#i was supposed to start writing my term paper

[tinyevilgremlin]

link click — text posts pt. 1/?

[anonymolly]

.

[flamagenitus]

Does anyone else remember the android default voice notes app? I remember it. I used it to record myself shitty songs when I should have been studying. I was about to use it to record then listen to an interior monologue, primarily to seeing I sound insane. Except my phone no longer has a voice memo app, so I feel even more insane without any release and/or bulistening to myself from an outside perspective for. Perspective

My phone's 'Default Apps' folder only has 4 apps in it now. I was sure it had more when I made it, 3 years ago

[m0llygunn]

a job well done (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: long-term admirer, recent tutor — you find out eddie's failing gym. in an ode to help him, your expertise expands beyond just textbooks — to your fortune, he teaches you something you've been dying to learn too

contents: 18+, smut!!!, porn with plot, lots of ball action <3, oral (m receiving, mentions of f receiving), pet names and praise (baby, good girl), somewhat-inexperienced!eddie, tutor!reader an: i made an $8k mistake irl so heres 8k words that i wrote to forget about it (just kidding (not abt the mistake, that's very real) i started writing this in july 2023 but recently rewrote most of it to make it into a big ol' one shot-ish thing) wc: 8.5k

“You’re failing gym?” you gasp, jaw dropping as your eyes scan over his report.

“No!” he replies, trying to steal the envelope and its contents from your hands. You turn your body just in time for him to grasp at nothing but air. 

You started tutoring Eddie about a month into the semester. He’s been a willing participant for the most part and that’s why when he kept coming up with excuse after excuse for why he didn’t have his midterm report you knew something was up. 

You took it upon yourself to do some investigating. Nothing invasive, just when you got to his place for a regular tutoring session, you decided to look through his bag while he was in the bathroom. On his bedroom floor, filing through the bags endless messy contents, you eventually came across the familiarly coloured yellow envelope and helped yourself to a peek at what he was keeping a secret from you. 

Mere moments later, he was back. He immediately noticed what you had in your hands and crashed to the floor trying to get it away from you. Evidently, a failed attempt. 

“You have a — oh god, not just a D, a D minus, Eddie.” 

“That’s not failing,” he mumbles under his breath. You wave him off before dropping his report to the floor in front of you. He grabs it, crumples it into a ball, and petulantly tosses it to the other side of his room. 

“You never even told me you were taking gym.”

“Cause how’re you supposed to help with gym?”

“The tests! There’s a whole health portion, I could’ve been helping you with that,” you say, getting worked up over it. Eddie’s been doing so well, this was truly blindsiding.

“Yeah… cause I really want help from you with the health portion,” he grumbles sarcastically. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like it means,” he shrugs. 

If you weren’t paying attention, you might think he was angry — maybe even being mean. Luckily, you’re always paying attention to Eddie Munson, and you see the way his face flushes to a bright, crimson red. His annoyance is actually just embarrassment — which is good — at least he has some level of remorse for his failing grade. You can work with that. You take a breath, exhaling it slowly, forcing yourself to calm down. 

“Show me what you’re working on.”

“No,” he shakes his head, reaching into his bag, shuffling around some papers before tossing a heavy textbook your way. “Let’s just do math.”

“No, you have a B minus in math now, that doesn’t need help. You need help in gym.” you reply, tossing the textbook back at him. 

“I don’t.”

“Eddie, you do.”

Sitting up to your knees, you reach into his bag once more, taking out his binder and dropping it to the floor in a pointed thump. He mumbles some kind of disagreement, spine going stiff with his hesitancy to let you go through his stuff some more, but he doesn’t make any attempts to physically stop you. 

You flip through the disorganization that you’ve told him countless times to organize until you come across a diagram of a penis and a vagina. Bingo.

“Told you,” he mumbles, scoffing to himself. 

“Told me what?”

“Why would you want to help me study that?” 

“Uh— cause it’s part of your class and I don’t want you to fail,” you say matter of factly. “Believe it or not, Eddie, I like you, and your success translates to my happiness.” 

Bright red continues to flourish across his skin, affecting the apples of his cheeks all the way down to his throat. He turns bashful, eyes locking down on the carpet. 

Eddie’s shy ��� not often, but he is. You wouldn’t think so from the way he acts at school and in most public atmospheres, but get him in a room, one-on-one, and he’s all blushed cheeks and shy touches. It’s sweet and it’s one of your favourite things about him — but you don’t have time for sweet shyness right now. He’s failing gym for christ sake — gym.

“So, how do you want to do this?” you ask, slapping your hands to your thighs. Eddie startles, jolting before his wide eyes find yours. 

“Do what?”

“Study this,” you motion to the diagram on the floor separating the two of you.

“I— I’m not… we’re not—“

His eye contact goes rogue again, diverting anywhere else — everywhere else that isn’t you. Shy, shy, shy. Too shy. More shy than normal. And you have an inkling that it has to do with the subject of the conversation at hand. 

“Oh my god, Eddie. This is basic human anatomy. I think we’re grown up enough to handle a little penis and vagina,” you state, tacking on a laugh. 

You get a hint of Eddie's true personality beyond his shyness — it emerges through a quirk of his lip, the corner of it tweaking upwards into the hint of a smirk. 

“A little penis?” He parrots, his smirk fully emerging now. This boy.

“Cue cards? Should we do cue cards?”

He groans, body deflating. “You know I hate cue cards.”

“Okay, so let’s just go over the parts for now, then we can move on and do something else.”

You clear out a bigger area on the floor, making space for your study session. Eddie helps by kicking back stray articles of clothing and then picking out what looks like spilled weed from the carpet and collecting it in the palm of his hand. You’re a touch more productive, taping little pieces of paper over the diagram labels. When you’re done, you sit up admiring your work. Eddie stands, dropping his little handful of greenery onto his desk before sitting down on his bed. 

“Do you want to do it up there or down here?” You ask. 

The slight double entendre isn’t lost on you, you heard it before you even said it. Now knowing how shy Eddie is about this stuff, you couldn’t help but push your luck, and the blush that spreads across his cheeks makes it entirely worth it, especially while you deadpan and pretend you have no clue. 

“I’ll come down there—“ He says and you watch him physically recoil as his words set in. You resist your laughter. 

“Come, Eddie. Faster,” you tease, laughter starting to bubble up. A smile breaks through his embarrassment.

“Jesus Christ, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You like seeing me suffer?”

“Me? Teasing you on purpose? Never.”

With a shake of his head, he joins you on the floor, leaving a large gap between the two of you. “Can we not do this, I already know this stuff.”

“Oh yeah? Eddie Munson is well versed in human anatomy?”

“I’m — I’m not going to answer that,” he crosses his arms. 

With a clap of your hands, you ignore his pouty demeanor. “Okay! Let’s just do this, the quicker you memorize everything the quicker we can not do this.”

With both of the diagrams set up, you give him the option of starting with the penis or vagina first. He chooses the easy answer, opting to go with the penis. 

One by one you point out each part of the penis, asking him for the anatomically correct name. You quickly understand why he’s failing. 

“Okay, and this one is…?”

“The head,” he states. 

“I mean… sure,” you nod hesitantly — “but the little arrow is pointing there — the glans. This one?”

You continue going through the chart, teaching Eddie the proper names for everything. When you finally graduate to the diagram of the vagina, Eddie is physically squirming in his spot. 

“Eddie, relax. Seriously. We’ve all seen a vagina before.”

“It’s so fucking hot in here, are you hot?” He groans, standing up and tripping his way to the window, slamming it open with a grunt. 

He’s barely made his way back before you have a thought.

“You’ve seen a vagina before, right?” 

He freezes — just for a moment, but you catch it. On his way to return to his spot on the floor he pauses, then continues moving as if you haven’t asked him a question. When he sits, you quirk a brow. 

“Yeah!” He answers. His voice tunes so high, it begs to crack.

You nod skeptically. You wouldn’t say he’s lying per se, but something seems off. Something that you’re interested in getting to the bottom of. 

“Let’s take a break, okay?” You offer.

“Yeah, a break’s, uh — good.” He exhales, letting out a breath of relief. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, fanning it in and out, getting some air flow on his skin. It’s very suspicious and you have to assume —

“So, you’ve never seen a vagina,” you say.

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “I have! I’m not a virgin.”

“You’re squirming like one.”

“I’m not!”

“There’s nothing wrong —”

“I’m not!” He says much louder, cutting you off. 

You believe him, seeing the full depth of sincerity in his amusedly large, and overly serious eyes. 

“Okay,” you nod.

“I’m not,” he insists once more, tone leaning towards stern. 

“I believe you, Eddie.”

The two of you sit quietly in your respective spots. You could busy yourself with getting some more studying stuff ready, but somehow — even though there was some verbal finality — this conversation doesn’t seem over. 

And with an inhale from Eddie, it’s not.

“I’ve just never been like…” he pauses, thinking, “I’ve just never been all up in there.” He makes a crude motion with his hands, both palms splayed out flat in your direction, moving outwards like he’s spreading something out. 

“You’ve never eaten a girl out before?”

“What are we doing?” He says, dropping his head into his hands, scrubbing at his cheeks with both palms. 

“You don’t have to answer. Seriously, if I’m really making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop. Swear.”

His chest inflates with a deep breath, then his head pops up. “I have but only for like a minute, in the dark, parked outside of the hideout after a gig,” he confesses. You raise your brows, surprised.

“You work quickly. A minute, that’s impressive.”

“No… Jesus, no,” he winces. “I fucking wish. We got interrupted and… yeah she never wanted to hang out after.”

“Oh,” you hum. “That sucks.” You tilt your head at him, frowning apologetically. 

“Yeah. She, uh, I’m pretty sure she had a boyfriend but I didn’t know when we… yeah.” He concludes his confession with a shrug before sitting back to lean against the side of his bed. 

“That really sucks. Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, tacking on a laugh. It’s not a nervous laugh. It’s genuine and you take his lack of nervousness as permission to continue the conversation. 

“So… Do you have a tactic?”

“Tactic?”

“Yeah. Like, most guys use the alphabet on the clit thing, which is awful by the way, don’t do that.”

“I think…” he raises his brows. “I think, maybe, just being overzealous is my thing. I don’t really know — I haven't done it enough to have a tactic.”

“Overzealous is good…” you nod, “as long as it’s strategic.”

Eddie meets your gaze. He’s intrigued — “Elaborate?” he asks. 

“Like, sure if you want to go to town and eat the pussy, go for it, but the only place it really counts is the clit — of course everything else is nice too, but the clit is definitely where it matters,” you nod to yourself, punctuating your statement. “And—” you add on, raising your hand, bringing together two of your fingers to mime the curling motions of getting fingered. “I like when they use their fingers too. It's a lot better like that.”

Eddie goes silent. He looks like he’s thinking, maybe even committing your words to memory— but it’s an odd look he has on his face. One you’ve never seen before from him.

“Sorry, did I say too much?” You laugh, trying to diffuse. Eddie looks at you, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

“Why the fuck are you tutoring me in going down on a girl right now?” He laughs. 

You smile, appreciating his amusement. Tilting your head boastfully, you accept his comment like a compliment. “Just a natural born teacher, I guess,” you tease. 

He nods, humming agreeingly. He doesn’t say anything more but you’ve got a handful of curiosities burning through your back pocket, and when in rome…

“Are we done with this conversation,” you ask, “or can we keep going ‘cause I might have a few questions for you?”

“Hasn't this whole conversation already been an interrogation of my experiences?”

“But this might be your only opportunity to teach me something, Edward.” You jet out your lower lip, pouting it, rounding your eyes at him — trying your best to keep this going. 

He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance. 

“Are you about to ask me if I can move my dick without my hands, because the answer is yes but it’s not full control.”

“That’s not what I was gonna ask, but very cool.”

“Sorry. That’s usually what girls ask.”

That has been a curiosity but your questions… your questions are much more… sophisticated? 

“So can I?” you ask. 

“Can you?”

“Ask you questions?”

He bites his lip, pointedly making you sweat it out. With a dramatic sigh, he gives in. “Go for it.”

You sit up straighter, very pleased with his answer. 

“Balls,” you state. Eddie’s eyes widen immediately — you ignore the regret that flashes across his face. “Do you like them being touched? Every time I’ve done anything with them, the guy kind of, like, recoils and it feels like I did something wrong.” 

“Jesus…” he clears his throat with an awkward laugh. “You’re really going for the big questions, huh?” 

“The big questions?” You raise your eyebrows suggestively. 

“No, Jesus I’m not implying my balls are — holy shit. My balls are normal sized, that’s not what I meant.” He continues to laugh through his embarrassment, cheeks heating right back up to that very cute, bright, red colour. 

“I’m just teasing you, Eddie. I’m sure your balls are lovely and perfectly normal sized.”

He hums appreciatively but it gets stuck in his throat, coming out as a high pitched croak. He clears his voice, nodding as he raises a hand to the back of his neck, wringing it nervously.

“You don’t have to answer, but I would appreciate knowing,” you say, softly, sympathetic — leaning into apologetic. He nods again, and you can tell the gears are spinning in his head as he thinks over his answer. 

“They’re just… sensitive,” he swallows. “But… I do like them being played with, or sucked, or licked… or whatever.” 

His eyes focus on the far wall, not out of nervousness or shyness this time, but more like he’s giving his words some real thought. You appreciate it and wait patiently for him to continue. 

“I guess I would have to say that it’s personal preference, so ask?” he continues unsurely, eyes still focusing elsewhere. “I mean, no guy is ever gonna be mad if you ask to put their balls in your mouth — or… whatever you want to do with them.” He looks at you with wide eyes as he suddenly gets nervous again. You wave him off, letting him silently know that ‘balls in your mouth’ is not an offense to you.

“Could you cum from someone playing with your balls?”

“Holy shit,” he gasps, laughing. His hand that was wringing his neck drops to his lap in a heavy thud. At the same time, he brings up both knees, hugging them halfways to his chest as he mulls over his answer. “Um? Maybe? But, I think a big part of it is a visual thing — like, it adds to the hotness when they’re into the balls?” He finishes, adding an unsure inflection to the end of his remark. You nod, narrowing your eyes into a squint as you absorb what he’s saying. 

“So it doesn’t feel good?”

“It does,” he quickly corrects, “just anything on the head feels way better.” 

“Okay… good to know.” You nod, moving on. “And dirty talk. You really like that? Like, when the girl’s going on and on about your ‘big cock in her tight little pussy’, is it not weird?”

“Jesus, you really aren’t holding back with these questions.” He smiles through the blotchy redness growing down his neck all the way to the collar of his shirt.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you promise, dipping your face lower to catch Eddie’s gaze. He holds it for a second, before letting his eyes roam the room. 

“Dirty talk is hot, obviously, but… it’s not when it’s rehearsed shit like that. It makes it feel like they’re performing — and maybe I’m just doing a piss poor job and they are performing — I don’t know, but I’d rather hear about what you actually like that I’m doing. Even if you’re telling me to go faster or harder or whatever. That’s fucking hot.”

“Alright, so be genuine. Cool,” you nod. 

“You done with questions?” He meets your gaze with raised brows for a fraction of a brave second before quickly looking away. 

The thing is, you’re not done. 

“So, hypothetically, if someone you didn’t like played with only your balls, and it wasn’t hot— like nothing about it was hot, would you still cum?”

He doesn’t give you the same surprised initial shock as he did with all the other questions. This time he just lets out a long, evenly staggered breath through puffed out cheeks. 

“I think…” He hugs his knees closer to his chest, rubbing both his palms along his shins quickly, filling the silence with the sounds of skin on denim. 

You can see the edge of his words in his expression, like he wants to say something but is holding it back. Whatever it is, you wait patiently — you do sit up a little straighter though, eagerly leaning inwards, listening with baited breath to his quiet, pensive hum.

His lips twitch, mouth opening then closing. With a loud exhale, he lets go of his shins, letting his knees drop from their upright position, and with that, his resolve breaks.  

“Fuck it” he curses — “Probably. Sometimes I think that the wind blowing the wrong way could make me cum. Like, I’m fighting for my fucking life to not get hard right now.”

He ends his speed-run confession with a pant, chest shallowly heaving with each breath. Excited wings beat inside your chest, dipping down to your belly as you absorb what he's just said to you. 

“Really?��� you ask, blinking wide eyes at him. His breathing evens out, and he meets your gaze.

“Yeah,” he shrugs shyly — cutely.

“You know I like you, right?” 

His face falls. “What?” His brows press together, furrowing with confusion and you really don’t know how you could have been clearer about this whole ordeal.

“Eddie,” you smile. “I’ve told you like a million times that I like you — like earlier, I told you barely an hour ago before we got started.”

You said it quite plainly too; ‘Believe it or not, Eddie, I like you, and your success translates to my happiness.’ 

“Yeah, but I thought you meant as a… a person? Or a friend?”

You can’t help but laugh — not at him… well, a little bit at him, but this is just so ridiculous, how could he be so clueless. 

“I love my friends but I don’t think I would fill all my free time teaching them math and all the anatomical correct names of the different parts of the penis.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, they’re good people but that’s not exactly my idea of fun,” you tease. “Of course I’m serious, Eddie. So if you wanted to make a move… I wouldn’t be opposed.” 

At this point, after a confession as straightforward as that, you’d hope for movement — anything — even him getting closer to you, moving in for a kiss at the very least… but he stays sat in his opposite spot, his binder with the vagina diagram laid out flat, separating the both of you. 

Maybe you read this wrong — backpedal. 

“Did I just make this weird? Should I have not said that? I like tutoring you too, I don’t want you to think I’m expecting something from you just because I’ve been helping you.” You ramble apologetically, shrinking into yourself as you feel your whole body start to flush with icky embarrassment.

Eddie’s spine goes rigid as he sits up pin-straight, shaking his head emphatically.

“No! I like you too,” he interjects, leaning towards you, putting a hand on your knee. “Even before you started tutoring me.” 

“You do?” You sigh a breath of relief. Meeting his eyes, you smile sweetly, ignoring the whiplash that still has your stomach pinched in a half knot.

His voice gets soft with his confession — “Why do you think I didn’t want to sit around looking at penises and vaginas with you?” he laughs quietly,  “I was terrified of getting hard and scaring you away.”

The mention of him getting hard has your eyes flickering downwards for a split second. You can’t tell, but you tease him anyway — “And how’s that working out for you?”

“If you’re asking if I’m hard…” He trails off, smiling nervously, leaving you with a confirmed suspicion. 

“Should I make a move?” 

“Well, I’m not opposed.” He says it like it’s a joke — you know he’s being funny, breaking tension or whatever, but you don’t laugh. You perk up, tummy filling with fluttery feelings because that’s permission.

Permission to crawl the short distance between the two of you.

Permission to help yourself to his lap — pulling your skirt up high enough to straddle his upper thighs.

Permission to let your hands feel from his shoulders, down to his pecks. 

Permission to be this close to him — close enough that you can see every shy detail, every cute freckle, every nervous flutter of his lashes. 

Best of all — it’s permission for an intimacy you’ve been waiting for — longing for.

You sink yourself against him and — “Oh,” you gasp, “you weren’t kidding.” 

Through the thin cotton of your underwear, you feel the hard curve behind the zip of his jeans. It has you biting your lip, holding back your grin. 

His eyes coast your features, narrowing in on the tweaked up corners of your lips. He ghosts a quiet ‘yeah’, dipping his face downwards, hiding his own coy smile. 

You just won’t have that — you bring your hands to his cheeks, tilting his chin upwards, encouraging him to look at you. He lets you guide him, lets you wash your gaze over his features — lets you rake your eyes over every detail, even when his skin grows pink and you know he wants you to be looking anywhere else.

But you can’t help it. The rosy tint to his cheeks looks too warm, too inviting. His lips are just too pink, too bitten. And most of all, his eyes have become too deep, too capturing, especially when the usual gold in his brown has resolved to being just the thinnest ring, glinting and shimmering around absorbing black orbs.

“Your eyes are really dark right now,” you observe aloud. 

“Yeah?” He asks and you nod your head. You watch him as he lets his own gaze search your face. He swallows, coming to his own conclusion. “You just looked amused.”

You smile. You are amused but — “I’m not just amused.”

“No?” 

“I’m also really turned on.” You feel it in your belly, multitudes of warm winged flutters, sitting low, radiating heat throughout your whole body. You lean in closer, watching intently as his brows rise, moving to hide beneath his bangs as he processes your second confession of the evening.

“You are?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Want to know what I’m thinking about?”

He swallows thickly, and that golden ring in his eyes gets the faintest bit thinner.

“I do.”

You sit more comfortably, bringing your hands back to his chest and letting your bum press fully to his thighs. He lets out a near silent groan as your front sinks to his and when you adjust your hips, his hands dart to your sides, holding you tightly. 

“First,” you smile, batting your lashes at him. “I’m thinking about kissing you.” A soft swoon washes over Eddie's face, eyes turning soft for you. His eyes blink down to your lips, but you have more to say. “I’m also thinking about your balls in my mouth.”

The softness steps back, shock taking over. “Jesus christ,” he curses yet again, drawing out each syllable in a low groan. 

“And since I’ve been sitting here, I can’t help but think about how your cock would feel inside of me.”

“Fuck.” He meets your gaze, eyes rounding, jaw going slack. His chest begins to rise more rapidly, his breathing growing heavier. 

The feeling of him between your legs is undeniable now — he’s hard, very hard, uncomfortably hard. You let your hands slide up his chest, to his shoulders, letting your fingertips graze along the warm skin of his neck. He blinks heavily, eyelids growing weighted, swarming with evident lust. It makes you excited, makes you want more. 

You lower your voice to a breathy whisper, leaning in closer, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear.  “How’s the dirty talk, Eddie? Am I doing good?” You purr. His fingers pinch into the flesh at your sides as you shift once again, rolling your hips just enough to feel that hint of pleasure between your thighs. 

Eddie stifles his moan. “S– so good. You’re doing so g-good,” he stutters. His breath hitches as you press a kiss to the edge of his jaw, and then another, moving downwards to his neck. 

“What are you thinking about?” You pull away, looking at him through your lashes. You barely have a second to react before his hands are on your jaw, tugging you into him. 

It catches you off guard at first as his lips mash to yours. It’s entirely overzealous, bidding his earlier statement true by multiple definitions. It’s not terrible, but it is desperate. 

Flattening a heeding palm to his chest, you pull away just the slightest bit, letting your lips faintly graze his. 

“Slowly, Eddie.” you whisper. 

His interrupted desperation manifests as a quiet huff against your lips. Regardless of how hard he is beneath you, and how badly he wants to mash his mouth to yours, he nods, noses bumping together as he does.

This time you lean in. You guide the kiss, moving slowly, tenderly, and he follows your lead, moving gently, catching on quickly. Your upper lip presses between both of his and it's so delicate, so earnest, that it makes your heart thrum. It's exactly what you needed, and you reward Eddie with a quiet hum, letting your hands wrap behind his neck, pressing your chests together. 

His breath fans over your skin as he hums back, letting his hands glide to your lower back, hugging you closer. His lips massage yours, slowly, and he takes his time, letting you melt into him entirely. 

When you feel the pressure of his tongue licking across your lower lip your anticipation really sets in. You open your mouth, rolling your hips upwards as you move in closer to him. With a huffed, eager grunt, and with fingers kneading bruises into your skin, he licks into your mouth completely contradictory to it all, still giving you softness in the kiss. You’re elated by it all, swept up, enraptured by him being so sweet to you.

You sigh breathily as you have to pull away. 

“That was really good,” you fawn, dropping your head to rest against his shoulder. You let out another sigh, smiling contently to yourself. You’ve been wanting to do that for a long time — really too long, if you’re being honest. 

Eddie hums an agreement. You intend to go further than just a kiss, but you give yourself a moment to bask in it all. Just a moment, that’s all you need. 

And in the next moment, with your wits gathered, you wiggle your hips. Eddie’s palms press tightly against your back and he lets out a sharp gasp that melds into a whimper. You giggle a quiet apology. 

“Too much for you?” you tease.

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head, his warm cheek pressing to yours. “M’just really hard right now.”

He is — you can feel it, and you can feel the mess growing between your own thighs. 

A simple solution; you hint at rolling your hips another time. It’s hardly any friction, just testing the waters. You’re surprised when Eddie pulls you inwards, guiding your hips, encouraging you to move. He lets out a low groan as the squish of your thighs pass over his length, one that you hardly register over your own gasp as you get your first real hint of pleasure.

With his help, you build a slow rhythm, grinding to the curve in his denim, one that has your eyes fluttering shut and Eddie tensing, letting out meak whimpers and low moans. It's nice, it really is, but as nice as it feels for you, you weave a hand between the two of you, suggestively placing it on the buckle of his belt.  

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Yes,” his voice comes out as a heaved breath. Very eager to continue.

“After you cum, how long does it take for you to get hard again?”

“Sh-shit — it depends. Sometimes —” he swallows thickly and you hear the gulp in his throat — “sometimes it’s barely a few minutes.”

“I want to try out what you taught me, but I want you to fuck me too.”

“We can — yeah we can do that.” His voice wavers as he bites back his excitement, trying to play it cool. Despite that, you feel the overzealousness in his pants, twitching with enthusiasm. 

You press a chaste kiss to his lips before scooting back on his legs, weaving your hands between the two of you to pop open his belt. Just as you unweave the leather and toss the heavy buckle to the side, holding the button under your thumb, Eddie’s hand meets your waist — not stopping you, just getting your attention. 

“Can I…” he starts. You look up at him, pausing your movement. He continues, “can I try what you told me too?” His eyes barely meet yours, growing bashful all over again. 

“Of course you can,” you say sincerely. You finish unbuttoning his pants, tugging the zipper down while leaning in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You don’t gotta be shy, Eddie. I like you already, a lot.” 

He nods, but you can still see a hint of cautiousness in his expression. 

“I’m serious, Eddie. I want you to be comfortable with me. Anything you need, anything you want, you can tell me.” 

He nods. His mouth mulls for a moment, but he nods a second time, assumedly coming to a conclusion. “Can we move up to the bed?” he asks. 

“I’d like that,” you smile and he smiles back.

Just as you lift your leg to get off him, you let out a surprised yelp as he does the bravest thing he’s done yet, both hands grabbing firmly at your bottom, tugging you into him and up as he pushes himself off the floor. He moves the both of you up to the edge of the bed with one strong flex of his legs and your stomach swirls with the rush of it all. 

From there, it's a giggling tussle of limbs, him pulling you up the bed, you pulling his pants off. Eventually, you both settle, him pantless, sitting with his back to the wall where his headboard should be, and you, by his side, knees pressing to his thigh. Your fingers wiggle with excitement as you take the thin cotton of his boxers, lacing them just under the waistband. 

You shimmy in your spot, shaking your hips, letting out a happy hum as you begin to pull them down. Your belly fills with good nerves, butterflies, and your mouth salivates. When you get them down as far as you can without his help, he silently chimes in, lifting his hips, hooking his own thumbs into the material. With a quiet humph, the fabric passes his length, freeing it to bob against his shirt-covered belly. 

Tempestuously red. Furiously flushed. Severely erect. Poor Eddie. Happy you. His tip is blushed to a deep crimson, glistening with the pearlescent sheen of precum. It has your body flushing hot everywhere — from your cheeks all the way south to where you grind yourself down onto the backs of your heels just to feel a pinch of salvation. 

Somewhere between where your ogling started and where you had to physically swallow the gathering saliva in your mouth, his boxers got discarded entirely, your own shirt disappearing along with them — because it is just so hot all of a sudden.  

If you weren’t completely blinded by your impeding tunnel vision, you would have seen the way Eddie gawked at your newly revealed skin, absorbing every inch, taking in every feature to your body. You would have seen the way his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and the fresh cherry red blush spread to his cheeks. You would have seen the way he had to forcefully peel his eyes away from your chest when he felt your fingers press into his bare thighs as you situated yourself between his legs. But you didn’t have a chance to notice all of those details, not when you felt the thrilling thrum of anticipation bubbling up in your bloodstream. 

“You ready, Eddie?” You ask, grinning at him. He blinks slowly at you, no answer, making your smile falter.

“You look pretty,” he blurts out, much to your delight. “Really pretty. All the time — not just now because you're about to — you’re just beautiful, s’what I want to say.”

“Thank you,” you say, pleasantly surprised. Eddie on the other hand, cringes at his own rambling, face scrunching in defeat. You like him even more for it — “I think you’re beautiful too, Eddie,” you smile. “And not just because I have your pretty cock in front of me.” 

Eddie huffs a soft laugh and you gleam, pleased with yourself. 

With actual consent, you take him in your hand. Gentle at first, easing him into your touch. Just barely grazing your thumb over the tip, you smear the slick precum around, before sinking your fist to his base. He lets out a tensed moan, exhaling — exhilarating. That quiet, throaty noise has you lighting up, already feening for more.

Leaning down further, arching your back, you gather your saliva in your mouth before letting it spill out in a single string over the tip of his needy head, falling down just to be caught by the upwards rise of your fist. This time he sucks in a sharp breath and you live for it. 

Closing the distance between your mouth and his cock, you lick the tip gently, pressing your tongue to the river of precum that sits in the curves of his slit, relishing in the saltiness that makes your mouth water effortlessly. You hum, feeling the pulse between your legs grow deeper, more intense. You push your hips back, angling them, searching for any sort of relief. 

While it doesn’t satiate the need between your thighs, Eddie notices your squirm, and brings a splayed palm to your side, letting it curve to your skin. It settles in, warming you, encouraging you to distract yourself in such a beautiful way by taking him into your mouth. 

You let your tongue swirl. Flick. Caress. Your lips graze before closing, and you suck. Cheeks hardly hollowing, the noise he lets out makes you want to keep being gentle — draw this out, make this last. 

But like a devil on your shoulder, you want to skip forward. You want his balls in your mouth, that’s the guise of this whole encounter, isn’t it? To practice what he’s taught you.

Jumping right to the chase, abandoning his desperately swollen cock, doesn’t strike you as the way to go about this, so you continue to be gentle. Pulling off the tip, kissing him up and down his length. Pressing your lips where needed and drawing circles and lovey hearts across his skin with the pointed angle of your tongue.

It's not fruitless. Every noise, every groan, every heavy breath, pleading whimper, fills you up. It fills you up until it has you leaning your body into his hand on your rib cage, needing to feel him wherever you can, while taking him fully into your mouth. Swallowing him down, deeply hollowing your cheeks, gliding your lips and flattening your tongue until your nose presses to the wispy patch of coarse hair at his base. 

“Fuck— fuck.” Eddie groans through a strangled breath. 

His hand leaves your ribs and you whimper at the loss, only to be reunited with the physical contact as he takes hold of your head with both of his hands, pulling you up. You whine, chest collapsing with defeat. You pout as soon as his cock leaves your mouth. Looking up at him, he looks worked up and frayed — all a shivered mess — but eyes sincerely apologetic as he catches your disappointment. 

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.” He pants heavily, catching his breath while you catch your own. Your pout lessens, and instead, your pride sets in. You did that to him. 

Wiping your gathered tears, you place a tentative hand on his length, watching him for any protests. His head knocks back into the hard wall, but he never loses sight of you, now looking down the angular slope of his nose, watching with amorous, lusting eyes. 

You dip down, reapproach, but this time you give into your own desire, indulging yourself.

Lifting his cock, you nose down his length. His eyes turn wide, but still, no protests.

“Can I put your balls in my mouth?” You ask, doing just as he told you to do, embellishing your simple sentence with pleading, fluttery lashes and persuasive, pinched together brows. 

His lips press into a purse as he swallows, and then they part with approval. “Yes,” he says. You watch as his tongue swipes along his plump bottom lip, and you can’t help but smile up at him. 

Appreciation sits on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t say it, you show it. Bowing your face low, you lick up the centre of his sack, flattening your slow moving tongue with an oath of sincerity — this makes you burn. For a moment, you believe that you’d be content if this was for you and you only, but then you meet his gaze, and you see the way he burns too.

His eyes devour you — your hand wrapped around his cock, thumb barely touching index, your chin settled deep between his thighs. You burn identically and it makes the swirl of butterflies in your stomach rise high, beating heavily in your chest. You get lost for a moment, but a thumb on your cheek, sweetly swiping softly against your skin, brings you right back.

“Pretty girl,” he hums. 

You tilt your head, nuzzling into his grip, humming a tender thank you. His thumb swipes again, just under your eye before settling behind your ear, sitting there with no intention but to be tethered to you.

It’s sweet, and you return the gesture, pressing two kisses, one to each side. You shift your focus, returning back to the moment.

Head still partially in the clouds, you do something daring without thinking, and you suck one of his balls into your mouth. Eddie lunges forward, bending at the waist, nearly folding in half as his stomach tenses harshly. He whimpers, and you pull back immediately.

“Sorry!” You shift, looking at his contorted expression. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

He quickly relaxes himself, patting your cheek as he settles, unclenching his thighs that had tightened at your sides.

“No — no.” He shakes his head, catching his breath “Do it again.” He gently guides you back down. “I was just distracted, caught me off guard,” he explains.

Distracted like you were. You understand, and you let him guide your face back down. 

This time you’re careful. With his eyes on you, you start again, licking, feeling the silky skin with your tongue as you gauge his reaction, peering up at him through your lashes. He nods, and you carefully take him into your mouth, letting your tongue roll cautiously along the velvet skin. 

You’re careful not to do too much, but you grow more confident when you see the way his mouth falls open with his own appreciation. 

“Fuck,” he exhales. “Just like that. Good girl,” he praises, groaning as you suckle delicately. His cock jumps in your loose fist, reminding you just how long it's been since you’ve paid it any attention. Tightening your grip, you run your fist up, then down languidly, multitasking in a way that has Eddie gaping, jaw slack, mouth parted wide, eyes owlish and filled to the brim with heated astonishment. 

With your mouth, you switch to his other side, doing the same, rolling your tongue exploringly, seeing what has his stomach tensing and noises pulling from his lungs. 

As you let your thumb run over his leaking head, he lets out a throaty groan. His thighs tense around you once more, but instead of backing away, you lean into it, embracing the new-found way to make him squirm. 

His breathing quickly becomes rapid as you take more of him into your mouth, sucking more confidently, and pulling away every now and again to press deserved kisses. Your fist moves quicker, focusing on the tip — purposeful, as you remember what he taught you. 

You suck, and glide your hand in smooth strokes, over and over, showing him just how much you like him. If he didn’t believe you before, he has to now. 

With a strong, devoted rhythm built, the skin against your tongue eventually begins to pull taut. He throbs in your hand. You know before he says anything, even before his hand can flex its grip on your cheek. You pull away, letting him fall from your mouth with a quiet pop. He lets out a worn sigh of relief as you sever the threads of spit from your mouth to his balls and shift, moving back to his wired-up cock, twitching at just the sensation of your breath on his over-flushed tip.

Rearranging yourself, you sink your fist, moving it low to his base, and then you adjust, moving your hand to cradle his balls in your palm. His stomach flexes and he lets out a pitiful whimper — he's so close, even while you're barely touching him.

“Please,” he rasps through a strained breath. 

You have nothing but appreciation for the man in front of you, reduced to pleading. You want nothing more than to satisfy him.

Gentle, a thing of the past. You take his cock in your mouth deeply. Swallowing his thickness down, taking him as far as he fits, pressing him to the very back of your throat. Your eyes water, and you breathe heavily through your nose, never once forgetting to massage him in your hand.

His chest heaves, and his fingers weave their way into the hairs at the base of your neck, tugging — communicating. His helpless moans draw out, getting longer and deeper, drawing out each and every flutter in your belly, adding to your fire. 

You can’t believe you’ve been sitting around, tutoring him, teaching him math when you could have been doing this. This is much better — much, much more fulfilling. 

You rise and fall, bobbing quickly, and he encourages you, helping you find the pace that brings him to his edge. He swells in your mouth, and draws upwards in your hand. You hum, encouraging him to let go.

“I’m gonna —” he tries to speak, but a rogue whine cuts him off. He sucks in a sharp breath — “I’m cumming, I’m —” Panic invades his voice as his grip in your hair turns harsh, pulling, stinging your scalp. You hum again, and then you feel the spill. 

The warmth of his cum invades the back of your throat, loading your senses with the distinctly musky taste and a bitter-flavoured swell of sweetness in your chest. Pleased, you swallow it down, and ask for more with the purse of your lips on his overworked tip. His hips buck up into you as you happily swallow everything you can, lapping it up with your appeasing tongue. 

His body relaxes until you don’t stop. Then he’s flexing again, sucking in harsh, gasp-like breaths, using his hands in your hair to guide you away from his over-sensitive cock. 

Both his palms cup your cheeks and you rise, straightening out your spine, walking your knees up the mattress to be closer to him. His hand falls to your knee, encouraging a bend, welcoming you back into his lap. You happily take a careful seat on his thighs. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Eddie gushes unapologetically. 

His body slouches into the mattress, but he continues to beakon you forward. You follow his weak, weary pull and he guides you to his lips, attaching his mouth to yours in a lazy kiss. His beholden tongue greets yours, unaffected by the lingering flavour of his seed that coats your lips and mixes with your spit. He devours it gratefully. 

“That was —” he starts, pulling away just to peck your lips again — “So, so— I don’t even have words.” His hand slides loosely across the expanse of your bare waist as he presses a frenzy of chaste kisses to your lips, making you giggle.

“I did good? I thought I hurt you for a minute.”

“No— shit, you did so good, baby.” Eddie hums, fondly pressing his cheek to yours as he hugs you closer.

You feel his praises blaze at something inside of you, thrumming through your bloodstream, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t highlight your own neediness, the one left abandoned between your thighs. 

Despite the restlessness that grows in your twitching hips, you try to relax, focusing on the sentimental feeling of the rise and fall of his chest, letting your body slink into his, fitting seamlessly against him until his breathing returns to a steady rate. You patiently wait for him to make the next move — especially after him letting you lead most of this evening. 

Just as you’ve let your eyes flutter shut, resting them for a peaceful moment, a kiss to your shoulder has your excitement kicking up in your lower belly, waking up those warm, winged creatures once again. He presses another kiss, and then another, following the slope of your shoulder. Down the curve, to your collarbone, high on your chest, kiss after kiss until his lips meet the plumpness of your breast that spills over the cups of your bra.

The swell of your breast, across, to the centre, his lips find your sternum, and you keen into it, unafraid of coming off as desperate. 

It’s barely anything, just innocent pecks, but it has you impatient, tilting your head back, curving your body to offer up more skin to him. He hums a warm tone, affectionately following the path of your sternum, nosing his way down your cleavage, sighing a deep, warm breath against your skin, adding a few extra heated degrees to your body temperature — you thank him with a breathy moan.

His hands move to your sides, tickling along your flesh, leaving goosebumped skin in their path as he traces along the band of your bra, fingertips gliding until they meet the clasp.

“Please,” you whisper, biting your lip as he finger paints small swirls along your spine. You push yourself closer, needing more.

And he gives you more. The band tightens around your ribs as he finds the edge, and you hold your breath.

One clip comes undone easily, granting you a hint of relief. Two follows, leaving just the third hook stuck standing between you and the promise of pleasure.

Then he stops — worse actually — he doesn’t just stop, he completely abandons the clasp on your bra as his head pops up, nearly clipping the edge of your jaw. He pulls you flush to his chest, tucking your head to his shoulder.

It surprises you, making your heart pound for an entirely different reason.

“What—” you begin, but his heedful palm spreads across the plain of your upper back, halting your question, making you pause. Unsure and curious, you turn your face, pushing against his grip on you, trying to see what’s wrong.

His face is contorted into a flat, focused look as his eyes fixate on the closed door of his room. You’re totally confused by what has pulled his attention, but then you hear a clatter from the living room of his trailer. You turn to look at Eddie. 

His eyes pinch shut with disappointment. “No,” he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder in defeat. 

“Is that —”

“My fucking uncle,” he mumbles into your skin.

“Oh,” you say quietly, trying to fight the unresolved neediness of your body from turning you into a slouching ball of disappointment.

“He's not supposed to be home yet,” he groans, and it comes out huffed, like he's annoyed, but you know it's not directed at you. Part of you is relieved to hear that upset edge in his voice, because you know how easy it would be for most boys to shrug it off when they already got what they needed.

His palm swipes across your back, rubbing it in a soothing way before he pulls away, finding your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. 

You shrug, it's not like this is his fault. “It’s okay,” you promise. 

“It’s not.”

You smile. “It is,” you say, delighted by his sincerity. “This just means we’ll have to pick up where we left off another day.”

“But you didn’t get to cum.”

True but — “I still had fun.”

He dips his face, chin bowing downward, bitten lips jetting out with his generous empathy. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and you giggle at his niceness. He might be more upset than you are, and you love it.

“Eddie, you know me,” you grin. “You said I did a good job, and there’s nothing better than the satisfaction of a job well done,” you beam, and you’re very pleased when you get a good chuckle from Eddie.

“Next time?” He proposes with a raised brow.

“Next time,” you agree.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

merci buckets hope you liked if you did make sure to hit! that subscribe button and leave a like down below (aka comment and reblog <33333)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

[lilahisntsadanymore]

Blood status seems to become less important when you acknowledge the actual feeling of love. What will Theo do when Y/n comes to the terms with the differences between them being impossible to ignore?

Pairing: Theo Nott x granger!reader

Words count: 1.9k

Author's note: My apologies for keeping you waiting so long, but I finally got some time off at uni!! Wishing you all a good year!!

Kind of a 2nd part of this fic, but you can read it without the previous one

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Keep you safe

One evening, Theo was waiting in the library. Waiting for a person he never expected to talk to. Y/n Granger. He found himself feeling a bit nervous, even though there was no reason.

Thinking about Y/n made him feel something. A feeling he never felt before. Slughorn said it's love, the muggle kind of love, the purest form, not induced by anything supernatural.

Theo decided to read about it. Hoping to find some book about it, he asked the librarian. She gave him a book specifically about love potions and spells. One of the first chapters was just what Theo was looking for.

"How to tell the difference between love and infatuation caused by magic." He whispered the first sentence to himself.

He started reading, his mind realizing what he got himself into as his gaze brushed over the text. Well, technically it wasn't his own fault and apparently also not the girl's fault.

But there must've been a reason. If love was a part of biology, brain chemistry, there had to be some logical factor.

"What are you reading?"

When Theo heard Y/n's voice right next to him, he immediately closed the book, causing it to make a loud sound.

"You took such a long time I got bored." He replied.

"Don't be so shy," the girl shifted her eyes to the title of the book, "oh, love potions and spells? But we're doing something completely different."

"Really? I couldn't care less, forgot what we were supposed to do." Surely one thing he'd love to do was making out with her on that table.

Y/n put her homework on the table.

"Read it and tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, I just-"

"What's wrong with my text, Nott. I didn't ask how you were doing."

"Right."

Theo took the papers and started reading. The text was written with the most beautiful handwriting he's ever seen. So elegant, so precise.

"How long did it take you to write?" He asked.

"One evening. It was easier than you'd think."

"I think it's extremely easy." He bragged. "Anyway, is that all? Or do you wanna add something?"

"Well, Slughorn thought it's necessary for you to help me. Is there anything you think should be added?"

"Uh, no, it looks fine," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Fine? Theodore Nott, the perfectionist Slytherin, settles for 'fine'? I expected more from you."

"Look, it's not my homework, it's yours. I don't know why I agreed to help you, but it was pointless."

"You got yourself into this, could've said no."

"What the fuck am I even doing?" Theo asked rather himself than the girl. "I don't need to be helping a mudblood, who cares what grade you'll get." With these words, he stood up.

"Because-" Y/n stuttered. "Because... I've heard your conversation with Slughorn. And you said... that you liked me."

"Me? Liking you?" He snorted with laughter. "What the hell, Granger?"

Tears formed in Y/n's eyes as she watched Theo walk away. Sure, he was mean to her before, this wasn't the first time. But this time was somehow different.

Y/n could swear she heard Theo confessing to Slughorn that he's actually in love with her. It's not possible her brain played tricks on her. Plus Hermione said Theo told her about his feelings for Y/n.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Harry walked onto the astronomy tower. Y/n was supposed to be back a long time ago. Ron and Hermione also wanted to go there, but Harry asked to let him go alone.

Harry knew where Y/n was thanks to the Map. He felt such relief not seeing Nott's name next to hers. She was standing alone, leaning on the banister. There was something in her hand, Harry couldn't see well in the dark, but from the smell he realized it was a cigarette.

"I didn't know you smoke." He spoke.

Y/n expected this to happen, she was aware of Harry's feelings towards her. She took one last drag from her cigarette then dropped it on the ground, put it out with her shoe and kicked off the tower.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Y/n asked, smoke leaving through her mouth. "I knew you're gonna look at your silly little map to see where I am."

"We were starting to get worried. Theo is... you know, dangerous. We got scared he would hurt you."

And he did. Theo did hurt Y/n, just not physically.

"Hermione should be here instead. But, let me guess, you told her you'll check up on me."

"Maybe," Harry admitted finally, "do you know why? Because I actually care about you. I've had feelings for you for years. I deserve you, not Nott. I deserve you, because-"

"Because you're the chosen one?" She mocked and paused. "Look, Harry, I like you as a friend. I've never felt anything more than this. I can't change how I see you and I won't pretend otherwise."

He nodded, acceptance settling in. "I get it. I just... I thought if I cared enough, it would make a difference."

"Caring is important, Harry, but it doesn't always lead to the feelings we hope for."

"Whoever you date, just don't date Nott, please."

"I promise I won't. Not after today, I'm over him."

"Care to share what happened?"

"I'll tell you, Hermione and Ron in the common room. Let's go, I've been here too long."

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Y/n didn't even know how wrong she was that night on the astronomy tower, but she forgot about it. Weeks went by, Christmas had passed, everyone were back from the break. Classes started again and Y/n found herself hoping to catch a glimpse of Theo.

They kept exchanging glances on the corridors, accidentally bumping into each other in the crowds. Y/n wanted to believe Theo liked her, but even if he did, they could never work.

"Y/n, listen to me," he said, catching her when she was alone in the library one time. "I know how things have been between us, but during the break I... I realized I don't wanna keep being enemies."

"Theo, you know it could never work. You said what you said and maybe it's better to leave it this way."

"I contemplated a lot," it was true, he spent the break mostly in his room, drowning in thoughts. About her, about them, coming to terms with what he was feeling. "I decided to accept my feelings."

"That's great for you, but we could never work. I've always 'fancied' you, I guess, despite what you were doing, ironically, but the time we worked on my project together, I accepted we could never work."

"And why's that?"

Y/n took a deep breath, wondering if he was stupid or just pretending. Maybe it was a bet he had with someone. Maybe Draco dared him to do this.

"You don't see how different we are? What do you expect is gonna happen? Would you introduce me to your father? Wouldn't you care that I'd get you disowned?"

Theo looked at her, Y/n could see sadness in his eyes. She realized her words made him realize the differences between them, because he walked away. Theo walked away without a word.

Y/n pierced her own heart with an invisible knife. She was really hoping they could work, but it just wasn't possible in this universe. Maybe there was a universe where none of this purity bullshit didn't exist. Y/n wished she would've been born there.

Y/n couldn't predict what Theo was going to do. She thought her words made him give up on her. It was for the best, of course, she should've focused on her studies firstly, and then on a realistic relationship.

It was a Friday. Y/n was sitting next to Ginny by the Gryffindor table. It was dinner time, all the students gathered in the Great Hall. All the students besides one Slytherin, the one that Y/n hoped to see. Maybe it was weird, but she enjoyed the sad looks they'd pass to each other.

"Hey, Y/n, are you listening?" Hermione asked from across the table.

"Sure," Y/n quickly shifted her eyes to her sister. "You were talking about Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"You've got divided attention. Stop looking at the Slytherin table."

"Ugh," Ginny groaned, "were you doing this again? Merlin, you stare at this Slytherin git 90% of the time."

"Well, he isn't here today. I wonder where he could be. Everyone else is here."

"There he is," Ron pointed out, rolling his eyes.

The golden trio and two younger Gryffindors looked at the doors' direction. Theo had just walked into the Great Hall, but surprisingly he didn't walk towards his table. He walked towards Y/n.

"Y/n," he spoke, catching everyone's attention. People were reading to witness another argument. "I can't help this, I love you."

Shocked noises came from all the tables, but Slytherins kept whispering between each other also when Theo continued talking.

"I don't care what anyone says, anyone thinks. Love is not meant to be controlled, it kills me to fight it."

Y/n stood up from the table, ready to leave the room.

"Theo, stop," she begged, "you're embarrassing us both. Your friends will-"

"I don't care what they do. If they don't accept it, they're not my friends. If anyone wants to fight me for having feelings for a muggleborn, I can fight, I've never lost a duel."

The whole Great Hall fell silent, even the teachers didn't try to intervene, when they saw Theo pulling out a small, black velvet box.

"I want you to wear this ring," he opened the box, "as my promise to always protect you from whoever tries to harm you or our relationship."

"It's beautiful, but..." Y/n was speechless by the sight of the ring. It was silver with two gemstones forming a subtle heart - half emerald and half ruby.

"It was custom made and if you accept it, I'll once get you a matching engagement ring. Also, there are thorns which will hurt you when you try taking it off. I want you forever, Y/n Granger."

The ring in the black velvet box sparkled under the enchanted ceiling. The Great Hall remained in silence as Theo poured his heart out, confessing his love. The unexpected turn of events had everyone on edge.

Slytherins exchanged intrigued glances, Gryffindors shared confused looks and even the teachers seemed to not know how to react. Y/n could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her, and for a moment, she considered the potential consequences of accepting Theo's proposal.

"Theo," she began, her voice breaking, "it's not that simple."

"I know it is. But I can't keep hiding my feelings, Y/n. I've tried, and it's tearing me apart. I'll protect you from whatever comes our way."

Y/n looked at the ring, then back at him. "I believe in second chances. And I appreciate your sincerity. I accept the ring, Theo."

Theo carefully took the ring from the box and gently slid it onto Y/n's finger. The Great Hall burst with cheering and applause, only the Slytherin table didn't seem so enthusiastic about this.

Theo placed his hands on Y/n's waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She didn't hesitate to kiss him back, her hands sinking in his dense her yet the ring on her finger still visible, reflecting the light from the ceiling.

[shockercoco]

What Were You Thinking

Austin Butler x reader

Warnings - none, fluff

Word count - 2849

a/n - I watched The Bikeriders, so now i'm ready for the benny imagines. Also, I gotta step up my writing game. I hope you enjoy :)

Of course you’re not ignoring him. You haven’t talked to him and you haven’t answered any of his messages or calls, but that doesn’t mean you’re ignoring him, right? Well, maybe.

A couple of nights ago, you and Austin shared a moment after dinner with some crew members and, ever since then you’ve been casually avoiding him. He had been on his way out of the hotel to take a late night stroll to clear his head and asked you if you would like to join him. Thinking nothing of it and needing a release as well, you accepted his offer.

The two of you ended up on the roof of the hotel since no one would be able to find you two there, and after talking for a bit about whatever came to mind, you both just stood in silence as you looked out at the city.

You don’t remember exactly how it happened, but one moment Austin had begun to confess his growing feelings towards you, and then the next the two of you were kissing. It wasn’t a complete surprise because the two of you have grown closer and closer throughout the duration of filming, and you felt some tension between you guys, but you thought you were just being delusional.

Now, it’s not like you didn’t feel the same way towards him because you did – he had you hooked from the moment you first met him – you supposed you just didn’t expect this moment to ever happen. And it’s not like the kiss wasn’t great, Austin was gentle and you felt so safe in his arms – not like you had a list of experiences to compare it to.

When the two of you parted ways for the night, you were on good terms, but when you woke up the next morning everything hit you. Your mind started to race as you began to wonder if Austin had regretted the kiss, or if he had had too much to drink last night which resulted in his confession, or maybe you were just getting pranked.

Then you remembered that Austin isn’t one to drink until getting drunk, and he isn’t a huge fan of pranks, meaning that everything that had happened the night before was real. This didn’t make you feel better at all, though. 

You didn’t have to see him that day because you had a flight to catch your next destination of the press tour, and Austin had some talk show to attend meaning he would be on a later flight. That didn’t stop him from reaching out to you, though, and in the beginning you were texting him back, but then you panicked and stopped.

You had told your assistant everything that had happened since you felt so confused, but she didn’t really say anything except how she knew it all along and how you shouldn’t be worried because Austin was the one to confess his feelings first. 

This didn’t make you feel better either.

You can’t stay away from him forever though because now you’re about to attend your movie premiere in Sydney, which means you have to see him during pictures and the interviews.

Your assistant walks in on you pacing around your hotel room and asks, “Do you need a paper bag to breathe into?”

You stop your pacing to glare at her and say, “You’re not funny.” You decide to look out of the window to distract yourself, only to notice the drops of rain beginning to fall from the sky. 

Great.

“I don’t understand what you’re so worried about, it’s just Austin,” your assistant tells you.

“You mean the guy I made out with and then completely avoided him after? What the hell am I supposed to say to him?” you ask, about to run a hand over your face until you remember the full face of makeup you have on.

“How about a ‘hi’. You’re making this way harder than it has to be, y’know. It’s not like he’s going to be mad at you, I don’t even think he has an angry bone in his body,” your assistant laughs. “Now, can you please finish sulking? The car is waiting downstairs.”

You roll your eyes as you step away from the window and give yourself one last final look in the mirror. You can’t deny the fact that your dress is gorgeous, along with your hair and makeup, making you feel confident and prepared for the dozens of pictures you're about to take.

Your assistant comes up to stand behind you as well, giving you a once-over with a smile. “You look amazing, and I know Austin will feel the same.”

When you arrive at the theatre, there are dozens of fans standing along the barricade waiting for cast members to come over and say hello to them and sign autographs. As you step out of the vehicle, with the help of your driver offering his hand, you notice Austin immediately as he moves down the long line of fans to sign whatever they hand him.

His assistant and publicist are behind him trying to keep an umbrella over his head, but Austin being Austin doesn’t care about the rain messing up his styled hair or his fancy suit and continues to hold conversations as best as he can. That doesn’t stop his team from surrounding him and trying to keep him looking nice for everyone.

You, on the other hand, would like to stay as dry as possible.

The volume of the crowd suddenly rises as everyone notices your arrival, making Austin turn around. His eyes meet yours and for a second you freeze and don’t know what to do. The weather has made him look even better, if that’s even possible, and the wet hair definitely does something to you.

After taking a moment, you finally snap out of it and give him a small smile, which he returns before continuing your walk.

Austin watches from his spot as you walk away, your back towards him. He can’t help but admire and appreciate your appearance, and he can’t wait to tell you how beautiful you are. 

That is, if you actually come near him. He’s not completely offended that you’ve gone distant from him over the last couple of days, but he is confused. He knows his feelings for you are reciprocated, so he’s just guessing and hoping that you freaked out over everything.

Austin gets lost in thought for a second before he hears the girl next to him giggle to her friend because they obviously witnessed the whole thing. He clears his throat before smiling at her and signing the action figure of one of his past characters that she hands him. A laugh leaves his lips at the fact that the thing even exists.

Once you meet some fans yourself, it’s time for the interview and photographs part of the premiere, which you’re not completely looking forward to. Austin comes up beside you as you pose in front of the backdrop for the paparazzi and places a hand on your waist.

Under any other circumstances, his touch wouldn’t be bothering you since this isn’t anything new, but now you’re just finding it distracting. His cologne and natural scent fills your nostrils, and you could definitely pass out. You feel yourself start to sweat and your heartbeat begins to beat faster as you try and focus on smiling for the pictures.

All the while, you can see your assistant standing off to the side and smirking at the two of you.

The thought of firing her crosses your mind.

Then, Austin leans down to whisper in your ear, “You look beautiful tonight.” He pulls away as he smiles down at you, and your fake grin for the cameras automatically turns into a genuine one.

You look up at him and muster up ‘thank you’ before quickly looking away. Austin’s gaze lingers on you for a couple seconds more, before looking away as well. 

How are you supposed to survive the rest of the night, if you can’t even handle something as small as this? 

It eventually comes time for the interviews, and throughout each one all you can think about is body heat radiating off of him onto you as he stands close to you. You feel your face get warm, but that doesn’t mean it’s because of him. It could be from the questions you’re being asked, which you feel are beginning to get repetitive.

Every once in a while, you swear he feels closer than normal, which could easily be written off as Austin just listening to the answers you give.

After everything moves inside, you immediately leave the group to make a beeline for the bathroom – to relieve yourself of course, but to also give yourself a chance to breathe. There’s plenty of time before you have to go on stage along with the rest of the cast – and Austin – so might as well relax, right?

Wrong.

When you finally decide you’ve spent enough time in the bathroom, you leave, only to run into Austin himself, catching you completely off guard. You feel your heart drop. 

He’s leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets as he watches you step out. His eyebrows raise at you in curiosity, silently wanting to address the elephant in the room.

“It’s kind of weird for a man to linger outside of the ladies restroom,” you joke, not knowing what else to say.

Austin smirks, “I know, I usually don’t do it, but you gave me no choice – since you’ve been avoiding and all.”

Also, your assistant told him where to find you, but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

You swallow. “I haven’t.”

“Oh really? Then what do you call what you’ve been doing for the past couple of days?” Austin tilts his head.

“How do you know I didn’t get sick or something? Or maybe I lost my phone, that happens y’know,” you tell him as you fold your arms over your chest.

A few people come walking down the hallway, and Austin waits for them to pass before answering, “Because you always make sure that you have your phone, and you’ve still been posting on social media.”

Oops. 

“I thought you didn’t really go on social media,” you point out, your eyebrows furrowing.

“That’s not the point,” he playfully rolls his eyes. He’s about to say something when another group of people walk past, some of them entering the bathroom that you two are still in front of for some reason.

Then Austin motions with his head for you to follow him, which you do. He opens a couple of doors and closes them back before finally finding an empty room for the two of you to talk. He lets you walk in first, his hand on the small of your back, before following and closing the door behind you two.

The space was small and had theatre equipment scattered around. You put some distance in between you and Austin as he turns to face you. If this was any other circumstance, being locked in a room with Austin Butler wouldn’t seem so bad.

Austin runs a hand through his damp hair before stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “So?” he speaks up, wanting you to address the situation. 

“So…what?” you ask as you casually look around the room, trying to look at anything but him. You can’t handle his blue eyes burning into your soul at the moment, but then again you never could because it’s Austin.

“You can’t just avoid me forever. What happened to you?” he asks you softly, and you honestly don’t know what to say.

“Hey, I basically shut down after we kissed and now I can’t look you in the eye because I don’t know if what happened that night is actually real. What’s been going on with you?”

Yeah, no.

You feel your ears begin to grow hot and a weird sensation in your stomach as Austin stares you down. He takes a few steps closer to you and moves his head, trying to get you to look at him.

“Yeah, yeah I know,” you mumble. Not knowing what to do with your arms, you fold them across your chest once again. 

“Talk to me.” He takes another step closer, his expression gentle. “Did I cross a line by kissing you? Did you have a change of heart? What is it?”

“I just–I don’t know, okay?” you say, dramatically throwing your hands in the air.

Then Austin’s eyes squint and he smirks. “You freaked out didn’t you?”

A scoff leaves your mouth because how dare he accuse you of something so true?

You shoot him a glare before saying, “Something like that.”

“I knew it. I know you too well.”

Austin comes closer until he’s standing right in front of you, then takes your hands into his.

“Why didn’t you just come talk to me? We could’ve worked it out.”

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing, Austin. Your career is taking off and you're this big celebrity, and I’m just someone at the beginning of their career – a nobody,” you tell him, looking up at him.

Austin’s eyes furrow and the feeling of hurt flashes across his face. “You’re not a nobody, don’t say that. Look where we are right now, at a premiere for a movie that you're the lead in. And who cares about my career, that doesn’t matter. I’m a human just like you. I like you for you.”

“Come on, Austin,” you sigh as you go to back up, but his grip on your hands tighten.

When he’s sure you’re not going to move again, he places his hands on both sides of your face, forcing you to look at him. Forcing you to see him.

“What do I need to do to show you I’m telling the truth?” he asks, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. His voice is low now as his eyes flicker between yours. His feelings about you are genuine and he needs you to notice that.

You get that same feeling in your chest that you felt that night on the hotel rooftop. When the air was silent, and the two of you were put in your own bubble. You remember the way his hands felt on your body as he held you close, so tenderly.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” you admitted, though it was obvious.

“Then get out of your head. Do you really think I would be holding you in this extremely dusty room if I didn’t care for you. You do realize how close we are, right?” he tries to assure you.

How could you not? You could feel his breath on your face everytime he talked. His scent overruled the smell of the tiny room, making it that much easier to focus on him.

“Yeah,” you answer. Your voice is low now too, matching his. 

After a beat of silence, Austin says, “Would you run away again, if I kissed you right now?”

You shake your head ‘no’ because there’s no way you can trust your voice right now. Austin waits another moment to see if you would back away, but when you don’t, he leans in to connect your lips with his.

His lips are just like you remembered it, soft and plump, as he moves in sync with you. Your hands move to rest on his chest before slowly moving up to wrap around his neck. You feel Austin smile into the kiss, and you can’t help but do the same. Austin’s hands leave your face before landing on your waist, pulling you even move into him, making sure you were the only air he was breathing.

When the two of you finally have to pull away for some much needed air, your faces still stay close enough for your noses to barely touch.

You feel like you could just stay here and forget the movie premiere, but the idea immediately gets tossed out the window when Austin’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He keeps one hand on your waist as he goes to dig it out, only to reveal text messages from his publicist wondering where the two of you were.

Right as Austin’s thumb moves to text her back, another two pop up.

“Well she’s definitely not happy,” Austin laughs.

“We should get back before she kills you,” you say as you watch the messages roll in.

“Yeah, I guess,” he agrees as he answers his publicist before re-pocketing his phone, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

As he walks you to the door and opens it, you stop to say, “Just for the record, I didn’t run. I would call it more like slowly taking a couple steps back.”

“Whatever you say, just don’t do it again because I will have to chase after you,” he cheeses down at you.

That honestly doesn’t sound too bad.

What were you thinking to avoid this man?

Like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

[lovely-parasite-04]

Iced Coffee, Detective?

Agnes!Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Prologue of ?

SUMMARY: One of the victims of Westview goes a little further than everyone else to be nice to the town hero, Agatha Harkness, or Detective Agnes O'Connor. She doesn't know what she's getting into when the Detective asks her to come in for "further questioning."

WARNINGS: Mention of murder (its only like a sentence), Agatha being Agatha

NOTE: This is mostly experimental because I hardly ever write and when I do, it never sees the light of day. However, I am In Love with Agatha, and I never see anyone write much about when she was under Wanda's spell. The experimental part is that this is meant to be comical and reader doesn't immediately start out with a big fat crush on Madame Harkness. It's also more on the simple side in terms of plot. I'm posting this first little bit to see how people enjoy it, and if it gets a lot of attention, I'll try to write more.

"Large Americano for Agnes?" I shout from my corner behind the counter, swiftly setting the paper cup down as I see the familiar brunette make her way towards me. I turn to begin making another order, but stay put to ask the older woman, "Any new cases, detective? I heard you on the phone over there talking about a lot of work to get back to. "

Agnes (Agatha) takes a large sip of her iced coffee, testing the flavor and swallowing, before responding with, "I'm not supposed to talk about the investigation and I don't entertain rumors about how the victim passed." She barely made eye contact with me, but I'm shocked she didn't immediately leave after receiving her order. She is usually in a hurry to get her coffee and go.

"Oh... of course. Sorry." I have no idea what she heard me say, because I didn't mention anything about a victim. I know I don't necessarily have to play along with her delusions like I do; most people simply tell her to have a nice day and direct her towards the door, but I can't help but be fascinated by what she is going through.

Seeing it from the outside, anyway.

I was among the rest of Westview during the Scarlet Witch's spell. Just the thought of it sends a shiver down my spine. Losing control of everything but your mind can be terrifying, wanting to say something but saying something else. Being frozen in time until you were needed for a plot point for a completely deranged woman. Losing track of time and wondering if it will ever end.

Agatha Harkness had been a town hero, stopping Wanda Maxifmoff and freeing everyone in Westview. But now she was stuck in the same spell with no end in sight.

Her Nosy Neighbor character lasted for about 2 years and everything seemed to be normal. She would gossip with her closest neighbors and those who volunteered to check in on her and bring her groceries, and she pretty much kept to herself. However, her characters have started to derail into different "genres". The first shift the town noticed was around Christmas last year. She seemed to be acting out a Hallmark movie, following around this one guy while pretending she was just bumping into him and trying to show him the "true meaning of Christmas."

It was funnier to watch than any actual Hallmark movie I had ever seen. The guy was married with a family, and continued to tell Agatha as such until she shifted again. That was when I made the observation that in Agatha's delusions, she doesn't always hear exactly what we say. It's like her brain can't comprehend anything that doesn't fit the little world she's made, so it makes something else up entirely for her to play off of.

I'm also convinced that she is controlling her delusions now. Maybe not intentionally, but I no longer see the hold Wanda had over her. Maybe this spell that Agatha is under is different from ours. She has no control of her mind. We only had control of our minds.

I feel bad for her, and I'm really intrigued by her as a person in general - I mean she's a fucking witch from 1690's Salem - so I steal any chance I get to talk to her. It helps that she is a regular at the coffee shop I work at.

Back in the moment, I need to move to the other end of the counter to finish this new order, and I'm positive she'll walk away once I do. I simply say, "Have a nice day!" And start to step away when she surprises me again.

"You knew her, huh?" Holding the coffee close to her chest and mouthing at a straw she slipped in while I was lost in thought. She follows me around the counter, not bothering to mutter anything to the other customers she runs into along the way. Her whole focus is on me.

"I...knew who?"

She heard me that time, giving me the full name of someone I'd never heard of before.

"Oh, her? Yea. Yea, me and her go way back."

  I'm a sucker for improv, okay? What's the harm? Even if she found out I was lying, she can't hurt me. She lost all her magic. Right?

"If you don't mind, I'd like you to come with me back to the prescient, so I can ask you a few questions about the girl and the nights leading up to her death."

Well, fuck. My boss would never let me leave for this. A real cop, sure. The town cook? Absolutely not. "I'm sorry, detective O'Connor, I'd have to wait until I get off work."

"Relax, hon." She said condescendingly "Let's just wait until you get off work -" What a great and completely original idea, Agatha. "I'll give you my card and you give me a call later today, okay?"

She proceeds to hand me an index card with the name Wanda gave her, Detective Agnes O'Connor, above a phone number. On the back is her house address. All handwritten.

  Bless her heart.

  "Okay- I hope you don't hand these out to everyone..." The last part was more of an outside thought, and thankfully Agatha didn't seem to hear it anyway, waving over her shoulder and exiting.

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

[finniestoncrane]

FINNIE walk with me on this...so for the dirty talk prompts meme...

Maybe Two Face is being a bit down on himself because of his face (which is HANDSOME he deserves BETTER), and female plus size reader tries to cheer him up by saying 🧠.

Then maybe Two Face responds with 📢...

If that's cool 👀👀. 💙💙 You can put anything you want before/after/in between of course. I'm excited to see what you write!!!

Louder

Arkham!Two Face x Fem!Reader, word count: 850 back on my harvey bullshit i fear because having him call me a big beautiful girl has lived in my head rent free since i wrote it down 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: big, fat, thick used for a plus size reader, smut, fucking, it's sort of mostly verbal fluff really if you think about it u-u

Harvey was consistently the dominant one in your relationship with him. Much the same as he portrayed himself in all other aspects of his life. Which is why it had surprised him so much when you exerted your own power, forcefully grabbing his chin to turn his gaze to you. As confident as he could seem, particularly when his crueller half was fronting, there was a lot he hadn't accepted yet, so much he hadn't come to terms with. So much that ate away at him.

Tiny words, gestures. Comments on how beautiful and soft you were, particularly in comparison to him, as he let his hands skirt over your curves and rolls, fingers sinking into the excess, plush skin as a lustful growl rolled through his throat. The way he would try to keep your eyes on the right side of his face, shirking away if you touched the left, or even looked deep into his permanently exposed eye.

The regret built up intsantly as what was left of his lips curled into a snarl. You waited patiently for his retort. Either a yell, an assertive growl, or an equally terrifying hushed reminder of who was in control. But instead, he had bent down into you, the snarl softening as his mouth met yours, tongue pressing between your lips and swirling round yours.

Bravely, you had lifted your hands to both of his cheeks, stroking them with the same gentleness, the same arousal, the same love you had for both parts of him. And you were rewarded with a frenzied undressing before he laid you down on his desk, papers pushed to the floor, and began fucking you.

Stifling the moans that were scratching at your throat, you bit your inner cheek. You couldn't tell who was just outside the office, and given how loud you thought you might get as Harvey pounded your aching cunt, you assumed people on the streets below might be able to hear you too.

In a rather forceful move, highlighting that your efforts in boosting his confidence had started to bring him back to his normal self, he grabbed your soft chin, letting it rest in his palm as he held your rounded cheeks firmly between his thumb and fingers.

"Louder. I want everyone to know how good I am."

No longer concerned about embarrassing him, about someone overhearing and blowing your supposed cover, you let your wails of pleasure come out. Each thud of his hips against your rear making you groan, always underscored by a desperate sigh and clawing breaths.

"That's it, good girl. Let them know how much you enjoy it."

As though he had caught himself, the way he was unburdened in the moment by his issues with his own image and self-confidence, he stuttered, his hips slowing to a complete stop, his cock still buried in your tensing walls.

"I had no idea that you felt this way... about all of me."

His eyes searched yours for any signs of flinching, a grimace that told him you were lying, that you only held this adoration for the parts of him that were still acceptable to society. But you held strong, truthful, and eased your head up to search for a kiss. His lips met yours once more, soft, despite the frantic fucking of just a moment ago.

"Of course I do, Harvey. Every time I think about you... I get so hot..."

You clenched, muscles tightening around his cock, which twitched in response.

"... and I think about you, both of you... all of you, a lot."

In a rush of what you could only assume was complete joy, warmed by the knowledge that you cared for him wholly, Harvey continued your rough fucking, bouncing your body against him, against the desk, watching you move and ripple with each thrust.

"My big, beautiful girl... let them hear... ah... tell them... tell me... tell us how good it feels..."

A soft moan passed over your lips, but you made an effort to follow it with a louder sound, a guttural groan that led to your words. Mumbled, barely cohesive to your empty brain, but you were sure there were sentiments of how amazing he felt inside of you, riding your patient orgasm through you.

"I'll tell you how good you are... so plush... so thick..."

His voice hardened, sharp, animalistic.

"...plenty for us to grab."

With his fingers embedded into your hips under the fold of your stomach, he pulled you down into him, his sounds matching the pace of his hips, growls and grunts that echoed over the top of yours. But he could still make out the short, sharp, but nevertheless satisfied, whines as he pummelled your body.

"Don't worry, sweet girl... I'll be careful with your soft body... but I think you can handle... hng... a bit of rough, huh? Just a little bit to make you scream louder for me..."

Your eyes flitted towards him, offering him a nod as you bit your lip, drool escaping from the corner of your mouth.

"That's it... louder."

[marauder-misprint]

In that case i would like to request numbers 36 and 48 from your celebration prompts for an Sharp x fellow professor reader ☺️

First time writing for Sharp so sorry if it's bad 😬

lil disclaimer: reader is a fairly new Ancient Runes professor after working as a traveling runes researcher for years.

Nightcap

Professor Sharp x Professor!reader

1.5k words

cw: drinking, fluff

You were finishing up your nightly rounds when light from a cracked open door catches your eye. It’s coming from the Potions classroom so your immediate thought is a student is up far too late brewing. You have your wand at the ready, fully prepared to tell off the pupil and remind them that they aren’t to be out of bed after curfew. You hold your breath as you ease the door open quietly. You scan the classroom. There’s no student in sight and all the stations are clean and empty. 

“Huh,” you breathe, noticing the light is coming from the open office.

So not only was a student out of bed, they were in a professor’s office, likely stealing from Professor Sharp’s personal stores. 

“You know, it’s quite late,” you say as you enter the office expecting to see a student caught red-handed.

There was no student. Again, but worse.

A sigh.

“I suppose it is…” Professor Sharp says, looking up from the pile of essays on his desk.

“So sorry, Professor!” you say quickly, eyes wide. “I thought a student was in here.”

“No, it’s just me.” He looks you over. “Finishing your rounds, I assume?”

You nod. He sighs again, sending worry coursing through you. Were you annoying him by simply being in his office? You really had thought a student was in here.

“I think I will finish these tomorrow,” he says, adjusting the stack of paper and moving it to the side. Then he looks back at you. “Would you care for a nightcap? 

The offer takes you by surprise. Yes, you were coworkers, but Sharp usually kept his distance from the professors. When you started, Professor Garlick described him as a bit harsh and standoffish. Yet, here he was offering you a drink after you interrupted his grading. He could have easily just dismissed you, kicking you out of his office and claiming he was going straight to bed himself. The offer hangs in the air as all of this runs through your mind. You’re not sure if Sharp notices your delay in answer, having stood up to retrieve the alcohol and cups from a cupboard.

“If you’re pouring,” you say, taking a step into the office. 

You remove some things off of a barrel and move it closer to his desk. When Sharp turns around with the drinks, he lets out a low laugh; it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh all term.

“You could’ve conjured a chair, you know,” he tells you and you blush.

You look down at the barrel you’re perched on. “Bit late for that now…”

He sets the drink down in front of you before bringing over his own barrel. 

“Also, you needn’t call me Professor. Aesop is fine.”

“I’m still getting used to being a professor myself, that’s all,” you say, reaching for one of the cups. “Being back here, even after years of being in the field, I feel like a student again.”

“I remember that feeling. At least it wasn’t injury that brought you here.”

You snort a laugh, realizing that it was probably an insensitive response since Sharp’s leg was why he was teaching rather than still being an auror. 

“Yay for needing financial stability,” you say before taking a sip, hoping it will prevent you from putting your foot in your mouth again. 

“You’re still doing what you’re passionate about though, aren’t you?”

“It’s more consulting and writing about ancient runes. I really liked getting to travel and seeing where they are inscribed, discovering new artifacts. That’s a bigger thrill than standing in front of students and lecturing.”

“Better than me. Closest thing I have is tracking down which student had the gall to ‘borrow’ from my personal stores,” he says, using air quotes. 

You lean toward him. “Has someone been stealing?”

“Not recently,” he says, giving you an amused smile. “Hoping to show off some detective skills?”

“Goodness, I don’t know if I would actually be any help with that. More your department of expertise,” you say with a shake of your head. “I had thought I was catching a student red-handed when I came in.”

“Must’ve been a disappointment to find me,” he says, looking away from you.

Your eyes widen slightly. 

“No. No! It’s better I found you… I’m glad I found you… Trust me… Although, I didn’t mean to interrupt your grading.”

“It’s good you interrupted. I was probably giving Acceptable work O’s.”

“And we can’t be having that,” you say with a small laugh. 

Sharp looks over you again, a smile playing at his lips. It’s an unfamiliar look on his face, but you like it. You think you’d like to see him genuinely smile more often.

“Besides the name thing, are you adjusting to Hogwarts well?”

“Oh, I think so. I do enjoy not having to sleep in a tent.” You debate your next words. “It’s also nice to share a drink with someone.”

Sharp gives you a disbelieving look. “I find it difficult to believe that someone as beautiful as you didn’t have someone to drink with.”

“You flatter me, Pro-... Aesop,” you say, correcting yourself as you almost called him Professor Sharp. “But it’s true. I usually drank alone, unless a friend was visiting or I was collaborating on a project.” You take a sip of your drink. “I’m fairly convinced that I’m difficult to approach.”

“Some people are scared of a beautiful woman who exudes confidence,” Sharp says.

With the drink in your system, you feel a bit more confident, which you’re appreciative of.

“Are you, Aesop, scared of beautiful women who exude confidence?” you ask, leaning forward again, your elbows digging into your knees.

Sharp clears his throat. He’s scanning your face, trying to get a proper read of your intentions. When he offered a nightcap, he hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn, not that he was complaining. He just wanted to be sure. He smirks at you.

“Don’t get my hopes up, darling, if you’re just going to leave like everyone else.”

You raise an eyebrow with your head cocked to the side. 

“Leave like everyone else?” you repeat, unsure of who had all left him. 

He sighs but his expression toward you is soft. “Being an auror isn’t kind on one’s relationships.”

“Neither is being a traveling researcher,” you say with a smile. “But you’re retired and I’m stationary.”

“Those are… both true.” 

“And I have no intentions of leaving.”

Sharp was looking at you with an intense look on his face. One that was begging you to be serious and sincere. His internal thoughts were asking how he ended up in this situation, with the temptation of you in front of him, saying things he had only dreamed of. Since his auror partner died, he had avoided getting close and forming real relationships with anyone. But something about you had him offering you a drink. Something about you got his hopes up that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be so closed off to the rest of the world.

You finish your drink and set the cup on his desk. He’s still staring at you. It’s obvious he’s lost in his thoughts of uncertainty. 

“Aesop, just kiss me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice by the beautiful woman in front of him who exudes confidence. He sets his own cup down next to yours before leaning forward toward you. One of his hands gently holds your face as he brings his near. His eyes hesitantly search yours, half expecting you to say “Sike” and pull away. You don’t. You’re waiting patiently for him to close the space between you. 

When he does, you can’t stop yourself from smiling. The kiss was a little too forceful, but he quickly eases the pressure. It shifts into something far more gentle in nature than you thought Sharp had in him. You deepen the kiss, one hand going to hold his arm and the other finding his knee. Your lips move in sync. 

You feel breathless when he pulls away. There’s a nervous smile on his face that gains confidence as he sees your own smile. There air between you is charged with unsaid emotions and the uncertainty of where this left you.

“This is probably my favorite way to end nightly rounds,” you say with a nervous laugh. 

“With a nightcap?” he asks, earning a light shove from you.

“Aesop,” you say, a lightness in your voice. 

“Well, um, if it was late when you first got here…” His voice trails off.

You laugh, “It certainly is late now.”

You stand up and walk to the door, ready to say good night. Sharp follows you, but the confidence in his walk is hindered by the development in your relationship. 

He clears his throat. “So this was a one-night thing?”

You shake your head, going on your tiptoes so you can press a kiss to his cheek.  “There’s no way this was just a one-night thing.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓬 [Main Work]

You're supposed to keep him in check and integrate him into earth's society while he recovers from the aftereffects of catching a viral infection on his planet. All that, while you get to earn a pretty good monthly compensation for your efforts from the government of his and your planet.

Or more simplified: You're a paid babysitter for a 7' tall alien who's caught a virus that makes him act purely on instincts, rather than logic. Oh yeah- and he tried to eat your neighbor's pet bird. Yeah...

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Jungkook, Human!Reader, Yes I'm writing that story..., mentions of doctors visits (needles, injections, medical terms, blood), mild Angst, so much chaos, he almost eats a bird once oops, mild Angst, strangers to lovers, more TBA

Length: 4k words

A/N: THERE IS NO TAGLIST. THERE IS NO TAGLIST FOR THIS. THERE REALLY ISNT. DO NOT ASK.

-> Masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━.~°👽°~.━━━━━━━━━━━

"Are you sure that's a good Idea?" Jimin asks, and you shrug, dipping your piece of bread in the sauce.

"Yeah, why not?" You say. "They're not dangerous or anything. I've met Yoongi, and he's cool. Can live alone, even!" You tell your best friend across from you, who doesn't seem convinced.

"Yoongi is different though. He's, like, recovered already." Jimin says. "You'll be getting one straight out of quarantine. I'm sorry but, are you sure you can handle that?" He worries, and you roll your eyes.

"Jimin you're acting as if he's gonna try and murder me in my sleep." You scoff, denying any of his worries. "I went to all the lessons and readings and educational stuff- I wouldn't have gotten approved if I didn't. So calm down, I got this." You chuckle.

Jimin simply shrugging, well aware he can't change your mind.

"Jungkook, no, come on." The careworker who's nametag reads 'Kim Namjoon' gently says, holding the hand of who you assume must be Jeon Jungkook-

26-year-old Vrota, straight out of quarantine, having been brought to earth for treatment earlier this year. He likes sports, has a pretty big appetite, and dislikes being left alone for too long. He used to work as a physical health coach before catching the virus on Vilia, and stayed in self-isolation for about half a year before being sent to earth to be treated in quarantine for the most severe portion of his sickness.

Now, he's deemed healthy enough to stay with a human 'caretaker'- or babysitter, how you'd call it. And to be honest, you didn't really think much about taking care of a Vrota at first, having met one by the name of Min Yoongi during your earlier days at the education center for Vilian people- and he was a pretty cool guy.

What you didn't take into thought was apparently that Vrota can look very different just like humans. So yeah.. the guy standing in front of you right now with his big brown cat-eyes and colorful tattoos isn't really comparable to the chill, rather laid back Yoongi you had met.

No.

Fuck no.

Walking into your home is a at least 7-foot tall young man of your age, simply black shirt stretching over the muscles of his biceps, jeans seeming to barely contain his thigh muscles. Jesus christ.

Maybe Jimin was right in his worries that you might end up dead at the end of this.

"So, Jungkook here doesn't have any allergies, so you don't have to worry about that. He's overall low maintenance, sleeps a lot, but when he's awake you might want to start taking him out a bit, since he get's a bit restless if he's got nothing to occupy himself with." Namjoon explains, giving you all the necessary papers in an envelops, while Jungkook walks around to explore your apartment. "Also, don't be intimidated by him. He's gone through multiple rounds of behavioral analysis, and has been deemed no threat whatsoever." He offers when he notices you watch the way the young man walks around, looking at pictures on your wall.

"So like, I guess he has to put that on when we go out?" You wonder, pointing at the simple black collar with a GPS tracking device on it.

"Yes, please. And also, keep a hold of his hand, just so he doesn't get lost." Namjoon chuckles.

"Sorry, but I don't think me holding him by his hand is gonna do much." You joke, making Namjoon chuckle.

"Ah, no-" He agrees. "-it's not to physically keep him with you. It just reassures him, in a way. He enjoys physical contact a lot." he explains.

"So- does he talk?" You wonder, watching how Jungkook looks out the windows, cat eyes jumping around at the nature and scenery outside.

"Sometimes, but barely. He understands speech fluently though. It'll take some time for him to come out of his shell, but once he's comfortable, he'll talk. The virus didn't injure his brain whatsoever, so he's expected to make a full recovery by the end of this year." Namjoon informs you, and you nod. "His scheduled appointments are in there, his current doctors are marked down as well. If you can't take him to one of those appointments, please call in advance, alright? Otherwise they'll immediately try and pick him up themselves, and that's gonna be a lot of paperwork on your side, and a lot of unnecessary stress on his." He explains further, and you nod.

"So, basically- cook him food, make sure he doesn't go missing, and take him to his doctors. Got it." You nod, making Namjoon chuckle.

"Pretty much. Like I said, he's rather low maintenance. You can occupy him with video games or movies as well- and when it comes to food, he's not picky. Doesn't like sour snacks though." He laughs, and you nod.

"No sour stuff, got it." You nod, and at that, Namjoon claps his hands together.

"Alright kook, I'm gonna leave you here then." He says, making the man in question walk closer again, nodding. "Do you like it here?" He wonders, and Jungkook shrugs, looking around-

before he nods, looking at you.

"Alright. His clothes and everything has arrived, right?" Namjoon asks, and you nod.

"All in his room." You say, making Namjoon nod.

"Don't cause too much trouble, alright?" He tells Jungkook, who nods a bit deflated, visibly a bit upset he's gonna leave now. But he doesn't show it too much, waves Namjoon goodbye until the door closes, leaving him alone with you.

"Your room is here-" You say, leading him to a small guest room where he spots his suitcases on the bed. "I didn't unpack them, cause.. privacy and stuff. So you can do that while I make something to eat?" You ask, and he nods, walking past you- and only now do you realize just how much taller he really is than you.

Jesus christ.

You break away your eyes from the sight of his broad back to instead run into your kitchen, putting away the papers and starting to cook instead to both calm yourself down- and make sure Jungkook feels comfortable too.

━━━━━━━━━━.~°👽°~.━━━━━━━━━━━

It's been a few weeks- and thinks have definitely settled quite well.

You're currently sitting in the waiting room of the doctor's office- waiting to be called in, as Jungkook keeps rubbing his ear. "No, don't." You quietly scold him with a soft tone, carefully pulling his hand down by his biceps, causing him to whine under his breath in complaint.

He's been having some issues with it recently- an underlying problem that had been overlooked due to more pressing issues. An elderly woman with a young looking Vrota girl smiles at you from where she sits across, watching rather fondly how you hold Jungkook's hand in yours. Namjoon had been right- it works wonders in reassuring the young man.

And it also kept him close at your side.

"Jeon Jungkook?" Is called by a nurse, and you follow her into one of the examination rooms, where Jungkook sits down on the bed, while you took a seat close by on a chair. It's routine to you both by now, after all. "Ah, there. Hello!" The doctor offers, bowing politely before he sits down across from you behind his table. "So- apparently he's got some trouble with his ear?" He wonders, and you nod.

"He's been pretty frustrated with it for some days now. Keeps rubbing it, and he doesn't like it being touched either." You inform the man, who nods and writes some stuff down in his computer with the help of his keyboard.

"Hm yeah, that looks pretty sore." The man says as he inspects Jungkook's ear further, his tail whipping around as he tries to stay composed.

Unbeknownst to you, he only really does it to impress you.

As soon as the doctor is done, Jungkook get's up to walk closer to where you sit, hand curiously playing with the shoulder strap of your top while the doctor explains what medication Jungkook will have to take. Touches like this aren't unusual- Namjoon had been right, after all. The Vrota standing next to you is very touchy, enjoying you close and seemingly seeking you whenever he can. From sitting on the couch so closely next to each other that your legs are touching, to snoozing during a nap with his full upper body on your thighs.

It's what happens later when you're back home, as you're scrolling around on your phone, while he purrs in his sleep on your thighs. He's full on hugging your middle, arms around you keeping you close while the tip of his tail moves a little as he dreams. He really is currently like a big cat in a humanoid body- and you wonder if it's still the aftereffects of his virus, or if he's always like this in general.

Almost as if on pure instinct, one of your hands falls into his slightly curly hair, nails running over his scalp, and at that, his almost unnoticeable purr turns into vibrant rumbling in his chest. His arms wrap a bit tighter around your body as he adjusts his position, a soft smile on his face as he buries his nose in the front of your t-shirt. In this moment, you have to think about Jimin, and his big worries.

What a load of bullshit, you think to yourself, as you watch the happy cat-boy-alien snuggle just a little closer to you.

━━━━━━━━━━.~°👽°~.━━━━━━━━━━━

Scratch that. Scratch all of that. This young man is a menace, and you'll surely go to jail for not looking after him by the end of this entire situation.

"Jungkook…" You say, at a stand-off with the big cat-like alien across from you who stares you down with his stupidly cute big round eyes as if he's not doing anything wrong. "Where is pudgy?" You ask, and at that he fully turns around, squirming bird in his hand. "Jungkook, no, no no no-!" You dramatically call out, hands reaching for him- when he looks at the bird, then at you. "Give him to me, yeah?" you try, and he seems completely taken aback for a moment, and almost- shy?

Unbeknownst to you, he thinks you want the bird for something entirely different. In his mind, you're not asking for the bird itself- you're asking for him to offer it for you.

You want him to… court you?

He seems to deeply think for a good moment as he watches the bird breathe heavily, it's life probably flashing before it's very eyes before Jungkook brightly grins, sharp canine teeth making his happy grin look more dangerous than it probably is.

You don't know why he's suddenly so chipper, tail held high and eyes sparkling.

Suddenly, he holds the bird out to you like he's offering it rather than returning it- and you carefully take the poor thing from his rough hold, accepting it. It's something that makes the tip of his tail snap upwards in excitement, eyes scanning you for every reaction as you walk back.

"I'll be… right back.." You carefully tell Jungkook, who shrugs. "Do not do anything while I'm gone." You warn, before you dash out the front door to return the pet yet again, violently knocking on your neighbor's door.

"What?!" Seokjin yells almost, when you hold out his bird to him. "Pudgy!"

"Yeah, fuck your bird Jin!" You yell at the young man. "Jungkook almost fucking ate him, keep the thing in his cage for god's sake! Do you know how much trouble I would've been in if he actually ate him? I'm not ensured for accidental pet-ingestion!" You complain, making the man laugh a little.

"I'll keep the windows closed from now on." He reassures you, and you nod, pinching the bridge of your nose as you make your way back downstairs into your apartment-

where a not so happy Jungkook waits, arms crossed and tail whipping angrily from side to side behind him, knocking down some papers on the kitchen table. He's clearly unhappy, growling a little with every breath, eyes sharp and glaring at you dangerously.

"What happened?" You wonder, and Jungkook himself wants to just yell at you.

You're so stupid, he thinks to himself.

Why would you insult him like that? He caught that bird, and you wanted it- so he offered it, thinking you finally understood his intentions at this point- but no. Instead you insult him by giving HIS offering to that stupid human man upstairs, as if to mock him!

Do you want something more impressive? Maybe a tiny bird isn't enough to win you over. But on earth, there's not much prey to hunt- and considering he's a little bound to the interior of your apartment, he doesn't have any other options, really. And even if he was to catch something better- like the deer he'd almost caught if it wasn't for you scolding him for it- you still don't seem to like that at all. He doesn't know what else he could do to impress you.

What the hell do human woman want?!

Maybe he just really chose to court the most stupid and ungrateful human he could find- but he'll make sure you understand his intentions soon enough, and he'll teach you proper manners as well, once he's better. Right now, he's still unable to really do much in his state- but once he recovers a little more, he'll make sure.

He'll make sure you know exactly what he wants from you.

━━━━━━━━━━.~°👽°~.━━━━━━━━━━━

It's been a few months, and Jungkook has started to find his voice again, it seems like.

He hums a lot when doing household tasks, sings to himself while he folds laundry, throws random half-sentences at you here and there whenever he feels like doing so. And all of that is fine and dandy- if it wasn't for that very specific nickname he's come up with for you. You try to tell yourself that he just doesn't know any better, that he's just overly friendly, that there's no way he'd be using it for those specific reasons. It doesn't help that he's horribly attractive, and nice, and, ugh.

This is getting more complicated than you hoped it would.

"Kitty!" He chirps, as he leans over the couch, and holds something out to you. You can't help but flinch a bit internally at the way he says that nickname. You're guessing it came from when he'd asked what those cat-plushies in your bed had been called, and you had answered Hello Kitty to him. He'd laughed, pointed at the toy, and then pointed at your cheeks, poking them.

Ever since then, you'd been stuck with that name in his head, it seems like.

You eat from his fingers as he puts the piece of meat on your tongue, an odd, focused gaze on the action found in his eyes as he licks his own lips the same way you do yours. "It's good!" You praise, and he grins brightly, eagerly running back into your kitchen to finish whatever he's cooking. He's been becoming a lot more independent- and it makes you a little sad, considering that once he's deemed healthy enough, he'll leave you behind, move back to his planet one day, and forget you even existed.

A little bit of a bummer, really. But at the same time, there's nothing you can do about it. You don't feel good about asking him out- because what if he feels obligated to say yes?

It's like he senses the slight shift in your mood, slowly walking back up to the couch again where you sit, sitting down next to you on the couch, knees digging into the soft cushions while he curiously watches you with a tilted head. "Huh?" You wonder, smiling- but he frowns, shakes his head.

"What?" He asks. "Sad?" He questions, and you shrug, shaking your head.

"No no, don't worry." You shake it off. "Are you done cooking? Turned everything off?" You ask him, and he nods, but doesn't let off from his question it seems. He opens his arms, makes a grabbing motion with his hands, and you laugh. "You want a hug?" You giggle, but he shakes his head.

"No, you." He argues gently, urging you once more. "You, hug. Sad." He explains, and you laugh.

"Jungkook, I'm not sad." You say, and suddenly, his hands flop down, a frustrated look on his face.

"Don't want?" He hufffs. "Hug me?" He complains, and you look at him with questioning eyes.

"I do wanna hug you, kook." You say, and he perks up at the nickname used. "Just- you don't have to do that just cause I'm like, not feeling happy." You explain to him. "I'm here to take care of you, after all, not the other way around." You laugh, and he watches you a bit more serious right now.

"Right." He suddenly says with a flat tone. "You.. hm, get paid." He says more or less to himself. "For me." He finishes his sentence, sitting properly on the couch now, feet on the floor, arms crossed.

"I mean.. yeah." You say, carefully. "You're gonna leave as soon as you're good to go, you know that." You say. "Would be kinda weird to start like, a friendship or stuff when your stay is limited down the line. I just wanna look out for you- and myself too. Save us the hurt later on." You shrug, and at that, a lightbulb seems to blink out of nowhere over his head, as he looks at you.

"So you? Like me?" He asks, and you stammer an answer.

"Uh, no- like, yeah as a guy you're pretty cool but like I said-" You scramble for an explanation, but he just crawls back on the couch, over you, until he's got you practically pinned down beneath him.

"You like.. me." He says, as if it's a fact- and yeah, it is one. But it shouldn't be. "I like you." He offers. "I.. tried, hm.. Im-pressive- impress you!" He seems to think hard to make his words make sense, brain still a bit slow most of the time when he tries to talk. It shows by the way he still stutters, gets stuck on syllables or by the way his brows scrunch together in thought. "But you- dumb!" He scolds, pointing at your head.

"What the fuck- I'm not dumb!" You complain, and he laughs, sharp canine teeth showing.

"Yes!" He argues, though he seems to not mean it badly. "Really dumb!" He continues.

"Well at least I don't try to eat the local animal population!" You argue.

"But- offer!" He argues, tail puffed up and swaying around. "I need.. to impress! Hunt!" He complains.

"For what?" You laugh.

"You!" He whines loudly. "Mate, make mate- impress mate! You, so you- argh!" He growls out, and you can't help but laugh.

"Jungkook." You softly say, and he looks at you with a face looking like you just told him he has to sleep on the balcony outside. "You don't have to do that, you know? Just cause I take care of you, doesn't mean you.. have to like, be nice like that." You say, and at that, he huffs angrily to himself, tail all fluffy as the fur stands out to all ends in his growing frustration, his arms crossed.

"No.!" He argues. "Stupid!" He curses, getting up to walk into his bedroom, before he emerges back out with some papers in his hand, and red ears as he slaps them on the couch, fleeing the scene right after before slamming the door shut, and locking the door.

And on your couch are two papers, one of them having writing on both sides- the handwriting sloppy and crooked, but readable. And while some sentences don't make sense, it seems like he's tried to take his time and write down what he can't say, at the moment.

'Kitty is stupid' is written on top of the first paper, and you scoff to yourself. 'Kitty doesn't get it.' it reads further.

'I want cry. I catch her prey, I offer it, and she give away to man downstairs. Man downstairs can't even hunt at all, keeps stupid bird in a cage but doesn't ever eat it. Who keeps food alive in home? Why she likes him I don't know- he stupid, just like her. But I like her. Maybe I can teach her one day. But what if she hunt for her then? No, I want to do that.'

'I want to show that I can be good partner. I learned to cook with human foods! She likes food, likes eating. I like eating too, so we eat together often. Then we hug, and she scratches my head. I like that. She's warm.'

'Maybe she doesn't like me. Doesn't like my kind. Doesn't want my kind. Or me. Just me? Maybe just me. I'm the problem. She doesn't want me.'

You turn the page around. It's written with a different pen- probably written on a different day.

'She likes me. I know she do.'

'I made nest for her, today, and she smiled. Smiled happy, cute, like kitty-toys on her bed. Has cheeks round just like them. Soft, too. She is soft. Body soft. I like holding her often. I like holding her in nest I made. And she hugged me, too. Let me hold her instead. Normal, she hold me. But this time, I hold her. I want to hold her more from now. She can be held anytime she want. She smells nice too. Smells best when happy, and after shower.'

You chuckle as you remember that day. It had been raining, you'd gotten caught up in it on the way home from grocery shopping, and after putting all things away and showering, Jungkook had waited on the couch for you, blankets from his bed placed on it, his hand inviting you to sleep there with him. And you had simply accepted the offer-

After all, you didn't know what exactly he'd been trying to offer you with those pillows and blankets placed there. You were educated on his physical health and general behavior- not about courting rituals and how to spot if the Vrota you've been taking care of has developed a romantic interest in you. Why the hell would they teach that anyways? It's not like they are known to have a huge interest in humans.

If anything, they're typically looking down on humans.

You move the paper, and turn to the last one. There's not much written on it, but the sentences are clearer, showing how his health had started to increase again, brain starting to work better these days. They're not perfect, there's a lot scribbled out, but it's clear that it must've been written recently.

'I don't know if she enjoy my company as much as I do her. I know she gain money from taking care of me, but it feels like she also doing it because she care about me. Will she abandon me once I am healthy? Will she leave me once I recover? Will I forget her if I go back home? What if home is here now and not where home was? I don't want to go home anymore if she not there.'

'It's not home if she's not there. It's just a house, just a planet, just a place. But I want home. I want to be her home. I want us to be each other home.'

Can you even be a home? You haven't at all planned any further than up until he's healthy enough to go back home. You've got no clue what to really do after he leaves- so what the hell are you supposed to do now? A relationship with him would be perfectly legal, sure, but he's also only got a Visa for his earth-stay up until he's healthy enough to return to his home planet, once they've gotten their whole pandemic situation back under control. You don't know what to do now.

Maybe you really are stupid, like he says.

So you decide to be even more stupid, as you take a small post it note from your kitchen, and write down a single sentence, before you slide the little note under his bedroom door.

And as he reads it, his eyes become wide, while his fingers clench the pastel pink paper.

'I want to be your home, too.'

[black00olive]

The Right Words

A/N: This was supposed to be just a little thing about Satan writing a love letter to but it quickly ended up spiralling into somewhat of an analysis of Satan's feelings towards you (take that very lightly as a lot of this is just made up of vibes). Also, the "you" isn't a completely blank slate as I did base some of it off of my own MC and all that (that's where most of the canon divergence comes from). I have never written a love letter before, so pls don't bash me for my love letter writing skills. It was also pretty challenging to write something from Satan's POV since he's a lot more sophisticated than I am Lol. In any case, hope you enjoy :3

Pairing: Satan x Reader

Wordcount: ~3,900 words

Summary: Writing should come easy to Satan, he’s practically read every book in existence and written several pieces before. Yet, when it comes to him writing a love letter to you he finds himself completely stuck. None of the words seem right and nothing he’s written seems to fully describe his feelings for you. As he stares at the blank piece of paper in front of him, his mind wanders and he starts to reminisce about how he developed these feelings for you in the first place.

Reading, and the absorption knowledge in-and-of-itself, was a core part of who Satan was. “He was the nerd of the family,” that’s what his idiot of a brother, Mammon, had claimed— said idiot of a brother had quickly learnt to not say such things about him, but that was neither here nor there. Some other core parts of who he was were his love of cats (though in his opinion everyone should love them, and those who didn’t were wrong), how well-connected he was with high society, and lastly his wrath— though he works hard to contain that one. Overall, he was a classy and upstanding demon. Further, if you were to ask someone, or even him, to describe himself they would most likely use words such as knowledgeable, polite, respectable, and intelligent.

In layman’s terms: Satan was smart and cool.

That’s why he’s so confused as to why he was finding himself hunched over his desk hopelessly writing his 34th love letter to you. Furthermore, why was a well-read demon like him unable to find the right words? He was finding that no words could even begin to describe the feeling aching in his chest, and he knew his way with words.

Satan was no Asmodeus, he doesn’t have a different demon (or demons) in his bed each week. He doesn’t have a list of ex-lovers so long he could wrap himself up in it, twice, nor does he flirt with every demon that even so much as glances at him. However, that doesn’t mean Satan is completely inexperienced; he has had lovers before, has lain with others a couple of times, and even made several of his high-society acquaintances through waxing poetries at them. He is quite good with that last one, he’s made many demons swoon with just his words and been told that he has quite the silver tongue. Yet all words seem to escape him when faced with you. He could repeat the same words that had made so many demons before you fall to their knees, but…

Even those sentences couldn’t even begin to encompass all that you are, and all that he feels for you. You deserved more than some half-hearted words that he had just uttered to get what he wanted. You were so much more than any of those words, as well. The entirety of his being was consumed by you. The way you spoke, the way your eyes would crinkle when you laughed at an especially humourous joke, the way your eyes sparkled once you came across something that caught your interest. Your smile, your bravery, your sarcasm, your kindness, your cockiness, your somewhat childish humour, and even your cruelty. Each and every little thing about you made him erupt in emotions that he had previously only read in books. None of the books could compare to the all-encompassing feeling it truly was.

Satan stares at the paper in front of him with a clenched jaw and lets out a disgruntled huff. Letting go of his pen (he really should loosen his hold, it might break and with the rate he’s going he won’t have any left before he finishes a writing something he’s even somewhat content with) and crumpling up the piece of paper, he then chucks it to the pile of other love letters— none of which had come out like he had wanted—, and he starts anew.

It’s a little silly, he thinks, that things ended up like this. When you had first been chosen as the exchange student Satan hadn’t cared, rather he had found himself a little annoyed. It would be incredibly inconvenient to live in the same house as a human, especially with how Lucifer had hounded them to “be more careful” and “suppress” themselves a little more around you. So in the beginning he had kept his distance from you. He had better things to do than to entertain a “dumb” human like you, humans are just a bunch of useless trouble anyway. He cringes at what he had thought of you in the beginning.

He isn’t sure when his feelings for you first started changing from mild annoyance to something else (that’s a lie, he remembers the moment vividly, but sometimes he questions if his thoughts about you had shifted earlier and he just hadn’t noticed). Perhaps it was when you first got your pact with Mammon, just a day after first being summoned. While Satan would be the first to admit that his brother is a complete idiot that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s the second most powerful of them, a student council officer on top of that, so for an ordinary human to manage to form a pact with him so quickly was definitely intriguing. At the time he thought you would stop at that, but you didn’t. Instead you decided to compete against Levi in a competition, a quiz to see who was the biggest The Seven Lords fan at that. A fool’s errand, Satan would have said if you had asked him at the time. Yet you seemed determined to actually win.

He had heard that humans often had a lot of audacity but he would have thought that even the dumbest human could tell that they had no chance of winning. Levi was older than you could even rationalise in your limited human mind, and he had spent a good portion of that time consuming any sliver of TSL media. You must have known that, right? No, Satan knows you knew that, you are a lot smarter than he had ever given you credit for in the past, yet despite that you were still determined to go through with the competition. He supposes it was that reckless determination that had fascinated him enough to tell you to seek out Simeon to help you win. You hadn’t won but you did end up forming a pact with Levi later that same day.

It is that same reckless determination that he loves and hates, it both causes him anguish and makes him admire you. It was that same reckless determination that made you protect both Beel and Luke from Lucifer that day Luke entered the underground tomb and had taken The Grimoire. He had not been there while it had happened, but he had heard. At the time it had amused him how you had stood against Lucifer, now it makes him wish you didn’t disregard your life as much as you had done in the first couple of months of your stay. You already have such a short life, you shouldn’t cut it even shorter… Satan cuts off that thought right there and crumples up the paper in front of him before he places a new one in its place.

He hadn’t believed Asmo when he had said you had been able to coax out more power in him than Solomon ever had. At the time he had just assumed it was Asmo getting too excited over a new “play-thing” (his lip curls up at that, he hates calling you such demeaning things) and was over exaggerating as he usually does.

Yet, Lucifer was wary of you. That meant something because as much as Satan hates to admit it there are very few things that Lucifer can’t handle. During that time Satan had only focused on the fact that you bothered him, and you forming pacts with his brothers bothered him even more. To former him, it was very clear as to what he needed to do. In the present, however, Satan thinks it was foolish of him to be so willing to give away his autonomy just to get under Lucifer’s skin. It was also said foolishness of him that led him to almost kill you when you had rejected his request to form a pact. Satan can feel himself start to frown at the memory of him threatening to tear you limb from limb. He had been so enraged by the thought of a simple human being the one to reject him, that an ordinary human— who didn’t even have the capabilities to use magic— would think themselves better than him, the Avatar of Wrath. The current Satan could never even imagine himself saying something so vile and hateful to you, but at that moment he had been fully ready to go through with the threats. For once in his life, he’s glad Lucifer had stepped in and stopped him.

Then, in spite of the threats, you were still willing to help Lucifer and his relationship (though Satan also has the sneaking suspicion that a big portion of the reason you wanted to help was because you had grown tired of their arguing, especially while sleeping in your room). Arguably, transporting them into, at the time had seemed like, a dating sim wasn’t the best plan but you still tried to make the best out of the situation. It’s cliché, but he can still remember your words from the evening before they were supposed to “profess their love” with vivid clarity because, admittedly, Satan believes it was then he first started developing these feelings for you.

You had asked to speak with him after he had apologised for dragging you into the whole mess. “You don’t have to force yourself to like someone you don’t. Lucifer doesn’t see you as a child as much as you think, he only wants to look good in front of Diavolo as his number two,” is what you had told him. The first part stuck with him, is still stuck with him if Satan is going to be truly honest. Such a simple concept, that you don’t have to like someone. One that he had come across in his books several times before you had even been a thought in the universe. Despite that, when you had said it to him in your typical bold fashion it was as if it was the first time he’d heard of the mere prospect. Like a fog that had swallowed his brain was finally cleared. Satan believes that if you were to ask Levi to describe it, he would say something along the lines of: “he finally reached a high enough level to unlock the ability to understand secret texts.”

Your very simple words had given him a shocking amount of things to contemplate, even more so when the whole situation with Grisella’s death on the train. Her perspective of it not mattering what hand fate deals you but how you deal with it along with yours had made him come to the realisation that he can never go back and change the circumstances of his birth. However, he can choose how to live his life and that has nothing to do with Lucifer. Because he’s not him. It was such a simple answer to an issue that had been plaguing him ever since he was born, and he’s sure that he was only able to find the answer because of you (irregardless of how much you’d like to claim that you didn’t much of a part in his discovery).

Then after the whole fiasco of Lucifer and him switching bodies you had finally accepted his request to form a pact with you. Satan feels his fingertips graze over where his pactmark sits on your body as he smiles. A pact, something that connects the two of you on a much deeper level than any piece of metal exchanged in a ceremony ever could, not that he wouldn’t mind being bonded to you in such a way though. A pact, something akin to an invisible string that ties the two of you together; a string that pulls him to you constantly (he wonders if you feel the same pull), a string that makes him share your pain, a string that binds the two of you together until the day you die.

Perhaps even longer, Satan thinks as his eyebrows furrow and he feels his whole body tense, because you did die. He had felt the tightness in his neck, his brothers had as well— the brothers that had formed pacts with you at that point at least— and they had all ran to the foyer where they had found you along with their youngest brother but it was in a situation Satan is sure he’ll never get out of his mind. Mammon had been the first to move, he had ran to you and had clutched your dying body in his arms. Satan curses his past self for not doing the same. He curses himself for just standing there, watching helplessly, as your pain coursed through his body in pulses. In rhythm with your dying heart. He should have joined in as his brothers started to yell at their youngest, he’s the Avatar of Wrath. However, in that moment, despite having watched countless of humans die before you— being the cause to some of them— he had never in his life felt more lost. Yet, you came back. Satan had watched as you stepped out of the shadows and as you, the one in Mammon’s arms, had slowly fade into nothingness. He had stood just watching as you revealed the truth about Lilith and your relation to her. The he had continued to simply watch as the rest of his brothers had all started hugging you. When he looks back on it, he hadn’t done much but watch during the whole incident. It had weighed heavy on his heart ever since and he had vowed to never be so complacent when you’re in danger.

Then after the whole incident his brothers and him had gone on to do something that he now realises (thanks to you) was incredibly foolish. What number was he of foolish things he’d done in regards to you now? Satan is quite shocked that despite every foolish thing he and his brothers have done you’re still willing to put up with them. Not just that, but you’re willing to love them. Despite the fact that they had foolishly tried to pretend like you hadn’t died that night and that everything was fine. Despite the fact that because of their own denial they had neglected to check if you were okay after you had just died. Despite the fact that they had pushed the responsibility of mending their relationships onto you once more while you were trying to deal with your own whirlwind of emotions over your own death. Despite all of it, you still chose to love them. Satan doubts they’ll ever be worthy of that, of your love, of you. Rightfully, you had called them out on their shameful behaviour.

That evening when you had told them off for down-right ignoring your death Satan believes he fell for you completely, body and— if he had been a human— soul. The green wrath that surrounded you that night was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. His sin engulfing you and the tendrils of it ebbing throughout the dining hall. You had been stewing in this anger for quite a while, he had concluded that evening, because the wrath flowing off of you was so strong. Intoxicating, almost. He had never seen you that angry before, you were usually very good at keeping calm. Of course, you got annoyed and irritated a few times but nothing to that degree. He had needed to stab his fork into his thigh to maintain even some semblance of composure, to not transform fully. As you were berating them he had found it hard to breathe with how your wrath was overwhelming all of his senses, much like how his love is for you nowadays. It was also that evening where Satan finally realised that the seeds of you had fully bloomed into a garden and grown roots in his heart, and he wasn’t willing to rip them out. He loved you, he realised, as much as you’d like to say it wasn’t possible to love someone after such a short period of time he knew he loved you and he’d never love another.

Truthfully, he feels a little bashful admitting that he had only realised he loved you when you were taken over by his sin and insulting them for their poor decision making in deciding to ignore your death, but he was going to be honest with you. You had once said that you value honesty a lot, and he’d give you anything you wanted— no matter what it was; whether it be all the riches in the world, someone’s head, or even the crown to a country. He’d give it to you— and you had wanted his honesty so he’ll give it.

The days following your outburst his eyes could not leave you, as much as he had wanted them to (you were still mad at him, he had yet found the words for the apology you deserved; by simply just existing you tend to render him speechless). He started to notice every little thing about you, your routines, your habits, your ticks, your quirks. Each thing made him fall deeper and deeper in love with you. Even in his lonesome he couldn’t escape you. In every book he’d find you, usually taking shape as the love-interest as he immersed himself in a world where he was that book’s protagonist. In his dreams the two of you would go on adventures, ranging from simple dates on the beach to travelling to different human-world countries. Even when he was out shopping he’d find himself reminded of you from various trinkets and thinking of what clothes or foods or various other goods you’d like. A few times while passing more risky stores that he’d commonly find Asmo browsing, he couldn’t help his mind from wandering to things he would one day like to see you in (if you were comfortable with it, of course. You and your comfort take precedence over everything else).

Eventually he had found the words and given you an apology for how he’d behaved, not even just regarding your death but prior to that as well, and you had accepted it. As the relationship continued to grow as had his feelings. He was no longer simply “in love” with you, but rather he felt something much more intense, overwhelming, and ineffable. Satan supposes that’s why he can never seem to find any words that seem fitting enough for you or the love he holds for you.

Combining his fingers through his hair, Satan sighs as he leans back in his chair. He had set out to write a love letter to you, yet all he’s done so far is reminisce over how his feelings developed for you over the course of your stay. He looks down at the paper in front of him and gently glides his fingers over the words. He isn’t even fully sure why he’s writing this to you. Right, because you valued honesty. The paper starts to lightly shake and Satan realises it’s because his hands are trembling. How humiliating, he’s the Avatar of Wrath, 4th most powerful lord of the underworld, yet the idea of giving you a love letter is what makes him tremble. What if you don’t reciprocate his feelings? His mind starts to doubt, but he forces himself to calm down. Even if you don’t feel the same he will continue to love you and stay by your side. His feelings for you will never change nor waver, he’s sure of that, and for as long as you’ll allow him he’ll stay right by your side.

The Love Letter:

My Dearest,

Recently my thoughts have been drawn irresistibly to you, while that in-and-of-itself isn’t uncommon I find that now it’s become unbearable to simply keep them to myself. So, here I am penning my deepest affections for you as I find myself reminiscing over our shared past. Once, I recall you had told me that you value honesty, so I shall be fully honest with you as I write this. When you had first been summoned I had not thought much of you. I had assumed that you wouldn’t have survived to the end of the exchange year. Yet, you did, technically. However, you didn’t just survive, you managed to thrive. You subverted every last one of my expectations and I found myself growing more and more affection towards you. Now, you’ll be leaving and returning to the human world in a couple of days and I would forever regret it if I didn’t disclose my feelings to you at least once before you leave.

I love you, truly and deeply. From your courage to your kindness as well as your defiance, you have ensnared my heart in ways I never thought possible. You consume my every waking thought and even as I sleep I still find you in every one of my dreams. You’ve seen the depths of my fury, the intensity of my wrath, been victim to my thoughtlessness, and yet, you remain. You choose to stay by me regardless. You’ve awakened emotions in me that I had once only read within the pages of my books. Love, trust, and a tenderness that shouldn’t be possible of the Avatar of Wrath. I find myself yearning for even a moment of your attention, a quick glance or wave as you pass me through the halls. With you, I am not just Satan, the Avatar of Wrath, but something more, something much bigger; a being capable of deep, profound love.

There is not a moment that goes by in which I don’t adore you. Each day I find myself falling deeper and deeper in love with you and all of your quirks. From your beautiful eyes, which seem to invariably lure me in, to your laughter that, like a melody, pierces through the cacophony of my existence, bringing a sense of peace I never knew I craved. And your touch, gentle and reassuring, has the power to calm the raging storm within me. Your endless curiosity makes me remember the beauty of learning and of our world. Your reckless bravery, however with that one I wish you would rely on me more. You don’t have to deal with everything by yourself. Even the traits that humans tend to label as bad I find myself loving; your sarcasm, your stubbornness, your cockiness, your selfishness, and your impulsivity. I even find myself loving your pure cruelty, however rare that one is.

Know this, my beloved, my heart, once a vessel of only wrath, now beats with an ardent longing for you. It would no longer be right to call it mine for it seems to be filled solely with you. I am yours, wholly and completely, bound by a love that transcends the very fabric of our existence. No matter what your response is, trust that I will stay by your side for as long as you let me; whether that be as a friend or as a lover. Either way, I will love you until the end of eternity.

Forever, and always, yours,

Satan

[catladyoftheyr]

Too Sweet (Ch 3)

Harvey x Reader

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 4

Summary: picking up off last chapters cliffhanger and diving straight into Harvey’s 4 heart event. You resolve the conflict after the incident with George, Harvey gives you a checkup, and you two share a jar of pickles in his apartment. 💘🥒

Authors note: I know nothing about the Air Force I’m so sorry. It’s just for the plot and vibes. He needed a backstory!!

Word count: 1.7k! A longer chapter as a treat

“Harvey! Oh my god why are you here? Wait, no, I don’t mean it like that” the surprise visit from the doctor had you stumbling over your words. “You scared me. And I don’t actually think your mustache is stupid. I just… I was really embarrassed about what happened earlier.”

“I actually stopped by to thank you for backing me up earlier. George can be stubborn, so I’m glad you got him to listen to you.” The doctor averted eye contact and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Oh uhhh, sure. How much of what I said did you hear by the way?” You hoped silently that he hadn’t heard you call him cute, especially since you’d been talking to a chicken.Harvey slid down and sat next to you on the floor of the coop.

“Just the part where you insulted my mustache,” he replied, stroking his own facial hair. “The farm is coming along nicely. You must be very dedicated to make such a turn around in such a short time.”

Oh thank Yoba you thought to yourself. “Thank you. I guess I’m trying to make up for lost time; I want to honor Grandpa’s memory because he loved this farm and the community. I used to spend a couple weeks here in the summer when I was growing up. I haven’t been back to the valley since I was a teenager. I didn’t think Lewis would recognize me when I came back.” You laughed quietly, an image of you as a gawky adolescent with braces coming back to you

“About earlier, we can put that behind us if you’d like. I didn’t mean to be short with you either. I was startled so I apologize for being curt.” Harvey looked at you with a kind expression before rising from the floor. “I’d like for us to be on good terms going forward.” He extended his hand and helped you up.

———————————————————————————

The bell on the door chimed as you walked in and Harvey’s head poked up from his paperwork. “Hey! Just the person I wanted to see today actually.”

“Oh?”

“I was about to write you a letter recommending that you schedule your annual checkup. If you don’t mind, I’ve got time today actually for a cursory exam.” Truthfully you weren’t very fond of hospitals, or doctor’s appointments. But you were also a terrible liar and had no time to think of an excuse. Better just to get it over with, you supposed.

“I can make it work.” You set the jar of pickles aside temporarily and followed Harvey to an exam room. You sat down on the paper, uncomfortable with the sudden formal shift in your dynamic. You’d gone from friend to patient in a matter of minutes. Harvey placed his stethoscope just under the collar of your shirt and you flinched at the touch of the cold metal.

“Sorry it’s chilly,” Harvey said. “Your heart rate is a little high. Do hospitals make you nervous?” He asked with a slight furrow in his brow.

“A little bit” you admitted. It certainly didn’t help that this was the most physical contact the two of you had shared since you met. He placed his hand on your shoulder and your eyes met. You felt your palms start sweating.

“Take a deep breath for me please” you did as instructed and tried to focus on anything else but the feeling of his hand on you. “Your lungs sound strong.” Harvey was in his element as he checked off the boxes of a routine checkup. He tested your reflexes, examined your ears and eyes, writing down his observations on his clipboard. “So far you seem to be in good health. I just have a few more questions about your lifestyle”

“Ask away, Doc.” Harvey seemed slightly flustered at the nickname but made a quick recovery. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and stood up straighter, clearing his throat

“As I was saying. Working on the farm involves a fair amount of physical labor I assume, so I’m sure you get enough exercise. What do you usually eat in a day?”

“Oh I usually just eat the foragables I find around the valley. There’s a lot of leeks and wild onions out now. I saw a weird looking berry the other day and I ate a couple of those. Sometimes I eat eggs from the chickens, or buy something from Gus for dinner.” Harvey was visibly stressed as he absorbed the information you gave him.

“I would highly advise that you eat a more balanced diet. Foraging is fine as a snack but it won’t provide enough energy for your activity levels. Eggs are good, but I’d implore you to try and eat from all the food groups”

“So this probably isn’t a great time to say I also eat the algae I find in the mines?” You’d never seen the poor doctor so stressed; you imagined most of his patients weren’t quite as odd as you.

“Let’s move on. How much sleep do you get at night?”

“6ish, sometimes less, sometimes more”

“Well, 8 hours a night is recommended but 6 isn’t terrible I suppose. But I’d encourage you to try and find a healthier routine. Farming is labor intensive and if you don’t give your body the care it needs you won’t be able to keep up sooner or later.” He had a look of genuine worry in his eyes and it pulled at your heartstrings. You’d only known each other for several months, but you sensed the beginning of a deep connection.

“I’ll try to be better,” you replied softly. You weren’t used to being chastised, but you understood he meant well.

“Thank you. You’re free to go and have an official clean bill of health from me”

“Well I stopped by to ask a favor actually”

“Oh?”

“I was wondering if you’d do me the honors of being the very first taste tester of my first batch of farm fresh pickles” you grinned and gestured toward the door “I left them on the counter.” Harvey smiled back and held the door open for you.

“I’d be honored. I’m actually about to close up for the day, would you like to come upstairs?”

The two of you headed upstairs to the small apartment above the clinic. Furniture was sparse and well loved, and there was a small kitchenette off the main room. The back wall held a large bookshelf that boasted an assortment of books and some small trinkets. Another shelf was lined carefully with model planes. There was a radio station in the corner by the window. “It’s not much, but it’s home,” Harvey said sheepishly.

“It’s great” you replied, eyes scanning the room with eagerness. You were itching to learn more about him. You took a seat on his small sofa, your heart nearly skipping a beat when he sat next to you, his knee inches away from yours. “You can have the first one” you offered, extending the open pickle jar toward Harvey.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Harvey reached in and plucked out a particularly large pickle before biting into it. His eyes lit up as he tasted it. “This is delicious! You’ve really never made pickles before?” You shook your head. “Well you certainly have a knack for it.” You grabbed a pickle for yourself and were pleasantly surprised at how good they were. You were glad he wasn’t lying to spare your feelings.

“What’s with the planes?” You saw Harvey get a far off look on his face while he thought about his response

“I’ve always been fascinated by aviation. I did a stint in the Air Force years ago. I wanted to become a pilot but it didn’t pan out. It ended up paying for my med school tuition though. The model planes are something I like to do in my free time. I find them relaxing, and they remind me of my time in service.”

“I would have never guessed that. Pilots and doctors are pretty different. What led you down this path?”

“I think I’ve always had an affinity for helping people. I joined the Air Force to serve my country; this feels like a way to serve the community in a different way.”

“That’s actually really selfless.” You toyed with images of Harvey in uniform as you reached for another pickle, not realizing that Harvey had the same idea. Your hands met in the rim of the jar and you flinched back instinctively. The small touch left you wanting more. You adjusted your legs slightly, tentatively letting one fall against his. Harvey made no effort to break contact.

“Tell me more about yourself. You said you explore the mines. Are there really monsters in there?”

“There are! I haven’t made it down very far but there’s all kinds of creatures down there.” You animatedly described the things you’d encountered on your adventures: colorful slimes, stealthy rock crabs, large buzzing insects, agile bats and more. Harvey looked on with a mixture of awe and fear.

His voice grew soft as he spoke “please be careful in the mines. I’d hate to see you get hurt.” Suddenly it was as if a switch had gone off in his mind and he got up from the couch. “Wait here one second!” He bolted across the studio and down the stairs. You heard rummaging from below before Harvey emerged again holding an armful of various medicines and first aid supplies. “Take these.” He thrusted the bundle of supplies into your arms.

“Harvey I can’t just take these from you. These are expensive” you insisted, trying to hand them back to him. A roll of gauze unraveled on the floor. Harvey plucked it from the ground and placed it on a table.

“Nonsense. Consider it part of your checkup.” He looked you in the eyes with a pleading expression. “Please take them. And promise me you’ll keep them with you in the mines”

“I promise.”

[laithraihan]

now i’m kinda curious to hear what you think of proshipping.. if you don’t mind of course

I'll share my thoughts, and if theres anything I say that doesnt make sense feel free to point it out to me because I mostly write with the help of a translator. Under the cut because I wrote too much stuff.

TLDR: proshippers hate me because I dont want to look at glorified depictions of pedophilia/incest/etc, antis hate me because my content isnt 100% sanitized. I stay around anti circles because I find it slightly easier for me to talk about my headcanons with them even though I think they can be insufferable.

So the thing about proshipping. From what I've seen it means being "anti-harassment" and being in support of curating your online experience, which sounds great on paper and that's practically what I do. I have over 3k accounts blocked on my personal twitter to navigate the website more easily and I also dont care if someone blocks me if they dont like my stuff.

Except proshippers never consider me a proshipper because I am uncomfortable with viewing glorified depictions of topics like pedophilia, incest, rape, all that stuff. The same way people are uncomfortable with excessive blood and gore (which I also can't really handle seeing). Whether or not it's always easy to tell if it's glorified is an entirely different topic, which is precisely why I stay away from all depictions in general to avoid being intrusive.

And what's interesting is that I do not label myself an "anti". Mainly because I don't even know what the term "anti" is supposed to mean ("anti-" what exactly. Genuinely please tell me because I actually dont know) But the ones who label themselves "proship" always call me an anti, because again I do not wish to engage with content related to pedophilia etc, and that alone apparently enough to be considered "a person who harasses others over fiction" even if I mind my own business and have no interest in forcing my personal tastes on others, especially if they make it clear that they wont change their mind. Which makes me believe that for a lot of self-identified proshippers, the definition of being "proship" would be more similar to "I love fucked up stuff and if you dont then youre lame and it obviously means you can't tell the difference between fiction and reality" which honestly seems like insecurity to me.

Forgive me for bringing up this up once again but I want to mention an example to make it easier for me to explain: yknow the whole thing with me drawing Minori and Reigen and labelling it "non-cp" which caused a wave of both self-identified antis and proshippers harassing me over that (I'll say that proshippers were more bold about it since the antis harassing me were all anonymous). Proshippers saw me saying "I dont ship that" and interpreted it as me being defensive and in denial, as if I said "guys I swear Im an anti !!! please dont think im a proshipper !!! ", when I meant "I dont want to discuss this with others in a shipping manner because thats not how I see it and I dont want to enter a space Im not comfortable with"

I admit I responded to this situation in a petty manner, but this was after several days of harassment done directly in my inbox and publicly (sometimes I wish yall remembered that group chats and priv accounts exist). My point is that simply saying you don't like seeing pedophilia in fiction is enough for proshippers to believe it's justified for them to harass you over it (and I'm fully aware they'll say it's not harassment, only when antis and "puriteens" do this to them then it's harassment)

Now about the anti side. Don't get me started on them either. If proshippers see me as an enemy then this must mean that I always get along with the ones who call themselves "antis" (I do not). Note that Im only talking about adults here, I dislike beefing with children and I think their feelings about this are entirely reasonable (I'll elaborate on this when talking about internet safety)

But anyways. I think a lot of adults are discourse-brained and do way too much. Im thinking of nonsense like "this ship is problematic because they are 'sibling-coded' so thats basically incest" "siblings giving each other a hug gives me proship vibes" things of that nature. And you're not allowed to do anything that even has the smallest possibility of being interpreted as "problematic", because then they'll harass you for it, and if you clarify your intentions, they expect you to apologize for "misleading" them because clearly they didnt do anything wrong by making assumptions about you.

There's almost no room allowed for creativity with them, everyone has to follow fanon because they consider it canon, if you ever want to try something other than the same boring domestic fluff then it's "too much" (and not even platonic affection is acceptable to draw in certain cases). Which is incredibly fucking boring to me who wants to see different types of content. People even said I was enjoying incest for drawing Reigen selfcest, and that I was "making others uncomfortable" by drawing it. Genuinely seems to me that they only care about moral superiority, that they never think about anything in depth, and I dont think they realize that it also shows in what they create: boring and repeated fanart and headcanons where the only thing you can say about it is "thats cute", nothing more because you saw it ten billion times already. You cant draw two people showing platonic affection that absolutely nobody would bat an eye if it happened in real life, you cant discuss something specific in more depth without people saying you have a fetish for it, and then they'll harass you based on their speculation that it's a fetish. I dont think many realize this, but fandoms are full of autistic people, so it's normal to see people who are interested in very specific things that dont make sense to others! I wish people were less judgmental, but at the same time I dont care if people think Im weird. I think what I mean is theres no reason to mistreat weird people who do no harm to others.

So yeah if you call yourself an "anti" I'll assume youre spend too much time engaging in fandom discourse and you're the type of person to believe that fanart where two people are holding hands is the equivalent to drawing them fucking each other. Which I think is a very childish mindset to have and it's worrying that many adults think this way. I also think that as an adult they should be capable of blocking stuff they hate instead of constantly arguing with people online because at this point it's just mental torture.

The thing about internet safety I mentioned earlier, I'd say this is the one thing that I'll always prioritize discussing whenever proship discourse comes up.... To put it simply: filter and limit the visibility of your content, do not put triggering stuff in the main tags, stay in your own circles. Whether or not you believe fictional rape/pedophilia/etc is bad is irrelevant, my point is that these are objectively triggering topics and should be filtered just like how there are warnings for violence and blood even if it's not real.

"But it's the parents' responsibility to control what kids look at online, this has nothing to do with me!" and I agree with the parents being the ones Primarily responsible. However the reality is that children are online and there's nothing you can do to stop it from happening. Kids will also enter spaces theyre not allowed in, theyre children and children are rebellious especially teenagers, I was like this as a teenager too. You'd be lying if you said you were always obedient since childhood and never did anything you were told Not to do. And you can't really expect teenagers to always block and not interact if they see something triggering. It's your responsibility to block them if they interact with you, because what I see most of the time is adults bickering with teenagers who are uncomfortable, calling them "puriteens", putting them on blast and allowing other adults including NSFW accounts to dunk on them.

Humiliating and degrading teenagers does not "teach them a lesson", it only makes the teenager more stubborn and reactive. Adults must accept that kids will always find their way in there even if your content isnt easily accessible. So I think it's stupid to feel offended at a child because they got upset when they found upsetting content like how any normal child would react. Which is why I wish more adults would keep blocking without saying anything petty to provoke teenagers.

Before someone pancake-waffles me and says "so youre fine with antis doxxing people" no I do not support doxxing. Ive been doxxed so I know it sucks. However the only times Ive seen it go this far is after continuous arguing because nobody knows when to stop. Im not saying this applies all the time nor am I saying doxxing is fine, but there are ways to minimize this sort of outcome as much as possible. Both sides have doxxed people over petty arguments that couldve easily been avoided if they just blocked each other and moved on.

The topic above (internet safety) is probably the only thing related to this where Im actively telling others what they should be doing. It's not only teenagers who are triggered by depictions of pedophilia etc but also adults like myself. In my case Im old enough to block content I dislike without saying a word, however I cant help but think that there's not enough being done about filtering especially when I do not search for this type of content and I still see it all the time.

I also think it's important for me to mention that I have a very poor sense of morality. I do not have a personal moral code that I adhere to, and I mostly stick to the basic universal ones that make sense to me. So I will not discuss the "morals" of consuming this stuff because I am not adequate to share an opinion on this, and I know the most popular topic of discussion related to proship discourse is morality which I frankly find counterproductive. I dont understand why people should care so much if I find something morally correct or not, unless it's to make themselves feel better about having a "superior opinion" to mine. Though I will say that if a man tells me he's into rape "but only in fiction!" then I dont think it will stop me of imagining myself bashing his skull repeatedly with large rocks. Maybe Im too mistrustful of men in general.

Final point I want to clarify is that I am not trying to assert some sort of superiority over people by disliking both sides, like saying "Im not an anti or a proshipper Im a Normal person" or something like that, and Im not expressing a "neutral" stance on the topic of fiction's influence on reality either. There are topics like racism and orientalism in fiction that Im vocal about (which is expected since Im Algerian). I genuinely believe there are many things that are interesting to discuss and should be prioritized, but too many people are chronically online, subjective and defensive, at this point I dont even think it's accurate to say that disliking one side automatically means you support the other side regarding fiction. To me, "proship discourse" is not about the debate of the effects of fiction on reality, censorship in media, etc. It's about everything I described earlier that happens online.

[yaekiss]

#mailroom open! i hope the event is still open —if not, feel free to disregard !! i’m looking to send a letter to cyno confessing my love, and looking for a letter w/ yan + nsfw themes back! i love the petname bunny, but any are fine with me!

letter and gift below the hearts. congratulations on 400 !!!

the letter is scrawled on parchment paper, the handwriting a bit messy and hurried. the craftsmanship looks like it was a draft of many — is it possible the sender sent the wrong version of the letter?

“to cyno,

to think it has been merely two weeks since my departure from under your watch. i understand i’m supposed to be focusing on my work, completing my assignment and coming back, but i keep getting distracted.

i wouldn’t say it’s my fault in my entirety, because frankly, it’s you who is distracting me from the duties you sent me on. my mind keeps racing back to thoughts of you, you, you, and it’s impossible to look forward when all i want to do is have you order me around again in the desert.

leaving you was a pain. i didn’t want to go. i crave to be curled against your side and to really, truly love you, but it’s so inappropriate of me. insubordinate.

i’m writing this because i know i can never send it. my thoughts, my emotions — i would be jeopardizing my station. i need to focus, but it’s hard when i know you’re so far.

how embarrassing of me to write this to you. it’s childish of me to think you would really ever take notice.

i should throw this letter away before i fall asleep at my desk and mess it up with the one i really want to send you.

signed, your wannabe beloved.”

the letter makes no mention of the gift that came wrapped with it. it seems that the author really did send the wrong version. the gift enclosed was a bottle of wine, some photos to be included with a report, and some paperwork regarding the assignment they were on in liyue. when opened, it smelled faintly of perfume. “for filing, so they don’t get lost.” read a note attached to the papers and photos.

꩜ Letter Content: GN! Dom! Reader x Yan! Sub! Cyno, no gendered terms for reader, Cyno calls you "bunny", implied abuse of authority, unhealthy obsessive and possessive relationship from Cyno, lmk if I missed anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: You wouldn't believe the number of puns I had to listen to... they were all rabbit related too... ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

There’s a cardboard box dropped off at your hotel doorstep when you return from your day’s duties.

It reminds you of the kind you see hugged in your colleagues’ arms when they transfer out of your office and to a different jurisdiction or during the bittersweet retirement of a senior staff member. For a moment, the thought of Cyno, the General Mahamatra, taking offence to your confession letter cruelly crosses your mind and you dejectedly bounce the notion of getting fired from your job around in your head as you move to go pick up the box. 

However, you soon discover that it is anything but a termination, evident from a heart-shaped envelope that rests shyly on the top of the box. A sense of hope bubbles up in you and you quickly move everything inside, eagerly opening up his letter. Inside the romantic envelope is his response, folded flawlessly into a heart as well. After unfolding it and doing your best to smooth out all the creases in the paper, you rake your eyes over the parchment, noting how his handwriting is identical to the one you always see in official reports. But to see such a font spelling out his love for you has you in disbelief. His letter reads:

“A reply to my dearest bunny. Can I call you bunny? Or should I call you mine?

Starting off, I need to reciprocate your confession, it won’t be ice of me to leave you in the cold. Haha, I wish I could’ve seen your reaction at that joke. On a more serious note, I would be lying to say that I don’t have any feelings for you. You caught my eye when I first saw how admirable you truly are, bunny. Now, you might not think so yet yourself but I’ve personally witnessed it in the little things you do, in your passions, in your dreams. Truly inspiring, bunny.

Thank you for the timely submission of your report again, bunny. Impeccable work as usual, I can always count on you for a job well done. The wine was a thoughtful gift too, if only I were able to share it with you in person. Perhaps I should reward you for being such a hard worker, I could be all yours to use, if you’d want me. Gods, I might be the General Mahamatra but the power you have over me is unfathomable. Would you allow me to lay my head in your lap, to let my hands trail up your calves and thighs, to bury my head between your legs? Maybe you’ll even have me call you General for the night instead, perhaps I’ll scream your title until daylight. I can satiate you in any way you’d like, I’m giddy with desire for you, bunny.

You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to get closer to you, it was simply fated that you were transferred under me a while back, bunny. That previous superior of yours wasn’t the best either, always so harsh on you, aren’t you glad you’re under my watch now? If I can be frank (even though my name is Cyno), I never wanted you to take up the Liyue assignment, it wasn’t my idea in the first place. I loathe that I had to send you for it. What if you got hurt? What if you went missing? What if you fell for someone else? It simply won’t do, bunny.

Thankfully, I’ve managed to find someone to relieve you of your post in Liyue. Let’s just say that they needed this “learning opportunity” more than someone as experienced as you. In the box are all the required paperwork for you to hand over your duties and return to Sumeru. I expect to have you back by my side within a week. Don’t keep me waiting too long, I want to finally show you how much I’ve yearned for you all this time. I just hope you’re a hands-on learner, my bunny.

Fated to be yours,

- Cyno -

P.S.: Would you ever show me the version of the letter you originally meant to send?”

Lifting the cover off the cardboard box, you see an assortment of gifts he prepared for you. Bundles of your favourite snacks, little trinkets, and a small journal tucked to a corner. Opening it up, you glance over the different lines scribbled on it and realise that they’re all cheesy pickup lines and puns from Cyno. There’s one that says, “Nobunny (nobody) compares to you” and another that reads, “You got my heart jackrabbiting for you”. A lewder one says, “Let’s fuck like rabbits” At the bottom of the first page, he wrote, “I save my best jokes for you, bunny ♡”.

Additionally, what also catches your eye is a holographic copy of a TCG card of you in a durable clear casing, it produces a brilliant iridescent sheen when you slowly turn the card side to side in the light. Did he specially commission one of you? Setting the card on your bedside table, you continue going through the box. 

True to his words in the letter, there’s a neat stack of paperwork stowed carefully in it. Flipping through the pages, you discover that it comes along with paid for travel arrangements from Cyno. A closer look reveals that all of them are scheduled to get you back to Sumeru as fast as possible. Just as you want to place the stack back into the box, a loose scrap of torn paper slips from it and flutters onto the floor. 

The only few words on it you can unfortunately make out are “pulled strings”, “transfer”, and the crossed out name of your previous superior.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[icaruspendragon]

Would love to see your take on heartstopper ( maybe tao and nick bonding? Bonus points if mama nelson is on board)

and when i tell you i’ve got 17k words worth of nick-centric charlie pov that i’ve been writing for like ten months living in my docs LMAO

pls enjoy this snippet in hopes that validation will be enough to get me going on it again hshs

“Charlie is shivering in his seat, January air clinging to him long after he finished the walk to his children’s literature lecture. His hands are wrapped around a paper cup, clutching it in a desperate attempt to leech some of the tea's warmth into his nearly numb fingers, gaze focused on the laptop in front of him. Charlie generally keeps his head down at the start of term, preferring to be seen and not heard for the first couple of weeks to get a feel for things. That way he knows how to conduct himself. Still, almost instinctively, he looks up upon hearing a new set of footsteps cross the threshold, wondering idly if it’s anyone he knows from last term.

Charlie most definitely does not know the stranger hesitating just past the doorway. He’s rosy-cheeked and strawberry-blonde and boyish. And he’s just standing there as he scans the room in search of a seat like it’s the most casual thing in the world, like he isn’t making Charlie feel like the human equivalent of an error 404 message.

He may not know the other boy, but Christ does he want to. He’s pulled from the beginnings of a daydream featuring a rosy-boy when the gaze of the boy in question lands on Charlie. His lips quirk upwards and lopsided and soft when their eyes meet. And it’s a moment that feels significant for some reason, like it’s stretching out before them like honey falling from a spoon. Slow and sweet and promising warmth. It stretches further when the unnamed boy walks toward the empty seat beside him and his cheeks get impossibly rosier with each step.

Charlie’s brain offers two incredibly unhelpful thoughts as his seatmate gets settled: He’s so pretty and oh no.

Gay panic makes itself right at home while he tries (and rather spectacularly fails) not to stare too hard at the boy next to him. He turns slightly and now they’re face to face. Charlie learns his eyes are brown. They’re brown like honey, warm and sweet. And he has freckles. So many freckles. So many constellation clusters dusted across rosy, rosy cheeks.

Charlie realizes that silently staring at the boy next to him is weird, “Hi.”

The rosy-boy smiles, looking at Charlie with his honey-warm eyes for several seconds before offering a quiet greeting of his own.

“Hi.”

He knows something else is supposed to happen now, something he needs to do. He just can’t remember what it is.

“I’m Nick.”

Even his voice is pretty. Another distracted moment passes with Nick looking at him all honey-eyed and rosy-cheeked. Then another before oh shit, I’m supposed to also introduce myself.

“Charlie.”

A handful of distracted moments pass where they look at each other for what’s probably a beat, then two, then three too long. Nick exhales through his nose, it’s a gentle approximation of a laugh, but then their professor is standing up from the desk and walking to the lectern and Nick turns his head to the front of the room. Charlie does the same, managing all of ten seconds before giving into temptation and casting a sidelong glance at Nick.

His smile is still soft.

His cheeks are still rosy.

And he’s looking at Charlie, too.”

[bowieandqueen11]

Jesse Pinkman Being Jealous Would Include...

Request: omg so glad you’re writing for breaking bad rn cause i literally just started watching it and i’m obsessed 😭 could you do jealous jesse pinkman please? (hcs or a fic whatever you want)

Oh my gosh yay I'm really glad you started watching it!! If you haven't already you 100% have to watch Better Call Saul afterwards it's one of my favourite shows of all time! :)

Warning: spoilers for later seasons of the show! Mentions of drugs, mentions of drinking/alcohol, mentions of burn injuries, light swearing, mentions of trauma!

(I do not own Breaking Bad or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @tilldeathdousart.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Baby boy, baby boy. meow meow cat man. its so hard writing you as jealous because i feel if anyone started flirting with your s/o you would just break down crying and honestly same we love an in touch with his emotions king loml honestly

Jesse has always been the jealous type. Hot headed. Easily wound up by bullies ten times his size and a thousand times more ferocious and cutthroat than he had ever tried to be. Almost as easily as he had slipped into that easy routine of being ass over heels, devastatingly in love with you. The kind where every night, he tosses and turns in his mildew spelling bed, plagued by thoughts of doing nothing all day but sloppily kissing your lips between blunts. The kind where he has to stare up at the sky after he's been caught staring, until his retinas burn the sunlight into the back of his skull, yet the pain is nowhere near as cataclysmic as the hurricane your smile brings to his heart.

He had far too many years to temper it, to try and smother his love, and yet over time he seemed to get worse and worse and worse at stopping it from choking at his throat. He wasn't so bad during high school: sure, you found him a little odd, the way he would brag to his friends in the corridor about how he'd never 'studied a day in my life, man!', and yet in Chemistry he would be chewing the edge of his pen and scribbling furiously down on his paper during the end of term quiz.

He was terrible at tempering it, and you were terrible at seeing it.

Little did you know, that all the words he scratched down with his shaking hand were either complete guesses, or absolute gibberish. He had no idea what the paper was even supposed to be on, but you were sitting beside him, and so he wanted to look as smart in front of you as he possibly could. Bless his heart, to everyone else he was so obvious: Mr White would just peer over his shoulder and shake his head, his mouth in a lined frown as he watched Jesse peer like a meerkat over the side of the desk to stare at you from behind his slipping down beanie.

Some of his friends, his 'gang' as he liked to call them, were snickering from a couple of benches behind at the way he was trying to look clever by placing his fist under his chin, but his elbow kept slipping off the edge thanks to his baggy hoody. Even Justin Treller, the guy sitting to your right, and the kid Jesse was getting more and more annoyed with every time he leant over to whisper something in your ear, was evidently enjoying the way the tips of Jesse's ears were beginning to burn with embarrassment.

Eventually, when you began giggling at the things Justin was leering further and further towards you to murmur, Jesse began to snap. That's when he began doing stupid shit to make you laugh, like plugging the tube in and flicking his hand through the Bunsen Burner flame to try and impress you with his pain tolerance. When Jesse inevitably ended up being sent to the nurse's office for such a dumbass idea, he was wincing so harshly at the pain that he nearly tore through his bottom lip, leaving a nice scar. You volunteered to bring him down, spending half of your lunch period taking care of him.

He sat caved in on himself, trying to make himself as small a target as possible on one of the fold out chairs. He was obviously embarrassed, by the way his voice kept cracking each time you tightened some of the new dressing over his fingers. Mainly he was talking to try and distract you from the way his hands were shaking, so desperate to reach out and brush over your cheek that he nearly sobs with the effort. He also doesn't want you to notice how pathetic he looks: how he so subconsciously prepares himself for the mental barrage from his mother, or the physical threats from the people he deals with out in the streets, that he looks like a meek kitten sitting there with his palms down on his knobbly kneecaps.

He had known then, of course. He had known, as you pressed your lips chastely against the back of his sore knuckles, and giggled at the way his cheeks immediately flushed like a blooming snapdragon, that you would always be the love of his life. The only thing, behind the emotional neglect, the gossip, the drugs, the constant damn pressure, that he truly had chosen to care about. Which is why, after he bought his parents house and asked if you'd want to live in it, free of rent, he was shocked that you said yes.

Good things don't usually happen to this boy. And seeing how you were the best of all, he had to swallow his heart and just smile at your words, terrified he was going to ruin you.

I mean, living there at first had been easy enough. You had been round (or smuggled in by Jesse) so many times since that day in the nurse's office, that it felt like a second home to you. His parents, while they had still been speaking to Jesse, had absolutely adored you. They would always be teasing their son during family dinners about how he had been saving up doing his *wink wink* 'paper rounds' late at night, just so he could save up for the big wedding he was planning. Blushing ferociously, Jesse would duck his head down until his forehead banged against the tablecloth, begging his mom with that tired drawl to 'please... just stop'.

Somehow, somehow you just... never saw it. Perhaps you were laughing too much at the way Jesse's father was pretending to elbow his son to notice. Maybe, you were trying to cover your own eyes in mortification. I'm not sure, but I do know that you never seemed to notice the gut-wrenching look of pure hope Jesse would throw your way, once he had mustered the strength to peek his head up again.

While he shook his head and bit at the corner of his fingernail, while he poked and prodded at his escaping garden peas, while he took an awkward sip of his water and pretended to glance around the table. He was always looking your way, as if you had tied his heart to a string, his compass pointing him north, directing him back to his true home. His eyes would just linger on you like a listless man possessed from between the prongs of his fork, stabbing harshly at the plate in time with his thudding heart.

His heart sure was beating now. So ferociously, he thought it was about to splinter and explode out of his chest, implanting the chards everywhere until they were all that was left in memory of him. He knew you were getting sick of the constant parties. Of him being dazed 24/7. Of not knowing why he lashed out all the time. He knew it wasn't fair, but every time he closed his eyes he just saw Gale's pleading eyes beginning to burn itself into the safe memories he kept in the back of his head. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't breathe from all the sobbing. He couldn't even think in peace. So he just bit the cap off another beer bottle and fell down heavily on the edge of his brand new thousand dollar sofa, imprisoning himself in self-isolation despite being lost amidst a sea of people.

It was right at that moment you decided to try and brave down the stairs, having to hold onto the bannister for dear life as you jumped down each step, the bass vibrating through the walls until they shook. As you peered over mountains of baggie hoodies and tripped over lumps of passed out people on the floor in your effort to try and find Jesse, you accidentally bumped into the back of one of Skinny Pete's friends. You apologised as he turned around, which would have been fine if he hadn't taken one look at you and decided you were his main entertainment for the night. The smell of stale weed and lukewarm beer radiated off his sour breath as he leant down to rasp against the shell of your ear, sending a chill rolling down your back. You tried to compress your shoulders and squeeze past him, but the guy would not stop trying to grab onto your waist and pull you back, staring very blatantly down at your chest.

You knew Jesse had been shoved into the deep end of some shady business recently, but the way he had been acting over the last while had been frightening you. So despondent. So careless. To come home every day and find him almost completely blazed out of his mind on the floor, seemingly not recognising you as he failed to respond to your greeting. Not realising that as soon as you wandered into the kitchen to put the groceries away, those desperate, love strung eyes were following your heels. He nearly cried out for you, voice hoarse and heavy in the back of his throat.

If he had mustered the energy, he would have gotten onto his hands and knees and crawled like a baby on the floor to follow after you. The way you would beg him at 2 a.m. to turn down the music, and he would just grab at your hands and try to get you to join in his terrible on the spot jump-dancing. You never discerned how heartbroken he seemed to be when you jolted back from him as if shot; his bottom lip would quiver and he would sink to his knees when your bedroom door finally slammed shut. 

He couldn't take it. He couldn't take it anymore. First it had been his parents. Then the drugs. Then Mr. White, Gus, Gale, Mike, Saul, the pressure just kept building up and up and up and he didn't know how to escape it. Too cowardly to run away, just as he had always been resigned into believing you could never love him back. Too submissive. Too easily used. And now, now there was barely anything left of him. Sometimes, sometimes that scared kid would try to crawl out of his throat when he was alone at night, but he would just choke on his tears in the darkness until he had drowned him again.

So what does he do? Gets off his face drunk, and throws another mind numbingly monotonous party until the walls start spinning and he doesn't even know who's coming through those doors anymore. Hell, he still half expects his mother to come busting through, chiding him for having drugs in the house. For having you in the house, with such company present. For being a coward.

Now he had just brought more trouble on himself. If the company he now decided to keep didn't get his hands off you in approximately ten seconds, you were going to knock him on his ass in front of all his little buddies.

Thankfully, Jesse seemed to have a sixth sense as to when you were in trouble, and he had been steadily keeping his beady eyes on you ever since you reached the top step. Before you could shove the guy back, Jesse's already doing it for you. As soon as he’s by your side you can tell he’s wound up: not by the way he comes striding over, shouting over the beat and lowering his head as if he’s about to headbutt the guy. Not from the way his hand flies in his face, or the swears, the long string of increasingly ridiculous ‘bitch’ related insults he calls him, but from the way he looks so, so tired. He looks on the verge of tears, his eyes bloodshot as he brushes gently past you to start shoving the guy out the front door, yelling above the music to shepherd everyone else out as well.

'Jesse... seriously, you need to tell me what's going on, right now.'

When the door finally slams shut, you know him well enough that the best thing to do is just let his head cool down for a minute. When he was younger, that used to involve ringing you up whenever his parents had threatened to kick him out again; you would come clambering over the picket fencing lining his immaculately manicured side-yard to see him sitting on the edge of his windowsill, smoke rings blowing out the side of his mouth as he waited in the dark for you to arrive. His hand would shake as he hefted you up from the piping by his bedroom wall, awkwardly landing you down half on his feet as he would just stay beside you all night. He would speak from time to time, asking you about what you wanted to do once you managed to escape from this dump ass town. But mainly, he just leaned his head back and listened to your voice, gazing up at the faraway stars as if it were the only place he could possibly be truly free.

But now, he was far worse off than you ever could have imagined. He hunched over, as if he had a spiked collar weighted around his neck as he lumbered past you, crawling down onto the floor. He drew his knees up to his chest as he sat back against his brand new surround sound speaker, ducking his head into the gap and clawing at the back of his neck until you worried he was about to draw blood.

It was horrifying, hearing how he gasped between retching sobs as you sunk down on the floor next to him.

You tentatively reached out to place a hand on his back, kicking an empty pizza box out of the way with your foot so you could sit with the side of your thigh touching his. As soon as you made contact, he leapt at you like a rabid dog, clawing and clenching and biting his teeth into his shirt as he fell onto your chest.

‘Please. Please don’t leave me’, he gasped out between heaving cries, looking up at you with eyes so dejected, it were as if someone had stifled out the blinding stars once in them with dark clouds. Bits of saliva stuck between his teeth as he screwed his eyes shut once again and began bawling even harder, falling like a broken bird as you held the back of his head and guided it down to rest just above your breast bone.

‘I love you’, he starts sobbing, fists bunching up the material at the back of your shirt. It was you. It always has been. And if you walked out that door with the rest of them, he had nothing left. He would willingly roll over, and let himself just rot away. 

You sure as hell saw it now.

Eventually, after you rock him back and forth against the floorboards for a while and just cradle him in a way he’s never experienced during his years on earth, he becomes more placid against you. It helps that at some point, you had absentmindedly begun to trace the silvery wisp of an outline that had been left on his bottom lip all those years ago, your pointer finger glancing back and forth as it quivered. He was almost entirely curled against you now, pretending to be asleep so you wouldn’t stop, but his breath froze when he heard you whisper ‘I love you too’ against the top of his hair.

He’ll feel really sheepish the next day when he finally wakes up, peering round the corner with his hand behind his head when he spots you trying to straighten out the crick in your neck after a night spent on the floor. He’ll come apologizing with his go to breakfast: a childhood favourite of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup; they were the kind his mom would make if she were in a good mood at the weekends. When he would sit at the table the morning after you slept over, watching stupid cartoons his brother had put on the small television, grinning to himself as some dripped down his chin. It had been the happiest he had been in his life.

Although he still has that boyish, soulful smile on his face as he sits criss-cross down beside you, you can tell that he’s still plagued by how wet his eyes are: how heavily he’s blinking.

‘I really do love you, you know that right?’, you whisper, taking the plate from him.

‘Yeah, I do.’

Suddenly your fork goes crashing to the floor, forgotten about as you lean forward to kiss him, nearly surprising the heck out of him as his teeth clash against yours. He’s quick to reach up and tenderly, oh god, so gently cradle the side of your cheeks, but that’s soon abandoned as he readily allows you to guide him until his back is against the floorboards. You clamber over until you’re almost straddling him, beginning to smile yourself as you feel him grin against your top lip, the soft peals of his giggles breaking out against the surface of your tongue as you dip down against him.

And suddenly, his life seemed like it was worth fighting for again. He was going to get out of this. He was going to escape. He was going to win. Not for himself, but for you.