#i'm thinking right before she returned to hill house?

[intcthatgoodnight]

@hauntfcrged

The woman before her had said something but Nell had only caught pieces, like a faulty radio. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Had Nell only imagined the words Hill House, or had the woman truly said them? She seemed vaguely familiar … had Nell seen her before? “Are you a colleague of Steves?” She wasn’t sure why that thought came to her. Maybe Nell had seen her at one of those book signings where people asked her brother about ghosts and he lied for money. Maybe she had been at the one Nell crashed a few days ago and that’s why she looked familiar. Nell shook her head as if trying to shake away the fog that weighed her down and left her confused.

[poguehearted77]

Wild Child

summary: after being sent away to boarding school for being a wild child you're finally back and celebrating your return in the only way you see fit.

smut: pool party, ragers, drug use (alcohol, vapes n weed), size kink, Rafe is cocky, mentions of old flings, manhandling, hot tubs, they do it on her parents' bed, rough sex, step-mom slander, reader is such a flirt n a tease, curvy reader, dom! rafe, bratty! reader, skinny dipping, mentions of body shots, choking, spanking (like once).

The morning sun was ascending high into the sky when you finally managed to get yourself out of your king-sized bed, fit for someone of your status and your parents' financial standing.

Your socked feet took padded steps towards your window where you overlooked the hills of figure eight. This was the first time you'd looked out your bedroom window in years. With a deep inhale a soft smile etched its way across your lips. You were finally home, and you had the house all to yourself. Or so you thought.

Your ears pick up on muffled indistinct chatter that managed to travel from the kitchen, down the halls up the elaborate staircase and into your room. Quickly, you headed for the source of the voices and were disappointed to see your dad and his wife plaything, Maria, conversing over coffee at the kitchen island.

"I thought you said the Jet leaves at dawn? What are you guys still doing here?" You try not to sound too curious, arms crossing naturally with your inquiry. With a clearing of his throat, your dad speaks up, "You only just came back two nights ago. Maria and I just don't think it's the right time to leave you alone for the weekend."

You scoff, "Why? You still don't trust me after what happened last time? Get over it, I'm twenty-one now, you can trust me." As you walked over to the fridge for a glass of water, you heard a muted exchange of ideas behind you.

"You can't expect us to forget about all the damage you caused. We still haven't found anyone to repair my crystal vases." You take a long sip, trying to swallow your toxic thoughts with the water.

She thinks she can just waltz up and down the house with that huge ring on her finger and think that her opinion carries any value to you.

You took a deep breath and plastered on a fake smile, pitching your voice to become as sweet as honey.

"I can never apologize enough for what I did back then, but how will I ever earn your trust if you don't give me the chance." Your doe eyes land on your father, specifically his weakened composure.

You're about to break him, you can see it.

He exhales, all the air escaping through his nostrils.

Broken.

He glances down at his watch, "Fine, but if you throw another party so help me god Y/n you'll never see grass again." You play it cool, thanking him with a simple hug and completely disregarding Maria before you make your way back upstairs.

It's as though a weight had been lifted off your chest. You needed them out of the house, you'd been planning this party since you got back and made sure all the guests knew to keep it on the down low, just until they were gone.

The hours fly by, and you hardly keep track of time as you and some of your long-time friends set up the house for the party that you shouldn't be hosting, but you're Y/n Sinclair. Parties are your thing.

"Macy, you let the people in, kay? I'm gonna go get changed." The sun was beginning to set and the music was already blasting, vibrating over the marble floors of the house. Every lyric was punctuated with a shaking of the speakers that could be felt even outside.

The neighbours hated to see you coming.

You know your dad's jet was en route to Fiji and he wouldn't be able to reach you until he landed which wasn't for another six hours at minimum but by then the damage will be long done and far too late to stop.

You make your way up the stairs, the bass thumping through the house and vibrating beneath your feet. As you step into your room, your reflection catches your eye, excitement sparking in your gaze.

With a quick flick of your wrist, you reach for the strappy black and red two-piece, slipping it on, the cool fabric hugging every curve just right. Each strap crisscrosses elegantly, bold yet balanced, making you smile at how perfectly it all came together.

Next, you grab the sheer cover-up, wrapping it loosely around your waist so it drapes with a hint of movement, a playful edge that sways with you. You run your fingers through your curls, scrunching them gently to bring out their bounce, each coil framing your face in soft waves. Reaching for your lip gloss, you swipe it carefully over your lips, catching the light with a glossy shine.

One last look, and you’re ready, your heart beating in rhythm with the music below. The speakers are already blaring, the energy practically calling you back down. You step out with a final tousle of your curls, ready to join the night.

The energy crackles through the backyard as you make your way to the top of the outdoor staircase. The sun has slipped beneath the horizon, casting a dusky glow over the massive pool below, illuminated by floating lights that shimmer across the water.

The bar is buzzing with people grabbing drinks, and in the corner, the foam pit is already filling up, laughter and splashes mixing with the heavy beat of the music.

A neon sign hangs across from the bar, glowing boldly against the evening sky: The Queen of Kildare is Back. You grin, amused at the sight of it knowing it was 100% Macy's doing, and take a step down. Conversations hush, replaced by the roaring blast of excitement as heads turn your way. Hundreds of people, from familiar faces to those you only vaguely recognize from your past in Figure Eight, pause and look up, anticipation brimming in their eyes.

As you descend, your cover-up billows behind you, revealing the bold lines of your black and red two-piece. The crowd’s reaction is instant, erupting into cheers, whistles, and applause that echo across the yard.

"Y/n! Y/n! Y/n" They chant and you laugh. Every step closer to the party, you feel the atmosphere thicken, charged with that infectious blend of excitement and admiration. By the time you reach the bottom, someone’s already handing you a drink, while friends rush over to pull you in for hugs and greetings, their voices nearly drowned out by the music and shouts.

"Y/n Sinclair, s'Been a while."

There's a voice all too familiar addressing you from behind, prompting you to pivot to come face to face with a much taller Rafe than your brain could recall.

"Rafe Cameron. Long time no see." He goes in for the hug, your arms reaching over his broadened shoulders while his longer ones wrap around your waist before pulling back. He not so subtly checked you out, his tongue darting out over his lips briefly as he took you in and you did the same.

The buzzed hair sharpens his features, you think. Making his eyes seem darker, more intense, as they focus on you. His open linen shirt falls loosely over his frame, giving glimpses of his toned chest and the subtle gleam of a thin chain resting against his skin.

The shirt flutters with the breeze, barely hanging on his shoulders, hinting at the strong lines of his arms and drawing your eyes down to his relaxed, dark swim trunks.

He’s saying something, leaning slightly toward you, and his voice cuts smoothly through the bass of the party. Your eyes wander back up to his face, catching the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as if he knows he’s caught your attention.

"You look good, too good. How long's it been?" It's hard for you to think with the heat of his gaze on you, but you don't falter, never surrendering to this never-ending game between the two of you.

"About 3 years." He hums, the way he looks at you, casual yet purposeful, makes your pulse quicken, and suddenly, every sound around you fades, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the way he looks right at you, but you remind yourself to focus.

Rafe looks around the scene, eyes lingering over the wet t-shirt contest and then the game of chicken being held in the pool while others lounged on the various floaties or indulged in ungodly amounts of alcohol at the bar. As he does so, the pungent scent of weed drafts across your nostrils.

"Your old man know you're hostin' tonight?" You had to laugh, "Oh please, like he would ever let me have any kind of fun while he's in town. He and the skank are in Fiji."

The slight smirk that etches over his perfect lips taunts you. "So the house is yours?" He leans in, a little closer, closing the gap between you. "Until he comes back and banishes me again," You place a confident hand against his chest, pushing him away, "But for now, I'm here to party, and you should be too."

With that said you walk away from him, letting your hips sway with seduction radiating with each step. Rafe lets his thumb and fingers stroke over his jaw, feeling the weight of the pressure you'd just applied.

God, it was good to have you back.

The party raged on, slowly approaching its peak, body shots were going on at the bar, girls were doing lines in the bathrooms and the guys had insisted on a drunk game of volleyball in the pool.

Rafe took a break from the events of the party and watched from the sidelines on the couch, taking another hit of the vape that someone had passed to him, he's not sure he can remember who, and it wasn't relevant anyway.

The only person he had his sights set on is you. Watching you have the time of your life with your friends on the platform in the middle of the pool. Your little group, clearly intoxicated danced carefree while you'd begun to put your hands on the ground and throw your ass in circles.

Rafe choked, sitting up, some smoke coming through his nostrils at the interrupted airflow. He leaves his shirt behind on the couch with the abandoned vape, just as he heads for the pool topped hands him a beer which Rafe accepts before he gets in.

Maintaining a straight face as his body acclimatizes to the cool water he's almost immediately swarmed and roped into a round of whatever the current pool game was.

His icy gaze looks up to the center of the pool where you once were but are now nowhere to be found. "Looking for someone?" Your voice was mocking and he was grinning before he even turned around.

"I am actually." With little ripples in the water, he steps towards you maintaining a respectful distance that was driving you insane. "I was looking for someone to join me at the bar," He puts on a convincing facade but you roll your eyes, feigning innocence.

"Let me know if you find her," He slowly steps towards you and step back, "Don't play dumb with me, Y/n." Your plush lips form a gut-wrenching pout, "What do you mean?" Another step forward, another one back. The cycle repeats itself until he has you backed up against the edge of the pool.

Rafe’s hands find your waist, and before you can react, he’s lifting you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of the pool. You're reeling at the slutty display of his sheer strength.

Your legs dangle, brushing against his chest, and he steps closer, slotting himself right between them. His hands rest on either side of you, his arms framing you in as he looks up with that sly grin, every bit as teasing as you are.

“Always out here playin' games, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low, a quiet rasp just for you. “Gotta say, I respect it—always sticking it to your old man, doing your own thing.” He leans in, his gaze drifting down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Not many people around here have the guts for that.”

You scoff lightly, though your heart skips as his gaze lingers on you, intense and challenging. “Oh, please,” you tease, rolling your eyes. “Since when do you care about any of this?”

A quiet laugh slips from him as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles along your thigh. “You think I haven’t been paying attention to you all these years?” he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against your neck.

“You might’ve been gone a while, but don't think I forgot all those nights we had our fun.” His words hang heavy between you as he pulls back slightly. Now his hand rests on your waist, his voice dropping lower.

He tilts his head, studying you with that familiar glint of mischief. “Now that you're back, I think we should relive some of our traditions, for old time's sake,” he says, leaning in until his lips brush against your jaw, light and teasing, close enough to make your pulse race. He pauses, his thumb skimming your cheek, his lips hovering just above yours, waiting. “But don’t act like you don’t want this as much as I do.”

Before you can snap back, his mouth claims yours, the kiss charged with all the years of pent-up tension and that all-too-familiar heat. His hands slide up to cradle your face as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him even closer. The kiss deepens, and when he finally pulls back just enough to catch his breath, he watches you with a smug, knowing grin.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your lips, his thumb tracing your jaw as if memorizing every inch. “That look you get right before we make a mess of things. I knew it—you missed this just as much as I did.”

If only someone could recount how the two of found yourselves stumbling up the stairs towards your room, your soaked sheer cover-up left forgotten somewhere in the house after Rafe pulled it off of your frame.

"Shit-- Rafe," your teeth dug into the flesh of your bottom lip as you reached to open your bedroom door, horrified to see two other people had monopolized it. They hadn't even noticed the door was opened so you quickly closed it.

"What the fuck, I thought everyone knew my room was off limits." With a quick scan, you noticed items were hanging off almost all the guest rooms in the hall letting others know the room was occupied.

"Shit, there's nowhere else to go in here?" You think quickly on your feet before rushing off to get something before returning with a key in your grip.

Rafe pulls you close with a smirk as you clutch the key to your father’s room, the gleam in your eyes daring him to follow. “Breaking all the rules tonight, aren’t we?” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with approval. His hand slips around your waist as you unlock the door, both of you glancing down the hall to be sure no one’s watching.

You twist the handle and push open the door, and his hand slides down to squeeze your hip, pulling you against him. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he whispers against your ear, his lips grazing your skin, sending a thrill down your spine.

Once inside, you barely have a chance to lock the door before he has you pressed up against it. His lips are on yours, urgent and fierce, his hands roaming over your body with possessive ease. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he breathes between kisses, his fingers tracing the bare skin of your waist as he lifts your top, letting it fall to the floor. “Thought I’d forgotten?” you tease.

Rafe just about growls, dipping down to kiss along your collarbone, his hands sliding lower as he backs you towards the bed. His fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms, tugging them down with a smirk that sends heat rushing through you.

Your heart races as you feel the cool, forbidden sheets beneath you, the thrill of defying every rule and having Rafe look at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. His hands slide up your thighs, lips trailing down your neck as he leans over you. “You know,” he murmurs, voice heavy with desire as he takes in the sight of you sprawled out before him, “I always knew you were trouble. Guess that’s why I can’t stay away.”

With a smirk, he leans in, his lips brushing over yours as his hands explore, both of you savouring the thrill of being tangled up in each other once again.

"Look at these perfect fuckin' tits." He curses, big hands cupping your breasts, kneading them and rolling your nipples between his index and thumb. Your back arches slightly with a gasp, chest pressing up into him and he laughs.

"Still so sensitive here, angel? Some things never change." He reminisces and you roll your eyes, "Fuck off, Rafe." With the blink of an eye, his much larger frame was caging you in from above, his bulging biceps giving him an erotic juxtaposition in comparison to your head.

Balancing himself on one arm he slinks his palm around the expanse of your throat with a weighted pressure. "Been gone so long you forgot your manners? Mm? That's fine, I'll be sure to fuck some sense back into you."

Your eyes flutter shut at his filthy words as you feel his hand move and begin to work you between your legs. "Your pussy's fuckin' soaked--shit." He hisses, gaze hungry and his body acts on his thoughts faster than you can register.

A particularly loud moan slips from you as you feel his tongue skillfully lap over your folds, splitting you open as the warmth of his tongue protrudes into your core. "Yes, fuck! Please, don't stop Rafe." You moan, one hand reaching down to hold him by the hair and it hits you that he'd shaved it all off.

You let out a frustrated gruff, both hands fisting the sheets while you're forced to feel the vibrations of his sick laugh running through you at your dramatics. Even the tip of his nose had been covered in your slick, your juices running down his chin as he ate you out like a man starved.

He wouldn't be surprised if they could hear you from outside, but he knows everyone is far too high, too drunk or both to hear you. It wasn't long before your legs were beginning to shake and came with his name falling from your lips over and over like a prayer.

Taking deep breaths to recover from debatedly the best orgasm you've ever experienced, Rafe walked over to the far wall, out of sight, doing something you couldn't see before returning.

Without speaking he scoops you up into his arms, bridal style, another shameless display of his strength but it would be a lie to say it didn't drive you crazy. "What-what are you doing?" Your questions are ignored until he approaches the bubbling hot tub.

A wicked smirk curls across his lips as he eases you onto your feet in the warm water, his hands lingering on your waist, keeping you close. He gazes at you with that knowing glint, the steam rising around you both.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, his eyes trailing down your figure, unapologetic. His fingers skim over your sides, sending a shiver through you that’s from anything but the water.

“Are you really just gonna stand there?” you call, feeling the thrill of his attention but wanting to turn the tables, your voice laced with playful challenge.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he chuckles, unfastening his swim trunks and letting them fall to the side with a carefree grin. “I plan on joining you,” he says, slipping into the water and closing the distance between you two with smooth, unhurried steps. You take a hard swallow at his size, you don't remember him being this big.

He was going to destroy you.

You raise an eyebrow, matching his smirk. “Pretty bold of you, Rafe,” you say, your voice teasing as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Just like old times, hmm?”

“Better than old times,” he murmurs, dipping his head so his lips graze your ear, his voice a low rumble. “Because now, nothing is stopping us.” He punctuates his sentence by pressing his body up against your back, elevating you a bit so your torso leans over the edge of the tub, granting him easy access to you.

"Fuck, can't believe your ass got even more fucking perfect since last time." His hand raises and comes back down with a loud spank that pulls a sinful moan from your throat. "Rafe, stop teasing." You whine, arching your back and pressing back against him.

His composure already weekend, he decided to let you get away with it this time before he lined up the swollen head of his thick cock with your entrance, "Better grab onto something." That's the last thing you hear before you're being impaled on his dick, your upper half immediately falls forward, and he stills, giving you a second.

You're breathless, it feels like his cock was taking up all the room in your lungs. Some water had splashed over the ledge but that was the least of your worries. Your mind was hazy and focused on Rafe's grunts that escaped him with every snap of his hips.

"Wish you could see how hot you look right now. The Sinclair wild child knows how to take big dick like a champ." His words run straight through you like electricity, fanning the flames of the burning heat that was beginning to form in your belly.

"Shit--This pussy was fuckin' made for me, y'know that?" You moan at his possessive statement. You can only nod, your body had gone limp long ago as he drilled into you. "R-rafe! I'm-" As if you weren't close enough, his fingers begin to rub over your clit aggressively and you jolt with a shriek.

"Oh- fuck, don't stop! Fuck! I'm gonna cum! Please, Rafe." You beg, over and over, arms hanging onto the edge of the tub for dear life as more water splashes around you.

"Wait for me, hold it until I say you can come." You're chewing your lip raw, desperately trying to hold yourself back as he wrecks you from the inside out, his moans getting more frequent, a little more airy and breathless as he tumbled toward his edge of pleasure.

"Cum with me, Angel." Your body spasms as you finish together and he leans his weight against your back, his laboured breathing fanning your ear as you come down from your high.

"Not bad, princess." You couldn't respond and Rafe took note of this, carefully holding you up with one final smug remark, "Hope I didn't wear out the queen of Kildare."

[cece693]

Well Mannered Son (Norman Bates x M! Reader)

In my attempt to write beyond my go-to slashers, I thought Norman Bates would be a good change of pace. I love his character and (in my opinion) he's a good blend of nice guy and murderer.

Summary: The rain didn't stop, causing you to pull over and seek shelter at Bates Motel. The attendant was cute but raised a hell of a lot of red flags. But who said you were the most sane to begin with?

tags: reader isn't the most sane, ignores red flags, thinks Norman is cute, in a creepy sort of way, mother approves, good thing you're a man

The rain pounded against the windshield, so heavy that the wipers couldn’t keep up. You were driving aimlessly, like you often did when your mind got too noisy. Thoughts swirled in your head, dark and restless, pushing you further down the winding, empty roads. But tonight, the storm made things dangerous—even for you. Home was still an hour away, and with the weather getting worse, you knew you couldn’t make it.

That’s when you saw it—the flickering neon sign of Bates Motel. Its glow barely pierced the darkness, but it was enough. You didn’t hesitate to pull over, the car skidding slightly as you came to a stop in the small gravel lot. The place looked like it had seen better days—run down, forgotten—but that didn’t matter. It was shelter, and it was exactly what you needed right now.

Drawing your jacket over your head, you stepped out of the car and made a run for the office. The rain hit you hard, soaking through your jacket in seconds, but you ignored it. The small office was dimly lit, musty, and eerily quiet. You kicked the door shut behind you, pulling off your drenched jacket and shaking it out as you looked around.

“Hello?” you called out, glancing toward the empty reception desk. There wasn’t even a bell to signal your arrival. For a moment, you considered just going back to your car and sleeping there for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time. But before you could turn to leave, a man appeared from the back office, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Hi, sorry about the wait. The rain didn’t let me hear a thing.” he explained quickly, a nervous smile playing on his lips as he walked toward the desk.

You stood still, your gaze fixed on him. He wasn’t conventionally attractive, not in a striking way, but there was something about him. He was awkward, almost too eager, but that awkwardness had its own charm. His hair was a little messy, like he’d spent too much time fussing with it, and his clothes were plain, almost old-fashioned. But it was his eyes that held your attention. They were bright, but shadowed by something deeper, something that told you this man had secrets.

“It’s no problem,” you finally said, offering a faint smile in return. “I was just hoping to get a room for the night. The storm’s too much to drive through.”

He nodded quickly, his hands fumbling to open the guest book. "Yes, but my mother and I like this weather. Peaceful. I’m Norman, by the way.” he added after a pause, giving you a look that seemed to weigh you against something in his mind.

“Nice to meet you, Norman.” you replied, signing your name in the book. "I'm M/N." You feigned to not notice the way Norman stared as your hand moved across the page, almost as if committing every stroke to memory.

“Room one’s available. It’s just next to the office.”

“Thanks.” you said, taking the key from his hand. Before you could leave, Norman hesitated, his eyes flickering briefly to the doorway behind him. “You know, if you’re hungry or anything, we’ve got dinner at the house. It’s just up the hill. My mother’s there.”

Mother. The word sent a curious ripple through you. You didn’t think much about your own mother, but there was something about how Norman said it that made you pause. It wasn’t the word itself, but the way he spoke of her, as if she was more than just his mother. She was everything to him.

Most people would find that unsettling. But not you. You found it adorable, actually. Endearing. That level of devotion, the way he seemed so close to her, like she was his best friend. How sweet was that?

“She’s your best friend, huh?” you asked with genuine interest.

Norman blinked, caught off guard by your lack of discomfort. “Yes… yes, she is. We do everything together. She’s really quite special.” His smile grew, this time more genuine, a little less awkward.

“Sounds nice,” you said simply. “Not many people understand family like that.”

Norman’s eyes widened just slightly. He was used to people reacting differently to him, but you weren’t like them. You didn’t pull away; you didn’t give him that look. Instead, you stepped closer, and for the first time in a long while, someone wasn’t treating him like a freak.

“Would you like to meet her?” he asked suddenly, almost eagerly.

Most people would’ve run right there, maybe politely declined or pretended to be tired. But you? You nodded without a second thought. "Sure. I’d love to. Just let me dry off a bit and leave my jacket in the room."

Norman’s eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and excitement. "Oh! Yes, of course. Take your time. I’ll, um, let Mother know you’ll be joining us."

You gave him a small nod and headed out of the office, back into the rain for the brief jog to your room. The motel seemed even quieter now, the pounding of the rain on the roof the only sound cutting through the night. Inside your room, you hung up your soaking jacket and ran a towel through your hair, looking at yourself in the mirror.

There was a strange feeling in your chest—something like anticipation, maybe curiosity. You weren’t exactly sure what drew you to Norman. Most people would’ve found his oddness unsettling, but you found it comforting.

Maybe because you weren’t so innocent yourself.

The thought crossed your mind as you stared into your own reflection, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You had your own darkness, your own secrets, skeletons in your closet that would send most people running. You liked the way Norman wasn’t trying to hide his oddness. Maybe that said more about you than him.

You headed back out into the storm, making your way up the hill to the old house. The path was slick with mud, and the house itself stood like a shadow looming over the motel. It felt timeless, stuck in a place that was half-memory, half-reality. But instead of dread, you felt an odd sense of calm.

Norman was waiting for you at the front door, his shy smile greeting you as he stepped aside to let you in. The house smelled faintly of old wood and something cooking—homey, in a way you hadn’t expected. You stepped inside, shaking off the rain from your hair.

“You’re just in time,” Norman said, leading you through the narrow hallway into the dining room. “I…um, I hope you don’t mind a simple meal. Mother likes to keep things traditional.”

“I don’t mind at all.” you said easily, glancing around. The dining room was dimly lit, the table set for two rather than three. Norman noticed your gaze. “Mother wasn't feeling well enough to come down tonight. But she’s watching from upstairs. She can see everything.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air. Most people might have felt a chill run down their spine, but you just smiled. “That’s okay. I hope she recovers quickly." Sitting at the table, you couldn't help but add “And I hope she enjoys the company. I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

Norman’s face brightened at that, his smile almost childlike in its innocence. “You're not. Mother already thinks you're very polite."

Dinner was served, simple but comforting—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. You ate quietly at first, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt like Norman was waiting for something, watching you closely for any sign of discomfort. You could feel his eyes on you, and you couldn’t help but test the boundaries a little.

"You’re a good cook," you said, breaking the quiet. “You must’ve learned that from your mother.”

Norman blushed, his gaze quickly flickering down to his plate. “Y-Yes. She taught me everything. She’s very particular about how things are done.”

“I can tell.” You leaned forward slightly, your voice soft but teasing. “It’s good to know you listen to her so well.”

The compliment seemed to catch him off guard. Norman’s face turned an even deeper shade of pink, and his hand fumbled with his fork. “Oh, I—I try. She always says that a man should be respectful, especially around good people like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a tug of amusement at his awkwardness. He was trying so hard to keep it together, but your presence was clearly making him flustered. You couldn’t resist pushing just a little more. “Well, I think you’re doing just fine.” your voice lowered slightly, “In fact, I think your mother would be proud of having raised such a well-mannered son."

As the night wore on, the conversation flowed easier. Norman grew more comfortable, though he still stammered and blushed when you pushed him with subtle flirtations. You found it charming, the way he tried so hard to maintain control, only to crumble with the slightest pressure.

Eventually, it was time to leave. You stood at the front door, Norman’s eyes lingering on you as he awkwardly fidgeted with his hands.

“I, um…I hope you sleep well tonight.” he said, voice soft.

You couldn’t resist one last push. Leaning in slightly, you smiled. “I’m sure I will, especially knowing you’re close by.”

Norman blinked, his face turning scarlet again, and for a moment, he looked like he might melt into the floor. Before he could stammer out a response, you took a step closer, leaning in and gently pressing a kiss to his lips. It was brief, just a soft brush, but enough to feel the warmth of his skin and the way his breath hitched in his throat.

When you pulled back, Norman looked utterly stunned, his eyes wide and his face a deep crimson. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. “Goodnight, Norman.” you whispered, giving him one last smile before walking down the hill.

As you walked back to your room, you couldn’t help but grin at yourself. You knew you’d see him again tomorrow. And the next day, and the next day, and the next day...

[wishset]

i don't smoke, until i miss you boothill x reader

summary: Boothill was never a greedy man, he didn't ask for much yet he received the whole world. Just you and your child, he really didn't need much else, yet the cosmos seemed to have made a mistake and tried to rectify it by taking everything away.

explored themes. possibly ooc or lore inaccurate. 1k+ words, fluff to angst. written in 2nd pov. play i don't smoke while reading this, trust. can potentially be interpreted as platonic, if you squint rlly hard.

from author: i haven't played hsr in a while, yet researching boothill's lore just struck the rdr2 writer in me. per usual, i can't let myself be happy with anything but angst so grab a tissue. i haven't posted a work like this online before so i'm highkey nervous, but i'd love to hear what you think! there is some bonus info at the end, but i hope you enjoy this! (she said knowing this is what she ends up writing:)

Boothill was never one to smoke a cigarette, the most he would get close to one was standing next to you under a tree after a long day. You'd still offer him one, even though he always said no, as an act of acknowledgment. He couldn't do that now, though, the smoke would damage his robotic body even if he weren't the one inhaling it.

He'd be perched down on a large root of the tree you leaned back on, staring at your boots in his peripheral as you watched the sunset. The river running in the distance, your horses chewing on the grass below y'all when they weren't nipping at each other, the livestock settled down in the barns, and dinner sat on the warm fire for when the two of you returned.

"What's next?" He asks, his eyes following the line of your boot up to your face.

You always shrug, as if you never thought so far ahead. He did, fairly often in all truthfulness, and you only knew that because of how often he asked.

"'Suppose not much next, is there? Keep doin' this, 'till we're old and gray, then someone else takes over. Life goes on," you answer, flicking the ash out the tip of your cigarette.

He watches the ash burn itself in the grass as he thinks about your answer. It was food enough, neither of you learned much besides farm life. No such thing as anything more for the uneducated, which Boothill wouldn't have any other way.

He didn't mind waking and talking to Nick about the farm as he waited for you to come down for breakfast. He didn't mind wounding up the cattle every day while you watch or watching the horses while they round about the fields with you. The crops wouldn't harvest itself and there's no one else he'd rather harvest it with than you.

Life was good and Boothill was fine with it.

Would he have been so fine with it if you hadn't been hired by Nick and Graey when he turned a teen? He was glad he wouldn't have to find out. They hired a farmhand and he got a best friend, even if he was jealous they hired you in the first place.

He thought it meant he wasn't enough for them, not helpful enough, but that couldn't have been farther from the truth and you taught that to him.

And, while Boothill never liked to say he was right all along, there was more for the two of you than the repetitive cycles you'd fallen into. Matter of fact, he couldn't believe he was so content with just that now that you both had a daughter.

Maybe if you hadn't left your cigarette pack up in your room, the both of you wouldn't have returned when you did. Maybe if he wasn't waiting on the porch downstairs for you to return so you could join him at your usual place, he wouldn't have heard crying a little ways off from the house.

"What am I supposed ta' do with her?" He looks up at you when you find him. The cigarette pack falls into your pocket as if the box itself might contaminate the bundle of purity crying in Boothill's arms.

"Dunno. She like ta' join us?" You propose, motioning towards the tree up on a hill that waited patiently for you two. (Now, three.)

Boothill stood, joining you at full height. "Looks like she might."

The red-faced babe looked between the two of you, tears staining her little cheeks. How long has it been since you seen a baby? Quite a while, yet your first instinct still is to smile.

"Looks like it indeed."

From that day forward, you and Boothill were parents. Not even Nick or Graey questioned it when you both returned with a child. Finding one seemed to be common 'round those parts.

And boy, did parenthood change just about everything? She already had her first pony picked out before she could even walk, little boots and a hat, a sass about her, too.

Boothill couldn't recall the last time he was near a cigarette, not after you gave them to him to dispose of so that your little girl would never find them. It was never just the two of you at the tree again, always you three. Two grown horses and a little foal, growing along with her.

Now this he'd have no other way.

He was perched down on the large root of the tree beside you, where you sat as well. He could see the little girl in your lap in his peripheral, which he turned to look at when she called him. 

For her, it wasn't Boothill, something more like "Papa." She had this little giggle in her voice when she said it and even after the most tiring days, Boothill never had been happier.

"What's it, sugar?" He asks, turning to look at her. You look as well when she crawls out of your lap and stands, waddling her way over to him.

Was this how the mares felt when their foal stood and walked over to them for the first time? If it was, he was jealous it took him so long to figure it out for himself. You looked just as surprised as he felt and neither of you knew how to respond. Nick and Graey taught him everything he knew, yet the two of you taught him more every day.

Boothill was never one to smoke a cigarette, but now he was the one flicking ash off the tip and watching as it burned the knee of his pants. Now he couldn't get the stench of smoke off of him.

It was nice, even though his metal body hissed in disagreement. He took another puff, then another. Would you feel betrayed that he never really disposed of the pack of cigarettes? He didn't know. But it was late nights where he thought of how he got them in the first place he was glad he didn't.

It was a brand new pack when you came down from the house, now it was nearly halfway empty.

Was this what it smelt like when the house burned? Did it burn the same way? ─ No, it couldn't have. This burn burnt good, this burn was all he had left of you. This burn reminded him of you and the sacrifices you made for your daughter, this burn reminds him of the two of you and all the sacrifices he'll make for you.

bonus information: | more here.

[ 1 ] "It was a new pack when you came down from the house, now it was nearly halfway empty." That's about how many times Boothill found himself thinking of you, so much so he needed something palpable. Y'know, because everything was burned so all he has is this vague smell of you? I'm sorry. He also has blown through other packs when he just wants to remember the comfort your presence had brought him at one point, he only uses your pack on those nights.

[ 2 ] Wanna know another kicker? Boothill knows for a fact you wouldn't have been happy if you knew he smoked, before his enhancements and after. You used to tell him that they were bad for him, which he already knew, but that was very long ago in the overall timeline of this fic. When he thinks about those times, he smokes another.

[ 3 ] He doesn't have anything to remember your daughter by, he might've if the IPC nuke came a little later so that she could've given him the gift she'd been working on. You might've been able to give him your gift as well, so he had something healthier to cling on to. Those are long since burned and buried, though.

[ 4 ] In the image thing, my brain is blanking on what it's called, the "Everyone you love is dead anyway" is a reference to "You're going to die anyway". Yes, that is the front of a Marlboro pack, lol.

[ 5 ] Alright alright, you've cried enough tears, but if you notice any other little details, I'd love to talk about them/hear your thoughts. I poured my soul into this so many thanks for giving it a shot!

all rights reserved to wishset. do not copy, translate, or repost. can only be found on tumblr as of 06.30.

[cyarikasmoon]

Rest Now

Bad Batch Hunter x reader

Summary: Hunter returns home after saying goodbye to Omega. *Set just after the Season 3 epilogue scene*

Pairing: Bad Batch Hunter x f!reader

Word Count: 1,539

Warnings: Bad Batch Season 3 spoilers, married Hunter, older hunter, fluff, comfort, cuddles, HUNTER DESERVES LOTS OF CUDDLES AND KISSES

Divider by @freesie-writes & @snotbuggle

A/N: I truly adore this show and just wanted to write a little piece for Hunter. He did so well and is such a good father figure for Omega. That epilogue meant everything to me. I wish we saw older Crosshair and Wrecker, but I'm also quite glad it was a final moment between those two. It was always meant to be them. I will love and cherish them forever.

I hope you all like this. It's a little rough and rushed, and it's just raw emotions being processed onto a page after the finale, but I still wanted to post! Enjoy! x

It’s almost sunrise when you wake up. You sleepily reach out, cold underneath the sheets, and you realise the familiar warmth of your husband is gone. Your eyes blink open with a frown as you pat the bed, almost to make sure he is actually gone. Sitting up in the bed, you blink blearily, taking in the room. It’s dark, but your eyes adjust quickly, the faint lighting of a new day approaching helping you see the dimly lit room. You roll over the bed gently, and you see his boots are gone, and his overshirt that he had left hanging over the edge of the bed last night.

The entire house is quiet, which almost makes you confident that Batcher is gone as well. You let out a soft whistle, a quick two-tone note. Nothing like the loud army shrill your husband does to call the lurker hound. When there is no distant sound of barking, no heavy pads of paws on the ground, you sigh softly.

Gently getting out of bed, you move to pull on your trousers and the quickest shirt being one of his thick, long sleeved ones. As you slip it on, you breathe in the smell of him and let your shoulders sag. It wasn’t normal for him to be gone this early. His side of the bed had been cold when you had felt it. He had been gone for hours. At least Batcher would be with him. You hope, anyway.

Pulling on a quick small pair of boots, she moves towards the door but pauses by the window as she hears voices outside. As she peers out, she sees Wrecker and Crosshair standing talking. Crosshair is almost silent with his words, speech always raspy and quiet but sharp. Wrecker, thinking he was being quiet, was still quite loud. But the early morning rays indicated it wasn't long till the residents of Pabu would awaken.

Crosshair strokes his chin gently, fingers brushing over the soft wisps of grey turning white hair. His hair finally growing back in revealed it to now finally be more silver white than the original grey it used to be back in the days of the Republic. Wrecker still stands tall, and the body is still accumulating so much muscle, but he looks softer, rounder. Years of enjoying and actually living life and eating good food. His lips are drawn into a tight line from where you can see, his jaw covered in a soft wiry fuzz of scruff - the start of a beard that is accentuated with fine white hairs now amidst the dark ones.

The flurry of quick hand movements between the two have you frowning before you all hear a distant bark. You glance through the window to the right. Coming up over the hill, the rising sun casts light across the path as the old lurker hound ambles up the street. Batcher picks up speed slightly as she spots Crosshair and Wrecker, forever excited to see them. It’s then you see your husband, not too far behind Batcher. He walks slowly, his head down slightly, but he looks up as he spots his brothers.

He seems to stand up straighter then as he notices them, almost instinctively falling back into the roll of Seagerant after so long. Crosshair gets up slowly from where he had knelt down to stroke Batcher, leaving his prosthetic hand to rest on the back of her neck as he faces Hunter. Wrecker’s eyes are full of apprehension as if he knows what Hunter is to tell them, but he desperately doesn't want it to be the case.

When Hunter reaches them, you watch as he simply nods his head and says a few words. The three brothers stand in silence for a moment. Whatever news he had just shared, it brings a sombre moment, but then Wrecker’s smiling. He makes a comment, followed by a booming laugh. Crosshair's face twists up into an amused smirk, and he replies with his own comment. Your husband says something else, and they fall silent for a moment. It’s then Crosshair takes a step forward and rests his hand on Hunter’s shoulder, and they share a look. Before anything can be said, Wrecker envelopes them into his arms, a signature crushing hug from the big man that has them all smiling and reminiscing.

Wrecker puts them down, and they all share a final smile. It’s then the old girl barks, and Crosshair rolls his eyes fondly, the hound sticks to his side, ready for her breakfast. They all seemed to nod and head off in their own separate ways. A new day is beginning after all. As Hunter turns towards your home, you move and gently open the door and lean in the doorway and smile at him.

He glances at you and pauses for a moment, a fond smile on his face before he continues to walk forward to you. Like second instinct, you hold your arms open and let him hold you close and tight against him.

“Hi.” You whisper to him.

“Hey.” He responds softly. His voice reserved slightly, like when he’s lost in thought.

“Hey, come back to me.” You whisper softly, leaning back to cup his tattooed side of his face, fingers brushing over his dark beard.

His eyes tell you everything. They’re tired from being up so early. They’re full of love and adoration for you. They reflect peace. They show sadness. You smile sadly then, as you realise. This is the look of a father who has just had to let go and say goodbye. No matter how much he doesn’t wish for it to be the case.

“Omega?” You ask softly, stepping back, so you both gravitate back into your home.

He nods then. A small smile plays on his lips, his eyes softening.

“She left first thing in the early hours of the morning. Thought she could sneak away.” He chuckles, a gruff noise in his throat.

“She spoke about the Rebellion so often. It was only a matter of time before she would want to go help.” You stroke his cheek as you watch his melancholic expression.

“I know…” He breaks away so he can sit and take his boots off, and you do the same. You both leave them by the door, and he rises to stand in front of you again.

You hold your hand to him, and he instantly takes it.

“You’re a wonderful father, Hunter. I know it. Your brothers know it, and Omega knows it.” You whisper to him, taking both of his hands.

His thumbs stroke along your knuckles in a soothing motion for himself and for you. His left thumb focuses on running across your ring. He raises his eyes to look into yours.

“You’ve raised her wonderfully. She is such a bright, beautiful young woman now, and the Rebellion is lucky to have her.” You say and then grin. “You practically prepared her for this.”

He huffs and rolls his eyes fondly at you, lips quirked up into a small smile.

“I was once told battle droids were easier to handle compared to raising a kid.” He muses. “They weren't wrong.”

“Hunter, love, she’ll be fine. She knows you’ll come if you need her.”

“I’d be there in a heartbeat.” He promises, and his voice is so strong and earnest. You could never not believe him. The sergeant shines through in that moment.

You lean forward and kiss him softly, and his hands move to hold you close. Your foreheads then meet in a keldabe kiss, and you smile at him.

“C’mon old man, let's go back to bed for a bit.” You tease him with a grin.

“Who are you calling old man? The days are just starting.” He rolls his eyes and tries to hide his smile.

“And you’ve hardly slept.” You argue back, nudging your forehead against his. “C’mon, a little nap won’t hurt anyone.”

You lead him to the bedroom and smile as you help him take his overshirt off and drape it back over the edge of the bed. Laying down, he holds you close in his arms and still keeps his eyes open and watching you.

“You’ve done so good, love.” You whisper and lean forward, pressing gentle kisses across his face. “It’s okay to miss her. It’s normal. We all will miss her. But she’ll be okay. She’ll come back one day. Now you can rest.”

HIs eyes close as he embraces your touch. His breathing relaxes.

“Rest love, I’ve got you.” You whisper as you watch him drift off. “We’ve got you. You can rest now.”

You press a final kiss to his brow, right below his bandana, before you lay your head on the pillow next to him. The sun has risen now. You can hear the residents of Pabu begin their day. Birds in the distance. You swear even without enhanced senses like Hunter, you can hear the ocean. You look at him one final time before your eyes drift close. It’s a new day. They're here and alive. How exciting it is to live. To live and to love. To do whatever they want.

[blue--ingenue]

Ominis Gaunt headcannons {Pt. 4}

Author's Note: when i'm trying to think of what to write i like to walk around spots in the game and think of what the characters would think/do. what would their favorite study spots be? do they have a favorite place to curl up with a book? etc. anyway, this came to me while i was walking around the slytherin common room. hope you enjoy :) and i'm starting a taglist for my Ominis headcannons series, so let me know if you'd like to be added :)

he knows most of the house elves by name. the Gaunts are notorious for their abuse of house elves, so most of the kitchen/cleaning staff steered clear of them for the first few weeks of his first year. then one day, when ominis was still getting used to the charm he used to see, he tripped over a one of the elves’ mop buckets. the young Gaunt’s face flushed bright red and he fumbled for his wand before pointing it directly at her. she froze in place and cowered, waiting for whatever punishment he would dole out, but none came

he stuttered out an incantation and flicked his wand in her direction - and the rag she wore dried instantly. confused, but still terrified, she remained frozen. young ominis apologized profusely, using the few spells he knew to clean up the mess. all the while he explained how he was having a bit of trouble maintaining the charm for extended periods

after the bucket was righted and the water had vanished from the floor, he helped her up and asked for her name. Niffy explained that few witches or wizards ever asked, and that she’d never had a student offer to help her, let alone with magic. he continued on his way, but Niffy made sure to tell every elf in the castle to keep a protective eye on young Ominis

not many students know this, but there are plenty of snakes that have made their home within the castle. while Ominis doesn’t enjoy speaking parseltongue, he likes that the snakes bring him gossip from around the school. when Sebastian asks how he seems to know everyone’s secrets and rumors, he replies that he simply listens more than he talks. (while this is true, the snakes’ rumor mill is mostly responsible). behind the walls and within the pipes, they hear everything about everyone (which means Ominis does, too)

this boy has managed to free nearly every house elf tied to the Gaunt name. when he first came to hogwarts his parents assigned one of the house elves to follow him around. he hated feeling coddled, but he knew his father would take his anger out on the house elf if ominis sent him back

there’s a trip to Hogsmeade for all of the first-years a few days after the sorting ceremony. the prefects break them into groups and give them brief tours of all the shops. at the end they’re given a few hours to roam before everyone returns to the castle for dinner. Anne and Sebastian, ever curious and looking for the greatest source of action, follow him from a distance. they know he’s a Gaunt. they’ve heard of his family’s reputation. nearly everyone in their year avoids him like the plague, but the twins don’t find him to be any different from their classmates (aside from the house elf that never leaves his side)

it turns out Ominis had taken out as large of a deposit as he could and had the galleons sent by post. his poor owl couldn’t carry the sack of gold, so he was told he could retrieve the coins at the post office. the twins watch as he nonchalantly shoves the equivalent of a year of Solomon’s earnings into a sack and enters Gladrags

naturally, they follow him. he purchases the warmest cloak in the shop, but doesn’t leave. puzzled, the twins watch as he asks Mr. Hill something and hands the coat back to him. he sizes up the house elf with a quick once-over before waving his wand over the garment. when he’s finished, the coat is ten times smaller than before. they watch in awe as young Ominis presents the clothing to his house elf, along with the sack of galleons

the house elf begins to weep, but Ominis merely kneels so that he can speak to the elf without tower over him. as the pair exit the shop, they hear him tell the elf to “be careful, and live well” before they embrace and the elf apparates away with a loud pop

the next day they introduce themselves, and the trio become inseparable

(Ominis’ father stops sending house elves to Ominis, but only after the young boy has managed to free half of their household staff)

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Taglist: @caramel-hufflepuff, @fanfiction-she-wrote

[cosmic-crybaby]

Break My Heart Again- Tommy Shelby x Reader

Part 1

Summary: After being childhood friends, you and Thomas made a promise one day to get married, but when he returned from France, he came back a completely different man.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, tommy before the war (Lowkey OOC) 

She's known Tommy almost all her life. They met one day at the cut when he was ten, trading cigarettes with the other kids, and she was eight, tagging along with her older cousin. It was merely a passing glance, maybe an introduction of names, but she hadn't seen him until years later. At the ripe age of twelve and fourteen, when he defended her when the older boys pulled at her hair and pushed her around. She was forever grateful to him after witnessing him take in three in a fight, punching the daylights out of one, shoving another's head into the mud, and threatening the third. 'If you ever come near her again, I'll fuckin' take your eyes!'. That was enough to scare them off. The two were almost inseparable ever since. Years of growing up together the two would often get into mischief together and cause trouble in the smoky streets of Small Heath. As [name] got a little older, the more she started to fall for the future gangster, and the more time passed, the more she started to change.

And of course, Thomas began to notice.

By the time they were seventeen and fifteen, the two delinquent teenagers seemed to be more than friends. The way Thomas would hold her hand as they run up the grassy hills, the way [name] would stare into his eyes as they lay on the grass under the shaded tree.

"I don't know what I would do without you, Tommy Shelby..." She spoke softly, her voice was like heaven to him. "I can't picture myself beside anyone else," She admitted. Thomas just stared into her eyes, his soft hands rising to brush his knuckles against her cheek, tucking away the pieces of hair that came undone from her clip.

"You don't have to...because I'm going to make a promise to you [name]," He suddenly sat up, causing her to sit up as well and gaze at him in confusion.

"What kind of promise?" She asked, curiously. He opens his mouth to speak then quickly closes it before thinking for a moment. Collecting his words carefully. Clearing his throat so his voice wouldn't crack, because he knew he wouldn't hear the end of it from her if that happened.

"That one day, when I have me own money and me own house, we will get married," He finished confidently. She sat there, her lips slightly agape.

"Stop joking around!" She laughed, swatting at his arm, causing him to laugh as well and to catch her hand before she should hit him again. This time both of his hands enveloped hers as he stared at her with a content smile.

"I'm being serious, trust me when I say I want to marry you one day [Name] [Lastname]!" He said, laughter hidden within his words. She thought for a moment then nodded once, reaching for his hand. She kissed the back of his hand, her soft lips were warm upon his skin.

"Okay, promise," She smiled lovingly as he returned the kiss on her hand before bringing her close to kiss her forehead.

"Promise,"

In the years that followed that day, she was by his side, even when he was starting to work at the betting shop with his family. At first, she was just there for moral support, but right when she finished high school Polly saw her potential and how educated she was, and on the spot, she was hired. Checking the maths and records in each book, making sure everything was in its place.

It was a dream being with Tommy at nearly every waking hour. Of course nothing would go beyond holding hands, gently touches, and friendly affection . But even when those were at a minimum, she was falling in love with him.

Her love for him only grew since they first met. It was unconditional love and ever since he made that promise to her, she only fell harder. It almost felt like she was already married to him. With the way he kissed her forehead or cheek, the way he was so kind to her and checked in on her work whenever he needed an escape, and how he would tell her he loved her. Every night after work when he walked her home. He would kiss her knuckles, her cheek, and her lips before saying.

"Goodnight [name], I'll pick you up in the morning, I love you,"

It wasn’t until she began to notice his slow distance from her. At first, she thought nothing of it as he wouldn’t give her as much affection as he normally did. Her hands grew cold as they were empty from his. His touch was slowly detaching from her own. The emotional distance was noticed quickly, but the physical distance made her heart cold. He went from seeing her every day to nearly every other day, now...she was lucky to even catch him at the betting shop.  As much as she wanted to convince herself that it was nothing, she couldn’t help the emptiness she suddenly felt. She had wondered what he was so busy with and deep down she had hoped he hadn’t gotten in any more trouble than he already was getting himself into.

The weeks and months went by, her resentment for Tommy only grew. On the days he went to the shop, she tried to make her presence known, nothing but a simple "Hi [name],"would be his response. Sometimes not even making eye contact with her.

One day, in 1914, he approached her in her office. She was too busy organizing files and writing down and calculating the records to make sure they were accurate. She didn't even notice his presence at first. He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets as he stared at her, waiting for her to pay him any mind. 

“I’m busy,” She simply mumbled, seeing him in the peripheral vision of her eyes. He scoffs before stepping in further and closing the door behind him. 

“So that’s how you treat me now, eh?” He asked, sitting across from her in a chair. He was met with silence as she kept her eyes glued to the page. “[Name]” He called. 

Again, silence. 

Tommy suddenly slammed the book shut and grabbed the pen that was in her hand.

“Hey! I'm trying to work, you just made me lose my spot!” She shouts, quickly standing up as the chair behind her scrapped against the wood floor loudly.

Tommy just smirks. She stomp towards him to retrieve the pen back, but the older boy just held it above her head as he extended his arm up, barely just out of her reach. 

“Thomas, this isn’t funny!” She pleads. He just laughs. 

“There you are, finally acknowledging me,”  

She sighed in defeat and set herself back on her feet, holding his gaze with a glare.

“What do you want now? Go on with it, Polly needs these by the end of the day and she’ll have my neck if I don’t have em ready,” She crossed her arms over her chest. Tommy let his arm down, setting the pen on the desk. 

“What makes you think I want something?” He asked. Her eyes widened slightly. 

“I don’t see you for months and you barely even talk to me let alone look at me whenever you’re here, so this sudden change in behavior is quite a shocking one,” She explained, her tone still stern. She was met with his eyes, a guilty look on his face. 

“I know...I know and I do apologize-” 

“You were supposed to be my closest friend, Thomas...” She interrupted him. Her voice was calm, almost meek. 

“I am your closest friend, never forget that [name],” He held her slumping shoulders. She takes an exhale through her nose. 

“Listen to me...I’m sorry, I had some prior engagements that needed my attention,” He said quietly as he tried to get her to look into his eyes. 

“I know but I just wished you had just talked to me...I felt so alone,” 

Thomas held his breath and clenched his jaw. He couldn’t tell her now...Not yet at least. 

“When you’re with me, you’ll never really be alone,” He told her, holding her close. She knew there was some truth to his words but pushed herself away from him. 

“I have to get back to work,” She said. He rolls his eyes at her sudden coldness.

“I’m not leaving until I get a smile out of you...and maybe an ‘I love you’,” He smirked, still holding her, his hands on her shoulder blades. She scoffs, giving him a small, ingenuine smile. 

“Happy?” She asked. He shook his head. His hands slowly crept to her sides, going unnoticed by her. 

“Tommy...” He gave her that look. That look of mischief. “Don’t you dare-” But her warning came too late. His fingers began digging into her sides, it didn’t take long before she began giggling profusely. 

“Tommy stop! I can’t- I can’t breath!” She squealed in between fits of laughter as she tried to push his hands away. He was too strong. 

“Tell me you love me [name]!” He laughed. 

“N-No! Never!” She laughed, the tears in her eyes started to seep down her cheeks. 

“Say it [name] and I’ll stop!,” 

“Fine! I love you Thomas Shelby!” She gave in. The tickling had stopped, yet she barely caught her breath when Tommy pulled her close and picked her up from the ground and kissed her cheeks. 

“I love you too, [name] [lastname],” He said quietly. Looking into his eyes made her even forget why she was upset with him. He looked at her with perfect love in his eyes and a small smile on his lips as he quickly kissed her hand before leaving her to continue your work. 

 A week later, Tommy had told her the secret he had been keeping from her. Finally letting it out. 

“No...Tell me it’s a lie...” She was in denial. Shaking her head as the tears welled up her eyes. 

“[Name]-”

“No...”

“[Name] please...listen to me,” He approached. 

“Please don’t do this you don’t have to do this!” She cried. 

“We have to go, [name]...it’s the only choice,” He calmly stated. 

“To put your lives on the line? To leave your family behind to leave me behind?” 

The silence was daunting. She sniffled and turned away from him. 

“I understand the sacrifice you’re making, but I can’t bare the thought of my life without you...Arthur, John, you...You three have been in me life every day since I was a child, if you were to never come back I don’t know what I would do without you,” She shook her head as she choked up once again. 

“Don’t think of it that way, love...We will come back once it’s over...and when it’s over I will come back to you,” 

“Tommy...” She felt his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her.

“You will be the one I am living for...who I am looking forward to come home to...” He steps in front of her, grabbing her cheeks in the palm of his hands as they locks eyes.

“I don’t want to lose you,” She whispered. He pressed his forehead to hers. Closing her eyes tightly to stop the tears.

“You won’t...I promise,” 

She has always known for Tommy to keep his promises. But deep own she wasn't sure if this was within his control. And it scared her. Shattered her heart and soul to know he was leaving in just a few weeks. Every day after that he spent every moment with her as if it were his last, even though it felt like it to her. 

The day the three Shelby brothers left, Polly, Ada, and Martha were in shambles. [Name] tried to stay strong but the second she approached the train station she began to tear up. 

She had said your goodbyes to John and Arthur first as she held off her departure from Tommy. She stood in front of him, he seemed to put on a brave face for his family and for her but she could read right through him. He was just as scared as she was. She embraced him tightly. 

“I will write to you every day...and pray for you three while you’re gone,” [name] told him. He nods quietly, he reaches into his pocket to pull out a small, simple, ring to held it to her.  

“Remember that promise we made when we were kids?” He asked. 

“That we’d get married one day?” She nods.  

“I am giving this to you, so that when I do return we will get married...That way I will come home with a purpose...to marry you,” He said. She gasped a bit as he slipped the golden band on her ring finger. 

“Just promise me you’ll never take it off, for as long as I live and love you,” 

“I promise,” She smiled at him. He gave [name] a quick kiss. The train whistle blows. 

“Come home to us soon...please,” She begs. He nods again before Arthur and John pulled him away to board the train. 

Watching the men wave off their families as the train took off was heartbreaking. The four women of Small Heath held onto each other, comforting each other when they watched the three men in their lives leave on a train. [Name] rested her head on Polly’s shoulder as she rubbed the young girls back, quietly sobbing beside her.

[Name] went home that day, sitting alone as she twirled the ring on her finger, counting the days until his first letter came. 

[kscheibles]

e la vita ch. 1

content warnings: f! reader, drug mentions, drinking, emetophobia, bisexuality (homophobes and biphobes begone I will block u so fast)

word count: 3.8k

I didn’t want to be in Italy this summer.

That makes me sound ungrateful or something, but it’s the truth. Three months ago, I had planned to stay in Brooklyn with Claire all summer long. Hosting dinner parties, eating greasy breakfast sandwiches, dancing to old $1 records in our cramped apartment, picnicking in Prospect Park, and being totally, delusionally in love.

That was before things went south, she stopped trying and left me with more rent than I could possibly pay in the city. When Christina had first mentioned that a group of her friends was headed to Italy for the summer, I’d dismissed the possibility of going with them. Not only did I dread cohabitating with her wealthy, influencer friends who seemed to deal only in clout, I thought I’d be otherwise engaged. Weeks later, I’d gone back to her groveling, asking if I could sleep on the pull-out couch in Nina’s family villa for the summer. Luckily, the sofa was still available.

Now I sit at a wrought iron table – lease broken and all of my belongings sold to wealthy Manhattanites – in the warm yellow light of the Lombard sunset. Around me are chatty, outgoing girls, each more beautiful than the last. They gab about clubs and brands and boys. In the sea of Botox and iPhones, I cling to Christina like a life buoy. I push my tortellini around my plate to make it look like I have an interest in food, but I really don’t. I’m jet-lagged and uncomfortable. And even if that wasn’t the case, I’ve barely eaten since the breakup, relying on oat lattes and dirty water dogs to keep me alive.

“Try the pasta,” Christina jabs, “trust me, you’ll have a lot more fun this summer if you lean in.” I break the shell open with my fork revealing succulent ricotta curds and bright green spinach. The filing swims in a sauce of brown butter and fragrant tarragon but doesn’t affect me as it should. Nothing does anymore. The group’s conversation interrupts my train of thought.

“They’ve come every summer since the nineties, same as us,” says Nina, smirking at the girl to her left. “Hottest little accents you’ve ever heard, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Who is she talking about?” I whisper to Christina.

“The boys in the other house,” she says, “the one you see on your way up here.” Nina’s family’s home is at a higher altitude than the rest of the city, necessitating a laborious hike to the bottom to actually do anything while in town. I’m sure that they’d been sold on the privacy of the location, but its impracticality left me wanting. The only other villa nearby sat at the base of the lush green hills before the road disappeared into winding dirt.

Another girl chimes in, “I saw them last year at a dinner in the city. They’re cute, too,” she coos. 

“I kissed George the summer I turned fifteen,” brags Nina and the whole table breaks into oohs and aahs. I usually have a shut-up-unless-spoken-to policy at group dinners, but I know Christitna is right. If I don’t lean in then the credit card debt I’d amassed to buy my plane ticket and the back problems I'm sure to contract from sleeping on a pull-out couch for a whole summer will have been for naught. Think of it as an acting exercise, I tell myself, a performance of the girl who is totally not hung up on her ex and excited for a fun summer with her friends. 

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, “who are these guys?”

“They’re in a band,” says Nina.

“Like a real one?” I ask. Years of living in New York have taught me that all bands are not, in fact, real ones. Nina laughs.

“You’re funny,” she muses, “yes, a real one. They’re like famous. We’ll go over eventually, they throw the best parties you can find around here. Get real drugs, too. Not just liters upon liters of Aperol, not that I mind that either.”

With my question sufficiently answered, I return quietly to my pasta, cutting each shell into impossibly smaller pieces until it’s rabbit food that will glide down my throat and do the hard job of nourishing me without any work on my part.

–

After dinner, I tuck into the pull-out couch in the villa’s spacious living room. The lack of A/C and the balmy summer air make it impossible to enjoy the luxurious wool blankets Nina’s family no doubt splurged on. I allow myself to eavesdrop on the elated sounds coming from upstairs: women confiding in each other, commiserating about their troubles, and shrieking excitedly at each other's successes.

I first try to doze off at 10:15, hoping that an early night will be exactly what I need and I’ll wake up refreshed and on Italian time. After an hour of staring at the popcorn ceilings and trying to suppress my crippling fear of missing out, I’ve tired my mind out enough to begin slipping toward sleep. I have fewer and fewer thoughts until I’m jolted by a hip-hop bassline. It resonates through the trundle bed and rebounds off my ribs, cozying itself into my heart. As I begin to come to, I recognize the chords of a house track that used to play at the girl bar Claire and I frequented in Green Point. The melody is warm and familiar and undeniably annoying. How loud must the music be for it to affect me so acutely even as I’m a few kilometers away from them? 

I decide I’m pissed – and yes I decided. I’m freshly single, broke, jet-lagged, and fucking pissed at those entitled rich assholes. I slide my sandals on and head out down the hill in my sleep clothes.

-

I step outside onto the winding dirt road that leads the way to the boys’ home. The night is dark, lit by stars much brighter than I’m used to seeing in Brooklyn. I tilt my head back to look at them, trying to identify the big dipper. After a few seconds, I’m dizzy. I shake myself and trudge ahead, almost lulled into submission by the constant chirping of cicadas and the sweet fragrance of orange blossom that wafts off the bushes. 

With each step I take towards the boys’ villa (what were their names again? Nina said one was called George), the music, electronic and fast-paced, becomes louder. 

When I first knock on the faded wood door, I’m quite sure no one has heard me. I stand outside for a few minutes, contemplating whether I should knock again or cut my losses and return up the hill. I decide I may as well disrupt their party as some kind of karmic retribution for keeping me awake even as I’m exhausted from a transatlantic flight. I raise my fist and rap harshly at the door. A moment later, it flies open, revealing a curly-haired boy. Well, not boy, I decide as I inspect his features – lines decorate his forehead, and gray peeks out at me from within a ringlet that hangs over his eyes. He gives me a once over and can immediately tell I’m not here for the party. 

“Can I help you?” he asks, annoyed. His accent lilts and falls over the words. All of a sudden, I feel insecure in my braless and plaid pajama-clad state. He’s beautiful – and exasperated by me. I double down on my own annoyance. 

“Would you mind turning the music down?” I ask, still cordial, “I’m staying at the house up the way and I can’t get to sleep.”

The guy in front of me purses his lips and considers me for a moment. I feel itchy and uncomfortable. He’s looking at me like he can see through my clothes, to my soft hips and painted toes and peaked nipples. 

“Let me show you around, gorgeous,” he smiles, “then maybe you won’t mind so much.” He grabs my wrist and yanks me into the party. A warmth covers me as I cross the threshold into the villa. The inside of the home smells like college: cheap weed, sweet sticky mixers, and sweat. My sandals stick slightly to the floor, reminding me that I really shouldn’t be here right now. Like the alcohol that’s been spilled on the ground is some great cosmic interference to convince me to go home and get the rest I ought to. 

Suddenly, a big hand falls on the shoulder of the boy who’s pulling me by my limbs.

“Matty!” says the man. I can make out enough to see that he’s tall and devastatingly handsome. 

“George!” the boy – Matty, I remind myself – drops my hand and fully embraces the bigger guy. “Was just showing…” he nods at me to introduce myself.

“Y/n.”

“Around,” Matty finishes. George gives me a once over.

“Did she just roll out of bed? Or get released from prison?”

“Y/n came to ask us to keep the noise down,” Matty declares with fake sincerity, “Not a partier, are ya love?”

“Under the right circumstances, I can be,” I retort. Matty and George’s eyebrows raise in amusement, faces breaking out in smiles. That sounded much more cunning in my head. Now I feel like a toy they’re playing with, winding me up to see what noises I make. It feels infantilizing. I’m uncomfortable, crawling in my skin; pride battered and desperate to go home as soon as it doesn’t look like I’m running away from a fight of my own picking. “I’d better be going actually,” I assert.

Matty puckers his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “I’ll show you out, princess.” It’s a sweet nickname but it tastes bitter out of his mouth. He seems to twist everything good and make it unbearable. I resent him for it. I trudge in front of Matty towards the door with steadfast focus. As I cross the threshold, I turn to meet his gaze.

“Thanks for nothing,” I say calmly. Matty breaks into a devilishly smug grin. His eyebrows tilt a little and his lips reveal a few crooked teeth at the bottom of his mouth.

“My pleasure, darlin’,” he says. I scoff and turn on my heels, leaving Matty in the dust.

–

The scent of freshly chopped garlic fills the kitchen as I stand in an assembly line of young women with cutting boards and chefs knives, each diligently chopping an ingredient for the bruschetta. 

In front of me is a bunch of basil, perfectly fresh and green. I gently remove the leaves from the stem and create a pile in the middle of my board. It reminds me of when I would be tasked with raking the leaves as a kid. Too distracted by my childish whims, I would create more work for myself by piling the leaves on top of each other and taking a grandiose dive into them before scooping them up into a trash bag and discarding them. Each leaf was like a piece of confetti, a celebration of the season and of youth. Now I do these things to prove to myself that I’m young and that I can still conjure up that imaginative, playful nature if I try hard enough. 

As I rock my knife back and forth over the soft leaves, Christina asks me where I was the night before. 

“I came out around eleven to invite you upstairs, but I couldn’t find you,” she says.

Embarrassed, I train my eyes to the task at hand. This is not the group to look like a tattle-tale in front of. Actually, there’s very few groups in which that would fly. My penchant for playing God and divvying out karmic consequences to everyone whose path I cross is a part of my nature I’m not particularly fond of. I’m not keen to share it, especially around people who are still making up their minds about me. Despite my steadfast beliefs and borderline-outlandish behaviors, I maintain a fervent desire to be liked. It’s pathetic. 

“I stepped out for some air,” I murmur.

“Really?” she nudges, “Because I didn’t see you on the porch.”

I turn my basil bunch 90 degrees in a flourish, beginning to chop it lengthwise. 

“Fine, I couldn’t sleep because of the music,” I spit.

“And…” Christina has always been too good at getting me to reveal my true feelings. She goads me torturously until it’s easier to say what I’m thinking than to conceal it.

“And I went to ask them to turn the music down,” I finish, “There, are you happy?”

“Very,” she smiles. 

I pick up the chopped basil, letting the pieces float through my fingers and deciding I need to chop them smaller, still. I whack at the pile haphazardly, ruining the lovely squares I meticulously crafted earlier. 

“They didn’t turn it down, if you were wondering,” I pant, “Pricks.” Christina chuckles to herself.

“No one ever does.”

–

The music of the club is omnipresent as I enter hand in hand with Christina. On my feet are heels too high to be comfortable, but the perfect lift to accentuate my calves. As soon as I cross the threshold, I drag Christina to the bartender, ordering two negronis. We idle by the bar for a moment and I take in my surroundings, savoring the bitter aftertaste of my drink and the waltz of the lights that flicker and cover the dancefloor with reverie. I listen to the synths and flourishes of the melody that envelop my senses. I hadn’t expected to like the music, but the DJ is spinning disco and it just feels right: the cold Italian aperitif, the funky basslines, and the tranquil nighttime air. I almost wish I’d left my phone at home. Nights like these aren’t compatible with phones anyway. The atmosphere feels like a relic of a bygone era, full of free love and intoxication. 

Nina and a friend of hers find Christina and me at the bar and run up to us with inebriated bravado. “You guys made it!” she squeals. Little does she know we were pre-gaming at the villa in anticipation of this exact moment. I couldn’t handle Nina while sober tonight, that much I was absolutely sure of. It also didn’t help that I was alone – for the first time in several years – in a romantic foreign country without the girl whom I still loved. As unhealthy as it was, alcohol made that reality hurt a bit less. Nina grabs my hands and leads Christina and me away from the bar. 

“I need to introduce you to the DJs!” Nina exclaims. I glance at Christina to communicate that no, I’m not particularly enthused at the prospect of meeting some Eurotrash guy whose head is shaved and whose torso is covered in Gucci logos. She returns the glance, silently begging me to behave. I relent.

Nina leads us around the side of the floor to some kind of dark stairwell. Rationally, I should be scared of being kidnapped but my drunken stupor inspires more carelessness than I would usually indulge in. I watch the sway of Christina’s hips and follow her like a lost puppy. Finally, we reach the top and the DJ deck is revealed. It’s shadowy and hazy. To the left is a corner booth with a straight couple making out in a way that really ought to be illegal in public. Past the lookout, laser lights flicker and sweep across the dancefloor, catching on the artificial fog and filling the air with psychedelic color. My eyes fall on the backs of two figures at the DJ booth, smoke rising above their heads. I can make out that one has headphones on and is faffing with the turntable while the other has their hands in the air and the small, flickering glow of a lit cigarette dancing around their figure. I’m dragged towards them by Nina who throws an arm around each of their necks in greeting. As soon as the one with the cig turns around, I catch his eyes.

It’s Matty. Selfish, arrogant Matty. I nod my head and flatten my mouth in a kind of recognition. The room is spinning from the alcohol and my skin is buzzing with discomfort. The bass of the music resonates in my ribs, teaching my heart how to beat. My mouth tastes salty and my knees feel weak. 

I’m running to the corner where I can see a bin. Tears prick at my eyes and my hair sticks to my sweaty forehead as I swiftly empty the contents of my stomach into the small trash can. I kneel on the rough carpet and brace myself on either side of the bin with my hands. Between heaves, I lift my head to shake my hair off the back of my neck. The cool air feels grounding, but I’m soon back with my head in the can. I feel a hand on the back of my head, wrangling my frizzy hair off of my shoulders. I gasp, looking back for the sisterly comfort of Christina’s bottomless, cerulean eyes. Instead, I find a pair of brown, honey-flecked irises: Matty’s. I’m reeling too severely to be upset or confused; I’m just grateful when he uses his free hand to sweep my damp bangs out of my face and nods at me.

“Go on,” he encourages, “better out than in.”

I bury my head in the bucket again. 

“Atta girl,” Matty coos in my ear. I can almost notice his hand rubbing circles on my back. Even when I’m quite sure I’m finished, I keep my head down for a moment savoring the last few seconds that I don’t have to look Matty in the eyes. Curse him for helping me. I wouldn’t know how to interact with him under normal circumstances, much less when he’s been nice to me – and watched me unceremoniously blow chunks into a bin.

“You feel better?” he asks. I lift my head tentatively, still scared another wave of nausea will hit me. 

“I think so, yeah,” I mumble. Matty searches my eyes for any warning sign that I’m still sick.

“Have you got a hair tie?” I instinctually fish in my jeans pocket for one, handing it to him. Slowly, he corrals my locks into a ponytail and secures it, fingers grazing the tops of my ears and making me shiver. I sit back against the wall with my legs splayed out in front of me, knees visibly carpet burnt from my previous position. Matty flops down beside me. He reaches out to touch the red, irritated skin. 

“You don’t need a doctor or something, do you?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I hiss when he applies a little pressure to my knee and shake his hands off me, “Why are you being nice to me?”

“When have I not been nice?”

“You wouldn’t turn the music down the other night,” I state. He smiles at me, eyes scrunching up until his pupils are totally obscured. 

“No one ever turns the music down,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus,” he adds, “I thought you were a buzzkill. Now I can see that’s not the case, sweetheart.”

“I can usually handle my drink better than this,” I protest, “And I’m also usually not a buzzkill.”

“I guess I don’t know anything about you, then,” he acquiesces, thinking for a moment, “Do you want to start over?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” I nod, smiling tipsily.

“So what’s caused you to be sick tonight?” Matty asks, leaning his head back against the wall. His hair is curled up in perfect ringlets and his skin glows golden even in the dim club light. He looks at me carefully, like his stare could hurt me. It could, I suppose. 

“Alcohol?” I say it like that should be obvious. His face wrinkles up again in a laugh I can vaguely identify as something that’s my fault. He looks pretty. I realize I want to make him do it again and again forever. I want to see the crinkles that grow at the sides of his eyes and the curl of his upper lip that reveals his boyishly crooked teeth.

“I figured as much. Anything in particular that drove you to drink?” I frown for a second, trying to remember. 

“My ex,” I say quietly.

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, “that’s the problem. She didn’t do anything.”

“When was that?”

“Two months ago?” My god, it’s already been two months.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs,  “that’s still fresh.” I shrug.

“It’s alright I guess. You just feel a little betrayed when someone stops trying. I thought that was the whole point of…” I trail off, gesticulating aimlessly with my hands, “love or whatever. To keep trying.”

“I get it,” he utters. 

“People stop trying with rockstars, too?” I tease. He smiles.

“How did you know that I’m a musician?”

“Well, first of all, I said rockstar–”

“Which I chose to ignore because it was sarcastic.” I roll my eyes.

“And second of all, the girls I’m staying with told me,” I finish. He nods in understanding.

“Well yeah,” he sighs pensively, “people stop trying with everybody. Even rockstars. If I’ve learnt anything in my life, it’s that giving up usually has more to do with them than it does with you.”

“You’re probably right, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less,” I argue.

“Nothing does. You just have to let it hurt for a while.”

We’re both quiet for a second. I catch a couple of bars of an Earth, Wind, and Fire song and hum along, content with the silence. I let my head fall onto Matty’s shoulder and he immediately turns his head to look at me.

“Oh fuck, sorry. Is this okay?” I ask, hand flying to my mouth “I know I just puked.”

“It’s okay,” he says, “I just didn’t think you would want to.”

“I want to,” I kiss his shoulder through the cotton of his white button-up shirt. He watches me the whole time as though he can’t quite compute what’s happening. Then he snaps back to his regular confident state.

“Let me know if you ever want to deal with your girlf– ex without drinking your feelings away…” he trails off, mouth meeting the crown of my head, “I’d love to show you around here sometime.”

“Okay,” I mumble, the alcohol, tiredness, and emotions beginning to get the better of me and coax me toward sleep.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Matty grabs my hand from my lap and wraps it in his two larger ones, caressing my thumb and humming into my ear.

–

a/n: the next bit is written, but I am still writing the end. smut soon! x

[beanzwrites]

Not Your Fault

Parings: Dean x Sister! reader x Sam

Description: The Winchester's sister tries to save Lucas before he falls off the dock but ends up almost drowning herself.

~Inspired by episode 3~

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

        (Y/n) sits in the back of the Impala, a frown sketched across her face as the car stops at an intersection. A sign stands at the triangular median with a white arrow pointing towards Milwaukee. Dean's finger taps against the stirring wheel in a steady rhythm while everyone tries to keep their minds of the subtle threat the sheriff made earlier.

        "Green," Sam interrupts the silence after a minute past of waiting at the light.

        "What?" Dean asks from his thoughts.

        "Light's green," (Y/n) mutters.

        Baby begins to roll forward. (Y/n)'s face furrows in confusion as Dean turns to the right. She straightens herself to the edge of the seat to look at her brother. "Ah, the interstate's the other way."

        "I know," Dean says.

        "Dean, this job, I think it's over," Sam states.

        "I'm not so sure," Dean confesses.

        "If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney and Peter's spirit got its revenge, case closed. The spirit should be at rest," Sam says.

        "What are you thinking?" (Y/n) asks Dean quietly.

        Dean glances at his siblings. "What if we take off and this thing isn't done? What if we missed something? What if more people get hurt?"

        "That's a lot of what if's."

        "But why would you think that?" Sam questions.

        "Because Lucas was scared," Dean replies.

        "That's what this is about?"

        "I just don't want to leave town til I know the kid's okay."

        "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?"

        "Shut up."

        "For what it's worth, I agree with Dean on this one," (Y/n) adds in with her finger in the air.

        "Shut up," Sam jokingly repeats.

---

           "Are you sure about this? It's pretty late, man." Sam says as the three of them walk to the front of the house. Dean rolls his eyes, pressing the door bell, until Lucas opens the door in a panic. Immediately, Dean kneels down to calm the boy, but Lucas rushes off with a heavy breath.

        The siblings rush up the stairs after him. Water floods the floor, pouring down the steps like a waterfall. (Y/n) and Sam holds back the scared boy as their older brother pounds his weight against the locked bathroom door. It is forced open at last and Sam rushes in to pull Lucas's mother out of the overflowing bathtub. (Y/n)'s eyes water, her heart thumping against her chest, as she holds Lucas firmly to her form. A hiccupped sigh releases from her lips as Sam finally pulls Andrea out with all his might.

---

        (Y/n) listens to the soft murmurs of the conversation Sam and Andrea has as she watches over Lucas. Dean was somewhere in the house, investigating for any answers on why Peter Sweeney went after Andrea. The youngest Winchester heaves out a long exhale, twirling a (F/C) crayon between he fingers.

        Lucas gets up from his place on the floor and walks into the main area of the house. (Y/n) follows, asking where he was going, but he gave no answer. He walks up to a window and (Y/n) makes eye contact with Dean, who was hovering over the table with a book in his hand. he gives a curious glance towards Lucas, only to get a shrug from his sister in return.

        "Lucas? Lucas, what is it?" Dean asks.

        The boy doesn't say a thing and saunters out the front door with a rigid frown. (Y/n) goes after him, her brothers and Andrea quick behind her. Lucas stops at the top of a mossy hill and stares at it before looking up at Dean.

        "You and Lucas get back to the house and stay there, okay?" Dean instructs. Andrea grabs her son and heads down to the house as ordered. "(Y/n), go with them."

        "But-" (Y/n) interjects.

        "I need you to make sure nothing bad happens. I can trust you, right?"

        "Yeah, okay- call me if things go south though."

---

        (Y/n) and Andrea watch through the window as Jake points a gun at Sam and Dean. (Y/n) was about to run to the door, but Andrea stops her by grabbing her arm. She shakes her head with a fearful look in her eyes and kneels down in front of the young duo.

        "Go to your room, sweetie. You, will you stay with him, please?Lock the door and don't come out," Andrea requires, before heading outside to stop her dad. (Y/n) was about to lead Lucas to his room, until he bolts to another entrance of the house. He waits for her at the end of the deck stairs as the confrontation with the sheriff heats up a few meters away. A voice rings in the girl's ears as she makes her way out onto the patio.

        Come play with me

        "Did you hear that?" She asks Lucas. He tilts his head before climbing up a mound on the side of the house. (Y/n) imitates his actions, like an apprentice learning from their mentor, and notices rather quickly that he was heading for the water. He reaches down to grab something and (Y/n) looks over him to see a green army man floating in the water tauntingly as Lucas struggles to grab it. She crouches down at the water, extending her arm to pluck the toy from the water too.

      "I can't reach it," (Y/n) huffs out as she leans her body across the watery depths. It ripples softly near their hands as a dark figure approaches. She narrows her eyes, lifting her hand out of the water, when a mop of hair drifts to the surface.

        "Lucas!"

        "(Y/n)!"

        "Stay where you are!"

        Suddenly, a discolored hand bolts out and grabs Lucas's wrist. (Y/n) wraps her arms around the boy's torso to keep him on the dock, but the powerful pull the vengeful spirit possessed causes the Winchester's muscles to strain. (Y/n) and Lucas fly into the water, their bodies consumed by the waves.

        (Y/n)'s arms slip away from the boy as her whole form becomes heavy. She gulps and chokes on the water filling her lungs and she struggles to reach the surface. The murky liquid makes her eyes sting and she can see nothing but her blurry physique sinking further down to the bottom.

        She abruptly wakes from unconsciousness as someone reaches around her waist and pulls up to the surface. Immediately, she coughs out her lungs as her discombobulated mind becomes alert of her surroundings once more. The person's large hand pushes her head against their neck as they both gasp for air.

        "You're okay, I got you," Sam whispers as he presses a kiss to her temple.  

---

        Dean blankets (Y/n)'s shoulders with his jacket as they walk to the Impala parked at the edge of the road. She gratefully pulls the material closer to her shivering body. Sam opens the back door for her and she climbs in, looking at Andrea's house as the sun's shadow casts over the roof.

        "That was a close one, huh sis?" Dean jokes, shifting into reverse and pulling out on to the road. The engine pants softly as its speed accelerates on the black pavement. (Y/n) gives a weak smile and nods to her brother in response before turning to the scenery passing by her window.

        "(Y/n)?" Sam says softly, giving her a gentle gander from the passenger's seat.

        "What?" She mumbles.

        "What's wrong with you?" Dean comments, looking through the rear view mirror. "By now you would be making up a stupid joke about trees or something."

        "I'm fine," (Y/n) sighs, "Just tired."

        "We're not going to stop bothering you until you tell us what's got you down," Sam prompts.

        "I couldn't save him..."

        "Huh?" Dean questions loudly.

        "I couldn't save Lucas. I wasn't strong enough to keep him on the dock. He almost drowned because of me."

        "That's what this is about? Lucas is alive, isn't he?"

        "Yeah-"

        "(Y/n), we were dealing with a revengeful spirit. Your a kid- of course your not going to win a wrestling match against a ghost. You shouldn't beat yourself about it," Sam explains.

        "Sam's right. It wasn't you fault. You are strong, but you can't expect everything to go smoothly with a job like ours. We're a team, and you can sure as hell forget us getting off your back anytime soon," Dean states.

        "Thanks guys," (Y/n) says.

        "Yeah, no problem, bud." Sam remarks sweetly.

        "Hey Dean?"

        "Yeah kid?"

        "Why did the pine tree get in trouble?"

        "I don't know, why?"

        "Because it was being knotty."

        "Oh my god, that was bad." Sam snorts as Dean beats his hand on Sam's arm with a cackle.

        "It was being naughty, brutha." Dean laughs while wiggling his eyebrows.

        "Shut up."

[fountainpenguin]

Riddle watches New Wish - Post #5

They're so cute...

OH, she set them up!! Here we go!

Wanda making squeaky toy noises when Cosmo hugs her is all I've ever wanted.

"We're real, all right! ... Real fairies. Not real humans."

BUDAWHAAAAAAAA-? Thank you Cosmo for just confirming elastic skin, which has been one of the most important headcanons in my worldbuilding. I did not expect you to do that for me, but... thanks?

Pfft, Wanda changing her legs.

ERG??? Is that you?

Okay, there's that "We've been retired for 10k years" implied time travel bit; I think I remember that from the story bible + early convos with my friends, so at least I came prepared to expect that.

This is either time travel - which plays perfectly into my established "Cosmo ate a time key during dinosaur times and has been running around through time unsupervised for ages" headcanon anyway, LOL - or they're flat-out lying to Hazel, seeing as the audience already knows Timmy is confirmed as a recent godkid, so... Hm.

SLDKFJSD I love how the guy who accidentally sent his baby stroller down a steep hill is wearing a #1 Dad hat. "My expensive stroller! ... I mean, my baby!" - Yeah, we're still in FOP. All the parents are terrible here.

Setting her up as loving french fries and then turning her into a fly who found french fries was clever.

Cosmo once again being so close and yet so far to his mark. Good to see him back!

Me when I return my would-be murderer's daughter, who is a bug.

I AM SO GLAD that even in 10,000 years, Wanda's small talk skills have not improved far beyond "I'm Human McRealPerson" and "My husband is a grilled cheese sandwich" from back in the day, sdlkfj. That's my girl!

oh no, the Venus flytrap gift they brought over is about to go so wrong.

Yep, she's still goin'. Talking about the carwash.

GIRL check your fingers.

OH MY GOSSSSSSH, he's dressed for a classy party in Fairy culture. Cosmorella? We thought you were dead!!

... That's an ant? I would've guessed tick.

It's a guy ant? Buddy, are you sure you're supposed to be foraging?

Let's go!!

SDLKFJSDKLFJSLKJF noooo... No, no, no, no, no... Not the thing I use to symbolize memorials for the dead, c'mon!

It IS an accurate item for a Fairy house- these were all over the place in Fairy World during the old show, AND in that color, though you usually see more than one "wand" per pot.

I'm super impressed the artists studied the old interior design customs. Huh.

Cosmo lives here. Also, BABY!!

OOH, I'm excited that Cosmo and Wanda's window overlooks Fairy World because it's kind of a portal. I did something super similar with a rat cage in an upcoming Frayed Knots scene, where Anti-Cosmo and Wanda are godparenting together during school. Nifty!

He even confirmed it's a spell on the front door! Wow. Somehow, Past Me nailed that.

"We can choose which world we go out into!" -> /Me with my 'fic where Kevin Crocker is confused that Shirley's Pizza Parlor has an exit on the other side that goes to Retroville.

Cosmo: We lived in Timmy's fishbowl for 20 years. Wanda: It was 7.

You are both wrong- it was like 68 <3 But honestly, I forgive you for not wanting to tell Hazel time was frozen for 50 years. I don't think she'd like that. Actually, I don't think she was born yet, because my vision is time freezing at the end of Season 4, and Dale was rescued in Season 2, so... Yeah, she wasn't born. Still, you don't wanna just drop that on someone.

That's actually very funny that Cosmo and Wanda are struggling because they're out of practice during their retirement.

THERE'S THE SIGN!! Way to go.

Oh, and the credits are done in a similar style to the old ones? Even the colors? That's so cute! That's also nice that Hazel's VA was a story editor too- That probably helps with the passion and vision.

That was cute. I liked it. Huge relief to see something well-researched and made with love after "Fairly Odder" was a struggle for me.

I've got a little more time tonight, I might be able to get one more episode done before bedtime.

[ijustwanttoreadfanfiction]

Friendly Sex - Chapter 9 - The Calm

We're back baby! Chapter 10 will definitely be up at some point this week but I'm not going to put a time limit on it in case I get bogged down with life etc. Thank you once again to everyone who has liked, reblogged, commented, and messaged you are all actual 'sweethearts'.

Chapter warnings: MDI (18+ only), explicit language, explicit sexual content, p in v sex, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, over use of pet names, sex without a condom (reader is on the pill), creampie.

_______________________________________________

Your dad picks you up from Indianapolis Airport just after 6am the following morning, holding you tightly for a good 20 minutes before you both could pull yourselves together, and get back on the road. 

“I didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye to the twins.” You mumble tearfully, forehead resting against the passenger window.

“That’s not your fault sprout. That goddamn Philip, if I'd have been there I'd have laid his ass out.” Your dad seethes, and you can't help but smile, your dad is a good ten years older than Philip, slightly overweight with a heart condition, but you’d still bet money on him. “First thing I’m going to do when we get home is call your mother and give her a piece of my mind.”

“Dad, it’s not worth it.” You say tiredly. “She’s made her choice, and it’s not me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t pick you a better person to be your mom, kiddo.” He sighs sadly, patting you on the cheek.

You drift off for a while, the gentle rocking of the car soothing along with the quiet radio, it's not until you're 20 minutes outside of town that you wake up properly, stretching as best you can in the cramped car. Your dad is whistling quietly along to John Denver, as you pass the sign for Forest Hills Trailer Park, you wonder what Eddie is up to, thinking about how he talked you down last night.

You told him you missed him, it was a brutally honest moment, never expecting him to return the sentiment. You supposed it was natural to miss someone when you had spent just over a month with them, but you knew it ran deeper than that, you could have called anyone last night but you needed Eddie.

You finally pull onto the drive, the weight of yesterday feeling stronger again, you’re exhausted from all the tears, the pain of your mother’s rejection, the sleepless night in the airport.

Your dad takes your bag out of the trunk, unlocking the door, you toe off your sneakers and notice a fishing rod and tackle box to the side, suddenly remembering your Dad’s plans for the long weekend; fishing at Patoka Lake with his buddies.

“Oh Dad, I'm sorry, you were supposed to be on your fishing trip!" You cry feeling awful.

"Hey, don't worry about it sprout, there'll be plenty of other trips over the summer." He reasons, dumping your bag down. "Besides, you're more important right now."

"But you've been looking forward to it for months. Why don’t you call Dale? You can still make it up there. I’ll be ok on my own.” You say earnestly,

“I dunno kiddo.” He says scratching his head. “You being on your own after last night doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Well how about I call Robin? See if she wants to stay over?” Knowing damn well Robin wouldn’t be the person you were going to actually call. You could see the turmoil in your Dad’s eyes, you sigh hugging him round the middle.

“Dad please go fishing, I just need a girl’s night, ice cream, crying, watching Grease.” That did it, and you couldn’t help but smile as he tensed in your hold, your dad hated Grease.

“You sure sprout?” He asks, hands practically itching for the fishing pole.

“Positive.”

____________________________________________________

You do feel a small twinge of guilt at your white lie as you wave your dad off, but it quickly evaporates into a strange sense of excitement and anticipation at the idea of having Eddie in your house. You rush to the phone in the kitchen, hopping up onto the counter as you listen to the rings, cord twirled tight about your hand.

“Hello?” A gruff much older voice than Eddie’s answers, this must be the illusive Wayne, or rather the Wayne you’ve been tactically avoiding.

“Oh - uh - hi Mr Munson, my name is Y/n, I’m a - friend of Eddie’s, is he around?” You don’t know why you’re stammering so much, although it might be because the inappropriate part of your brain is screaming ‘Hi Mr Munson, I’m booty calling your nephew, also we’ve banged on your couch - sorry.’

“You wanna speak to Eddie and you’re a girl?” He asks, sounding surprised and it throws you for a loop.

“Um - last time I checked, yes Sir.” You mumble, laughing awkwardly.

“You’re a girl and you’re calling for Eddie?” He clarifies again. “Alright - he’s outside, let me get him.”

The line goes silent for a moment but then you can hear Wayne call something out and Eddie’s voice getting closer.

“- jeez Wayne, why you gotta be so - Sweetheart?” He’s out of breath.

“Hi.” You say simply.

“You ok? You home? Are you safe?” He asks rapidly and you wonder if he’s been worrying about you all night, it made your heart do a funny flip.

“I’m fine Ed’s, I crashed at the airport and caught a flight out just before 4am, I got home about an hour ago.” You reassure him, hearing him exhale heavily.

“You had me so scared last night.” He mutters.

“Yeah, it was intense.” You agree, wiping your clammy palms on your jeans, now feeling nervous. “So, uh I was wondering and you can say no, but my dad has gone fishing for the weekend, did you maybe wanna come over and -” 

“- yes.” Eddie jumps in before you can finish. “Uh, sorry, yeah I’d love to come over, if that’s cool?”

“Yeah it’s cool.” You say smiling, swinging your legs slightly against the counter.

“What time do you want me?” He asks. A loaded question.

Whilst your urge to see Eddie is strong you look like shit, desperately needing to sleep, shower and get groceries.

“Dinnertime? Does six work?”

“It works, see you then princess.”

___________________________________________________

You had briefly called Robin in between your nap and going to the store, filling her in on the events in Chicago, and that Eddie was coming round for the evening. But it seemed you weren’t the only one who went through some shit last night.

“-come again?” You ask, ears ringing slightly.

“Steve and Nancy had a big fight yesterday.” She sighs, and you can hear her pacing in the background.

“What about?” You ask, biting at your thumb.

“He didn’t really say, well more he wasn’t in a fit state to say, he was hammered by

the time I got to him. But if I deciphered his slurs correctly, Nancy had booked plane tickets to go and see Jonathon next weekend without telling Steve.”

“Shit.” You breathe, sitting down on your bed. “I mean maybe she just forgot to tell him?” You offer weakly.

“Doubtful. Either way it sounds like they both said some pretty hurtful things to each other, I think they might be on a break.” She says seriously.

You felt dizzy, you had left Hawkins for all of 24 hours, everything was bright and breezy, you came back and Steve and Nancy are on a break?

“So, Eddie was a lifeline yesterday huh?” She asks, snapping you back to the present.

“Yeah.” You say quietly, mind reeling. “He was really sweet.”

“What’s your plan for tonight?”

“Uh, spaghetti.” You mumble, shaking your head slightly to clear Steve’s image from your head.

“- and?” She presses.

“And spaghetti, Rob.” You laugh wryly.

“Well, whatever you crazy kids are calling it, be safe!” Robin teases, and you flush.

“Ok, bye, Robin, hanging up now!”

“No - wait! Call me tomor-” You put the phone down, running your hand across your face, Steve could be single. Could be, but his track record said otherwise, and his voice from last month was clear as a bell ‘-me and Nance, we always find our way back to each other. I can be myself around her, you know? No bullshit, it’s easy.’ 

“It’s a blip.” You mutter aloud. “Not worth thinking about.”

_______________________________________________________

You should have ordered pizza, good god why didn’t you just order pizza?! You had to go to three different grocery stores in order to get everything you needed for Bolognese, which took up an extra hour of your time. The tried and trusted recipe of your Nana’s inexplicably failing you after 9 years of flawless service, maybe she didn’t approve of your dinner guest. The pasta had clumped together in the water, leaving a stodgy mass, the sauce was weirdly acidic and salty having caught on the hob, and you’d slopped red wine down your white t-shirt when the cork shot out. At this rate the garlic bread would be the only thing edible.

Ding-dong.  The doorbell sounded more akin to a death knell.

You glance at yourself in the hallway mirror as you run for the door and groan, your hair frizzy from the cooking steam, face flushed, the large wine stain looking like you’d thrown up blood.

So why, when you open the door, is Eddie looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen?

“Hi.” He grins, leaning against the porch, he’s trying to affect a pose of nonchalance but you notice his left leg is bouncing slightly.

“Hi.” You say breathlessly, attempting to smooth down your hair. “Where’s your van?” You ask, peering past him to the empty driveway.

“Oh, I parked it up at Gareth’s, didn’t want your neighbours to give you a hard time, tell your dad or something.” He answers sheepishly.

“You didn’t have to, Mrs Roberts is blind as a bat.” You laugh, thumbing to the house on your right. “You wanna come in?” You ask, awkwardly jumping to one side, realizing you’re barring the doorway.

“Thanks.”

You watch him take in the lower part of the house from the hall, consciously slipping his battered Reeboks off onto the doormat, hanging his jacket up carefully on the coat hook.

“Nice place.” He says, smiling widely as he looks at a picture of you on the wall, taken when you were in kindergarten, bright yellow dress and bows in your pigtails to match. “Very cute.”

“Shut up.” You laugh, shoving him lightly, he catches your arm and brings you in for a bone breaking hug. You wrap your arms about him instinctively, his head pressing to the top of yours, rocking you slightly.

A lot of unsaid things pass through, it's a hug of comfort about what happened with your mom, it’s a hug of missing each other, it’s a hug that’s needed by both parties and you find yourself burrowing a little closer. He pulls back after a minute or so to look at you properly.

“You good?” He asks gently, thumbs rubbing across your cheeks.

“'M good.” You mumble, smiling softly. He leans down to kiss you when he stops just shy of your lips, to sniff the air.

“Do I smell burning?”

“SHIT!” You shout, pelting towards the kitchen, smoke billowing from the oven. You grab some mitts, and extract a heavily cremated loaf of garlic bread, coughing as you heave it into the sink.

“Aw honey, you baked.” Eddie croons, wrapping his arms about your waist from behind, you can feel his chest vibrating with barely held in chuckles.

“It’s a disaster.” You whine, leaning back into his embrace.

“What was it supposed to be?” He asks gingerly, lifting a saucepan lid to examine the spaghetti log.

“Spaghetti Bolognese.” You sigh.

“Well, points for effort princess.” He laughs openly, spinning you in his arms. “Do you have ramen noodles?”

You grab two packets of ramen from the pantry as Eddie pulls on an apron with a flourish tasting the sauce, wincing slightly. “You got any sugar?” He asks.

You dutifully pass him the sugar bag, watching as he eyeballs a small amount of sugar into the pan.

“My old man is a shitty person but he always knew how to make a mean pasta sauce.” He notices your curious expression, holding the spoon out to you, the sugar has managed to balance out the acidity and salt. 

“Salvageable.” You nod impressed.

Eddie dumps the dead spaghetti into the sink on top of the still smouldering bread, putting fresh water into the pan along with the ramen noodles as you pour the rest of the wine, handing him a glass.

“It’s supposed to have tasting notes of cherries, chocolate and cinnamon.” You read off the bottle label, sniffing yours.

“Tastes -” He takes a healthy gulp “-like wine, so - fucking gross.”

 You laugh, passing him the colander for the noodles, and grabbing some pasta bowls and cutlery.

It’s a sickeningly domesticated scene, the two of you sat at the breakfast bar, knee to knee, slurping away at the strange dish.

“Well sweetheart, we’ve managed to insult two great nations at the same time, cheers to Japan and Italy.” He grins lifting his glass of wine in a toast.

“Or we’ve created some kind of new fusion that will take the world by storm and we’ll be rich.” You counter argue.

“Oh yeah, this is some Michelin Man shit right here.” He says, taking another huge forkful.

“Michelin star.” You correct, laughing, feeling lighter than you have in hours.

You wash up the dishes together, Eddie constantly finding excuses to touch you, until you flick dishwater at him.

“Ah, now princess, play nice.” He warns, wiping his sudsy face with a smirk, pinching your side. You cup a large handful of bubbles, advancing on him menacingly.

“You wouldn’t.” He challenges, eyes narrowing.

“Try me Munson.” You dare.

“Truce?” He asks carefully, hands raised in peace.

You nod, letting him get close again before shoving your wet hand up his back.

“Oh you’ve done it now.” He laughs loudly, grabbing the dish cloth aiming a whip towards your ass.

“Eddie no!” You screech, rounding the breakfast bar, chucking an orange at his head.

“It’s war Y/n!” He yells, chasing you, you race out of the kitchen pounding up the stairs to your room, giggling wildly, you’re just in the door when he seizes you about the waist, lifting you off the floor.

“Ed’s put me down!” You gasp, laughing so hard it hurts your ribs.

He pretends to suplex you into the bed, but he’s gentle as he lowers you, protecting your head from the bounce hovering above you.

“Do you submit?” He asks breathlessly, hair mussed up, t-shirt slightly wet.

“Never.” You say defiantly, the effect somewhat lost as you trace your hands up his arms.

He presses his lips to yours, the last of your breath leaving you in a pleased gasp as he deepens the kiss, hands stroking idly up your slides and across your stomach.

“Missed you sweetheart.” He murmurs against your lips, your heart pounding like you’ve run up the stairs again. 

“Missed you too.” You mumble quietly, fingers scratching gently through his hair. “Wasn’t gone for that long though.” You remind him.

“Doesn’t matter, you weren’t close by, I didn’t like it.” He says, brown eyes staring intensely into yours, your mouth feels dry, filled with a jumble of words that don’t quite make it out. You settle for bringing him in for another kiss. Time seems to stand still, as you both lay there, absorbed in each other’s mouths, hands wandering, squeezing, stroking, until he suddenly stops a confused expression on his face.

“Ed’s?” You whisper, chest heaving.

“Who - do we have here?” He asks with a smirk, you feel your eyes widen in embarrassment as he extracts your childhood teddy bear from under your back, having forgotten to put him in the closet earlier. “This is a very respectable looking teddy bear princess, does he have a name?” He teases, making the bear wave.

You glare at him, making a snatch for it.

“His name is Bearington Bear the Third and he’s very old, so gimmie.” You pout, blushing.

“Bearington Bear the Third?” Eddie repeats with unbridled joy. “That is one hell of a name.” He laughs but relents in passing you the bear which you quickly kiss before unceremoniously throwing it across the room.

“That is no way to treat an elderly person.” Eddie gasps scandalized, you’re about to punch him when your phone rings making you jump, you roll away quickly grabbing the receiver.

  “Hello?”

“Hey kiddo, just thought I’d check in.” Your dad says, sounding very cheerful.

“Hey Dad, yeah everything’s all good here.” You say, trying to ignore Eddie who has decided to place kiss after kiss to the side of your neck. “Uh- how’s the fish?” You ask, elbowing him away but it just spurs him on, nipping at the soft skin.

“They’re biting pretty good, got a couple cooking up now. Gordon and Dale say hello.” You snag your lip on your teeth, as Eddie sucks on a particularly sensitive spot, attempting to lean away from his touch. “Sprout, you still there?” 

“Yeah I'm here dad, just uh - got distracted by the film.” You mumble shakily, a kiss pressed dangerously close to your mouth.

“That Travolta boy shaking his ass about again?” He asks with a laugh.

“Um - s-something like that.” You stammer, Eddie’s fingers splayed across your naval, threatening to move lower beneath the band of your leggings.

“Alright kiddo, I'll let you get back to it. Have a good night with Robin, love you.”

“Love you too Dad.” You slam the phone down as Eddie slips his fingers into your panties, lightly circling your clit.

“That was fucking mean Eddie.” You gasp, back arching into his chest. 

“Sorry baby, I just couldn’t help myself.” He groans, sinking a finger into your tight heat.

“Fuck.” You whimper, bringing an arm back to curl around his neck.

“This fucking pussy, jesus.” He growls next to your ear, nipping at your lobe, another finger pressing past the wetness gathered between your thighs.

He pulls you backwards so he’s resting against the headboard, your back pressed to his chest, legs cradling you as he pumps in and out, turning his head to kiss you, tongue fucking your mouth in the same rhythm. It’s maddening, his free hand cupping your breast, thumbing over the nipple, his hardness rutting against your spine.

“Ed’s.” You whine, hips rolling to meet his movements. 

“Let me get you there baby.” He huffs. “Wanna make you feel good.”

He slips from your cunt to rub rapidly at your swollen clit, the warmth moves slowly from your belly, washing across you in a gentle wave. You mewl into his mouth, Eddie swallowing every sound with his own.

He shifts out from under you, letting you fall back against the pillows, hands pulling at your leggings and panties, hooking your legs over his shoulders, tongue flicking straight at your sensitive bud. It’s like he’s making out with your pussy, wet, sinful, decadent. 

“Oh - god.” You stutter, hands gripping at hair.

“Feel good sweetheart?” He asks needlessly, fingers re-entering your cunt, crooking them to rub against the spongy spot that has you immediately cresting again, hips canting against his mouth.

“Eddie, fuck me please.” You beg.

“Your wish is my command.” He grins, stripping in record time, you pull your wine ruined top off, both of you bare and wanting. Eddie’s face falls suddenly.

“Shit! I forgot to bring condoms.” The poor boy looks devastated and you can’t help but giggle.

“Ed’s c’mere.” You beckon, he does as he’s told, crawling back between your plush thighs. “I’m on the pill, I have been for years.” You soothe, hands running over his back.

“You - you are?” He stammers, ears bright red and burning. “And you don’t mind me -” He trails off looking at you pointedly.  “ - I mean I'm clean, I've had the checks.”

“I’m clean too, and no I don’t mind.” You grin bashfully, he looks like a kid at Christmas.

“Oh holy shit this is hot.” He breathes, cock braced in his hand, sliding through your slick, you nod vigorously, the skin to skin feeling electrified.

He pushes in and you both gasp, you can feel every vein, bump and ridge as he drags along your walls. 

“Fuck baby, you’re so warm.” He moans, head dropping into your neck, kissing at your pulse point.

“Eddie.” Is all you can say like a record stuck on repeat, each thrust and snap intensified, the wet slapping of your bodies meeting in a delicious slide.

“Wanna ride you.” You murmur, sucking on his bottom lip.

“Jesus H Christ you’re gonna kill me.” He groans, rolling you both so you’re on top, you brace your hands on his chest, helping you to bounce, Eddie holds your hips so tightly you can feel bruises blooming and it sends you to dizzying heights.

“Baby, baby, baby.” He chants, grabbing the back of your hair, smashing your lips together, his hips pounding up into you. You rub at your clit, whimpering as the coil winds tighter and tighter.

“You gonna cum sweetheart?” He asks moving faster, and you can only nod, writhing on top as the band snaps.

“Oh god, I can feel you.” He whines, head pressed back as he ruts up harder. “Where - where can I cum princess?” He asks desperately, looking like he’s barely clinging onto sanity.

“Inside. Eddie, please cum inside me.” You cry, nails digging into his shoulders.

Eddie makes a choking noise, the veins in his neck strained tight, strong hands working your slick cunt over him continuously as he pumps into you. It sends you over for a fourth and final time, the warmth of him spilling out and around, both of you clinging to each other like life preservers.

“Sweetheart, I -” You wait for the rest of the sentence, heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears but he just gathers you impossibly tighter, pressing a hard burning kiss to your swollen lips. “ - I have a great time with you.” He breathes fiercely.

“I have a great time with you too, Eds.” You whisper, kissing him back.

Taglist:

@avalon-wolf @mystars123 @lolalanaie @eddiemunsonsgf2@eddieslildarling@bakugouswh0r3@sidthedollface2@81rain@blueberrylemontea-fanfic@winchester-angel@bimbobaggins69@tuskjohnny@fckyeahlames@thecomfortgoth@alanamarie@miarosso@ghosttownwherenoonegoes@somespicystuff@eddiethesexy @unfocused81 @1paire2vans @take-everything-you-can @mynameismothra @kingaa101

[teabeexo]

𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝙲𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜

A writing snippet featuring some of my characters in the Our Life: Now and Forever universe.

This takes place roughly two years before the events of Step 1. Thus, Mina (the protagonist of this piece) is eight. And her cousins, Sonia and Vérène are the other important characters in this. Sonia and Mina are the same age, while Vérène is a year older -- making her nine. This takes place while they still live in France.

OCs featured: Mina Linwood, Sonia Linwood, and Vérène Alcott

Enjoy!

╔═════════════════ ❀•°❀°•❀ ═════════════════╗

Mina lays flat on her back, tucked up to her chin in soft baby blankets and heirloom duvets. The room is quiet. The ceiling is plain. There is no wind tonight.

For once, none of the young girls have any words. Not even Sonia, the most talkative among them.

The burden of foreboding weighs heavily on their once-carefree hearts. Even in their glad moments together, there's an unspoken tension. Palpable and true, but repulsive all the same.

It's disquieting, especially for the youngest of the Linwood cousins.

There's a shuffle of sheets, and Sonia sits up on her bed.

Both Mina and Vérène lift their eyes from their homemade beds on the floor, blinking at their cousin. Sonia's form is illuminated by a halo of silver moonlight, which climbs the windowsill and dribbles over the floorboards. Her floral covers are bright and vibrant in the inky dark.

"Have your parents talked about it?" Sonia asks, gazing upon a mysterious rip in her pants rather than looking at the present company.

There's a beat of quiet. The silence ebbs into a suffocating muffle.

"No. Mom doesn't want to, either. I think that she thinks I'm upset." Replies Vérène, who lays sprawled on her stomach with her chin propped up on a pillow.

"Are you?" Asks Sonia, tearing the hole in her pants wider.

"Maybe a little bit. But getting away sounds nice."

"I'm kinda upset."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

Mina continues to stare at the ceiling. Flourishing leaves cast grand shadows, still and unmoving. The plants are eavesdropping.

"You know, before I found out we were moving, I heard my mom saying something odd. She was upset. Dad was trying to comfort her." Continues Sonia, unbidden.

"She probably feels bad." Vérène surmises, rubbing her puffy eyes with firm knuckles.

"I wish she wouldn't. It's not her fault."

"All the adults feel pretty guilty right now."

"They shouldn't."

"I know."

There's another beat of silence. Mina presses her nose into the soft layers of her makeshift bed. Her fingers curl into the malleable fabric.

"I wanted to cry when I found out." Sonia says now, quieter.

"Did you?" Inquires Vérène.

"I wanted to. But I didn't."

This time, Mina speaks: "Why didn't you?"

Sonia frowns from her spot on the bed. The hole in her pants is beyond repair at this point.

"Because I need to be strong. Everyone else is being strong. My brothers, my parents. I have to try too." Sonia says.

That induces a long pause between the three. Their chests are more burdened than ever, encumbered by the visceral discomfort that comes with the idea of moving. But there is hope. And there is time for the weight to be lifted.

"You know, even the moon cries sometimes." Hums Vérène.

"How do you know?" Mina blinks, turning over on her blanket to stare at Vérène's side profile.

"Because that's what the stars are. The moon's tears."

"Who said that?"

"Nobody. I think it just makes sense."

Mina hates that answer. She scrunches up her nose.

Sonia loves that answer. She feels her chest flutter.

"Stars are pretty." Comments Sonia.

"I bet our future houses will be pretty, too." Nods Vérène, her eyes closing.

"Yeah. I bet so too." The muscles in Mina's face relax. She'll let them have this one.

The shadows of the leaves have long-since abandoned the window. The moon has shrunken back over the hill, bathing the room in hollow darkness.

The girls all return to their beds, knowing that there will be no new stars in the sky tomorrow when they wake up. Because the move is not something to cry over anymore.

╚═════════════════ ❀•°❀°•❀ ═════════════════╝

Author's Notes

Thanks for reading! I was very unsure about posting this because I'm pretty subconscious about the quality of my writing and storytelling abilities, but I wanted to give it a shot anyways.

Shout out to Ice for proofreading and boosting my confidence enough to post it <33

Feel free to let me know what you think! As always, questions in relation to MCs/OCs are always welcome!

[sidekickjoey]

"Hi Chrissy."

Sitting in the cool grass in Hawkins Memorial Cemetery, Eddie watches quietly as the sun shines down on the stone before him. Radiant is the only word that comes to mind as it glistens and stands tall. Then again, no better word could've described Chrissy Cunningham when she was on this Earth, or her smile. It's fitting it would also apply to her grave.

He picks a nearby dandelion and rests it at the base of the stone, just below an engraving of a sunflower - her favorite, he's learned. A few of the fluffy white seeds float up and wisp around the carved petals, giving it life. Motion. It makes Eddie smile.

"I'm sorry I've been sorta' shit about visiting ya'," he says after a moment, a shy little drawl to his voice making him sound quite endearing. Forgivable. "Wayne and I just moved into our new apartment last week and the whole moving in thing's wrecked us. Did you know that man had even more mugs hiding in storage? At least thirty, the maniac!"

He imagines Chrissy's own smile at that one. Sure, she had been scared out of her mind the night she entered his trailer, but Eddie can never forget seeing Chrissy's eyes comically widen at the sight of Wayne's collection of various mugs from around the globe. Most people do as such - even Wayne on some occasions, when he's tired and not prepared to remember his own expensive vice.

Eddie's finger traces the sunflower.

"I wish you could see the place. It's a lot cleaner and bigger than our old shit hole at Forest Hills. Plus, it's got this super big backyard with a tree that I'm thinking of putting a hammock under. I think it'd be a nice spot for writing songs. Isn't that just something, Chrissy?"

A brush of cool air past him has Eddie believing that yes, it is.

He picks another dandelion. Blows the seeds her way.

"I've actually got another something to tell you," he hints, waggling his eyebrows to no one. "It's even crazier than us having a whole house to ourselves, Wayne and I. It might've actually just about blown your mind if you were still around. It's been blowing mine for the last few days, if I'm being totally honest."

The sun brightens on Eddie's back. He takes a deep breath. Steadies himself.

"I, uh...I'm dating Steve Harrington."

The sun continues to shine.

The cool breeze returns.

Life goes on.

Eddie releases his breath.

"I hope you're not like, rolling in your grave below me right now," he chuckles, voice tight and nervy. "I know I'm the biggest hypocrite ever for falling for him, a known jock AND popular kid. It goes against pretty much everything I've stood for or yelled about at lunch. But, it's kind of like what you said about me, Chris. He wasn't what I thought he'd be like. He isn't."

He's way more, as a matter of fact. So much more that it hurts sometimes for Eddie to think about. Makes him question how he got so lucky to meet him, really meet him, in the first place.

"I wish you could see it for yourself," he says softly a minute later, now tracing her name with his pointer finger. "You two probably would've been great friends. He likes sports and doing his hair and goofing around. He's also weirdly good at baking. You were in the baking club, right? I swear I saw you selling gingerbread cookies before Christmastime. The little ones with the candy canes? Right?"

No one answers, but something in Eddie's bones makes that assessment feel right. He looks up to the sky, lets the sun soak into what skin isn't covered up by leather and denim for a minute, and imagines the dreamworld he described. He imagines Chrissy side-by-side with Steve in a kitchen, maybe with Robin if she stuck around or visited during college. He watches them as they get too messy, covered in flour and sticky from dough and icing, and smiles at the fact none of them seem to care. They're all so proud of their work and wanting Eddie to try everything. He can practically hear their laughter, their joy, their lack of care or fear as he does. He lets himself drown in it, just a little. Basks in it.

Stares back at Chrissy's grave seconds later with a piercing twinge of sadness.

Grieves.

Whimpers "You should be here still, Chrissy" to the stone.

Sniffling, he tries to laugh away the tears that have suddenly appeared like a tidal wave. It does no good, though. Not even the sunshine, the beautiful stuff that usually makes Eddie feel so seen and comforted, can whisk them away now that they've begun. He grips tight at his thigh. Desperately tries to ground himself.

"Steve's been reminding me that there was nothing I could do. Says I've been placing too much blame on myself for it all. Maybe I am. It's just that..." he takes a deep breath, "shit, I hate that you were the one made an example of in all of this mess. I'm so sorry I wasn't able to stop it and protect you from Vecna and the Upside Down and all that horrible crap you had no reason to be swept up in because of me. I'm sorry you can't be here and getting your own new boyfriend, or your own degree. I'm so fucking sorry."

A full-on sob hits Eddie then, knocking him off whatever ledge he had been teetering on right into a pit of anxiety and bottled-up sadness. It renders him shaky and a bit blubbery, and as another sob gears up in the pit of his chest, he starts to feel guilty he had shown up in the first place. If he'd just kept his news to himself, hadn't let himself dwell on all the milestones Chrissy would never reach, maybe he would've been okay. Maybe he would feel a little less broken, a little less wrapt with survivors guilt, a little less-

"Hey."

Eddie flips around in a fright to find himself face-to-knee with Steve Harrington.

The boy's face is gentle when he finally works up the courage to meet it. It's the same gentleness that had been there the first time Eddie confessed to wanting to visit Chrissy, and the same that had coaxed him out of the car when his nerves got the best of him. It's also the same that had gazed upon Eddie when he confessed to having a crush, and when he proceeded to say he'd be fine if they never spoke again because he gets why that would not be happy news to hear.

His gaze is somehow never pitying. Always achingly empathetic.

It tears another sob from Eddie.

Carefully, Steve sits down at Eddie's side and wraps an arm around him. His hand soothingly begins to rub up and down Eddie's arm, grounding him the best he can. Eddie leans into it. Hopes Chrissy is okay with having their private conversation shared. Sobs again.

"Hi Chrissy. I dunno if you knew me, but I'm Steve."

Eddie shuts his eyes and buries his face into Steve's shoulder.

"I'm sure Eddie probably already told you, but we're...we're a couple now, so I hope you don't mind me intruding. I know uh...I know he's kinda private about this stuff."

He means Eddie's feelings about Chrissy's death, about Chrissy in general. The whole lot of it. Eddie knows it in an instant - feels the way Steve's grip nudges them closer together in understanding.

"I'm not sure what you were chatting about, but I have something to tell you if that's alright."

Steve pauses.

Bless him, he pauses for the answer that won't come.

Eddie could - no, plans to love him forever for doing something like that for his sake. For Chrissy.

"He's been pretty torn up about you. We all are, but...well, it's hard. I've been through this four times now and that first time is still a lot to think over. But...uh, Robs told me that in movies, ghosts are always like, torn up and stuff about people being sad they're gone. Want them to live their life to the fullest. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm gonna make sure our guy here does that. For you."

Blinking up from Steve's shoulder, Eddie sniffles. "W-What?"

"Yeah," Steve says, keeping his eyes on the stone. "I'll make sure he has reasons to smile and...and reasons to get through the hard times. I'm gonna' be there to remind him what all that's like, okay?"

"Steve..."

"And I know it won't be easy, but...I think it'll be good. For all of us. Ya' know?"

Tears threatening again, Eddie places a small kiss to Steve's cheek. He feels Steve's grip bring him in even more, almost keeping Eddie in his lap. Comforting him. It's more than he could ask for.

The sun shines on him. Eddie feels it again - wills it to help.

"I can't do it all on my own, though. I could use a little divine intervention here and there, if you could spare some."

Eddie almost corrects Steve. He almost says ghosts aren't divine, how that's reserved for angels and God and stuff. But, on second thought, he figures if anyone from Hawkins was granted an angelic afterlife, Chrissy probably was first in line.

Instead, he listens to the beat of Steve's heart.

"But, I'll try. We'll both try. We promise."

"Y-Yeah," Eddie hiccups. "We promise."

Steve smiles into his hair.

"Got anything else you need to say, Eddie? Or do you want to go grab milkshakes somewhere before we head back to your place?"

Blinking his bleary eyes back open, Eddie gazes at the tombstone. Commits it to memory. Pictures Chrissy giggling and telling them to go have fun.

Really, who is he to tell her no?

"Yeah, I think we're good here," he says, finally. He nods once more to Steve and lets him pull him up to his feet, the shaky thing he is. His arm ends up around Steve's waist as they give a final look to Chrissy, and for a moment, he wonders what she must be thinking. He wonders if she is grateful for their promise, or if she is wishing she could have a milkshake with them, too. Eddie hopes, wherever she is, she can go grab one. Enjoy with them, and above them. He'd like that.

And, after today, he thinks Steve might, too.

They hold each other's hand tight as they leave the cemetery.

They hold hands even tighter when Eddie gets a tattoo of a sunflower the very next day.

[drymushroomfics]

Fraye Hill of House Lannister

Previous Next

Chapter Eighteen

a/n: This chapter is suuuper angsty so I'm sorry in advance!

Fraye didn't go back to sleep after Sandor left. She sat and sulked the whole morning. She didn't eat. She didn't even want to bathe until the handmaiden's forced her into the tub. She wanted to weep as she was dressed in a Lannister colored dress. She thought for sure that she'd be marrying her love. It makes her sick even more knowing that the monster she is about to wed shares the same blood as Sandor.  As her hair is pinned and oils rubbed along her exposed skin, she stares into the mirror. She couldn't force a smile if she wanted to. She feels like she's in a nightmare and any minute now, Sandor would wake her and hold her and make her feel any ounce of safety.

There's a knock on the door; It's Tyrion.

"My Lady.", he says, giving a empathetic smile.

"Is it too late to run?", she asks.

She moves, dropping to her knees, allowing him to embrace her in a comforting hug.

"I am so sorry. I wanted to do more for you. You deserve so much more than this.", he whispers, his heart hurting for her.

"You did what you were able, Tyrion. You tried. That is what matters. Joffrey does what Joffrey wants."

He nods, "Still, we must be strong. You must be strong. If he hurts you, you kill him. Do you understand? Die trying. At least you tried. You're stronger than most believe but I know you can handle anything."

She smiles, wiping a tear.

"Thank you. That means a lot... Will you please help Sandor? He won't want it. Just make sure he doesn't do anything to get himself killed. I know he won't be able to handle his feelings agter today."

He nods, "I will, for you. But I'm not sure what little old me can do against him."

She laughs, "You'd be surprised."

She stands and takes his arm.

"Shal we?", he asks.

"No, I'd rather not.", she says, no hint of jest in her tone.

"I know, my dear."

She takes his arm, leaving her chambers. He pats her hand as they begin to walk.

Fraye is so nervouse, she feel as if she's going to release bile at any second. As her and Tyrion are walking, she spots Sansa Stark. "I wanted to see you before.", she says. Fraye takes her hand, "I am so sorry. I wish there was something I could do. You don't deserve this.", Sansa says, wanting to comfort her. "No, I don't deserve this. But there is nothing I can do right now… Thank you, Sansa." Sansa gives a sad smile. "But, it seems we are both doomed to marry troubled angry men, aren't we?", Fraye adds. Sansa says nothing, afraid to speak ill of her King. "Well, wish me luck and hope that my lover doesn't slaughter everyone in the room… Not that it'd be a bad thing.", Fraye teases, secretly hoping he would take her and run. "He won't… I think The Hound is smarter than that.", Tyrion says, "But we must go. We can't keep them waiting or the mountain will kill us all." Fraye nods, bowing to Sansa. Sansa returns the gesture, entering through the door, before her. Fraye's heart is beating out of her chest. She knows Joffrey will force Sandor to be there. That he will force him to watch.

Fraye's heart is beating out of her chest as they stand in front of the doors. She knows Joffrey will force Sandor to be there. That he will force him to watch.

The door opens and she starts to walk in. She's greeted with dozens of people, all staring. Joffrey walks up to her, a big grin on his coniving face.

"Since my uncle is unable to attend, I picked someone to walk you in his absense.", he smirks, moving to show Sandor walking toward her.

Fraye's heart seems to break when Sandor looks at her. She takes his arm and grips it tightly. Her hand goes up to the necklace he gave her. She gives it a squeeze, taking a deep breath. Feeling his warmth next to her, she wants to turn and run with him.

He starts to walk with her. He says and does nothing as they walk down the middle. Tears well in her eyes when he hands her away.

Sandor feels his chest falling more and more. He feels as if he could cry, looking at Fraye. He believes her to be the most beautiful creatures he's ever seen. It kills him that it's for his brother and not him. He would give anything to be standing there. He'd give anything for her to be his. He knows deep down that she already is his. But he wants her to share his name because of him; not because of Gregor.

Sandor's hand slides in his pocket, holding the keepsake she had given him this morning. He holds it tightly, doing everything he can to not cut everyone in the room in half and flee with her.

Fraye stands, numb to any feelings and unable to look at the man in front of her.

The septon starts to speak, "You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Fraye relectantly turns, feeling the weight of the Clegane cloak sliding across her shoulders. Tears start to form in her eyes again, thinking of how wrong it feels to have these colors across her without Sandor.

"We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, and one soul; now and forever.", the Septone continues.

Gregor grabs Fraye's shaky hand as the septon ties them together with ribbon.

"Let it be known that Gregor Clegane of House Clegane and Fraye Hill of House Lannsister are one heart, one flesh, and one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

She looks at Gregor. He seems annoyed at how long it is taking. He growls at him to hurry.

The septon seems nervous and hurries.

"In the sight of the seven, I hereby seal the two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Now, look upon each other and say the words."

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am 'ers and she is mine. From this day, until the end.", Gregor recites for the fourth time in his life with a grimmace on his face.

"F-Father, Smith, Warrior, M-mother, Maiden, Cr-crone, and Stranger... I-... I am his and he-he is mine... From this day until the end of my own.", Fraye repeats, tears falling.

Gregor says nothing, grabbing her and pulling her toward him. He kisses her cruedly before pulling her down the isle with him. Fraye can't hold back as tears stream down her face.

Sandor's heart breaks completely watching her crying. He feels his blood boiling. He starts to walk off but is stopped by Joffrey's annoying voice.

"Dog!", Joffrey yells.

Sandor turns to him, his eyes wide with anger.

"Don't do anything stupid.", he smirks.

He storms off, wanting to destroy everything in his path.

He finds his way in the stables. Here he is slashing at wood and hay again. He thinks about the last time he was here in this state. It was because of Fraye. He'd give anything to feel that anguish again. Not this. At least Fraye would be safe and he could still protect her. He feels his eyes water. He stops, breathing heavily. This is the first time he's felt such strong emotion since he was a small child. After the age of twelves, when he killed his first man, he never shed another tear. He never allowed himself emotions.

But here he is, years later, with tears in his eyes. He screams loudly, not caring who hears. He can only imagine what his brother will do to her. He can barely contain his rage any longer thinking about anyone else inside her. He starts to punch at the wood of the stable wall until he bloodies his knuckles and theres a hole. He stomps back to his chambers, yelling at everyone to bring him wine.

Scared maidens obey, leaving it on the table before running away. He shuts and locks his door, slumping down against the wall. He forgets the cup, chugging straight from the pitcher. He keeps picturing her saying her vows. How she stuttered and cried. It broke his fucking heart. He thinks about killing Joffrey. He'd give anything to kill everyone who has wronged her.

He drinks and drinks and drinks until he passes out on his chamber floor.

[lipeg]

Jaune: Sun has done much to damage both

Jaune had arrived early in the morning at the hospital where Blake and Yang were staying.

He was here as the Jaune Arc and not as the chief of police of Vacuo.

All Faunus were afraid to look at him, for he was the descendant of the devil of Faunus legends.

When Jaune arrived at the hospital.

It took him a while to find Yang and Blake because he had stopped to help people with his semblante of healing and unlocking people's auras.

Yang: When I find that monkey, I'm going to cut off his tail

Jaune: Yang, I have to remember that you are in front of an authority, I can put you in jail

Jaune sat in a chair.

Yang and Blake were in bed.

There were a lot of other people around her who were receiving medical treatment.

Because the world is in a desperate situation.

Jaune looked at the two guys and saw that they were almost 100%. As they were hunters, they were priorities.

Jaune: Okay, Blake starts talking

Blake: Speak? Say what?

Jaune crossed his arms.

Jaune: I talked to Neptune, he revealed to me that you and Sun have been through a lot together, you even traveled together when you escaped from Beacon.

Blake:I really have no idea why he did that, jealousy maybe?

Jaune: Our 🙄 I was so jealous when I saw you two kissing~

Jaune: Blake, please, Sun must have had a reason to do that, a man just doesn't hit a woman just because she's a lesbian. There must be a reason, and you know what it is, Blake

Blake looked away.

She was nervous.

Jaune let out a sigh.

Jaune: Come in soon

Blake turned pale.

She thought that Sun would enter through that door, but the person who entered was not Sun

It was Robyn Hill... Wait, this is still bad.

Before Blake could do anything.

His right arm was bound with a chain that was made of aura.

Blake: He can create aura weapons

Robyn was standing between Blake and Yang's bed.

Blake: you can't force me

Jaune: Yes, yes I can, I have studied the laws of Vacuo. And right now you're not helping Blake, I'm a 65-year-old man, do you think I'm that stupid?

Random doctor: You are 65 years old!

Jaune turned to the doctor.

Jaune: Aura does wonderful things

Jaune stood up.

He pulled a super necklace out of his pocket and took Blake's left hand, he put a large amount of necklace, and then he took Robyn's hand and glued both of their hands together.

Blake hadn't escaped.

Jaune returned to his chair.

Jaune: Then Blake started talking

Jaune bitterly regretted it.

Blake is not a girl with problems.

She was trouble in girl form.

He was not supposed to improve Robyn's semblante.

She revealed too much. Something he doesn't need to know.

Robyn wanted to get out as soon as possible when Blake told her about.... His hobbies

Everyone stopped to watch this soap opera, or rather everyone who was in the room.

Jaune: Let me see if I understood. Have you ever had a boyfriend who was 100% anti-human, where you both had a little tense relation, but... full of sexual tension...

Jaune stopped breathing.

Jaune: Instead of sitting down and having a conversation with him, you ran away to the Beacon, he was one of The White Fang leaders, who was one of the main people responsible for Baecon's attack and he was responsible for cutting off Yang's arm!

Jaune pointed at Yang's missing arm.

Jaune: You left without telling your team to go after the White Fang and detail that you did not take Yang to the hospital, you left her bleeding on the floor without her arm!

Random man: What a crazy thing

Jaune: You faced your ex-boyfriend and almost died! If Yang hadn't arrived on the scene

Blake: You forget the breaking into my house part

Jaune: This is the least important part! It was a miracle, Yang, it seems like you weren't dead! To add fuel to this fire, you discovered that your ex-boyfriend was an SDC slave.... This relationship is not toxic, it sucks! The guy was enslaved, he literally has a slave mark on his eye, how do you not want this guy to hate human?

Elderly lady: He really is right

Jaune: What is incredible to me is the fact that Sun was willing to be of help to you. He accepted all of this even though you treated him badly

Blake: I didn't treat him badly, Jaune.

Jaune: I didn't find another word.

Jaune coughed.

A child handed him a glasswater.

Jaune drank water and returned the glass.

Jaune: Thanks

Jaune: This story between the two of you starts off all wrong. You abandoned your team without giving a single warning, he followed you to your home, where the two of you face the remnants of the white fangs. Your house was attacked, your parents were almost killed, and in the end you kiss him

Yang: Sun looks like he is being chased

Random doctor 2: I wouldn't say he's being persecuted, of all the stories I've heard from my friends, the most common is when a stalker sees that his or her target is having a hard time, this is the perfect opportunity for a kidnapping. He's a fool in love.

Jaune: You gave him a kiss! It's the same thing as putting a billboard on your head and saying you have a chance with me, Sun! Not even my sister did that!

Jaune's blood pressure began to rise.

Jaune: It looks like hell came out of the mind of a 16-year-old teenager. Bringing two troubled teenagers together to become a couple

Yang: Jaune, you sound like an old man complaining

Jaune: I am old Yang, I have more important things to do, and the discussion of your sexuality or Blake's sexuality is not on my list

Blake: So you saying what the Sun is correct

Jaune: Don't put those words in my mouth

Jaune: I'm not saying that what the Sun did was right, but what you did was not right either. You rubbed it in the face of the man who was trying to win you over, that you are happy, etc, etc. Did you have to exaggerate that, Blake?

Blake looked away.

Jaune stood up and put his right hand on Blake's face.

He began to heal Blake.

The wounds that were caused by the Sun began to fade away.

The necklace that kept Blake and Robyn together. It was also undone.

Robyn, now free, the first thing she would do is clean her hand because of the Blake's hobby.

He did the same thing to Yang. But he was able to give back Yang's lost arm.

His work here was done.

Jaune: Now Blake, for the love of Jesus Christ, never do that to anyone again. Now I have to find Sun and make him apologize for what he did

Blake: Who Jesus Chris?

Jaune: Someone who would be the last person you would choose to follow because of your lifestyle

Jaune walked to the door.

Aura chain fell apart.

Jaune: Blake

Suddenly, Blake's animal instincts began to alert her to danger.

When she looked at Jaune.

Jaune was about to leave, his back to Blake.

Jaune had turned his head a little.

Blake had a glimpse of one of his eyes, and that eye was the source of her sense of dread.

Jaune's eye had changed, this eye became like her father's eye when he released his animal side. The difference was that his eye seemed to have electricity, the eye color changed to a much darker blue.

That was the eye of the diabolos Diogron Sabertooth.

They were the same eyes described in the legends.

Blue eyes as deep as the ocean, his eyes radiated lightning.

Jaune: If I find out that you're going to disobey again, I'm going to throw you in and you're never going to get out

Out of fear, Blake nodded his head.

Jaune: Good

Jaune left the room, Blake fell out of bed.

Yang was worried about his girlfriend's safety.

She will have to think of a way to deal with Jaune's new trick.

Elderly lady: Oh my gods, it was great entertainment in between, it would make an excellent piece of theater. It's a shame that my beloved Rogério is no longer here, I would love to give him a blowjob now after this show

Relative of the old woman: Grandma!

Elderly lady: * laughter * Oh darling I may be old but I'm still very good at what I do

[crimsonedquill]

Lost Love Pt. 2 (Ominis Gaunt x f!reader)

Tags: some angst, hurt/comfort

By popular demand, I'm back to deliver maximum emotional damage!

So yes, this is a fic to wrap up my previous Sebastian x jealous f!reader angst post (which I didn't expect to return to tbf!). Like I mentioned previously, making my foray into writing sebby content has been fun, but I'm going to try to focus on other characters for a bit now. (Will still do HCs and drabbles for him, though)

Thanks for all the love and positive feedback 🖤

The funeral of Solomon Sallow was attended by just three – Anne, Ominis, and you. Anne had first insisted on doing it all by herself, though you were glad Ominis had been able to convince her otherwise, seeing as she was in no fit state to bear this alone.

You held her as she paid her last respects. She placed a black rose on the freshly dug soil before turning her tear-streaked face to Ominis. “Ominis, would you…”

“Of course,” Ominis said, inclining his head. He stepped forward and drew a deep breath, taking a moment to find the right words before he proceeded. “Solomon Sallow was… flawed, like any one of us. He was a man of great passion and conviction, and his ways could often be brash and fiery. But let us not mistake his gruffness for malice, for his love for his kin knew no bounds. His every action was driven by a deep and abiding desire to protect and care for those he held dear. Let us find comfort in the knowledge that he died as he lived, standing between his family and adversity.”

He stepped back and the three of you stood in silence, the only sound coming from the wind blowing over the small hill. As Anne leaned her head on your shoulder to cry, you felt the familiar onset of doubt consume you. Part of you wished Sebastian was there with you, though you couldn’t say why – was it because you felt he had a right to, or because you wanted him to suffer, to feel the consequences of his deeds? You couldn’t say for certain. These past few days, you’d been experiencing so many emotions that it was often like you weren’t feeling anything at all. You’d give everything for a good cry right now.

After a few minutes, Anne said she was ready to leave and you led her back to the house, Ominis wandering beside you. Once you were inside, the frail girl sank into a chair, clutching her side as she winced. “Thank… thank you both, for everything. I’ll be forever in your debt.”

“Nonsense,” Ominis said. “It’s the least I could have done to repay you for your kindness over the years. I’m sure Y/N feels the same way.”

You nodded. “It’s no trouble at all, Anne. And I just want to say, if you change your mind about leaving –”

The Sallow girl shook her head resolutely. “I know you worry, but I need to do this. There’s nothing left for me here, and… I don’t know if I’ll ever find it in my heart to forgive my brother for what he’s done. I just need to get away and think for a very long time.”

“Know that you can always write us if you’re ever in need of counsel, or anything at all really,” Ominis said. “Please take good care of yourself, Anne.”

Anne nodded softly, and the two of you said your goodbyes. You were grateful for the breeze of fresh air once you stepped outside, though it did little to loosen the iron glove tightly closed around your heart.

“You did well back there,” you said to Ominis. “Those were beautiful words.”

“I hope it gave her some comfort, at the very least. Though if I were to be fully honest, nothing about this feels right.”

“I’ll say. You think she’ll be all right?”

“I do,” he answered, his voice lacking scepticism to your relief. “She’s stronger than she appears. Now, tell me, how are you feeling?”

You shuffled your feet, not even daring to meet his empty gaze. “I’m not certain it matters how I’m feeling at the moment.”

“It matters to me. Just because Anne chooses to bear this on her own does not mean that you have to as well. We only have each other to rely on now, it would be foolish to squander that –”

It happened within a matter of seconds. You hadn’t meant to kiss him; the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. Yet before you could even process what was happening, you could feel Ominis’ lips touching yours, a maelstrom of thoughts and feelings scrambling your mind. Both of your breaths were heavy when you pulled apart.

You were the first to speak up: “I… I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have done that –”

“We shouldn’t have,” he agreed. “But I… I think I understand. You must feel confused about a lot of things right now.”

“I do, but that shouldn’t be an excuse. Let’s just… forget about this and head back to the castle, all right?”

He agreed. You didn’t bring up the subject again on your way back, though you noticed how your eyes kept drifting off to look at his profile. You wondered if he was thinking the same thing you were thinking; that somehow, it had felt right.

— — —

You had not seen Sebastian ever since Professor Weasley had excused him from his regular schedule to give him time to mourn his uncle, though this didn’t mean his presence wasn’t hanging over you, like a dark spectre. In fact, the longer the hollow feeling in your chest persisted, the more you became convinced it was stemming from your inability to confront him. You briefly considered asking Ominis to accompany you to see him, but eventually you gathered all of your courage and went to his dorm alone, your heart rapidly beating in your chest when you knocked on the door.

“What do you want?” a bitter voice sounded from inside. You felt something sting, like a needle – he sounded almost like a completely different person. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, finding yourself face to face with Sebastian Sallow – or what was left of him. His hair was unkempt, he had bags under his eyes and his once rosy cheeks had paled to the point where you could almost see through him. It occurred to you that you only now realised what a human shell looked like.

“Y/N!” He stood up from his bed so fast that he knocked over the pile of books sitting next to it. You were thankful for the interruption, if only so you didn’t have to look him in the eye. You picked up one of the books and handed it over to him. “I see you’ve taken up reading again.”

“I never stopped. Anne’s situation hasn’t changed. I can’t give up on her, not now she needs me the most.”

“After everything that happened?” you asked, trying not to sound too scornful. “You do realise that your unbridled pursuit of any means to cure your sister was what led to all this trouble in the first place, right?”

“Of course I do!” he snapped back, his face contorting with anger. “But you honestly can’t expect me to –”

You don’t know what it was that snapped him back to reality, but the gaze in his eyes suddenly softened, and he sank onto the bed as he scratched his head. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “You need to give yourself time to grieve. All of this, the guilt you’re bearing – you might not want to admit it, but it’s consuming you.”

“No,” he said, beginning to ramble again. “No, I can’t. Anne is depending on me. I must –”

“Sebastian.” You were surprised at the power in your own voice, as was he. “Listen to me. Your sister is leaving.”

“Leaving?” He looked at you in confusion. “To where?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere far away from Feldcroft.”

“But… I don’t understand.” The sudden panic in his voice made you swallow, though you tried to keep a straight face. “How can – why hasn’t she told me anything?”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” you said icily. “She can’t bear the thought of her own brother being a murderer, Sebastian. That’s why. She doesn’t want to face you because she isn’t sure she will ever be able to forgive you for what happened.”

The rising tension in the air was palpable as you stood there, waiting for his response. You watched him, trying to read his face for any signs that reality was dawning on him, but what had once been second nature to you now seemed like an impossible task. Your heart sank as you saw his features hardening, darkness returning to his eyes.

“This was Ominis, wasn’t it?” he asked. “He put her up to this.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “After all this, your only response is to blame your friend?” you asked, not knowing whether to be mad or shocked.

“Some ‘friend’,” Sebastian seethed. “He’s been against me right from the beginning. Pretending to care, just to stab me in the back in the end.”

“He lied just so you wouldn’t have to go to Azkaban for what you did!” you yelled.

“And I suppose I ought to be grateful? Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need his sympathies – and the same goes for you.”

At last, you felt something inside you giving away, perhaps the last piece of the wall between your lingering feelings and the rising tide of anger that had been consuming you for weeks. When you spoke, your voice was steady, but chillingly cold. “You should know that I dreaded facing you today. I was terrified of seeing my friend hurting like this – the boy who’d always been watching over me since I was little, who never once hesitated to stand up for me even if it got him into trouble. The boy who I knew I cared much more for than a friend, even though I never dared confess that to him, because our companionship was dearer to me than my personal feelings. But I think I’ll rest a whole lot easier now that I know that person is gone. Goodbye, Sebastian.”

You left without giving him an opportunity to respond. Tears were burning in the corners of your eyes, and by the time you had reached your own dorm they were flowing freely, spilling memories of a dead past.

— — —

It was practically a miracle that you managed to pass most of your O.W.L.s after everything that had transpired in the last couple of weeks, though you mostly credited it to Sebastian slowly disappearing from your mind. Ominis and you had helped each other through it, studying together until late in the evening and questioning each other at breakfast, and at last your letters arrived, informing you both that you had cleared all of your required classes. Now, you found yourself in the Slytherin common room, chuckling to yourself as you watched a mildly intoxicated Imelda standing on a table with a mug of Butterbeer in her hand, leading the crowd in chanting house songs. You quietly left for some fresh air, spotting a familiar face out on the viaduct.

“Good evening,” you smiled as you approached Ominis. “The choice of music tonight wasn’t to your liking?”

“That was supposed to be music?” he retorted.

You chuckled as you stood next to him, leaning against the short wall. It was a beautiful night out, the light of a bright moon dancing on the ripples of the quiet lake. You were content to just stand there without saying anything, but then he spoke up: “I heard you spoke to Sebastian. I chose not to bring it up because I didn’t want you to be distracted, but –”

“Please, can we just not –” You sighed before recollecting yourself. “I just… I want to stop thinking about him. He’s made his choices and I’ve made my peace with that.”

He turned his head slightly in your direction. “Have you?”

“I thought I could save him, that there was something I could say to get him to change, to see the error of his ways… but then I realised that I was just feeding into my own delusion. I care about him, and I still think that I would give him my forgiveness if he sincerely asked for it, but his burden isn’t mine to carry. He needs to find his way out of this on his own. And I need to think about my own future as well.”

He was silent for a moment, as if to weigh your words. You noticed you were slightly nervous to hear his judgement, but he simply nodded. “I feel the same way. The best course of action for us to take right now is to focus on our own healing, lest we’re doomed to repeat the mistakes that led us here.”

You looked at your feet. “I’ve been giving all of it a great deal of thought lately. Some things more than others.”

“Such as?”

“What a potential future could look like, for you, and me.” You felt a familiar warmth in your stomach. You’d never paid much attention to it, but you had to admit Ominis was quite handsome, his almost noble features illuminated by the pale moonlight. “I was hesitant to bring it up because I feared I was simply looking for consolation after Sebastian… but then I realised there is more to it than that. You’ve always cared for me, Ominis. I wouldn’t blame you for desiring to stay friends after everything that happened, but I want to be candid about my feelings… this time.”

You took a deep, shivering breath. “I think I’m in love with you.”

He didn’t reply at first, clearly taken slightly aback by your confession. Then he leaned forward and easily found your lips, as if his blindness wasn’t a hindrance at all. He gently cupped your cheek as you kissed, his other hand reaching down to hold yours, squeezing it to put you at ease, to offer you the comfort of his warmth.

Eventually, he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know where this will lead us,” he said. “But I would very much like to find out.”

“I’d like that too,” you smiled.

— — —

“Will you write to me?”

You had to slightly raise your voice to avoid being drowned out by the noise coming from the locomotive and the excited chatter of the students around you. Ominis smiled, reaching out his hand as an invitation for you to grab it. You took it, rubbing his palm with your thumb.

“Of course I will,” he assured you. “Every day, if need be.”

You stood on your toes to press a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” you replied, thankfulness sounding through in your voice, “for being patient with me. I’ll admit I was afraid, but –”

“You owe me no explanation,” he replied. “I simply wish the best for you. We can take as long as you need.”

You chuckled. “Where did you learn to be such a gentleman?”

“There are some secrets I cannot divulge, even to you, my dearest. Now, you should probably be on your way.”

“Yeah, probably…” You took his other hand, the thought of letting him go paining your heart. You looked into his pale eyes. “I’ll miss you, Ominis.”“We will be seeing each other again before you know it,” he said. And as you once again closed your eyes and felt his lips against yours, you felt safe, knowing that somehow, everything would be all right.

— — —

“We’re here,” the coachman announced. Sebastian muttered a quick thanks before stepping off, pulling up his hood to shield himself from the rain. After the coach departed, he turned around and began to walk toward the lone house in the distance.

He had meant to say goodbye to them. He’d been practising it in his head for days – what to say, how to best put his thoughts on everything that happened. How to convey his sincerity when he apologised for everything he’d put them through. He wouldn’t have expected them to forgive him right away, but he had at least hoped it could be their first step on their long way to healing.

He’d changed his mind and left as soon as he had seen them share a kiss.

It wasn’t that he was upset, or mad at them. If any, he would say he had been more or less expecting her to turn to Ominis after what he’d done to her. Still, he regretted that it had taken the sight of his best friends finding comfort in each other for him to finally get a sense of the damage he had inflicted. They were all gone now – his uncle, Anne, his friends. Driven away, all by his own fault.

Had it been worth it? Had it been worth chasing after false hope, burning everything he had held dear?

He opened the door. His feet crossed the threshold, leaving muddy puddles on the floor. His footsteps echoed through the silence, the sole sound in a space devoid of life.

He was alone.