could get. “Fucking smart bastard, I’ll give him that.”

“Evan, what are you talking about? I’m pretty sure Howie and Grant would have known to look in this between place.”

“Yeah, but they might not have realized how big the between is here,” Evan countered. “Like I said…it’s not something a lot of witches learn anymore.”

Tommy tilted his head, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked curious, though, not dismissive. “You keep talking like the size of it can change. Isn’t space…you know, space? Like there have to be boundaries.”

“Ever been in one of those house of mirrors they do at fairs and theme parks?” Evan asked, centering himself and focusing hard. He murmured the appropriate spell and reached toward the desk, the way he had in the office building to find the flash drive. The way he’d—sort of, it was a little more complicated than he’d explained to Tommy—done to get them from the car to the porch to avoid the sunlight. Only this time, he reached further into the between. Through all the layers of it that Greenway had folded it upon itself, over and over, until only a witch or familiar who regularly used it to shift themselves through space and not just store and hide things in would have even realized there was that much of it to explore in this house.

Evan did not travel through the between regularly. It was not something that witches did anymore, the dangers of getting lost too great. But he had been very carefully trained by someone who had learned the art in times when it had been a valuable tool for survival.

His hand closed on something in the between, and he curled his fingers around it and yanked. There was a soft pop in the air, and when he looked at the empty desk again, there was a small, leatherbound ledger sitting innocuously in the center of it. “Gotcha,” he hissed. He hurried forward and scooped the ledger off the desk, pulling at the bands of elastic that bound it at each corner.

“Great work Ev—GET DOWN!” Tommy’s voice changed in a flash, rising to a bellow as he lunged at Evan. Between one breath and the next, Tommy had made it across the room and wrapped himself around Evan, pulling Evan tight against his chest and spinning them around so that Tommy’s back was to the window.

There was a loud sound of shattering glass.

The clatter of something hitting the desk.

And then the whole world around Evan exploded into a mass of light. And sound. And force.

Evan felt himself lifted off his feet, flung across the room. Tommy’s body was wrapped tight around him, the vampire’s arms shielding him protectively, his face pressed hard against Tommy’s throat. They hit the floor hard enough that the breath was knocked from Evan’s lungs, but he was still dimly aware of Tommy taking the brunt of the landing, rolling them with the momentum, one hand cradling the back of Evan’s head and keeping it from cracking on the hardwood floors as they came to a rolling halt.

Evan coughed, everything spinning around him in dizzying circles, his ears ringing so loudly he could barely hear anything over it. His whole body hurt, and when he pulled his head back from Tommy’s neck, the room was suddenly hazy with smoke. What…what had—

“Tommy?” he gasped, when the vampire made no move to let go, to get up. “Tommy, what—”

He could hardly hear his own voice, though he knew he was shouting. He gripped Tommy’s shoulder, more relief than he was willing to examine at the moment sweeping through him when he felt the vampire’s muscles bunch under his touch, felt Tommy shudder and start to struggle to get up. Something was wrong, though.

His vampire was moving too slowly, too sluggishly. When Evan blinked some of the hazy smoke out of his eyes, Tommy’s face—mere inches from his own—was twisted in a grimace of pain. Something hard pressed into the top of Evan’s abdomen, right under his breastbone, and he slowly became aware of a hot wetness seeping into his borrowed shirt. Gasping, he wrenched himself backwards enough so he could look down, a buzzing that had nothing to do with his ringing ears filling his head when his eyes focused on the massive, wickedly sharp chunk of splintered wood that was poking into his chest.

The massive, wickedly sharp chunk of splintered wood that had impaled Tommy through the back, gone clear through his body.

“Tommy! Tommy, what—”

“Evan…run,” his vampire managed to grit out, blood spilling from the corners of his mouth.

“Aw come on Kinard. Let the witch stay.”

Evan’s heart sank, his eyes flying to the gaping hole where Greenway’s front window had been only seconds before. The blond vampire from the office building was clambering through the jagged opening, flanked by two other vampires that Evan hadn’t seen before. They were covered head to toe in the same getup that Tommy had been going to try to use to get across the sunny street—hoodies, gloves, long pants—but every inch of exposed skin was blistered and peeling, obviously burned by even what short exposure they’d had to the sun.

Blondie pulled his hood back, glaring at Evan and Tommy, a nasty smirk firmly in place on his face. Evan’s eyes flicked between the three of them as Tommy tried to push at his shoulder, still struggling to get his feet under him, even as more blood spurted out from around the piece of fucking shrapnel sprouting out of his chest.

Tommy was hurt. Badly.

The vampire who had protected him over and over, even when it made no logical sense for him to do so. The vampire who had been kinder and gentler to him over the past two days than any one of his own kind had been over the past five years. His vampire, who had refused to let Evan walk into danger alone.

His vampire, who had given up his own coven to stay by Evan’s side, against odds that would have sent any sane person running for the hills. His vampire.

Evan curled his arm protectively over Tommy’s back and reached for every drop of magic in his body, the most dangerous spell Sally had ever taught him fairly exploding out of him in a rush of power.

[thefaithfulnightwriter]

Dracontine - Chapter Zero

[^ the gif above i found on Pinterest so rights go to rightful owner ^]

❝ She is very rare. She is what you call a Dracontine. Meaning she belongs to a dragon. But in her case, she does not belong to one but three. ❞

Summary - In which a young female hides who she truly is from everyone and stays to herself. Keeping to her chores as a servant. Staying hidden was her main task while taking care of her three dragon eggs that were bound to her. But many things change when she has to stay Under the Mountain with many others. What she didn't expect was that she would meet her mate. Who happened to be the powerful High Lord of Night Court. Then soon later on she would find she has another powerful mate. The Spymaster of Night Court who was a Shadowsinger. She soon finds herself having to break out of her shell with the help of her mates and their family. Along with finding out how to navigate two bonds with two powerful mates. Also, while taking the title as Dracontine. Being she is the one who belongs to not one but three dragons. All while trying to survive a war.

Pairing - Rhysand x Female!Oc/Mc/Reader x Azriel

Universe - pre acotar - acowar [it may go into an au after acowar not sure yet though]

Series Warnings - DRAGONS (yes that is a warning lol), Gore, Death, Characters may be a bit OOC, Mature Themes, Semi Smut, Violence, Language, Mention of Past Abuse, War, Things Will Be Changed, Fluff, Angst, Some Sensitive Subjects, Mating Bonds, Poly. Relationship MxFxM (Side Note - Rhysand & Azriel are in a relationship or are mates to my Mc they will not be together), More Will Be Added If Needed. (Please do not read if these are triggers)

Disclaimer - I do not own the series ACOTAR - ACOWAR. I do own certain characters, and I own my mc. I do own somethings that are made up. And i own my writing and whatnot you get where im going and what i am saying lol.

Authors Note - hi hi! you guys this is my first time posting a acotar fic on tumblr. ekkk so nervous but excited to be here lol. but yeah i just wanted to warn that it will be a moment until the mc and rhysand meet then azriel. i gots ta world build lol. so yeah just give it a moment and it will happen lol. but yeah please let me know your thoughts i'd love to hear them.

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Long ago there was a time where large beasts flew above in the sky. Flying high making vast shadows on the ground below them when the sun arises. But were hidden in the dark night sky the only warning giving them away was the mighty roaring that escaped their throats. Roaring loudly showing no fear. A roar that warned others of their presences. With their immense bodies that grew to be the size of large buildings. Large claws that they used to swoop down and grab their prey. Their skin covered with scales rough to the touch. While having snake-like eyes that could hold so many emotions. While being able to breath out fire that could melt anything.

These beasts were called dragons.

These creatures made many fear them. Causing many to stay away from such terrifying creatures. But there were ones who were filled with fascination, wonder, and awe as they watched these beasts fly above. These fae who were fascinated with the beasts were little.

But the ones filled with amazement stayed banned together. They would watch the creatures from a distance. Taking notes sharing their knowledge with one another. Going on many quests to see such creatures. But these few fae would also protect these beasts from others. From fae who wanted them dead. Because as time went on the creatures were dwindling in numbers.

They were being killed. By the ones who feared them. But also by ones who wanted them for a trophy and for power. Being that dragons held a tremendous amount of magic and power dead or alive. This caused fae to want such power and magic. They became filled with greed in their want. And in time the creatures were soon going extinct. Causing many dragons to flee and stay hidden.

The ones who were amazed by the creatures seemed to dwindle as time went on. But there were still few. Still few who were filled with fascination and awe. Still few who told stories and passed down their knowledge on to their young.

One family in particular was enthusiastic and took pride in their knowledge. They were proud to be part of the ones who kept the dragons safe. Standing by the marvelous beasts side. They lived all over in all courts not knowing one place as home. They were seen as an eccentric family. But they did not care.

Dragons were a part of them.

They knew that their lineage would be important. Because the Mother had sent a vision to a descendant of their family. Showing a vision of their bloodline being tied to such powerful creatures. They would be called a Dracontine. Dracontine having the meaning of belonging to a dragon.

Which led the family to have hope and keep passing their knowledge down the line to their children and so on. Telling them of the name Dracontine and letting them know of the vision that was given to them by the Mother. Letting them know any one of them could be tied to such marvelous creature. Along with telling them of the power that would be bestowed upon them.

It was true because one day a descendant of said family became tied to that of a dragon by the Mother. Turning him into something powerful, a Dracontine.

His name... was Cade. He was a kind and caring male. Helping anyone he could and taking care of his family. But Cade had a fascination with Dragons just as his family did. He would listen to the old stories his family would tell him, read the old journals his family passed down, and he would constantly dream of dragons.

In time Cade felt like there was something within him that was waiting to burst into flames. It was very intense what he was feeling and was experiencing. He always wondered why he had these feelings and more. It would never leave him. It would lead him to become frustrated and become filled with sadness. Because there was a feeling of longing. But he had no clue what he was longing for.

That is until one day he was answered. One day while traveling Cade found himself having a normal day. Until he was engulfed by darkness while on his walk. He then found himself waking up in a cave. Soon after wondering where he was. Cade soon felt something within him guiding him somewhere in the cave. Walking in the dark cave with nothing but the flame of a touch lighting his way. He followed the tug within him and he was led to something in the vast dark cave. He was led to an egg. Not just any egg... but a dragon egg.

Cade was overjoyed.

But when he touched the egg for the first time something happened to him. His pointed ears grew longer, he grew small fangs, he gained a burn mark of a dragon on the back of his shoulder, and he felt more powerful than ever. He knew then and there what had happened to him. He was turned into a Dracontine. Knowing from the stories he heard from his family. Soon after he made his discovery he was off and telling his family.

His family was ecstatic and felt proud of him. Cade felt honored that the Mother chose him to be the first Dracontine.

After though Cade took the deep red egg everywhere with him. Never letting it out of his sight. Keeping it warm with his new found abilities and keeping it close. When the day came for the egg to hatch which was years later Cade was beyond happy.

He had tears of joy fall down his cheeks. Seeing such a small precious beautiful red dragon coming to life. He soon named her Crimson. And from that day the flame within Cade burst to life. Then a bond between the two solidified. Then and forward the bond that Cade and Crimson had grew and grew. Just as Crimson did. Growing into a fierce, lethal, and gorgeous crimson red dragon.

Cade and Crimson were inseparable. It seemed they would fly all the time. Day and night. Through all the seasons. As Crimson flew Cade would sit upon her back. Both content and at peace together. Cade's family would visit as did others. But as the word got around that there was a dragon and Cade was bound to it. Things seemed to take a turn for the worse.

Especially once their High Lord found out of their existence. The High Lord of Autumn Court. The Court where the family had settled at the time. When the High Lord found out there began to be attacks executed on taking Cade's and Crimson's life. The attacks were beginning to become brutal. Which led Cade to come up with a plan with his family.

Cade soon knew what he had to do. He had to flee to another Court. He was going to fly Crimson all the way across Pyrthian to the Illyrian Mountains. Then he would come back for his mate, unborn child, and family. All wanting to migrate to Night Court. To get away from Autumn Court.

It was on the night that Cade was saying farewell to his family for the time being. When it happened. When there was another attack on his and Crimson's life. They were unsuccessful in taking down Crimson. The dragon breathed streams of blazing red fire on their attackers. But while Crimson's back was turned they were successful in killing Cade.

Who was trying to protect his family. There were too many and he lost his life by an arrow piercing his heart. With his demise came Crimson's as well not long after. The dragon falling to the ground with a loud echoing thump motionless when Cade took his last breath. Not long after Crimson lifted her head one last time releasing a roaring cry and soon her head fell to the ground and she took her last breath. That day they found that if you take the life of the fae bonded to the dragon both will fall. Because of their bond together. Their lives were tethered together.

That day the family mourned for both their lost family members. Mourned for both Cade and Crimson. But they all were soon taken and turned into slaves and servants for the High Lord of Autumn Court. They were taken away while kicking and screaming. All not wanting to be taken without a fight. They tried their hardest but it was no use.

It was many years later when Cade's child had a vision. A vision that the Mother gave her that her grandchild would become a Dracontine. That her grandchild would be the one to free her family to give them hope. To give many hope. Which led her to cry and smile. She would keep the vision close to the family only telling only a few.

The ones who knew would keep the secret safe would keep her safe. Keep the child safe. Because she would be the chosen one of not one but three dragons. She would bring back hope to so many people and would save many. Because dark times were coming to Pyrthian. Not many knew but said family. They just had to be patient and wait. Wait for the new Dracontine to be born into their family. Wait for the birth of another Dracontine.

───── Dracontine tag-list ─────

blackgirlmagicforever

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[procyonloser]

Adamsapple mini ~space~ au that maybe I'll adapt into an actual fic after I'm done with eve of Adam.

Read more below the cut

Klaxons were blaring and the ship was painted in flashes of red and blue. His soldiers were running around like headless fucking chickens, trying to contain the fires and the leaks before they got out of hand, but bodies lay on the ground and they were drifting on no life support.

"Sir!?" His first officer screamed, holding her bleeding arm. Her eyes were wide in fear, fury, and a resolution that was quickly leaving him. But, they still shared a similar need for revenge.

They were outgunned. The traitors and outcasts had won, the scum of the fucking galaxy. Disgusting hybrids and freaks.

And the worst of all of them...

Adam stumbled to the front of his ship, stepping over the body of his navigator. He'd not live much longer, a piece of metal had gone straight through him in the last barrage. Lucifer's lead ship, the Morning Star, stayed locked onto them. He'd gotten a few good hits in on Charlie's ship, she'd not be able to warp out of here.

Adam stared out the window, and decided he had one song left in him.

"Attention, this is your fucking Captain speaking. Abandon ship. Get to your escape pods and get your asses back to Peter's Gate space station." Adam barked out, feeling a sharp pain digging through him with every word. Lute started to protest behind him, but he carried on. "I'm not leaving the ship, I wouldn't survive the trip anyway. Lute is your new acting Captain. Now - fucking go already!"

There was chaos as his soldiers realized all hope was lost and the fight was over for them. Lute had tears running down her face, but Adam just shook his head.

"I gave you an order. Get out of here unless you want to die too." Adam said, without looking back up at her. Instead, he focused on yanking the chuck of metal out of his stomach. His white and gold suit had been stained a deep red. The only spot of human blood on the ship.

"Sir-" Lute moved closer, but Adam just flopped down into what was left of the Captain's chair.

"I'm not going down without one last trick up my sleeve. Get out of here before I bleed out. I'm giving you one minute to get to warp." Adam finally met her gaze with a weary grin. She knew what it meant, and it took her a moment to find the courage to do what she knew she had to.

Leave.

By the time he saw her escape pod launch from the port, and eventually flash away in a beam of light, Adam's vision had grown hazy. His entire body felt cold from blood loss, or maybe it was just the systems of the ship failing in the depths of space.

Either way, he had enough in him to punch in the self destruct codes.

Hopefully, he'd damaged enough of their ships warp cores that one wouldn't be able to flee, maybe even Charlie's ship. He doubted Lucifer's ship was damaged enough, but he could always dream. That's about all he'd be doing soon.

Adam sighed and looked out the window, wondering what Lucifer was thinking right now. It didn't need to be like this, if he hadn't rebelled, hadn't fucked Lilith and made that revolting hybrid. Lucifer could have been King of more than just the trash of the Galaxy. Lucifer had been more than that to Adam, once upon a time.

"I'll see you in hell, Lucifer." Adam said to himself, closing his eyes, as the countdown neared zero.

But explosion followed, none that Adam remembered. Which meant, he thought, that he'd died beforehand. Or maybe the nuclear blast was enough so that he died instantly before his brain or body had the chance to catch up with the feeling.

So, then, why was he thinking?

Adam opened his eyes to a bright white light, which he remembered from ancient human history as the description of an afterlife, before they'd mostly given up on religions. Two pairs of eyes seemed to appear above him, floating there in the brightness.

"God?" Adam mumbled in confusion.

"No, but you can call me that if you'd like, sweetheart." Lucifer said mockingly, and Adam's vision became more clear. "I saved your sorry ass before your ship went kablooey. You're now a prison of my Kingdom and my ring of coalition planets, Adam. We'll be seeing a lot of each other from now on. How's mercy taste?" Lucifer's grin was sharp, pointed, predatory.

Adam remembered that ancient humans used to have another name for the devil.

Maybe he was in hell.

[tovalhallaandback]

My Only Wish (This Year)

Pairing: Sigtryggr Ivarson/Stiorra Uhtredsdottir

Summary: What was supposed to be the worst Christmas ever unexpectedly shifts when Stiorra winds up at a fancy bar two days before Christmas aka it's a holiday-inspired fic :)

Warnings: None for now. It's decently fluffy for now. And pretty PG for now.

Read on AO3 // Preview below cut

A once perfectly layered red and white candy cane martini was now as rosy pink as Father Christmas’s cold-bitten cheeks, the bits of silver glitter catching the light every so often as Stiorra swirled it aimlessly. Slumped over the glossy dark-wooded bar top, her head rested on her forearm as she finally gave in to her sorrow while the lounge singer sang every depressing Christmas song imaginable.But at least they chose to come to one of the fancier lounges in Winchester, the kind tucked inside of an even fancier hotel where the bartenders wore bowties and little fitted black vests, and where the white-collars of the world liked to finish their workdays with nightly live music and cocktails that cost more than minimum wage, because she would definitely be risking more than her reputation doing this at one of pubs.

Sure, her cocktail would have been five pounds cheaper, and probably would have had a heavier pour of alcohol, but, a pub, and really any normal bar, was the last place she wanted to be when all the televisions would be airing today’s hockey games. So, she told her brother she wanted to meet here, hoping dressing up and making fun of the wannabe aristocrats would help her feel better. And, it definitely had nothing to do with the fact that this place held a lot of sentimentality for her. Nope. Not at all. It was just a fancy bar. A place to escape and maybe cheer up. Although, maybe she should have just stayed home seeing as the bartender’s small radio by the cash register was tuned to sports radio. And of course, all they could talk about was - drumroll - hockey. 

She cringed when the muffled broadcaster’s voice reached her ear again, “The York Danes beat the Bamburg Goddodins four to zero this afternoon, the heathen powerhouse once again proving they are a force to be reckoned with for the second season in a row!”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” 

Stiorra’s head lifted at the sound of Young Uhred’s voice, looking grossly sympathetic for his baby sister as he returned from the restroom. Ugh, this was what she got for allowing herself to feel her full emotions for once, rather than keeping them locked away. Young Uhtred grabbed his bright red scarf off the back of the navy velvet bar stool, looking way too much like a pretentious uppity scholar than a humble religious teacher at a Nativity school when he wrapped it around his neck. 

But, he was trying to be nice so rather than insult him for his clothing choices, she said, “No, you should go. Just because I am being a grinch this year, doesn’t mean you should be too.” There was a reluctancy in his gaze as he reached for his tan-brown wool coat that had seen better days. “Go. You’ve been looking forward to tonight’s symphony performance for months now.” 

“Just,” Young Uhtred took a breath as if he was second guessing his next words, “Just please tell me this isn’t because of you and your ex still?” Oh fuck, this was not the direction Stiorra wanted this conversation to go in. It was enough when her father tried to give her dating advice, and now her older brother too? Talking to one of the sleazy finance guys who had been oggling her since she walked through the revolving glass door suddenly sounded a lot more pleasant than talking to her elder brother about her relationships. “It’s been mont-“ 

“You think I’m depressed because I’m single on Christmas?” Stiorra snapped. 

“That’s not what I—“ 

“It has nothing to do with him. And, need I remind you that it was a PR stunt? Any sadness I had for that ending was for the cameras,” Stiorra flapped her hand towards her brother, “It was never real.” 

Pity loomed in her brother’s eyes once more, “So you’re really that bummed about work?” 

“Mhmm.” 

Today, she was supposed to be in York covering the Danes versus the Bamburgh Goddodins, which was supposed to be her first big break. Until two days ago, her boss decided to gift her an early Christmas present by crushing her dreams, insisting Aelflaed cover the game due to its potential for being a nail-biter (which it totally wasn’t, any person who just casually followed hockey could have told her boss that the Danes were once again going to defeat the Goddodins in a shutout). But what sucked the most about the whole ordeal? She was supposed to… No, she told her self she wouldn’t throw a pity party (or really at this point she should say she wouldn’t continue to throw one). 

Besides, she had survived the past three weeks already, so she could certainly survive another week or two more…Even if all all the TV channels constantly aired obnoxious idealistic holiday romcoms and all the streets were filled with couples flaunting their happiness as they strolled under the Christmas lights, sharing pastries and steaming cups of coffee, stopping to kiss under mistletoe…None of that made acid rise in her throat or her heart constrict or tears burn eyes… Not one bit. She’d be fine. Absolutely fine. 

[olderthannetfic]

Apparently my fanfic helped someone in my readership realize he's agender because reading about a character who has zero attachment to the concept of gender, does not feel like any gender, doesn't care about pronouns being used for them and wants to dress any way they want without anyone gendering it really resonated with him and he did some soul-searching afterwards. And I love that for him, truly, I do. But what surprised me is that he really thought that "everybody but trans people" didn't like being associated with a gender, didn't feel like any gender, didn't care about pronouns and didn't have any attachment to the idea of gender. He thought we were all just going along with it because it's just what you do in society and everyone actually felt roughly the same as he did about it.

I was surprised, because although I'm neurodivergent, I had inferred fairly early on in life that people are pretty attached to these things on a genuine level. So I asked him how he arrived at that conclusion and he said that the way his very conservative, Republican family - which is mostly men, he was raised by his dad and grandfather, alongside his brothers - talked about being a man made it sound like an awful, arduous task that you have shoved onto you and can't escape but being a woman also sucked in similar ways according to them. Thus he arrived at the conclusion that nobody actually likes being a gender, you just have to put up with being one. And the fact that he had to put up with it was immensely depressing to him because he hated both of what he perceived as the available options.

Somehow my dinky little Reader POV fanfic where I made the Reader Character agender because I dislike how many Reader fics portray being an AFAB person who identifies as a woman... that little fanfic, without any ships in it, without any deep lore dives, without the things that this fandom usually likes, managed to plunge this reader into total gender euphoria because it made him pluck up the courage to wear something pink, let him know you don't have to be a man or a woman, and told him you're not a bad NB if you use any pronouns and you're AMAB.

And like... I know fandom is a shitty, hostile place a lot of the time. Especially in my fandom, it's a disaster. But reading the mountain of text he posted about how in the two weeks since he realized he's agender, his depression has lessened so much and he hasn't thought about suicide once... I think I remember why I got into writing in the first place, now. It's not just to tell fun stories. It's to tell fun stories about people that don't conform to the white cishetallo culturally Christian secular middle class able-bodied cookie-cutter bullshit that media is still drowning in. Because sometimes somebody is drowning and they think it's mandatory and fiction can tell them, "It's not, actually."

Nobody I know IRL likes the idea of fanfic because why write if you're not going to make money from it? But honestly I feel like this kind of moment has a value money can't really produce.

Sorry, I know I'm rambling. I just thought I'd briefly provide a small break from the sea of negativity in your inbox to share how fanfic and fandom can be good, instead of always being bad, as is so often the way fandom gets framed these days.

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