#il never reblog fics here but i will for you

[romanarose]

Tag list return!!!

I initially got rid of my tag list because it was really exhausting, tagging people, and then never getting any interaction

So I’ve decided on something a little different and I have several ways for people to keep up with my stories

Firstly, we have my update page @romana-updates

Then we have my community here on tumblr. V small I just got it going and dont really exepect interaction, but I figured it was a good way to help people keep updated. You can also share your stuff there too if you'd like!!!!

I'll link it here, but if the link doesnt work after a while you can just ask me and ill send an invite

Theres also my AO3, romana_rose. Not as interactive bc tumblr has asks and reblogs but if you're just looking for fics and commenting this is a good place!

As for the taglist!

Here's the way it'll go.

Comment: Moon Knight, Triple Frontier, Star Wars, The Last of Us, all pedro Pascal, alll Oscar Isaac or All

I may add more fandoms as time goes. Who knows! But if you wanna read Frankie, but dont want fishben or dont want santi.... idk what to tell you, just ignore the tag.

If you want Tommy but not Joel, just ignore the tag.

Only want x reader? I cant make promises. Gonna be gay shit here.

Ignoring a tag is simple. If you dont wanna do that, consider another way to keep up!

As always, individual series will have their own tags

Now, The problem last time was having long tag lists that took a long time and then people never interacted again.

So, if I dont hear from you for months, Il take you off the tag list.

This is not meant to be a threat to interact! As much as reblogs and comments mean the world, liking does too, so if you just hit that like button you're good.

I also understand life happens. I undertstand i dont write for certain ships all the time or some fics may not be your speed. That's okay! If you get taken off, just comment to be added again! No hard feelings.I will also be periodically redoing the tag lists just so if your interests change, you arent perpetually tagged lol

A note: none of these fics will be dark CC. as always, my dark side blog will hold that. however, dark themes are common in my writing fromt he begining. Leather and Lace dealt with an OC who was sex trafficked. SSSB, Sam has a whole litany of problems. Read the warnings as heavy theme are common in the romanaverse.

I love you all, and thank you for the ongoing support in these trying times!

A brief list of characters I tend to or want to write for.

Triple Frontier

Santiago Garcia

Ben Miller

Will Miller

Frankie Morale

TLOU

Tommy Miller

Joel Miller (Less now due to fandom issues)

Narcos

Javier Pena

Steve Murphy

Moon Knight

Steven Grant

Jake Lockley

Marc Spector

Star Wars

Din Djarin

Poe Dameron

Han Solo

(Kylo Ren Maybe??)

And hopefully some Bikeriders (gay)

Thank you all!

[foreststranger]

READ FIRST -͟͟͞☆

MASTERLIST HERE ☆

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟABOUT ME -͟͟͞☆

hi! my name is amy/cheng wei (成唯), i go by she/her/hers, i’m 13 (my birthday is in june), and i’m a silly little fanfic writer. it doesn’t matter to me which name you use. if 成唯，阿唯，小唯，唯唯， etc. is easier for you to use, idm. if amy is easier for you, idm either.

i mostly write for honkai: star rail though i might write a few genshin related things here and there.

please request me to write something! i love writing (despite me abandoning projects all the time). now doing commissions as well if you wanna pay for my genshin and hsr funds…

i usually don’t proofread my work bc i’m too scared to read it, so forgive me for spelling/grammar errors and nonsensical lines.

“I'm Lynx, a Snow Plains Development Consultant. Though... I prefer exploring the vastness of the Snow Plains rather than solving problems in the city. The brisk weather can always stimulate your vim and vigor... Ah, sorry, I get distracted when thinking of all the possibilities hidden in the snow.”

↳ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ, ɪ ᴀᴍ:

⛰︎ thinking abt lynx

⛰︎ working on an il dan heng & child reader request

(ɪɴ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟDO NOT INTERACT -͟͟͞☆

↳ ᴅɴɪ (ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ)

⛰︎ basic DNI list

(homophobia, transphobia, racism, etc.)

⛰︎ accs with NSFW names (you can still read my stuff but don’t like, reblog, follow, etc.)

you��re fine if you have a nsfw pfp bc tumblr auto censors 👍👍

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ TAGS -͟͟͞☆

#.forestfics​​​ ☆

↳ fanfics

​#.forestreqs​​ ☆

↳ requests

#.forestthings​​​ ☆

↳ other

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ REQUESTS -͟͟͞☆

↳ ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴜɴᴡɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ:

𑁍 character x character ships (unfortunately i only write x readers lol)

𑁍 pedophilic relationships

𑁍 anything with content I deem problematic/am not comfortable with

(kidnapping/yandere themes, the promotion of homophobia, transphobia, racism, and general bigotry, etc.)

𑁍 excessive gore

𑁍 NSFW (of the smutty kind, though there might be some ‘suggestive’ content)

if you send a request that i’m not comfortable fulfilling, I’ll let you know.

↳ ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴡɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ:

𑁍 genshin and hsr stuff

𑁍 romantic and platonic x readers

𑁍 canon x oc

𑁍 angst, trauma, character death, etc.

(excluding SA and anything incredibly graphic)

𑁍 and more!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ COMMISSIONS -͟͟͞☆

↳ ʙᴀꜱɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ?

𑁍 i get paid via in game currencies

𑁍 you get a proofread fanfic with a lot more effort than a typical request

𑁍 more words/content (i.e, texts and such)

𑁍 your commission takes priority over all of my other projects (AKA I’M NOT GIVING UP ON YOUR FIC. EVEN IF BURNOUT GETS TO ME)

𑁍 that’s it lol

contact me via dms for commissions, rates, etc. however, as a standard, my rate is around $6.79-6.99 CAD/$5-5.16 USD (300 genesis crystals/300 oneiric shards) for every 700~ words. if you need help with how to pay, i can show you. ofc you don’t have to commission me but i’m getting desperate bc i need dan heng and then i need lynx and then there’s topaz and her little dog thing and jingliu and argenti and huohuo and then genshin’s hitting me with neuvillette AND wriothesley IN THE SAME PATCH pls i’ve never been more desperate for pixels. #commercializingyourhobbies. don’t feel pressured to commission me btw, little pixel people in my screen are luxuries, not necessities. i jst rlly want them.

my hsr uid for payment: 601912597 america server

my genshin uid for payment: 629711011 america server

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟMISC. -͟͟͞☆

↳ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀꜱ:

Q: how long will it take for you to complete a request?

A: requests are my favourite things to do so usually i’ll stop working on whatever i’m doing to focus on it. depending on how long it is, it may take me a from a day to a week or more. however, i often lose interest and motivation if a fic takes too long for me so apologies in advance if i give up on your request. 𑁍

Q: does anyone help you run this account?

A: it’s just me. though sometimes, with gruelling tasks such as reworking the texting parts of my old fics, my sister (8 yrs old) will help me out. she’s a very nice kid. 𑁍

Q: do you have an upload schedule?

A: i post whenever i have a completed fic and want to post it. usually, I’ll post 1-2 times every week. though, this is not always consistent. usually i’ll post twice back to back and then leave for a while. and especially since the school year is starting soon, this upload schedule may be even more inconsistent. i struggle a lot with burn out and have abandoned many projects. 𑁍

Q: what are your hobbies?

A: i like doing creative things. drawing, writing, etc. i also like to read and i’m learning to play the flute! i’m hoping to apply for a local school art program for singing and visual arts when i reach high school. 𑁍

Q: what languages do you read and speak?

A: i’m most fluent in english as i was born in canada. i can speak vietnamese pretty well but i have difficulty understanding dialects and accents. i’m also not very good at reading it either. (hong kong) cantonese i can hold a conversation in (mostly) but i have a lot of difficulty with it and can’t read most characters, since i only speak it with my dad. 𑁍

ask before translating, taking inspo from (not copy), reposting, etc. my work. remember to credit me and if you’re taking inspo from it, please @ me as I’d like to see what you do with my ideas!

[startanewdream]

12, 14, 26 for the ask game :)

Thaaanks <3

12. Do you have a playlist for your current WIP(s)? Share it!

Ohh, truth time, I'm horrible at picking songs or making playlists. I do follow vibes, like Folklore was TSRTS' album, and I enjoy Pop Goes Classical playlist for Regency AU... this kind of stuff.

14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick?

the thing about (il)licit affairs, probably because of that scene in the rain. If anyone ever wants to draw something quite nsfw...

26. Is there something you’ve written that you would never want your family to see?

See the question above about the rain scene 😂 I never share anything I write with family, so the answer is everything!

(More questions here if you wanna ask/reblog)

[gilmore-angel]

so tired || r.b

summary: Regulus needs you to fall asleep

warnings: reggie being sad about Sirius leaving, crying, anxiety | lmk if theres anything else I should add<3

taglist: @pottahishotasf, @imabee-oralizard, @donghyucks-noona, @blackthunder137, @thehalfbloodedwitch | lmk if you would like to be added or taken off<3

note: this is for @fairydxll 's 2k celebration! I chose the prompts: 1. "Promise me you 'Il still be here when I wake up.", 5. “i can’t sleep without you here.”, and 15. "I'm never leaving…..I promise.". make sure to follow her! if you like this fic then please reblog! hope you enjoy<3

masterlist | navigation | turn on notifications for @baysfics to know when I post a fic<3

the air was cold and crisp in Regulus' room, something he usually enjoyed, but as he layed in his bed it felt like small knives stabbing him everytime the air touched his pale skin.

he tossed and turned in his bed, his mind clouded with thoughts. the thing on his mind? Sirius.

it had been one month since Sirius had left him to go stay at the Potters. Regulus didn't care though, well at least he told himself that. he told himself over and over that he was better off without that disappointment of a brother he had. he thought that maybe if he told himself he didn't need Sirius it would become true. Pandora had always told him that if you want something you need to speak it into existence. while he loved Pandora, her advice wasn't doing shit at the moment.

he hadn't realized the hot, thick tears running down his face until he let out an involuntary sob.

he knew there was only one thing, well person, that could calm him down; you.

he quickly pulled his dark green blanket off his body and walked over to his desk, pulling out some spare parchment and ink.

you layed peacefully in your bed, all of your attention being on the book you were reading. as you flipped the page you heard a tapping noise coming from your window.

grabbing your wand from your bedside table, you walked slowly to your window to investigate the noise. you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding at the sight of Regulus pet owl.

you opened up the window, curious s to why he would send you a letter so late at night.

"hi pretty baby," you greeted the owl, petting her softly, "what do you have for me here, hmm?"

you grabbed the letter from her mouth and opened it up. the letter was messily written, obviously done in a rush.

y/n,

I need you.

I can’t sleep without you here. I know this is probably inconvenient, but please, I'm begging. I really, really need you.

regulus.

the second you finished reading the letter you threw it on your bed, quickly walking out of your room to where your parents kept the flo powder.

once there, you went over to the fireplace, ducking down so you could enter it.

you closed you eyes, "black manor!" you yelled, not caring who you woke up, and threw down the powder.

when you opened your eyes you were met with the depressing sight of the black manors living room.

climbing out of the fireplace, you dusted off your clothes and began walking up the stairs as quickly and quietly as possible.

once on the second floor you looked around at the countless doors leading to the, in your opinion, excessive amount of rooms, trying your best to remember which led to Regulus' room.

you went up to one of them, the one you assumed was his. your suspicions were confirmed when you heard quiet little cries coming from the other side.

you slowly opened the door, attempting not to scare him.

the sight you were met with broke your heart. he was curled up in his bed, shaking, choking on his own sobs.

"r-reggie?" you spoke softly, walking over to his bed.

his head snapped back at the sound of your voice. he looked up at you with tears in his eyes, looking completely and utterly broken. he made grabby hands at you, silently begging for you to comfort him.

"aw darling boy, what's wrong?" you walked over and sat beside him, your hand finding home is his silky hair.

he didn't speak, just let out a sob. seeing how fragile he was, you decided it be best to just try to make him relax.

"shh, its okay baby. just breathe, okay?" you took you hand that wasn't in his hair to wipe off the flowing tears running down his face.

"c-can you h-hold me?" he quietly asked. you simply nodded. he moved over so you could get in besides him.

once you were under the covers, he moved so his head was resting on your chest. you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close.

"promise me you'll still be here when I wake up." he whispered, voice cracking mid sentence.

"of course, love. I'm never leaving..... I promise."

and with that, he let his eyes close at last. he didn't know what he would do without Sirius, but he knew that as long as you were there, he'd be okay.

[hunflowers]

The Aftermath

Word Count: 3.7k

Requested? Yes, and you can too, here :)

A/N: here she is, the little piece of the puzzle y’all have been waiting for. it’s a small part two of 1964, and it’ll take place just after their reunion at the end of the story!! i hope you enjoy it, because i missed writing my babies a lot and i hope you love them just as much as me.

pls, reblog the fics you read or heck even if you see it on your dash; it means a lot <3

good luck and have fun, in that order *nose boops*

“Happy Birthday, Rose.”

No one can explain the phenomenon of joy processed through the body and soul as Harry spoke those simple words into the air to Y/N.

It can only be described as a chill shooting down her spine, flaring goosebumps on her skin, her mouth running dry at the sight of him, or maybe the way her eyes glossed over with a glistening sheen. Pure joy.

As if she didn't already feel transported back to 1964 when sharing her many stories with her eager to learn granddaughter, she certainly did now. Seeing Harry's face, the same features that made her swoon all those years ago - though a little mature now - made her feel like she was her twenty-one year old self all over again.

It felt like a movie, as if the two of them shaped back into their younger statures, adorned in the style from way back when, embodying a world of black and white that would explode into color. Hannah and Eleanor disappeared into the future, and all there was, was Harry and Y/N like how they once were.

Before she could process what she was doing, Y/N was scurrying across the wood floor, walking the fast she has in a while, throwing her arms around Harry’s shoulders and burying her face into the crook of his neck. She could feel the rumble of his chest as he laughed, easily reciprocating the love by engulfing her in a hug, pulling her impossibly closer.

The smell of the roses swarmed Y/N’s nose, tingling her senses in the best way possible. Her brain was overpowering as it continued to be overwhelmed by the events happening, still trying to understand how Harry, her H, was in front of her.

Pulling away a few moments later - but not completely unraveling herself from his hold - she looked up at him, looking at her favorite shade of green that she tried so hard to recreate yet always failed. “Are you really here?”

“Yes! He is, Nona!” Ellie cheered from behind her, causing everyone to gape at her while also laughing. He’s really here, in her arms, breathing the same air as her.

Maybe he wasn’t a dream, after all.

Looking back up at him, Y/N smiled softly, bringing her hands up under his jaw, using her thumbs to caress the soft skin that was lined with a little bit of stubble. “I missed you,” she whispered, almost like it was meant to be a secret.

With his own little grin, Harry placed his own free hand on her cheek, using his thumb to swipe the tear that managed to escape her eye without her noticing. Instinctively, Y/N leaned her head to rest in his palm, a reflex she never seemed to have shake.

Harry didn’t have to say anything back for her to know that he felt the same way, if not more. His actions always spoke a lot louder than his words, and it also seemed that old habits hardly seem to die, even so many years later.

“Okay,” Hannah cleared her throat, trying to gain the attention of the two older folk for the first time in the last couple of minutes. “We’re meeting Aunt Carmella and Uncle Frank in twenty minutes.”

The duo separated, heat rising to their cheeks as they realized just how close they had been for those moments. Harry offered her her bouquet of roses, to which she took gratefully and scurried off to find a vase, uttering a quick, “I’ll be right back.”

In reality, yes she went to find a vase, but Y/N also needed a second to recuperate, inhaling deeply to get her heart to start slowing its rapid pace. Fifty-five years since she’s seen him.

Fifty-five.

It was a lot to comprehend. She was convinced she’d never look at him, hold him, appreciate his existence ever again. One thing is for sure, she never did stop loving him.

Y/N placed her hands down on the counter she placed her roses on, leaning her weight onto her hands as she felt the emotions roll over her like waves crashing on a beach. Her insides felt like mush. She was experiencing the come down after getting off a rowdy rollercoaster, like those she used to go on on Coney Island whenever she visited New York. Electricity shot through her veins as if she had been succumbed to the consequences of the electric chair - yet it wasn’t painful. In fact, she felt alive.

“Mom,” Hannah spoke from behind her, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. Y/N didn’t realize she had been so lost in her own thoughts for a few moments there. Raising her hand to her chest, she turned around and let out a breath, before smacking her daughter in the shoulder.

“You can’t do that to me, Han. I’m old, I could die from a heart attack.”

“Don’t even joke about something like that,” Hannah rolled her eyes. But quickly the annoyance dissipated as she remembered why she came into the kitchen in the first place. “Are you okay?”

Y/N pursed her lips, giving her a simple shrug. “Yes and no. It’s not easy being reminded of... the love and pain I felt. How did you even find him, anyway?”

Hannah sheepishly smiled, “Aunt Carmella...”

Y/N scoffed, knowing it was exactly like her friend to be secretive about something so monumental like knowing where Harry is and how to contact him. She couldn’t determine if it was a good thing that Carmella kept this information from her, but deep down she knew it was.

As soon as Y/N gathered her wits, the foursome were out the door and on their way to lunch. They had decided to drive two separate cars, and after a bit of begging, Y/N let Harry drive them in his rental. Though, along the way it was a bit of rocky journey. “First time driving on the right side of the road,” was his excuse.

In the car ride, Y/N took the time to truly admire the man she once laid beside at night, trying to wrap her head around the fact that he was next to her again. She wondered if in his old age he would turn wrinkled and decrepit, maybe using a cane or having a hunch back. It only seemed fitting that he beat all of those stereotypes and looked like he had the health of his younger self rather than a seventy-six year old man. He’s timeless; just like their love.

When they finally met up with Carmella, it didn’t take Y/N long to scold her friend for keeping such a humongous secret from her, and working in tandem with her own daughter and granddaughter. All the Italian woman did was shrug before latching her arms around both Harry and Y/N’s frames, pulling the three of them close for a long-awaited, reuniting hug that felt like home.

“Il trio è tornato e meglio che mai. questo merita un brindisi,” [The trio is back and better than ever. This deserves a toast] Carmella cheered, clapping her hands in giddiness as she waved the waitress back over to order the most extravagant wine.

Leaning down to whisper in Y/N’s ear, Harry muttered, “And I still have no idea what she’s saying.” Y/N bumped his shoulder with hers, shaking her head gently as a small smile snuck up onto her lips.

Lunch was shared with many laughs and old stories - all per the request of Ellie. She was eager to keep learning and eager to see her nona so happy.

When lunch was over and they were all saying goodbye, Ellie practically all but pushed Y/N to go with Harry so they could go somewhere private. Hannah of course condoned her daughter’s behavior, but also told her mom it was for the best they catch up without either of them around. They needed to be alone.

That’s how they ended up at the park downtown, where Y/N used to frequent often when she used to run in the mornings or whenever she needed a spark of creativity for her next painting. 

Once Harry placed the car in park, the stagnant tension between them only rose as neither of them jumped to get out of the vehicle. They simmered, absorbed, melted into the atmosphere, basking in it before they flipped it on its head to talk about what they both had been avoiding.

It was an unspoken truce to get out of the car at the same time. The sun was winking at them through the clouds, luring them to venture deeper into the park, just like it used to. Almost as if the star was just as excited as them to be back in each other’s lives. The saying is if walls could talk, but what about the sun? Or the moon? Both kept Harry and Y/N’s moments inside of them, stored deep in their cores right next to all the other love that happened in their line of vision.

Out of instinct, the two locked hands. And they didn’t seem to mind. It felt like a magnet pulled them together, and it would take a lot of force to break them apart.

As they walked along the paved path, being passed by those on bikes or joggers, or really even anyone that walked faster. They weren’t in any sort of rush, because moments like these aren’t meant to be fast paced. They needed to simmer, absorb, and melt.

Harry decided to be the first to speak up, surprising both of them considering, well, his past. “I see the artist life treated you well.”

Slightly turning her head to face him, she laughed softly, shrugging her shoulders. “I guess it did. You predicted it.”

I can’t wait to buy your art one day.

Harry gazed down at his feet, humming a response. He didn’t have the proper words to respond to her allusion to his letter. Hearing the twinge of spite sitting on top of her words was enough for him to gauge that his letter was a sore topic for her. And rightfully so, because even he hasn’t completely forgiven himself for not giving her a proper goodbye.

Coming up on a patch of grass that was half hidden beneath a large oak tree and half in the glory of the sunlight, Harry and Y/N decided to take a seat. If they were going to throw themselves into the past, might as well go all the way and lay in the grass like they did in Florence. Albeit, they wouldn’t actually lay down because it would’ve been impossible for either of them to properly get up.

They rested their backs against the large trunk, looking out into the field and watching little kids play around as their parents kept their distance off to the side with other parents. Y/N found it near impossible to not snap a mental picture of what was in front of her, cursing herself for not bringing her camera with her. It was a beautiful day, and one she wished to remember. Not because of the dreadful conversation that was bound to swallow her whole or the man sitting beside her, but because of the landscape.

What a waste of a beautiful day.

Now, it was her turn to break the silence, because she knew he wouldn’t. He may have once, but that was all he could probably handle. “Tell me about your life, Harry. Please.”

Letting out a breath of air he didn’t realize he had been holding in, Harry twiddled with his thumbs in his lap. “Got two kids. Ben and, uh, Rose.”

Ouch.

“Five beautiful grandchildren.” He spoke shortly and to the point, finding it very difficult to open up the can of worms that is his life.

Once Harry got the call from Carmella that he was going to surprise Y/N for her birthday, he couldn’t get on a plane any faster. The idea of being face-to-face with her again after so many years was daunting and normally he found it difficult to escape his confined box of reality. But that was the thing about Y/N, she always made things seem less terrible to him.

England is his origin and where his family resides, but it hardly felt like home anymore.

His marriage with Nancy balanced on its very thin, tight rope for thirty years, but they both knew it was bound to fall off. Once he returned from Italy, it was like he was a soldier returning from war, because he in no way was the same man who left for Italy when coming home. But, they pushed on, because it was what they were meant to do.

They had two wonderful kids and they seemed like the picturesque family they were planned to be. Behind closed doors, they were anything but. He and Nancy fought a lot and their kids seemed to loathe him for reasons still unbeknownst to him. He supported them and loved them like any parent would, yet it felt like they joined everyone else in his life that wanted to keep him silent. Everyone except one person.

Once his and Nancy’s divorce was finalized, the kids couldn’t be more thrilled. All they needed was a solid reason to drop their father out of their lives. As the years went on they slowly worked him back into their day-to-day routine, but not really. Only for the sake of his grandkids was he in their lives.

It was especially hard living his life knowing his own creations couldn’t stand him just like everyone else, and that was exactly why he couldn’t agree faster to get on a plane to America.

“I officially retired last year, so m’not really doing much these days. Actually, I picked up drawing again if y’could believe it. Haven’t touched a pencil for artistic purposes since... well, since then.” Their heads remained forward, not a single glance made towards one another because it felt easier this way. 

Y/N listened intently to the drawl of his voice, engraving the words he spoke deep into her mind, right next to the dusty ones he spoke fifty-five years prior. Everything and anything he’s ever said rests idly on little bookshelves in her brain, collecting dust the longer she takes to go back and hear them over. It was nice to add new additions to her collection. “That sounds lovely, H.”

His heartstrings pulled at the use of his nickname, something only she would call him. He was only Harry to any one, both by his choice and because every one else was too prim to call him something else.

Y/N took notice to how he mentioned nothing of Nancy, and paired that with the fact he wasn’t wearing a wedding band on his most intimate finger. She thinks maybe he did it out of courtesy to not beckon any unwarranted anguish and pain for her sake - because that’s exactly why she didn’t wear hers.

When she went to put her flowers in a vase in the kitchen, she slid her engagement and wedding rings off her finger and set them down gently on the counter, not wanting to clash her two separate lives.

That’s why she had to ask about her. She couldn’t keep going if she didn’t have any sort of answer to her wondering questions that she’s had for the past five decades. “How’s Nancy?” Y/N didn’t care to actually know how she is, she just wanted to know their story.

The leaves above them blew in the suddenly apparent wind, threatening them that what they were about to indulge in was like a storm on the horizon. It was bound to come and impossible to avoid. “Dunno. Haven’t spoken to her in a couple of weeks.”

This opened the door to many unanswered questions in Y/N’s mind, sending her down on spiral of want and need for an explanation that he didn’t seem keen on giving. This closed the most important door, flooding her with relief she didn’t realize she needed to feel just a little less pain sitting next to him.

Not knowing just how to pose her next question, Harry beat her to the punch, halting her thoughts in her tracks. “We’re divorced.”

Divorced. A strange concept. Y/N never imagined divorcing her husband in all of the years they were married. It seemed trivial and time-consuming and led to no greater purpose in her mind. She could either be miserably alone, or miserable with a man by her side. The latter seemed the most comforting.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m not. We weren’t meant to be,” he chuckled, laughing not because it’s actually funny, but because Y/N knew they weren’t meant to be. It was obvious. “Just meaningless pieces in my parents puzzle.”

Hearing his broken words that he used to rant about all those years ago resurface, Y/N couldn’t help reaching for his hand again, clasping it between both of hers and holding it in her lap. It didn’t matter how many years had passed, because it was certain his parents were still a sore subject. She wanted him to know that she never forgot the hurt they put him through, and that she will always be on his side. Always.

Diverting the attention away from himself, it was Harry’s turn to pour salt into a wound he knew would sting harshly. “Did you uh, ever get married, Rose?”

When Carmella had managed to get his number a couple years after Italy, they kept in contact nearly every week. A lot of the time their topic of conversation would revolve around Y/N, and what ever new information Carmella could relay. One thing he refused to know however, was if she ever got married. He didn’t need to know, nor did he want to. But now, he supposes he does. 

“I did. He passed in February.” The 1st. Coincidental, maybe ironic. “He was a good man.”

Silence. It was nice Y/N was able to settle herself with someone deemed to be good. It’s what she deserved. But Harry didn’t want to know anymore.

Silence. They kept their heads forward, but over time Y/N’s head slowly ended up resting on Harry’s shoulder. Their hands stayed latched and their bodies radiated each other’s warmth. Y/N felt cold though. Rehashing their pasts slowly brought them closure, but it in no way healed the pain that rested heavy on her heart. “I wish things could’ve been different for us, Harry.” They deserved different than what they were given. Why do soulmates exist if they can’t be together? 

A love like theirs is folklore; unsure if it ever existed, but meant to be told for generations. “We were special don’t you think?”

“We were everything,” Harry murmured, squeezing her hands, then planting a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.

Y/N laughed again at his allusion, but she wasn’t laughing because it was funny, but because it stung like a wasp. Over and over again. “I’ve still got that stupid piece of paper, y’know. Your letter. Saved it all these years because it was all I had.”

The little anger she had left inside of her began to bubble up. Though it didn’t last very long as tears welled in her eyes, just like when she picked up the stupid paper for the first time. Grief stampeded her stomach like a herd of frightened elephants, bruising her deeply as the pain she felt from that day made itself known in the present.

“You didn’t say goodbye. Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

The wind picked up as the clouds in the sky completely covered the sun in forecast, hovering over Harry as a reminder, just in case he didn’t already know the pain he caused.

Pulling Y/N close to his chest, he let her cry, knowing it was best to not say anything at all. She wasn’t legitimately asking why he didn’t, but it felt good to get the question off her chest. So he let her cry, his own tears pricking his waterline, balancing on the edge before tumbling over and down onto his cheeks.

Just when the sun began to come out from its hiding spot, the two subsided their emotions, calming down just like the leaves above their heads. The storm had passed. All that’s left now is the aftermath.

“We don’t get forever, Rose. But we have each other now.”

Something tells them though that despite how many physical years they may have left with one another, they’ll always have forever. The thought rests easy on their minds.

With just a few more minutes of sitting in the grass and simmering, absorbing, melting, the duo decided it was time to get up. They were going to put the past behind them, starting with the fact that maybe they were too old to be sitting in the grass like they used to.

Laughs and giggles were exchanged as they both tried to get to their feet as gracefully as possible without drawing any attention to themselves. They were a heap of giggles and optimism as they retraced their steps back onto the pathway, heading back to his car.

It almost seemed like déjà vu the moment a speedy bicyclist zoomed past Y/N, nearly grazing her left side. She moved out of his way just in the nick of time, but haphazardly fell into Harry’s arms, who always seemed ready to catch her even in the most abrupt of times.

It all happened so fast yet also so slow, running parallel to the moment this exact occurrence happened fifty-five years ago. Their whole day ran parallel to their pasts, so it was only inevitable that that same electricity sparked through their bodies again.

They gazed into each other’s eyes the moment her body felt safe, that same magnet pulling them close enough that their mouths were only a few inches apart. Not a single word was exchanged as their breaths mingled together and their fingers gripped each other forcefully.

Remembering when she told Ellie about their first electric moment, Ellie immediately questioned if the two of them had kissed because it seemed like the perfect moment. Disappointingly, they didn’t.

She would hate to disappoint her granddaughter again.

So, this time they did.

It was the perfect moment, after all.

[pyro-doll]

PYRO-DOLL'S MASTER-LIST

Characters listen in alphabetical order by first name.

All readers are gender neutral unless specified otherwise.

Hashtags:

"#binnie writes!" - all of my original works

"#binnie reblogs!" - fics I've enjoyed + reblogged

"#binnie chat!" - non writing related posts

"#binnie mail!" - answering asks and inbox stuff

"#binnie moots!" - any posts where I'm interacting with my lovely lovely mutuals

"#binnie's daily diluc reading" - literally I just read diluc every night before bed and my favs end up here

"binnie anons!" - interacting with special anons

(List below the cut! 🎀💫)

Albedo ~

"I won't take you for granted." Albedo x reader

"Yours truly, Sweetheart." Soulmate AU (request)

Beidou ~

They fall asleep in your lap! Genshin x Reader

Diluc Ragnivindr ~

They fall asleep in your lap! Genshin x Reader -

Tending to his wounds - Diluc x reader

Diluc headcannons! From anon + my additions

Movie night headcannons! Genshin x reader

Genshin x reader Circus AU!

"I don't want to lose you" - Hurt/Comfort

"It's not over yet!" - Hurt/Comfort

Il Dottore ~

Harbingers x reader relationship headcannons

Movie night headcannons! Genshin x Reader

Genshin x reader Circus AU!

Nights like these - dottore fluff!

Kaeya Alberich ~

Kaeya x Alchemist!Reader, tending to sick kaeya

Kaeya x Sick!Reader, kaeya tending to sick reader (request)

"Belonging" kaeya comforts reader (request)

Kaeya x Injured reader comfort headcannons (request)

"Never a Burden." Kaeya x Gn!Reader (request)

Genshin x reader Circus AU!

Keqing ~

"May I have this dance?" - Keqing x reader, ballroom dancing

La Signora

Harbingers x reader relationship headcannons

Scaramouche ~

Harbingers x reader relationship headcannons

Tartaglia ~

They fall asleep in your lap! Genshin x Reader

Harbingers x reader relationship headcannons

Movie night headcannons! Genshin x reader

Genshin x reader Circus AU!

Zhongli ~

Genshin x reader Circus AU!

[venhedish]

Ven’s Masterlist of SPN Fic

I write mostly pre-series and early seasons Big Feels™ Wincest fic. There’s a lot of angst and pining here, but plenty of love and devotion mixed in with the darkness.

I always deeply, deeply appreciate likes, kudos, comments, and reblogs!

Wincest Fic

Stand-Alone

Yesterday is a Ghost I Believe In ~4.1k, Teen, Pre-series, Epistolary, Multimedia, Experimental There's an old shoebox under Sam Winchester's bed. It's been there almost as long as he can remember. He doesn't look inside it very often, but when he does, he takes his time. A multimedia collection of letters, journal entries, pictures, and other ephemera from a life on the road. .

That Monster, Love ~2k, Teen, Pre-series, POV Outsider, POV John Winchester, John Finds Out, Angst “You think you’re doing your boys any favors, raisin’ ‘em like this?” .

To Cure My Lonesome Blood ~8.8k, Explicit, Pre-series, Pining Dean, Angst, Bittersweet Ending Dean’s been sick since before either of them was born. The disease is incurable, written into his blood – the same blood he shares with his brother. If he’s not careful, the fever will spread like a fire and consume them both. .

Like Sand, Like Water, Like Sunlight ~1.7k, Gen, Pre-series, Mutual Pining, Angst, Pre-Slash Sea birds circle overhead and Dean wishes he had a camera. Sam looks so young, all of twelve years old, and exhilarated. Dean wants to hold this image in the chambers of his heart, but his pulse just carries it along; time is cruel that way. .

The Space Between Sense and Memory ~4.8k, Teen, Pre-series through Season 1, 5-and-1 Things There are a hundred unwritten rules on all the acceptable ways brothers should touch each other. There are hardly any ways at all to break them. Or; five times they follow the rules and one time they don’t. .

Every Goodbye, all at Once ~900, Teen, Pre-series, Stanford Era, Pining Dean, Angst, Epistolary "Hey, It's Sam. If you're looking for my dad, you can reach him at 866-555-9352. If you're looking for me, leave a message." A series of voicemails Dean leaves at the number Sam left behind. .

Breathe You In (Choke You Down) ~6k, Explicit, Season 01, PWP, Scent Kink, Guilty Dean Winchester Once Sam was gone, Dean missed him in a way that was all-consuming, all the way down – so deep in his bones that he shook with loneliness some nights. And it was the familiar scent of his brother’s hair where it tangled warm against the pillows, his pulse beating under his skin and sending the fear of the hunt wafting off of him in waves that Dean struggled to hold onto the hardest. Dean really likes the way Sam smells..  .

Dawn is Coming (Open Your Eyes) ~5k, Explicit, Season 01, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Back Together In which Sam and Dean suffer new wounds and stitch old ones back together. There’s an awful storm, a dead monster, an injury, and a whole lot of feelings. .

You put the Magic in Me ~9.1k, Explicit, Season 02(ish), Sex Pollen, Porn with Plot, Casefic “This is the weirdest thing we’ve ever done for a case,” Dean says under his breath, leaning into Sam and scouting the crowd gathered around a dozen tables inside the little café. “Dude, relax,” Sam says back, eyebrows raising at his brother’s nervous energy. “I thought this would be, like, your thing.” He gestures vaguely to the women milling around inside. A long, vividly red banner hangs across the open french doors that lead into the space, emblazoned with the words The Oolong Tea Room Presents: Lonely Hearts Club Speed Dating! Feb 11-14th! Or; in which Sam and Dean learn a thing or two about chemistry. .

The Stars are not Wanted Now ~2k, Teen, Season 02, Episode Tag: s02e21 All Hell Breaks Loose, Angst, Death Rituals There was a body on the bed.  It had been there long enough that the slanting light of morning crept into the room like an unwelcome invader and washed the world in a dream-shade of palest blue.   But there were no dreams here; only death, only memory. The body on the bed was all that remained of Samuel Winchester, who had died in his brother’s arms the night before. .

Demi-Gods and Hungry Ghosts ~5.8k, Explicit, Season 03, Episode Tag: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Dark, Dub-con, Hurt No Comfort This dream-state of living on pause and rewind leads to some interesting avenues of thought that Sam doesn’t mean to travel, but after a certain number of unrelenting Tuesdays, they just become inevitable. If Dean dies every day—if his memories are wiped, or if they never happen at all—what could Sam get away with, if he wanted to? Could he dare to find out?  .

In Sanguine Vita Est   ~5.2k, Explicit, Season 04, Knifeplay, Dean’s Hell Trauma, Hurt/Comfort Everything was different now. Dean was here—back from the fucking dead—but he was a stranger in his own body. Scars gone, aches from broken bones that hadn’t set right vanished back into the void as if they’d never existed at all. He’d become a stranger to the whole world. He’d become a stranger to Sam. _ Dean asks Sam to help him heal after he returns from Hell. .

All Heartless Spectres, Happiness ~5.7k, Explicit, Season 06, Episode Tag: s06e06 You Can’t Handle the Truth, POV Outsider, Angst, Soulless Sam Lisa Braeden receives an email with the subject line, "You Deserve to Know." It contains a single video file and nothing else. .

The Rungs of Me be Under You ~1.6k, Teen, Gencest, Post-Bunker, 2nd Person POV, Queerplatonic Sam and Dean, Non-Sexual Kink What they share has never been easy to define. Why should this be any different?  .

Wincest Series The Top/Bottom Discourse Series (Ongoing) [Each story is canon compliant and listed chronologically, but they can all be read as standalone works.] This series was born originally from a silly meta post I made on Tumblr as a response to some very angry top/bottom discourse I was seeing about how only Sam could truly be A Top™, or how only Dean could truly be A Top™. I personally like to kink and let kink and not drag outdated gender politics into my fandom (Dean can't be a bottom because he's too masculine? Ice cold take, bro), so I wrote a filthy little tongue-in-cheek post about all the ways I think Sam and Dean have fucked each other over the years.

 I’m Thinking About Whatever You’re Thinking About ~5.1k, Explicit, Pre-series, PWP, Bratty Sam, Exhibitionism, Fear of Discovery Sam is such a brat, sometimes. .

 Shoot to Thrill ~6.7k, Explicit, Season 02, Porn with Plot, Hustling, Getting Back Together It's just like riding a bike. .

Burn Out The Night ~4.9k, Explicit, Season 08, Porn with Plot, Car Sex, Light BDSM, Fluff What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. .

Destiel Fic

Love Made a Martyr of Me ~500, Teen, Season 05, Endverse, Past Sam/Dean, Angst Sam says yes in Detroit, and in the space of a single syllable, there's nothing left in Heaven or on Earth for Dean to love. Cas doesn't seem to care. .

The Sharp Teeth of the One You Love ~2k, Teen, Season 05, Endverse, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Pining “Quit bein’ a baby, Cas.” Dean’s hands were covered in blood, but they were steady as always while he worked to stitch Castiel back together. “I’m sorry,” Cas growled between gritted teeth. “I don’t exactly have a lot of experience feeling pain.” He hissed again when Dean slid the curved needle back through the eight-inch-long gash that ran deep and bloody down Cas’s bicep. Castiel learns something about what it means to be human. .

Wincestiel Fic

Temerate ~700, Teen, Season 05(ish), Past Sam/Dean, 2nd Person POV, First Time Your brother is sitting in the corner of the motel room. His big hands are worrying at each other; he squeezes them together, fingertips white from the pressure of his grip. He meets your eyes and his gaze is like a lightning strike. .

Dean/John Fic

Cruore ~1.1k, Mature, Pre-series, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Blood, Intrusive Thoughts Bites, Dean could deal with – claw marks and broken bones. But this- ... a bullet was a different kind of monster altogether. .

Supernatural RPF

Il Cielo in Una Stanza ~4.4k, Explicit, Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, Getting Back Together, Prequel-Gate, Polyamory, Non-AU Jared Padalecki receives a present he wasn't expecting at all for his 39th birthday. . 

Other Supernatural Fic

Bad Things, Better Reasons ~2k, Explicit, Pre-series, Dean Does Sex Work, Angst, Brotherly Love. Dean does whatever it takes to keep the bills paid while John is gone. The kid waiting for him back at the motel room is all the justification he’ll ever need. .

No Was Her Name ~1.3k, Teen, Season 12, Dean/Mary, Light Angst, First Kiss Mary Winchester was alive. She was solid—made of skin and blood and bone—and she existed in the same world as Dean. It wasn’t a dream; she walked and talked and breathed. She ate, she slept, she wandered the halls of the bunker at odd hours. She was a ghost made flesh, and Dean was haunted by her presence. .

[librarycard]

KAIT MY BELOVED TOURE HERE WIT H ME NOW HI KAIT I DROVE YOU HERE NOA I DIDNT OKAY I DIDNT DIVE HERE YOU LORIN DOROE YOU HERE BUT I WAS THERE IRGHT. SO LIEK @godstielsbody KAIT MY BLREPVED AGAIN I MUST ON E AGAIN SAY TYOU ARE SO DEAR TOM E BUT I M SORRY I ALWAYS FORGET YOUR URL IS NOT PROFESSORBBRADWSAWHW ANYMORE.  AND THAT SHIT IS SOOO CARZY YOU TRULY BEAT THE BUTCGES TO THAT URL. LOVE YOU I MIGHT THROE UP I CANT LIE BUT KAIT MY BELOVED WHEN YOU GOT YOUR CDI ROC E I WAS AAD BECAUSE IW ASNT THERE AND I DIDNT KNOW UNTIL LATER BUT I FOLOOWERD VILMA OKASY HI VILAM IF YOURE READING THIS HELLO ND MYEBYE HI ? KAIT MY BELOVEF YOU ARE WONDERFUL I ENJOY YOU SS PERSONA ND I THINK THAT YOU ARE TH EBSTE FUCKING IAR I HAVE EVER HEARD YOUR SKILL AS AT STORYSPINNING WITH THE FALLOUT FAKE OFF OUT WAS SO GOOD I SWAER IM IN THE MDRECDDACRED CULE AND I STILL BELOIEVE D IT BCAUSE I WAS LIKE HOLY SHIT KAIT IS CRAYYYYY GOOD AT LYING O IS JULUIAN HI JULIANS THIS IS ABOUT KAIT THO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BUT THIS IS ABOUT KAIT HIAS SO KAIT MY BELOVED KAIT IS A GOO DFUCKING WRITER I GO CRAZY WAT IS YOUR URL ITS COWBOYDEANWICNEHSTER LIKE HTEIR OLD THUMBLR URL UM IF YOU REMEMBER THAT URL ON TUMBLR YOU PREADATE ME BECAYUSE ID DINT KNOW KAIT AT THAT TIME AND YET I STILL MANAGED TO BE ITHE ONE THAT PICKEDFJ KAIT UP RIGHT PI PICKED KAIT UP THEY ARE GREAT. I LOVE KAIT. WRITE. FIC. JACK FIC. YOU EROTE JACK FIC BABY JACK YOURE FOOLING YOURSEL READ IT STRAEAM IT NEVER LEFT MY BTRIN CONTENT GOOO GOOO SO GOOD THAN YOU KAIT YOURE RIGHT HERE WITH ME RIGHR NOWQW LIZTENING TO ME WRITE THIS BUT YOU SHOULD KNOW YOURE WOUNDERFUL AND I APPRECIATE YOU FOEVER EVEN THOUGH I MISSED YOUR DIVORCE I STILL AM A BIGG FAN EVEN BFEIRE I KNEW YOU I REASD YOUR STUFF WHICH I HADNT KNOW YOU KNOW WERE TOUYOU BUT I ENJOYERD IT BAZBY JACK FICSO FGUFKCING GOOD ALSO THE DEANS KAIT IM LITERALLY GOING TO FUCKING BLOW UP I DIDNT MNOW RTHAT KAITF WROTE DEAN WINCHESTERS COWKRER  VS THE HETEROSNORVMAIVTVE AGENDA SO GOOD. ILOVE IT SO MUCH ID DINT KNOW I LOVE THAT FIC IVE READ IT SOOO MAYN TIMES DID YOU KNOW THAT KAIIT WRITES A N AMAZING FIC OH MY FCUKYNG DGOD THANK YOU KIAIT FOR YOUR WORK TO YOUR SERVIECE TO THIS COMMUNITY UOU KNODONT KNOW YO UDONT KNOW THERES THAT SCENE WHERE DWEAN BRINGS JCAK TO WORK RIGHT AND I WHEN THE COWORKERS ARE LIEKR WHERE S JACKS MOMS GONNA  NEVERMIND SORRY THATGS TH EWHONG ONE BUT THE OTHER THEYRE LIKE  NEVERMIND I FORGOT THAT WAS EWRONG TOO DEANS COWORKERS KAIT IS SAYING THIS RIGHT NOW OKAY DEANS COWORKERS aasumws THAT DEAN WAS STRAIGHT AND THEN WERE SURPISED WHEN CA SWAS OK STOP. THEY WERE L;ILE MO DWCAS IS THIS OR THIS NO HES THIS NO THS BUT THEY WERE SALSO LIEK THAT ABOUT JACK AND PLIKE 4 16 SOMETHIGN LOKAY SO ANYHWAY THE POINT IS ITS GODO ANAD AMZING KAIT PLEASE REBLOG THIS WITH YOUE A03 BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN PLEASE LINK THE TWO FICS ALOS BUT ALDSO OUR WHOLE A403 I LOVE YOU I AM SO GLAD I MET YOU FRIEND BELOVED KAIT GOOD BYE

[glitteronadumpsterfire]

I'm a fucking wreck rn I haven't been sleeping for a week and I'm getting some rest from the bullshit factory that is my brain only now, but I just wanted to say that last year for me has been saved by tumblr and all the friends I made along the way.

Before you go below the cut, a special thanks goes to the Bee Movie Anon, who, rightfully, I can't tag so I have to say it here in the hope that they'll see it. Your hunger for chaos made me feel a lot of emotions, and I'd have never in any time or space thought that the Bee Movie would be such a prominent part of my life as it is now thanks (read it with a note of sarcasm) to you. Thank you for providing us an infinite amount of both entertainment and suffering, hell, some of the friends I made were because of YOU. I'm still not sure what was your drive to go and start this absurd crusade for the bee movie in the 80s metal fandom, but I don't know, I don't think bee so, I'm not gonna question your ways.

@arnold-layne being the first in line, you kept me sane somehow in the first phases of quarantine and dedicated a lot your time to talk with me and helped me enormously with creativity. If it wasn't for you, that Cyberpunk Comic That Is Kinda Inspired By The Crüe and Shout At The Devil would've been already down the drain. I would've given up probably, because I didn't know how to exted the concept and have an actual plot. A dream that I've been having for literal years wouldn't even have such cool characters with a rich storyline if it wasn't for you. I know I kinda left it after a month or so of intense brainstorming with you, I was literally drained at that point both physically and mentally, but oh boy I haven't forgot about the characters that WE created. How could I after all? Russ being the wreck of a tormented junkie protagonist that he is, Dylan the happy-go-lucky fuck up that seems to do nothing right but with the best intentions, Frankie the runaway sassy and wary androgynous teenager whose gender is a mystery even to themselves, and the epitome of the found family trope, ex gov agent part Japanese, part Russian, part cyborg Vik, whose story isn't still clear yet but we'll give him a very good one, eventually.

You gave me the curiosity to read fanfiction again after literally NINE YEARS of being distant from that part of the fandom and honestly I don't regret it one bit. In fact, I discovered literally my favorite writer in fanfiction. That is you, Arnold. I don't care how frequently you write, I don't care if sometimes you can't do your best. I'll always be there waiting for the next chapter and I'll always think that your art is sublime. I'll have to admit, I don't read your works as often as I should. But it's because I love them so much that I want to always save for later. It's like a drug, or a delicious cake that you want it to last as long as possible so you can enjoy it for much longer (I should be reading your fic more often either way tho like, at least so I can make more art for it. I'll make sure to change that this year and give you the recognition you deserve 🖤).

Everytime I make art, everytime I make a post, I always wait for your name to pop in my notifs. And fuck if I'm happy when I see it, and I rush to read your tags and it always makes my day. Like seriously, you mean so much to me and I admire how you can still be any amount of sane with all you're going through. You're strong as hell, keep going. 🖤

@i-dont-like-rice dude, how can I explain it. You're my best bud here. You're my chaotic sibling from another mother. The other braindead I share the single braincell I have with. The Nikki to my Tommy. Or the Tommy to my Nikki, I'm still not sure which of us is which (I guess I'm Nikki and you're Tommy? lmao it's ironic how even them are an italian and a balkanian) but you get the point. Every interaction we have, I laugh my ass off till my whole body hurts every time. I think I worried my mother and annoyed my sister at least a couple times for bursting out laughing for five minutes straight out of the blue, especially if it was late at night, and all the times, I swear it was because of you. You are as chaotic as you are kind, and it's always so disarming to see you worry or take care of others when you are definitely in a worse situation. Please, be more selfish, goddammit. For your own sake. And be more confident of your art. Draw shit and post it. Who cares if it's not perfect and you hate it and you don't want anybody to see it, it's tumblr, nobody will ever reblog it or give you the well deserved recognition anyway! So it's worth a try isn't it?

@no-stone-no-bone seriously, I'm so glad I met you. You're like the third element of chaos that holds me and Andi together. All three of us are literally unstoppable. You're extremely sweet too and I wish you the best, and DON'T HIDE SHIT IN THE TAGS GODDAMMIT 😂

@white-lightning-625 @viiinceneil I know we really haven't talked much, and we met through unfortunate times, but I'm so glad that something good came out of the chaos and drama, which is being able to talk to you and getting to know you both better. And the fics. My god, the fics. Frankie, I already told you this but MY GOD. I still find it incredible that I've read a fic about a band I didn't even know what they looked or sounded like and I was HOOKED from start to finish. And Katie, I should definitely read more of your works because I love what you've got going on. You're both very sweet and talented with a very distinct, beautiful way of writing and I can't wait to sink my teeth into the pulp of your work, because I know that by now I only scratched the surface.

@awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands Bruh, conoscere una fan su tumblr the parla la MIA STESSA LINGUA (e che ha pure il mio stesso vero nome lmao cosa sta succedendo)??? Che concetto innovativo!!! Le nostre conversazioni sono sempre disgiunte, ma non importa, adoro ogni nostra interazione. Sei seriamente una delle persone più dolci e gentili che abbia mai conosciuto. La tua creatività stimola sempre la mia. Le tue moodboard sono sempre 👌👌👌 e ogni volta trovo sempre qualcosa che sì, ci avevo pensato, ma mai nel modo in cui lo poni tu, e di solito sono una persona che resta vicina alle proprie idee, ma tu riesci a farmi alterare prospettiva, e trovo questo meccanismo mentale molto affascinante. Ti ricordi lo swapped instruments AU, con Tommy come cantante, no? Giuro che è un concetto a cui penso ancora dopo mesi. Spero di avere la capacità mentale per tradurre quell'idea in arte il prima possibile, perché cazzo, lo adoro troppo

@tattooed-lies thank you for providing the fandom the best gifs in the fucking platform and thank you for giving us the vinikki content that everyone, even if they're not aware, deserves and needs. Thank you for being the only Vince stan that I know. Thank you for being the sweetest person alive 💖

@nbtommylee honestly, I wish I was cool like you. Your sense of humor is impeccable, much like your critical thinking. I have never read something from you that wasn't a valid point. You don't talk shit and that's extremely sexy of you, y'know? And having a "gender dysphoria buddy" to be jealous of our Rockstar Gender Of Choice with is always fun to have, so that's definitely a plus. Can't wait to see (and read!) more of your art, I just love your style so much and you deserve to be Known

@metalmelkor @emometalhead @polka-dot-duff I'm always so happy to see you in my notifs and y'all are oh so very sweet and cool, we haven't talked much but I love every interaction we have, sorry for having the social skills of a stale piece of white bread 🖤

A special thanks goes to @awesomgrlgr8job bc you're literally one of my very first mutuals since I made the decision to make this dumpster fire of a blog and holy shit it's crazy to think about that. I don't even know if we ever interacted that much but it's always such a joy to see you around, ily and I hope you're doing well and thanks for putting up with my clownery for so long 💖

Like seriously, thank you all. I don't even know where I would be without you. Here's to another year of chaos, but only of the good kind 💖

[kendochick-moor]

Last Line (para) WIP Game!

Last Line Tag Rules: Write the latest line from your WIP and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog.

Thank you @mspixiepixie and @bluefurcape for tagging me during the week I wrote non-con monster!fucker OroSakuKabu snake bukakke fic, this is a great introduction for me and my work!

I have #noselfcontrol, so here are snippets from a few different fics. My 'last lines'... are a mess of notes/thoughts atm. Due to the nature of my writing (GIANT FLASHING WARNING IN NEON LIGHTS: INTENDED FOR AUDIENCES WHO ARE ADULTS 18+), I have put these under a cut. The bottom entry is non-con, which is why it’s at the end, easily skippable, and struck-through (biffé) to prevent you from reading it accidentally. Most are perfectly fine to read, but the really unfortunate potentially upsetting material (MENTIONED ABOVE EXPLICITLY) is at the very bottom and easily ignorable.

Happy reading otherwise! :)

From "Dingir" a Bellarke fic for "The 100":

“This isn’t—” Clarke began, only for Raven to interrupt. “I know.” “But I thought we were supposed to be in—” “I know, Clarke,” said Raven, her dark eyes raking over the screens in front of her. “What are the coordinates? Maybe we’re off by—” “The coordinates are right,” interrupted Murphy, arms crossed in front of him as he glared at them. “Those are the exact coordinates I was given.” Clarke sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Okay.” On the bridge of their cruiser, the Gilgamesh II, Clarke, Raven and Murphy looked out across the meteor minefield they had sailed into. Their original mission had been a distress signal investigation. However, upon arrival, the situation was not as promised. How had they landed so far off course? This was ridiculous. Raven would never mess up like this. Which left... It took a bit longer than she wanted to admit, but Clarke grounded herself and nodded. “Are there any sustainable planets nearby? Anything with an outpost, even?” “Searching,” said Raven. “We used to have a colony out here. Give me a few minutes and I’ll track it down.” “How much longer until our fuel cells expire?” “A few days, at most. We can extend it to a few weeks, maybe months, if we shut down all non-essential services and lock ourselves up in cryo.” “Hard pass,” said Murphy. Raven’s head whipped around, her ponytail nearly slapping Clarke as she spun in her seat to glare at Murphy. “Okay, okay,” said Clarke, lifting a hand to temper the tension. “Raven, you keep looking for that old colony. If nothing else, we can temporarily stay there and wait for rescue, if we really need to. In the meantime, send a message back to the BAV-IL to let them know that we’re off course and need assistance.” “What about Murphy?” asked Raven, turning from Murphy to Clarke. Already her nimble fingers were calculating courses, searching historical colonization maps of the area, opening up the comms. Clarke looked at Murphy, her shoulders slumping. She sighed and turned away, ignoring how Murphy bristled and glared right back at both of them. “Go check the Enkidu. Prep it for a surface dive.” “Yes ma’am,” he muttered, sauntering away.

From "Immured" (Naruto, MadaSakuIzu, A/B/O):

“Keep doing that,” breathed Izuna, pumping his hips against hers. All the while, his fingers played with her c—, making her whine in her throat. His lips fell to the graceful arc of Sakura’s neck and shoulder where he began suckling her gland. Sakura shivered in Izuna’s arms, his feelings, his intent, passing through the bond to rally her own reactions higher. Instinctively Sakura reached behind her, threading her hands through Izuna’s long hair to hold his lips in place. Her eyes had closed and she bit her lip as the pressure built swiftly inside her. Her body moved with his and she arched her back, her anticipation rising with each thrust, each pant, each gasp— They crested together with a shared cry of relief, gentler than their past releases, holding each other through it.

From the MadaSaku AU I recently posted on DW:

Clenching her fists, Sakura took a deep breath to calm herself. “It’s a traitor, and it’s someone I probably know,” she admitted through her equally clenched teeth. The tightness in her chest burst out of her in a heavy sigh. “I just can’t think of who could hate Konoha so much that they tried to throw us into the hands of an invading force. Innocent people were killed the night of the Battle, and more were killed with the poisonings.” She shook her head. “I hate that I don’t know who this is! It feels like it should be obvious, but it isn’t!” “We’ll find them,” promised Itachi, watching Sakura, her cheeks heated with her passionate anger. “But how?” begged Sakura. “They’ll slip up. They’ll be back and they’ll be overconfident and they’ll mess up and then you’ll nail them to the wall,” said Sasuke. “Or Sasuke and I will,” added Naruto. “What’s most important is that we do everything we can to protect those who are most vulnerable. And you’re doing that,” said Kakashi calmly.

From "Kimono no Onna", the first chapter of which was recently posted to DW:

“You’re staying overnight?” exclaimed Tomo excitedly. “In a guest room,” explained Madara, herding everyone back towards the living room. “We’re not all bunking in the same place,” he sighed. “Which guest room?” asked Izuna. “I don’t know yet,” said Sakura. “Your father or Keiko-san will let me know when it’s time for us to tuck in. In the meantime, are there any games you’d like to play?” “Snap!” “Checkers!” “Chutes and ladders!” “Tiddly Winks!” Madara’s warm hand smoothed up and down Sakura’s back when she stumbled at the last suggestion, and he caught her elbow, righting her before the other boys noticed. Well, most of the other boys. While Sakura chatted warmly with Madara’s younger siblings, Madara noted the way Izuna’s eyes had sharpened upon hearing that Sakura would be staying the night. His focus remained on Sakura through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening.

#####

And from the abomination fic (I might as well title it thus), the KabuSakuOro that veered straight into monster!fucker territory. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. It's at the bottom of the list for a reason. This is repulsive for the vast majority of people, and I take no offense if you do not like it and your gag reflex/stomach curls at the awfulness of this. SKIP THIS PART, it is NON-CON (non-consensual) at its most deliberate.

The barbs withdrew, allowing the dilated cervical channel to close nearly shut as the pene began its slow retraction back into Orochimaru’s body. The barbs’s sharp tips drew drops of Sakura’s blood with them, leaving their faint taste inside Orochimaru as the scales of his cloaca sealed his penes inside him once more. Only then did he allow himself a soft moan of pleasure and satisfaction as he tilted the examination table up, ensuring as little as possible spilled from Sakura’s body. He was unsurprised to see the faint pink tinge to the liquid leaving between her legs and stuck to his, but some sacrifices were necessary. At least this way he knew he’d made it up inside her high enough to be here he needed to be to implant his seed within her. With another sigh, he cleared his thoughts of the post-coital fog that often affected lesser, human men and dressed once more. A few minutes later, he left the lab to shower in his rooms, leaving Sakura, unconscious, naked and vulnerable, upon the table in the lab. Someone would take care of her. For now, Orochimaru had other things to do. Like enjoy his post-coital relaxation.

#####

AN: Not tagging anyone because that would involve someone looking at the bottom of this post and inadvertently blinding themselves with disgust with the previous snippet. Have at and good on you and your gag reflex if you made it this far! <3

[iam93percentstardust]

More Important Things

I! Am Apparently writing Old Guard fic now! (don’t worry, I’ll be back to the regularly scheduled Marvel soon enough) So if you’re interested in soft Immortal Husbands who are too busy being in love to get themselves out of trouble, please go check it out on ao3 (or give it a reblog here)

~

Kidnappings, Nile comes to learn, are a simple fact of life when you’re part an immortal band of warriors dedicated to upholding all that is right and good in the world.

Wow, there’s a sentence she never thought she’d say.

It’s never again like how it was with Merrick Pharmaceuticals. No one is ever looking for them because of their immortality, especially not now with Copley covering their tracks. But when you’re part of an immortal band of warriors dedicated to upholding all that is right and good in the world, you tend to make a few enemies and, try as you might, you can’t always get everyone involved in a drug trafficking ring or a warlord’s band. Hence, the kidnapping.

She’s been kidnapped twice now: once with Andy and once on her own. When it was with Andy, they’d used gas and Nile suspects that’s the only reason they were kidnapped in the first place because she doubts Andy would have gone quietly the way Nile had when it had been just her facing off against ten armed men. Sure she could have eventually beaten them but they had been standing in a crowded marketplace—she hadn’t wanted anyone innocent to get hurt and she really hadn’t wanted any of the bystanders to notice her immortality.

This is the first time though that she’s ever been kidnapped with Joe and Nicky. It had been gas again, something potent and strong that made her wonder if they’d accidentally gotten the dosage wrong since she’s pretty sure she died at least once before waking up for good in an abandoned warehouse. She says accidentally because in another room, she can hear some of their captors talking and she’s pretty sure they’re not smart enough to have actually figured out their secret.

Nile wasn’t there when Joe and Nicky had been taken by Merrick Pharmaceuticals but she can’t help but imagine that it had probably looked something like this, with Joe hunched over Nicky, muttering at him in Italian though she has no idea what.

She likes the way Italian sounds, especially the way it just rolls off of Joe and Nicky’s tongues. She’d asked Nicky once if he would teach her, seeing as how Andy is already working on teaching her several other languages—Mandarin and Greek and Swahili among others—and Booker’s supposedly going to teach her French once his banishment is over. Nicky had just looked at her and simply told her, “No.”

It had been Joe who had told her that Italian and an ancient dialect of Arabic that no one else speaks anymore are their languages. Andy had told her later, “Don’t be offended. I don’t speak them either.” At the time, Nile, only a few weeks into her immortality, hadn’t understood but by this point, she understands it perfectly.

Joe and Nicky, Nicky and Joe, two suns that orbit each other, are terribly soft, even when they’re speaking in English. She can only imagine what it must be like when they’re speaking a language no one else understands.

Nicky coughs, says something in Arabic, and rolls over so he can sit up. Joe is right there to help him even though it’s obvious that Nicky doesn’t actually need any help. Soft, Nile thinks again. Soft with each other, with the members of their little band, with random people that they pass on the street. She doesn’t know how they’ve lived so many years and stayed soft but she suspects it’s for the same reason that all of their other traits are different than Andy and Booker—they’re Joe-and-Nicky.

“An abandoned warehouse,” Joe replies, switching to English.

“We got kidnapped by the most incompetent people imaginable,” Nile tells them.

“Did we?” Joe asks.

“You didn’t notice?” Nicky chides.

“I was a little wrapped up in you, habibi,” Joe murmurs and Nicky’s eyes go soft.

Nile makes a gagging noise. There is a time and place for their antics but this is definitely not it. They can be disgustingly romantic once they’re back at the safehouse.

Nicky glares at her but there’s no heat behind it. “One day, you will no longer be surprised by us.”

“I’m not surprised now. I’m trying to focus on how we’re going to get out of here.”

“You said they’re incompetent,” Joe says, switching into his professional mode. “How sure are you?”

“Pretty sure. I’ve been listening to them while you two napped—”

“—Ouch,” Joe mutters.

“—and I don’t think they gave us the wrong dosage on purpose.”

“So the question remains, did they figure out they killed us?” Nicky asks. He rolls his head to look at Joe. “Amore mio, I’m sorry but your dinner is going to have to wait. We need to know what they know.”

Joe swears in a language that doesn’t exist anymore, gloomily saying, “I was looking forward to that chicken. Nile, you would have loved it. He makes this lemon and white wine sauce, the recipe is from the 1500s, nearly perfected—”

“Nearly?” Nicky asks. He sounds almost offended, which is every bit as hilarious as the situation they’ve ended up in.

“Habibi, it’s so good, you know it is, but you know I’ve always thought it needed mushrooms and—

“Mushrooms would ruin it. How many times do I have to tell you—”

“—but if you just tried—”

“—I don’t have to try to know—”

“Quiet!” someone shouts from the other room.

As one, Joe and Nicky turn to glare at the door and then continue squabbling, this time in Italian. Nile can’t help but laugh. This is nothing like her kidnapping with Andy, which had felt more like an action movie (or a horror one depending on the viewpoint), or even like her own, which had mostly been a lot of waiting until the team had shown up (could she have broken herself out? Sure but that would have involved breaking her own wrist and she hadn’t wanted to do that).

As they bicker, she works on loosening the ropes around her wrists—further proof of their kidnappers incompetency because she twists her wrists the right way and the ropes just fall off—and then crawls over to Joe and Nicky to start working on theirs, who barely even bother stopping their argument to acknowledge her.

“Chi è il cuoco—thank you, Nile,” Nicky says, “in questa famiglia?”

Joe groans. “Non questo di nuovo—thank you, Nile.”

They suddenly stop as they hear footsteps coming from the other room. Nile glances at the two, they look back at her, and she’s suddenly glad that Andy insists on so much training because she knows exactly what it is they want her to do. She creeps to the door, stationing herself on one side of it, as Nicky positions himself on the other side. Joe stays in the center of the room, whistling to himself and generally looking as innocent as he can.

Again, she thanks whoever might be listening for the stupidity of their kidnappers as none of them even seem to think it’s suspicious that Joe and Nicky have stopped arguing. Instead, one of them steps right through the doorway, gun trained on Joe, wondering, “Hey, where are the other—”

He doesn’t even finish his sentence as Nicky sweeps his feet out from under him, neatly catching his gun and tossing it to Joe. The other two kidnappers shout and rush through the door, tripping over the first. Nile snatches the gun from one of them and Nicky takes the other. It’s over in moments, the kidnappers prone on the floor, no one else coming through the door, and their team with all the weapons.

Nicky trains his on the leader. “You were going to shoot Joe,” he says coldly. Nile shivers, remembering what Joe had once told her—that Nicky was the kind one. And for the most part he is: if they’re short on food, he always makes sure Nile ate first; he rescues baby birds; gives the local children in the village they’re hiding in candy. But when it comes to Joe, even when they’re immortal and it doesn’t matter if Joe gets hurt, he’s always hard. “You were going to hurt him and so you are the one who will answer my questions.”

“And if I don’t?” the kidnapper sneers.

Stupid, Nile thinks.

Nicky adjusts his aim and fires. The kidnapper screams, left hand going for his right shoulder, now a bloody mess. “Who do you work for?”

~

They’re leaving the warehouse, Joe and Nicky fussing over each other even though neither got shot, when Andy pulls up in their car, remarkable only because it’s practically falling apart. No one would look twice if they saw that on the road and that’s just how Andy likes it.

“I take it dinner is off, then?” she calls through the window.

“Sadly, yes,” Joe says mournfully, climbing into the backseat next to Nicky. “Nile, it’s such a shame. You really would have liked it.”

“Amore mio,” Nicky murmurs. “I’ll make you something else.”

“Nothing else could be as wonderful as the chicken you were going to make unless it is your smile, which warms even the coldest winter.”

Andy rolls her eyes and Nicky laughs.

“There it is. There’s that smile I love,” Joe murmurs, thumb gently touching the corner of his mouth.

“What about if I make you—” He slides into Arabic and Joe hums thoughtfully before responding in another language that Nile doesn’t know yet though she doesn’t think that it’s Italian.

“How was it?” Andy asks her as they drive off.

“Honestly?” She thinks about it for a moment and then says, “Best kidnapping yet.”

[michealanddavidprojects]

Il Tuo Cantante

Hello again people!! Thank you again for all the likes and reblogs on this story. I get very happy about it !!! Soooooo, hm, this is part three of this fic, I suck at writing smut, so I’m sorry in advance for it and for misspellings. Enjoy your reading 🖤🖤

Chapter 3/? - Deal

"Are you fucking kidding me ? ..." Peter said as he entered the hotel room just to see Aro comfortably sat on the huge couch, his legs elegantly crossed his hair still short; Peter didn´t like that cut, his Aro has long hair, just below the shoulders. Damn it ! Aro was not his. The vampire seemed not to be bothered by his presence and he looked utterly amazed by a Mexican soap opera, it was a sight that made the butterflies on Peters’ stomach flutter. It was fun to watch a supernatural being so amazed by something so silly. It also made a small smile grace the hunter´s lips.

"What are you doing here ? Didn’t I just sent you away ?” Peter said pretending to be angry at Aro.

“Darling !” Aro said cheerfully, taking his eyes away from the huge screen to stare at Peter “You took so long to arrive, I wondered if anything had happened to you” then the vampire turned his eyes to the tv again, and kept talking “I took the liberty to order your dinner. Is already waiting for you on the table, darling”

Peter sighed in resignation and walked to stand in front of the TV Aro's red eyes on his. He could feel those red eyes on his body, cataloguing each centimetre of him. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“What you want?”

"I thought it was clear, darling." the brunette said, arching an eyebrow. And this time it was Peter who arched an eyebrow and clicked his tongue in fake annoyance.

“Of course, it was, you fucking pervert…” The illusionist said and rolled his eyes “You just want to fuck me ... You know what ? it will never happen ! Ever !”

“ Too bad !! I was so confident of it” Aro replied in a mocking tone “Now go have dinner Peter ! Or it will get cold” Peter growled frustrated and threw his hands up stomping out into the dining room. Aro would not be leaving anytime soon, the vampire would make his life a living hell. The young magician sat at the table and shouted at his dinner. A salad, a soup and a glass of orange juice.

“ Who do you think you are ? My mother, you monster?” Peter said loud enough for the other to hear, while jabbing an arugula leaf angrily with his fork eating a mouthful of the salad and chewing between grumbles “Fucking leech….” in a few seconds, Aro was in front of him watching him, he was without his suit and only with the button-down black shirt, the necklace that indicated his bloodline hanging from his neck making Peter reach the juice and take a sip just to look away from his chest.

"I haven't eaten anything for years, but I guess the rules of etiquette haven't changed that much," Aro said, dragging the chair next to Peter and sitting on it, crossing his legs elegantly, his fingers entwined on his legs, his gaze amused. Those eyes.

“What you want?”

"Getting to know you better," Aro said simply, adjusting in his chair and staring at him. Peter finished his salad and his glass of juice and leaned back in the high-backed chair with armrests. The chair resembled a throne. The way Aro watched him now made him shiver. His eyes turning burgundy, his lips parted, the breath Aro didn’t need hitching in his throat . "This chair reminds me a lot of a throne I have back home....Now darling, I´m wondering how would you look like sitting in my throne...” Aro said in a low voice, closing his eyes and licking his lips slowly. Peter bit the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning at the sight of that tongue, as he remembered the feel of that cold, soft mouth on his, suddenly the vampire uncrossed his long legs sliding to the floor, getting on one knee as he stared at Peter, reaching for his hand, this time his hands were gloved, kissing his fingertips in a false gesture of submission “I only ask you one chance, Peter. Just a chance for you to see that I'm not like the scum that killed your parents…” the vampire said, while kissing Peter´s fingers, the back of his hand, then placing fluttering kisses on his wrist “Please, my king. One chance, and if I fail, I will leave and never look for you again. ” The Kisses went up his arm and back to his wrist.

"And - and how are you going to convince me of giving you this chance?" Peter tried to speak with a little authority getting in the game, when the other's tongue touched his skin, Peter whimpered. He knew he was not in control of the situation; it was just a game where Aro had unfair advantages, and that soon the positions would reverse.

"I don't know, my king." Aro continued their little game. "What do you suggest?" This time he was watching Peter with a look of innocence, expectation.

"A kiss," Peter gasped, closing his eyes and saying it at once before he could regret it.

"As you wish, my king." Aro slowly lifted himself off the floor, holding Peter's hand while they changed their current positions; Aro sat on the chair that looked like a throne pulling Peter into his lap. The vampire stared at him with a little of affection the possessive way that Aro kept their bodies flushed together, the magician's arms snaking around the vampire's neck, one hand twining in the black locks, the yellow light from the chandelier that hung in the ceiling above their heads, the gray-blue walls behind them giving the scene a perfect frame. "Just to make you more comfortable, my king." Peter closed his eyes first and allowed himself to be kissed, that soft, cold mouth on his he moaned desperately it felt like he hadn't kissed Aro in years when actually it was only a few hours ago. This time what bothered him was the texture of the silk gloves Aro wore that touched his skin beneath his shirt, as it slid down his spine, tracing his spine as his own fingers messed the vampire´s hair. Feeling the frustration of his lover Aro removed his gloves at superhuman speed and put his hands on his lovers hips skin, sliding them up and down his sides, drawing circles with his thumb and delighting in the little moans that came in response. Gently Aro lowered his mouth down the hunter's neck, holding on not to take a bite no matter how tender he was afraid to overdo it, the way Peter's blood smelled to him. Gods. Thanks to the gods, he had enough self-control. He didn't want to lose control with Peter, didn't want to break any of Peter´s limbs if they made love. They should not be doing this either. But Aro was selfish, when came to things that brought him pleasure. Especially now that he had found his cantante.

Peter had taken off his own shirt by throwing it on the floor and the vampire knew his darling would want to take his clothes off too, but Aro was not ready for that. The vampire was not prepared to let himself go and enjoy all the sensations that their skin touching would bring him so he distracted the hunter, settling him better on his lap, accommodating Peter's back on his chest by putting an arm around his waist. Aro placed his chin on his lover´s shoulder, pulling his cock out of pants and underwear, sliding his hand from the base to the tip, feeling the shivers of pleasure that ran down Peter´s body marvelling how Peter writhed with pleasure on his lap, moaning his name, moving his head a little to kiss Aro´s jaw, his ear, and even though their skin wasn't touching properly it was overwhelming to feel the warmth that came from Peter through the fabric of his dark clothes. Where he was cold, Peter was hot and warm and made his whole mouth fill with that sweet poison. As Aro wanked him, he kissed Peter's shoulders, grazed his teeth through the long neck, nothing to mark Peter. They both thought it was a shame, but they would not say it aloud.

"Aro ...." Peter whimpered , writhing in his lap, the brown eyes clouded with pleasure. "Bite me, please." It was a weak, sighed, almost begged plea that the vampire was sure that if his heart beat it would stop beating for that very second, Peter bared his elegant neck just for his pleasure. Maybe he should ignore the request, pretend not to hear it, but the lean body of the other seemed to expect him to do so with increasing anxiety and expectation and pleasure. And suddenly he didn't know how to say no or ignore it, he just ducked his head and licked a piece of Peter's neck increasing the speed of his hand, closing his mouth around Peter´s neck sucking a lovebite that would last for days . They orgasmed at the same time. After a few moments of them sitting there just enjoying each other presence, Peter nuzzled Aro´s neck and said in sleepy whisper

"We have a deal, bastard." Aro chuckled.

Henceforth it would be the gods and the stars above their heads and the mortal and immortal beneath their feet

[imhereforbvcky]

The Cap² Writing Challenge

It’s that time of year again when we’re gifted with Captain America fics and challenges! (Something about July 4th, I hear 😉) So the darling @justsomebucky and I have teamed up to host one for the two best Caps in the MCU.

Anyone & everyone is welcome to join! New writers, old masters, and everyone in between! We just ask that you reblog this post so others can see and play!

The Rules:

Steve Rogers or Sam Wilson reader inserts only - it’s a Cap challenge!

1 prompt per person

Each prompt may be claimed once for each Cap (e.g. prompt 4 can be claimed by JSB to write Steve x reader, and by Mee to write for Sam x reader. Make sense?)

Any length, any genre, can be canon or AU

Rules on smut: must be 18+ if you include it, absolutely no non-con, no underage characters engaging in le smut. All fics with smut will be noted as such in the challenge masterlist.

Use warnings in your author note if they apply!

Use a Keep Reading insert!!!

There’s no deadline to enter, but all fics must be posted by July 14, 2019

How to enter: 

Send an ask with prompt number and Steve or Sam to either @imhereforbvcky or @justsomebucky

When you post: 

@ us and use the tag #cap2challenge

Of course, you should use your prompt or song in the fic (whether you include lyrics is up to you)

Dialogue Prompts:

"I will give you everything in my pockets if, just for tonight, you hold my hand and say that you love me." (Steve = @angryteapot, Sam = @fangirlextraordinaire)

“Well, I didn’t know I needed you until five minutes ago, so…” (Steve = @girl-next-door-writes)

“I’m not willing to risk you.” (Steve = @wxntersoldiers, Sam = @to-mars-and-saturn)

“I didn’t think it would explode.” (Sam = @until-theend-oftheline, Steve = @agent-styles)

"You've never smiled at me like that." (Steve = @siren-kitten-his)

“I’m just here for the snacks.” (Steve = @buckybarnes-xyou, Sam = @fantastic-fantasy-fanfics)

"If I can just stay still I might be all right. As soon as I move, it's all over." (Steve = @iliveiloveiwrite)

“Is it okay if I bring my dog?” (Steve = @fk12b, Sam = @ironmandeficiency)

"The longer you stay here, the more danger you are in." (Sam = @buckygrantbarnes, Steve = @whothehellisbella)

"You know the nearest hospital is twenty miles from here, right?” (Sam = @beccaanne814, Steve = @buckthegrump)

"Be safe, if you can be." (Steve = @ theliveshipparagon)

“Why would you go back? I’m standing right here.” (Steve = @one-armed-ice-soldier)

"It's alright, I'm a nurse."  (Steve = @captainsbuck)

“Excuse me, this is my moment!” (Steve = @fandomwritings-cm13, Sam = @justsomebucky)

"If you really wanted me to believe you were friendly, you'd drop the gun." (Sam = @avengersandlovers, Steve = @coffeebucko)

"If you don't get out of my car right now, you're getting a wet willie." (Sam = @macklovesu)

“So you expect me to help you?” (Steve = @captainamericasbeard, Sam = @akamaiden)

"Is that a horse?! Do I look like a cowboy to you?" (Steve = @thelookingglassalice, Sam = @imhereforbvcky)

"No way! I'm off the clock." (Sam & Steve poly = @avengerscompound)

“I really love your laugh.” (Steve = @teachingpanda)

“That was very un-Captain-America-like behavior.” (Sam = @empyreanwritings, Steve = @sergeanttucker)

“Tell me you didn’t just admit that out loud!?” (Steve = @averyrogers83)

“You thought that would hurt my feelings? Well, you were right.” (Sam = @redgillan, Steve = @littlemarvelfics)

“The most ridiculous part of this whole situation is that I love you.” (Steve = @whistlingwillows)

“Is that the best you can do?” (Sam & Steve poly = @brastrangled)

Songs Prompts:

S1. Say You Love Me by Jessie Ware S2. Silence by Marshmello ft Khalid (Steve = @sorry-didnt-mean-to-stab-you) S3. This Mountain by Faouzia S4. Make Me Feel by Janelle Monáe (Steve = @interstellarmess) S5. Riot by Sarah Haze

Have fun!!!

[hrina]

Il Devoto (Il Ritorno III)

PAIRING: Alex/Y/N RATING: R as hell WORD COUNT: 16k+ REQUESTED: oh fuck yes!

after about 89 years, i am back with the FINAL PART of il ritorno!!! if there’s one thing i learned from writing this, it’s that i’m absolute shit at estimating how long a one-shot will be (i thought this last part would come out to maybe 8k maximum, and it’s actually double that). 

i want to thank all of you who have liked this story, and especially those who have reblogged it to spread it around and who have sent me such sweet messages! i’m actually speechless at how well-received this whole project was, so thank you from the bottom of my heart 💓😭

if you like this, please don’t hesitate to leave me some feedback! also, here’s my masterlist if you want more !! without further ado, let’s get on with the fic :’)

il ritorno (part 1) / l’amato (part 2) / apericena (extra)

~*~

“Can feel yeh staring at me.”

You stiffen, and a hot flush erupts over your chest. You open your mouth to say something, but any potential excuses evade you.

Alex cracks open his left eye, the corners of his lips kinking into a smug smirk. He’s laying on the bed to your left, his stomach pressed flat against the mattress and his cheek squished against one of your fluffy pillows. You’re on your back, your head turned towards him—you’d wanted to study him while he slept, and you had hoped that he would remain unconscious long enough to allow you the opportunity.

Of course, things are never that simple.

“Wasn’t staring,” you mumble bashfully, though the both of you know that it’s a blatant lie.

“No?” Alex muses, his irises glazed with drowsiness. You can’t help but to notice the deep octave of his voice, and his tone sends shivers down your spine. “Could practically feel yeh burning a hole through m’head, love.”

“Piss off.” You deliver a half-hearted blow to his side, but it does no real damage. Alex simply chuckles before letting out a quiet yawn and rolling over. You gasp loudly when half of his body bulldozes over your own, and you push lightly at his shoulders as you try to wrestle him off.

“What’re you doing?” you hiss, but there’s a smile pulling at your lips, “Stop it!”

“Just checkin’ the time,” Alex replies gruffly, but you can hear the amusement in his words. He casts a glance over at the alarm clock standing on your nightstand and hums when he sees that it’s nearing seven in the morning. When he peers over his shoulder, he notices the first few orange rays of the sunrise peeking through your window.

“You’re insufferable,” you groan when he finally turns over and pulls his weight off of you. Alex cocks an eyebrow, placing his head in his palm so that he can keep himself slightly elevated.

“Weren’t sayin’ that last night, y’know.”

You gulp. You hate him. You really, truly, hate him.

Except…you don’t. Not even a little bit.

“Shut up,” you say, rolling over on the bed so that he can’t see the embarrassment morphing your features. Alex just snickers lowly, shifting closer to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. Your breath hitches in your throat when he presses his body firmly against you, and you can feel something hard and unyielding nestled snugly against your bum.

“Don’t be like that, now,” Alex scolds, but you know that there’s a stupid grin on his face. He brushes your hair away from your back before planting a steady kiss to the nape of your neck. His fingers drum against your stomach over the material of your nightgown, and you shiver when you feel his hand begin to trail south.

“We can’t,” you whisper quickly, catching his wrist with shaky fingers. As much as you want to feel him again—really feel him—you know that Tommy and your parents are sleeping in rooms just down the hall. If your noises don’t wake them, then the sunlight certainly will—either way, the situation can only end with your father taking the barrel of his pistol to Alex’s head.

Alex releases a soft moan of protest, and you hate the way the sound travels right down to the apex of your thighs. He lays his palm flat against your mound, the only thing separating your skin being the fabric of your nightgown (your panties are still discarded somewhere on the floor). Despite your previous objections, you bite harshly on your bottom lip and keen upwards into his touch. He chuckles victoriously.

“’S cute, how much you want me,” he tells you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. His index finger dips between your legs, and you reflexively clamp your thighs around the digit, preventing him from going any further.

“Stop,” you warn, but the breathlessness of your voice lets him know that you don’t mean it. Alex nips teasingly at your earlobe, and you purse your lips together, feeling the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight when Alex blows out a warm sigh.

“Will yeh at least kiss me, then?” he asks. You peer over your shoulder, meeting his inquisitive yet hopeful eyes.

“Haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” you say, your tone small and subdued. Alex just shakes his head, and before you know it, his hand is gripping tightly to your hip. You gasp quietly when he pulls you over, your back now flat against the mattress as he clambers on top of you.

“Alex!” you giggle, muffling the sound with your palm. Alex just grins boyishly at you, his knees on either side of your torso so that he can keep you boxed in underneath him.

“Don’t care about some bloody bad breath,” he says, and then he’s tugging gently on your wrist. You allow your hand to fall away from your mouth, and Alex smirks arrogantly as he leans down and smears his lips against yours.

He really doesn’t care about the quality of your breath in the morning. He doesn’t care about the fact that your hair is tangled and ratty, and that your eyes are still squinting up at him drowsily. He doesn’t care that your reflexes are a bit slow from having only been awake for a short period of time, and he doesn’t care that your voice is slightly raspy from sleep.

He loves you, despite these things. He loves you because of them.

A low hum resonates in your throat as you slowly loop your arms around Alex’s neck. You subconsciously arch your back up into his chest, and he cradles your face with one of his hands. A moment later, you’re dragging yourself away from him, gasping out for air while he chuckles.

“It’s not my fault,” you say, inhaling deeply, “How the hell can you hold your breath for that long anyways?”

As soon as the question leaves your mouth, you both stiffen. Alex gulps and tucks his lips into a fine line, and suddenly, the pillows behind your head become significantly more interesting than your eyes. You sigh and squeeze your eyelids shut, your lips curling down into a scowl.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I wasn’t thinking.”

A beat of silence passes before Alex clears his throat.

“’S okay,” he murmurs, rolling off you, “Don’t worry, ’s okay.”

You open your mouth, seconds away from blurting out a few more apologies, but Alex just smacks his lips against the corner of your mouth to keep you quiet. You give him a soft, regretful smile, and he returns it while thumbing gently at your cheek.

“I need to tell yeh somethin’,” Alex starts. His eyes are trained on your torso, though when he looks back up at you, you’re shocked to see turbulent vulnerability in his gaze.

You nod, encouraging him to go on. Alex takes and deep breath and opens his mouth, but then a loud creaking sound echoes through the house. Your eyes widen, and Alex sits up straight, his heart pounding erratically. Footsteps patter down the hall, growing terrifyingly loud as the person passes by your bedroom door. Judging by the weight of the treads, you assume that it’s Tommy.

You’re proven right when the footfalls move past your room, and then the bathroom door shuts softly (your parents have their own washroom attached to their bedroom, so there’s really no need for them to step outside into the hall).

As soon as the lock clicks into place, you and Alex scramble up out of bed. He searches the floor for his abandoned t-shirt, finally finding the material discarded near the foot of your dresser. You usher him over to the door, hissing at him to move quickly.

“Hurry up!” you whisper, beckoning him with rapid movements of your hand.

Alex nearly trips over his own feet as he tugs his shirt over his head—you briefly mourn the fact that you can no longer see the toned skin of his torso. He stumbles over to you, seconds away from colliding with the door, but thankfully you’re able to catch his arm and pull him back. You place your index finger against your lips before leaning forward and pressing your ear to the wood of the door.

Tommy’s still in the washroom. If he goes downstairs and realizes that Alex isn’t laying on the couch…you don’t know exactly what will happen, but you know that it won’t be good.

This is your only chance, really.

“Be careful, okay?” you tell Alex quietly, beginning to turn the knob on the door. He nods; his eyes are shimmering with panic, but he still ducks forward and brushes his lips against yours chastely before slipping out of your room. You swallow heavily, finding the brief contact to be comforting.

You watch as he tiptoes down the stairs, surprisingly silent for a man who’s just over six feet tall. When he’s out of sight, you close the door softly, leaning back against the wood and blowing out a sigh of relief.

Too close, you think to yourself, gnawing harshly on your bottom lip, Too fucking close.

~*~

“Think your mum would fancy us bringing home fettuccine? Always tellin’ me that she wants to explore Italian cuisine, she is.”

“Why not?” you hum, scanning the aisle for long, thick strands of pasta packaged in blue. You give a faint, triumphant whoop when you find the product resting only a few feet away. Alex follows you as you rush towards the display and grab a few bags from the shelf. A lopsided smirk stretches his lips when you turn around to deposit the pasta into the small shopping cart that he’s pushing.

“Thanks for coming with me,” you tell him shyly. Alex’s smirk grows into a grin, and you suck your lips into your mouth nervously. He’s just so damn attractive—his smile makes your heart do somersaults beneath your ribs, and you find it extremely inconvenient.

“Wanted t’be with yeh,” Alex says nonchalantly.

He peers past your head before glancing over his shoulder, realizing that there’s no one else occupying the aisle. You step back when you see the mischievous glint in his eyes, but you’re not fast enough. He lurches forward, his lips just grazing against yours in a half-hearted attempt to show affection. You gasp, nearly tripping over yourself as you press your palms against his chest and push him away.

“Alex!”

“C’mon, love,” he protests, snickering, “’S barely anyone else here.”

“You’re mad!” you hiss, but you can’t stop your mouth from curling up into a bashful smile. Alex just cackles; his left eyelid drops down into a playful wink, and you can’t help but to put a hand to your cheek (of course, your skin is hot).

“Gotta live a little, darling,” Alex teases, “’S important to—”

“Alexander?”

Alex freezes, his words fizzling out. Your brows knit together, and you squint over his shoulder to find whoever has cut into your conversation. Alex turns around slowly; he prays that you don’t notice the way his throat bobs in agitation.

The man is short, standing at about five and a half feet—you might grant him a few more inches if you’re feeling generous. His hair is gray, though he’s not balding. He leans on a wooden cane for support, a shopping bag clutched tightly in his other hand. His brow is furrowed, and there are deep-set bags beneath his eyes. His eyes…

His irises—despite the sallow, sunken state of the rest of his face—are bright and attentive. They’re green, the colour of sea foam frothing wildly against rocks. There’s something eerily familiar about them, but you can’t seem to put your finger on it.

“Alexander,” the man croaks out again, his lips parting in awe. Alex is stiff, the muscles in his back rigid as he stares stonily at the stranger. You’re confused, gazing between the two men and not quite understanding why Alex has turned so cold.

“Alex—,” you start softly. You lay your hand on his forearm, but then the man standing in front of you speaks again.

“You’re alive.”

“Yeah,” Alex says tightly. From where you’re standing, you can see the veins in his neck protruding, and the way something in his jawline twitches furiously. Your hand tightens on his arm, and you squeeze gently in hopes of bringing him back to you.

It works. Alex blinks once before craning his neck to look down at your face. You’re peering up at him with wide, nervous eyes, and he puts a hand on top of yours to reassure you. “’S okay, love,” he mumbles, his thumb drawing comforting circles along your knuckles, “Let’s—let’s just go, yeah?”

“All this time…”

Your head snaps to the side when you hear the stranger with the memorable eyes blurt out the words. Alex grinds his teeth together, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from you so that he can focus back on the older man standing in front of him.

“What?” Alex asks, his voice dangerously low, “What is it?”

“All this time,” the man repeats, his eyes full of amazement, “I thought—thought you were dead.”

“Well, ’m bloody not.” Alex’s lips curve down into a deep scowl.

“Alexander—”

“C’mon, Y/N,” Alex grits out. He spins on his heel, finding your hand and gripping it tightly. You stumble forward in surprise, reaching for your small shopping cart so that you can tug it along. Alex grunts, shaking his head and glaring at you sternly.

“Leave it,” he tells you, his tone harsh, “Leave the fuckin’ food.”

You release the cart, but only because you’re so shocked. He’s never spoken to you like that before.

Alex leads you out of the grocery store, your hand still clenched tightly in his. You want to protest (you think he might be cutting off blood flow to your fingers), but you can’t seem to find your voice. He only frees you once the two of you reach the car, stomping over to his side of the vehicle and wrenching open the door. He slides into the driver’s seat and slams the door shut—the force of the action rattles your bones.

You say nothing as you quietly slip in beside him, playing anxiously with your fingers while he pulls out of the parking lot. You swallow down the lump in your throat, your toes curling in your shoes. Alex’s knuckles are a ghostly white on the steering wheel, and his back is stiff against the seat. The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, your eyes on the road and your hearts pounding erratically.

“Alex,” you finally whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. You desperately hope that you won’t regret opening your mouth. “Who was that?”

Alex grumbles nonsense under his breath, gnawing fiercely on his bottom lip. He doesn’t look at you, choosing instead to keep his gaze trained on the car driving in front of yours. Several long moments pass, the silence drawing out almost painfully, and you begin to accept that he’s not going to share anything with you.

But then Alex lets out an unsettled sigh. That same muscle in his jaw makes a reappearance, ticking rapidly as he flexes his fingers against the wheel.

“M’father,” he grunts out, gritting his teeth nastily, “Was m’fuckin’ father.”

~*~

He hasn’t touched upon it since.

He can’t bring himself to do so. He knows it’s not fair to you—you deserve the truth. You’ve been nothing but supportive and kind since you’d first offered him a place to stay. Everything about you exudes warmth, from the way you chastely kiss him goodnight to the bashful yet knowing smiles you give him across the table during dinner. You’re worthy of his honesty—you ought to know.

But he can’t.

He likes to think that he’s returned to his normal state. The first few days had been painfully awkward—you’d tiptoed around him, casting nervous glances his way and speaking slowly to avoid any rocky subjects.

Alex had allowed this nonsense to continue for a bit, until he just couldn’t stand it anymore. He missed you.

He’d snuck into your room the third night, silently slipping inside. You’d been surprised (he hadn’t come back since that first morning, when the two of you had nearly been caught), but he’d shushed you with a long, bruising kiss. You kissed, and kissed, and kissed, until he’d successfully lulled you to sleep with the ghost of his lips still on yours.

(He’d crept back downstairs afterwards, not wanting to try his luck. Staying in your bed for the night was too risky.)

And that seems to have done the trick, because you’re finally treating him like an ordinary person again.

Though, of course, all good things must come to an end.

The five of you are sitting at the dinner table—Alex, you, Tommy, and your parents. Tommy’s in the middle of an absolutely riveting story (at least, everyone else seems to think so—Alex is more interested in the way you’re brushing a strand of hair behind your ear).  Your gaze is trained on your brother as he rambles on about how the mail boy had nearly toppled off his bicycle while delivering the morning paper earlier that day. Apparently, Tommy had seen the whole thing from the porch.

Alex thinks that he may be exaggerating a bit, his tone a bit too flamboyant to be entirely truthful. Still, he keeps his mouth shut.

You place your foot gently atop on of Alex’s, and he nearly chokes on his meatloaf. He peers up at you with eyes that contain both affection and astonishment. The both have you may have exchanged silent, knowing looks across the table before, but contact has never been initiated.

Until now.

Tommy says something that makes you laugh, and Alex blinks himself out of his stupor, trying his damnedest to pay attention. A part of him is terrified that the adoring glances he casts your way are painfully obvious, but a bigger part of him is unable to stop.

Christ.

He loves you.

“Mortified, he was!” Tommy grins, and Alex really, truly tries to listen. “Looked like a ripe tomato as he rode away!”

You laugh, stifling the sweet sound with your hand. Alex wishes that you wouldn’t. Your giggles are one of the few things that make him genuinely happy.

Just then, there’s a loud, sharp knock at the door. The noise is startling, and it makes your mother jump in surprise. Her fork slips from her fingers and clatters against her plate.

“Lord,” she mumbles, chuckling a bit at herself. She starts to push back from the table. “I suppose I’ll go see who that is.”

“Please,” Alex blurts out, standing up abruptly, “Let me.”

“Oh,” your mother’s mouth quirks up into a confused but grateful smirk, “Thank you, dear.”

Alex tries for a smile, nodding at your parents and Tommy. He chances a glance at you, and finds you staring at him with a puzzled look on your face. He has no time to analyze your expression, though—not with the way that his feet carry him quickly out of the dining room.

When he opens the front door, he’s surprised to find a police officer standing on the porch.

“Evening,” Alex says slowly, his brows knitting together, “Can I help you?”

The officer clears his throat, removing his cap and pressing it against his chest. Alex can’t help but to notice the large baton hanging from the man’s belt. For a moment, he wonders if maybe the policeman has accidentally wandered up to the wrong house—maybe he’s made a mistake.

The next words that he hears quickly squash that theory.

“I’m looking for an Alexander King.”

“I—,” Alex’s fingers go numb, “That’s me. ‘S there a problem, sir?”

“Mr. King,” the officer continues, breezing past Alex’s question, “I’m here to let you know that your father is currently being treated at Saint Thomas Hospital. It appears that he suffered a heart attack earlier this morning.”

~*~

Alex hadn’t been himself when he returned to dinner. Your father had wanted to know who had knocked at the door, and Alex had simply brushed it away quietly. “Jus’ some bloke with the wrong address.” This hadn’t fazed your family—Alex was usually quite discreet at dinner—but you could tell that something was off. It was made even more clear that he was struggling with something when he kept his gaze lowered to his plate for the rest of the meal (because despite his subtle glances towards you, you were no fool).

He’s acting now the same way he had when the two of you had run into his father at the supermarket. The realization makes you groan—you’d just gotten him back (figuratively) and you don’t want to lose him again by having him retreat into himself. You want him to be able to confide in you and trust you with his secrets.

That desire is what prompts you to creep downstairs at night, balancing on the balls of your feet and avoiding the squeaky floorboards in your path.

When you peek into the living room, you find Alex sat on the couch with his head in his hands. The sight makes your heart ache—most nights, he usually lays sprawled out, his arms slung lazily behind his head as he waits for you.  Seeing him so obviously anxious makes you frown; you’ve witnessed how bad it can get.

A small part of you wonders whether you should even bother approaching him.

The thought brings a frown to your face. Of course, you’re going to approach him. You’ve come this far, anyways.

“Hey.” The word is scratchy as it leaves your lips. Alex looks up quickly, his hands falling to rest on his knees. There’s an alarmed look on his face, but it softens once he recognizes you.

“Hey,” he replies, his own voice just as hoarse.

You shuffle in the doorway of the room, playing nervously with your fingers and scuffing your feet against the carpeted floor. Alex tilts his head to the side, observing you quietly for a long moment. The seconds drag out like molasses, making the blood thunder in your ears.

Finally, Alex is the one to break the silence.

“Aren’t y’gonna come over here?”

“Do you want me to?” you blurt out, though your tone is still quiet. Alex’s brows knit together, and his plump lips curve down into a scowl.

“’S that s’posed to mean?” he asks, his voice tainted with a hint of incredulity, “’Course I do.”

“Okay,” you merely whisper, and you drag your feet forward so that you can come near him. You stop only once you’re in front of him, your knees brushing against his bent ones. Alex spreads his legs wider, reaching for the hem of your nightgown and gripping it in between his fingers. He gives you a faint pull, and you obey his silent command.

Finally, you’re situated where he wants, and he wraps his arms around your midsection. He leans forward, turning his head to the side so that he can nuzzle his cheek against your stomach. You look down in shock, your hands reflexively landing on his shoulders.

You’d expected for him to be stony and quiet. Maybe he would have even gritted his teeth and requested that you leave him alone.

You hadn’t expected this.

Alex’s squeezes his arms gently around your body, sensing your stiffness. You exhale softly, forcing yourself to relax. Your hands move from Alex’s shoulders to his head, and then you’re twining your fingers into his soft hair. He gives you an appreciative grunt, letting his eyes drift closed as you scratch your nails soothingly along his scalp.

The two of you stay like that for a few minutes, with him supporting most of your weight as you lean into him and play with the loose curls atop his head. His hair is nothing like how it had been when he’d first returned from war. He’d had it cut short at the edges (nearly shaven, if you’re being honest) and the strands at the crown of his head hadn’t been long enough to coil properly.

It’s healthier, now. Loose and full and free.

His hair has come so far.

Has he?

“Alex,” you finally mumble, letting out a shaky breath. You pray that you won’t regret starting this conversation. “What happened?”

“What d’yeh mean?” His muffled reply comes from deep within his chest.

You frown, pulling back and tugging softly at his curls in admonishment. Alex cranes his neck so that he can look up at you, placing his hands protectively against the backs of your thighs. You fix him with an unhappy glare.

“Don’t,” you say quietly, shaking your head, “Don’t lie to me, please.”

And despite the polite plea at the end of your sentence, Alex doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look so stern. You’re cross with him, he realizes with a jolt. He knew that you probably wouldn’t buy into his oblivious façade, but to see you react in a way that’s so different from your everyday temperament makes his lips part in shock.

“I—,” Alex squeezes his eyes shut and groans, concealing his face into the material of your nightgown to stifle the sound. He sighs, pressing his forehead against your hip and gathering his thoughts. Your fingers haven’t resumed their previous movements in his hair, and it makes him pout—you’re punishing him.

“He had a heart attack,” Alex finally grits out. He feels your body stiffen against him, and he pulls back to take a proper look at your face. Your eyes are wide with panic.

“Who?” you demand. Alex swallows heavily, and it’s then that it clicks in your head. “Your—your father?”

He simply nods. A soft sound of pity leaves your lips, and before Alex can blink, you’re dropping to your knees in front of him. You throw your arms around his neck and bring him into a crushing hug. Alex returns the gesture, squeezing you tightly and burying his face into your shoulder. His eyes prick with the telltale sign of tears, but he just clenches them shut, willing himself not to break down.

He doesn’t even know why he’s upset. His father had never been a model figure. For most of Alex’s life, he had simply made him feel inadequate. Alex had never been enough—strong enough, fast enough, brave enough.

So why the hell is he about to cry?

“It’s because you’re human, Alex,” you tell him.

You pull back, and Alex realizes that he’s voiced his thoughts. He stares at you—your eyes are shining with unshed tears, and your nostrils flare as you inhale deeply. You hastily push a few strands of hair away from your forehead, scratching your temple quickly. There’s a lump in Alex’s throat that he can’t seem to swallow down.

How are you able to sound so firm and demanding, and then become overwrought with emotion a mere moment later? It baffles him, and he swears that at that moment, he falls a little bit more in love with you.

He opens his mouth to tell you just that, but you’re faster.

“Are you going to go see him?”

Alex freezes. After a few long seconds, he takes his bottom lip in between his teeth and shakes his head. “I—I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” you ask softly. There’s nothing venomous about your question, but Alex has grown frustrated. He doesn’t know where these turbulent feelings have come from, but he’s suddenly angry. Angry, and anxious, and he needs an outlet.

And you’re…

You’re right here.

“Were yeh not listening jus’ now?” Alex snaps. You recoil, your eyes widening at his biting tone. Your lips part in surprise, but Alex can’t seem to stop himself. “He was a shit father, Y/N. Why would I wanna see him?”

“I don’t—I’m sorry,” you say quickly, “I just wanted to—”

“Wanted t’irritate me?”

“What? No!”

“Really?” Alex releases a low, humourless laugh. “Because you’re doin’ a fuckin’ fantastic job.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. You reach forward to place your palms against each of his cheeks, but Alex leans away from you, glaring at you ruthlessly. “I just thought—because he’s your father—”

“You thought wrong,” Alex hisses. He stands up abruptly from the sofa, making you teeter backwards. You nearly fall onto your bum, and you reach a hand out to steady yourself. Tentatively, you turn around, watching as Alex paces back and forth. His teeth are clenched together, and he’s running his hands through his hair restlessly.

“Not everyone can have a perfect fuckin’ life, Y/N,” he grumbles, growing more agitated by the second.

At his words, you scowl. You slowly rise to your feet, pointing at him and fixing him with an annoyed expression.

“Now, hold on,” you begin, “That’s just wrong. My life isn’t perfect, Alex.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he grunts, turning away from you. Your frown only deepens, and you force yourself to take several long, profound breaths. You don’t know what’s gotten into him, but you’re sure that he doesn’t mean all these things he’s saying.

He’s probably just stressed.

You hope that he’s just stressed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask.

Alex whips around to face you, and you feel like crying.

His eyes are wild and furious. There’s absolutely no trace of the man who kisses your knuckles, who caresses your cheeks softly, who looks at you with such a tenderness that it would make the petals of a flower green with envy. His nostrils are flaring dramatically, and his lips—the soft, plump lips that you love to feel against your own—have warped into a vicious snarl.

“It means,” he sneers, “That you’re too fuckin’ naïve. The world is a bad place, Y/N. People lie. They cheat. An’ you can’t seem to get that through your thick skull.”

He turns away, shaking his head. “’S a wonder you’ve managed to get by fo’ this long.”

Your tears are flowing freely, now. You sniffle, placing your palms against your cheeks and trying to wipe away every droplet in one attempt. It proves to be futile, however; several more leak out and cascade down your face.

“I’m going back to bed,” you say shakily. You push past Alex, who is still breathing heavily.

You’re about to step into the hallway, but then Alex speaks up again.

“Of course,” he says, “Run away because y’know I’m right. Yeh just don’t wanna believe it.”

You swear that flames lick at your heels, and your vision goes red. Without a word, you spin back around, stalking over to the broken man in the middle of the room. You lift your arm, your fingers pressed together tightly. Rage boils in the pit of your stomach, crawling higher and higher until it reaches your throat.

You’re practically choking.

Alex flinches in preparation for the strike, but he doesn’t close his eyes. In those fleeting milliseconds, you can truly see him. His irises are pleading with you, but they’re not asking you to stop.

He wants you to hit him, you realize.

He wants you to prove him right.

That’s what makes you pull yourself together at the last second, and you stutter to a stop. A pregnant pause follows, broken only when you sniffle again and wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand.

“I get what you’ve been through,” you say quietly. Your arm drops back to your side, and your shoulders slump. You glare at Alex with so much anger, it’s a surprise that there isn’t steam pouring from your ears.

“But I’m not a bad person. And if you can’t see that—,” you shrug, clenching your fists at your sides, “—then I guess there really is no damn hope for you after all.”

~*~

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

Alex shrugs. “Neither did I.”

He and his father stare evenly at each other. Outside the room, he can hear quiet chatter and nurses bustling around in the hallway. Carts and trays clatter as the women bring dinner to the bedridden patients in the wing. Alex nudges the door closed, and the noise is muffled now that there’s a firm barrier separating him from the rest of the hospital.  

“How are you?” his father inquires, and Alex nearly snorts, because shouldn’t he be asking that question?

He doesn’t respond, choosing instead to look around the small room that his father has been confined to. There’s nothing that stands out to him. The walls are beige and bare; there’s a single nightstand next to the bed, which holds the tray that’s carrying the same, customary food handed out to every patient. Strangely enough, his father’s dinner doesn’t look too disgusting—Alex might even deem it appetizing.

“How’d they find me?” Alex asks. He’s studying the walls of the room, even though there’s no decorations adorning them.

“What do you mean?” his father asks, his brow furrowing.

Alex rolls his eyes. “The hospital. The police. How’d they know where I was?”

His father doesn’t reply, choosing instead to fiddle with the blankets that are pooled around his waist. Alex narrows his eyes but doesn’t press the issue. His father has always had ulterior motives—he’s never truly been honest and forthcoming.

Alex is used to it.

“I thought you were dead,” the man in the bed speaks up.

Alex grits his teeth. “Yeah. Y’already told me. Don’t yeh remember, William?”

His father blinks when Alex addresses him by his first name, and Alex fights back a smirk. A small, sinister part of him feels smug. It always feels good to throw someone off, to disrupt their comfortable lifestyle—especially when that person has made him feel like dirt for most of his life.

William clears his throat. “Why didn’t you come back home?”

At that, Alex chuckles. “Are yeh seriously asking that question?”

“Yes.”

“Why d’yeh think I didn’t? Can’t blame me for not wanting t’be around someone who treats me like shit.”

His father doesn’t respond. Alex sighs in annoyance and shakes his head. “Besides,” he says, though he’s talking more to himself now, “’M twenty-four. ‘Bout time I found a place o’ my own.”

“You’re right,” William nods.

Alex glares at him. “Don’t try t’get all chummy with me now. Only reason I came t’see yeh was to get my mind off other things.”

“Like what?”

“’S none o’ your business, is it?”

Like you.

Alex shakes his head again, grunting quietly. He shouldn’t have come. He knows that it was a stupid fucking idea. But he can’t stay locked up in that house anymore. He can’t stand seeing you every day and having your fight from several nights ago echo constantly in his head. Every time he closes his eyes, all he can envision is the way tears littered your cheeks, the sheer anger in your eyes, how quickly you had fled from the room afterwards.

It’s killing him.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters, “I shouldn’t have bothered.”

What had he been thinking? He knows that he’s rash, impulsive, thoughtless. But this…this has christened his recklessness and raised it beyond whatever he’s done in the past. He’s so dense.

He casts another glance at the boring, beige walls of the room. They seem to be mocking him now. He wonders if he could get himself enlisted here as a patient, though he doesn’t know if the doctors would be able to solve his problem.

Has anyone found the cure for a broken heart?

“Alexander, wait,” William blurts.

Alex turns to face his father with a bored look on his face. William reaches underneath the several pillows that are keeping him propped up. There’s a faint jingling sound when he produces a set of keys. “At least…,” he rubs his forehead with one hand and holds out the keys with the other.

Alex lets out a short, humourless laugh. “Yeh can’t be serious.”

“I am,” his father replies. Without another word, he tosses the keys, and Alex catches them reflexively. “They’re keeping me here for a few weeks, anyways. Something about…monitoring cortisol levels. It’s rubbish, if you ask me.”

Alex snorts.

“You’re really just gonna let me back in? Not worried I’ll steal somethin’?”

“I trust you,” his father says simply. He shrugs his shoulders. “And hopefully you’ll be able to say the same about me, one day.”

Not likely, Alex thinks. A part of him is itching to utter the words out loud, but instead he just looks up, meeting his father’s eyes for the first time since he’d stepped into the room. A pair of identical irises stare back at him, framed by wrinkly eyelids and deep-set bags.

His father shoots him a small, barely-there smile; Alex tightens his grip on the key that he knows will unlock the front door to his old apartment.

“Maybe,” is all he says.

~*~

Upon arriving home from the library, you find Alex hammering a loose bolt into one of the floorboards on the porch.

You brace yourself as you climb up the front steps, subconsciously holding in air and trying to look as impassive as possible. Alex has his back turned towards you, and just when it seems like you might be able to get by unnoticed, you trip up the final stair.

An abrupt yelp tears its way from your throat, and Alex whips around in surprise. His green eyes widen when he finds you on all fours, your head hanging in humiliation.

“Christ,” he says, his mouth warping into a concerned frown, “Alright, there?”

You don’t respond, instead choosing to push yourself up and dust off any dirt on your dress.

Alex sucks in a harsh breath between his teeth. “You’re bleedin’, love.”

Sure enough, when you peer down, you find an angry scrape on your right knee. The cut doesn’t appear to be drastically deep, but there are droplets of blood gathering along the surface of your skin. You sigh in annoyance, bending down so that you can get a closer look at the injury.

“Damn it,” you mutter to yourself.

Alex sets his hammer down on the floor, climbing to his feet. He’s wearing black sandals, a pair of khaki shorts, and a white tank top that—to your dismay—shows off his biceps. You grit your teeth; how are you supposed to stay angry with him when he looks like the human embodiment of a deity?

“Think your dad’s got a kit in the shed,” he tells you, though the two of you refuse to look at each other. You keep your gaze trained on your knee, and Alex seems to be more interested in the front door.

Once again, you don’t offer up a reply. Alex sighs, giving you a stern look and pointing his index finger at you. “Don’t move.”

He disappears inside—he’s heading for the backyard, you assume—and you roll your eyes.

But you stay.

“Stupid idiot,” you mumble, berating yourself. Of course, you had to slip. Of course, Alex needed to be there. Of course, he couldn’t just let you be, but rather had to go off and fetch you some supplies.

You hobble over to the porch swing on your left, easing down onto the wooden bench and wincing when your knee bends too far. With a heavy breath, you shift your leg up so that it lays flat along the rest of the seat. You brush a fallen strand of hair behind your ear and grip the strap of your purse, pulling it off your shoulder and setting it down on the ground.

After a few minutes, Alex returns. He’s slightly out of breath, clutching a small, white, plastic container in his hand. For a moment, his brow furrows as he looks around, wondering where you’ve gone. Then, he catches sight of you sitting off to the side, and he blows out a sigh.

“Sorry,” he tells you, walking over, “Had t’find the keys to the shed. They were hangin’ in the kitchen.”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly.

Alex kneels in front of you, flipping open the latches of the first-aid kit. He places it down beside him, rifling through a box of bandages and a small packet of cotton. Finally, he pulls out a tiny bottle of disinfectant, unscrewing the lid and marvelling at the design of the product.

“’S got a dropper?” he whistles, “Impressive.”

You can’t help but to chuckle, and Alex smiles softly down at his lap.

He’s missed your laugh.

“C’mere,” he says, reaching for your leg. You shift around so that you’re facing him. Alex’s hands hold onto your calves as he places your foot against his thigh; he hums in satisfaction when you’re able to stretch your knee out properly. He leans forward, pulling out a few tissues and dabbing away the blood that’s obscuring your scrape.

After that, he hovers the dropper above your skin, squeezing it a few times. You hiss when the disinfectant lands against your injury, the burning sensation making your stomach flip anxiously. The liquid begins to fizz and bubble, but Alex simply leans forward, blowing cool air against your knee to counteract the pain.

Alex digs through the first-aid kit again, pulling out the box of bandages. From there, he produces a small strip. He rips through the paper with his teeth, peeling off the protective plastic layer. You watch with parted lips as his brow furrows in concentration. His fingers are gentle as they smooth the material over your knee, and he’s careful not to apply too much pressure.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

Alex peers up at you and shakes his head. “’M not done yet.”

Confusion causes your forehead to crease, and you’re about to question him, but then he leans forward. You clamp your mouth shut as he presses a soft, feathery kiss to your skin, right over where the bandage covers your graze.

“Alright,” he smirks, pulling back and looking up at you with mischievous eyes, “Now ’m done.”

“Good to know,” you say dryly. A faint, wry smile curls your lips.

Alex chuckles softly, but the easy, peaceful moment is fleeting. Seconds later, he’s gazing at you with so much intensity, it makes your skin crawl. He clears his throat, scratching sheepishly at the nape of his neck.

“Went t’see him today.”

You stiffen.

Alex swallows down the lump in his throat, not sure of how you’ll react. He watches you intently, studying the way your eyes flit around and your lips part around silent, fragmented words. It’s like you’re trying to pinpoint a sufficient response.

“Really,” you finally choke out. Though it’s not a question, Alex nods anyways.

“So,” you start, “You get mad at me for suggesting it…but you still follow that suggestion.”

Alex groans. He presses his forehead against your uninjured knee, squeezing his eyes shut. “I know,” he tells you, cursing under his breath, “I know.”

You don’t say anything. Alex peeks up at you; his brows knit together when he sees you looking down at him expectantly. Your arms are crossed, and one of your eyebrows is cocked higher than the other.

“What?” Alex asks, his lips curving down into the smallest of frowns.

“I’m waiting for an apology,” you say simply, shrugging.

Alex smirks, shaking his head incredulously. He tilts forward again, aiming a bit lower so that—this time—his lips meet your shin.

“I’m—,” he sponges a trail of harmless pecks up your unscathed leg, “—really—truly—sorry.”

“For…?” you prompt, angling your head to the side.

A low chuckle rumbles deep in Alex’s chest. He shuffles forward on his knees, slowly lowering your scraped leg so that he can eliminate the distance separating the two of you. He presses his lips to the inside of your knee before gradually inching upwards. Your breath catches in your throat when he spreads your legs apart slightly, nestling himself in between. He’s attacking your inner thigh with soft kisses now, and you humour him for a bit until he begins edging your dress upwards.

Your hand shoots out, and you place your palm flat against his forehead to tame him.

“For…?” you repeat.

“For bein’ a bloody twat,” Alex admits, craning his neck towards your hand and nipping teasingly at your wrist. “’M sorry, love.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, gazes glued together. Your heart is pounding in your chest, so loud that you’re afraid he’ll be able to hear it. The sun is beginning to set, bathing the neighbourhood in a muted, peachy glow. There are still dragonflies buzzing around, but the faint chirping of crickets hiding in the shadows hints at the looming threat of nighttime.

Alex offers you a small, helpless shrug. His bright eyes gleam with hope, and he gnaws on the inside of his cheek.

You bury your fingers into his hair and sigh quietly.

“Good.”

You weigh your next words carefully in your mind. A part of you wants to say them, but another—larger—part is far too bashful. You glance down at Alex, who’s got his cheek pressed kittenishly against your leg. His eyes are closed in bliss as you run your nails lightly against his head. You blow out a silent sigh, deciding to bite the bullet and just come out with it.

“I’m going to leave my door unlocked tonight,” you murmur quietly.

Alex’s eyelids slowly flutter open. At first, he’s a bit disoriented, fixing you with a puzzled look. But then, he fully processes your words, and his eyes widen.

His face splits into a smile.

~*~

The house is silent as Alex creeps up the stairs later that night. He’s holding his breath, balancing on the balls of his feet to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible. All his senses appear to be heightened; his eyes focus on the shadows dancing along the wall, and his ears are perked as he listens for even the smallest hint of movement.

It’s raining outside. The patter of drops against the windows is calming, and the occasional rumble of thunder makes everything seem just a little bit livelier. Alex is grateful, because the noise helps to drown out the faint sounds of his vigilant footsteps.

After several long, cautious moments, he’s standing in front of your bedroom door. He doesn’t bother knocking—the noise would surely give the two of you away. The door creaks slightly when he nudges it open, and he winces.

You’re laying on your side, facing away from him. For a minute, Alex simply watches the way your shoulders rise and fall with each deep breath. He shuts the door softly, clicking the lock in place—just in case.

He pads over to your bed, and you peer over your shoulder, shooting him a soft, sleepy smile.

“Hi,” you breathe.

Alex slides underneath the duvet, wrapping one arm around your midsection and snuggling in close to you. He presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, sighing in relief—he’s back where he belongs.

You turn around, resuming your original position. Alex’s breath hitches in his throat when you arch your back and accidentally nudge your bum firmly against his crotch. He stiffens, and you snort tiredly. Your body vibrates with a silent laugh, and Alex pinches your hip in a chastising manner. The sharp tweak of pain only makes you giggle even more.

“Minx,” Alex grumbles. He can’t see your face, but he knows that you’re smirking.

He continues to litter feathery kisses against your shoulder, taking pleasure in the way that you squirm in his hold. It’s only when he pulls the collar of your nightgown to the side and bites down lightly on your bare skin that you let out a faint whine, leaning away from him.

“Stop,” you moan.

Alex snickers. “But I like the way y’taste.”

“It’s just skin,” you scoff quietly, turning over so that you can face him. He grunts when your elbow accidentally knocks him in the ribs, and you murmur a gentle apology, pressing your lips against his in a silent request for forgiveness.

Alex hums into the kiss, smiling faintly as your mouths detach with a soft smacking sound.

“Lips taste good,” he tells you, “An’ so does your skin.”

His face splits into a devious grin. “Think I like the taste o’ your cunt best, though.”

You gasp, your eyes widening until they reach their limit. Alex wants to laugh, but he holds it in favour of shooting you a cool, self-assured smirk. He’s expecting you to berate him, to whisper furiously at him with skittish eyes and a nervous twist to your lips. It’s something he’s used to.

He’s surprised, though, when you squeak quietly and lean forward, burying your face into his chest. An astonished chuckle echoes deep in the back of his throat, and he reflexively winds his arms around you.

“You’re too much,” you mumble. Alex’s mouth twists into a small, confused frown when he feels your knuckles flutter hurriedly against his chest. He pulls back, looking down and nearly choking on his own spit when he sees that you’ve undone the first two buttons on his flannel pajama shirt.

“Love…,” he says slowly, not able to discern your intentions, “What’re yeh—?”

“You said I could have my fun ‘next time’.” You remind him of the first night he had been in your room, and Alex swears that his heart skips a beat.

He remembers. You had run your fingers along his shoulders and his chest, marvelling at the way the skin fit over his muscles. His cock had plumped up so much that it was embarrassing—he had just wanted you. That’s why he had knocked your hands away, a half-hearted promise of “next time” pouring from his lips. Your body had been calling to him, and he simply couldn’t ignore it.

“Is it ‘next time’?” you ask, peering up at him timidly.

You thumb open the last button on his shirt before sliding your palms against his bare stomach. Alex swallows heavily as you smooth your hands up the length of his torso, pushing the soft material of his flannel away from his shoulders. He sits up quickly, yanking the fabric off and tossing it over his shoulder, paying no mind to where it lands.

His eagerness makes you giggle.

You beam when he climbs on top of you, his movements messy and uncoordinated. He’s grinning like a fucking fool, but he doesn’t care.

Why would he care, when he has you looking up at him like he hung the moon and all the stars in the galaxy? Why would he care, when you’re tilting your cheek into his hand and arching your back up so that you can get closer to him? Why would he care, when you keen happily against his lips as he kisses you?

Alex tugs the duvet over your bodies, and after a few minutes, everything is warm. Your hot breath puffs out against his chin and cheeks, and everywhere your fingertips touch, you leave a searing path behind. A thin sheen of sweat has begun to form along his hairline, and there’s a palpable, unmistakable heat emanating from where you’ve got your pelvis pressed against his thigh.

You let out a wet gasp, pulling back and sucking in a deep breath. Alex cups your jaw with one hand, keeping the other flat against your pillow so that he can hold himself over you. He watches as you lick your lips, and then you hum appreciatively.

“You taste like toothpaste,” you say, snickering quietly.

Alex chuckles and shakes his head. His eyes meet yours, and a silent agreement passes between the two of you. A faint groan leaves his lips when he slumps to the side and splays his body out dramatically. You roll your eyes at his antics, lifting his left arm so that you can shuffle closer and cuddle into his chest.

You plant your lips firmly above his left pectoral, over the spot where his heart is thumping wildly beneath his ribs. Alex wraps his arm around you and kisses the side of your head, delighting in how the scent of your shampoo fills his nose.

The two of you are quiet for the next few moments. Alex stares up at the ceiling of your bedroom and listens as your breathing gradually starts to balance out. You’re not asleep just yet—he can tell by the way you sigh into his skin—but you will be in another minute or so.

He can feel his opportunity slipping away.

“He gave me the keys t’my old apartment,” Alex mutters. “My father.”

And suddenly, you’re wide awake.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Alex merely nods. You’re both silent for several seconds.

“He trusts you?” you finally ask.

Alex shrugs. “Seems so.”

“Are you…,” you hesitate, gnawing tentatively on your bottom lip. Alex peers down at you and raises his brows, prompting you to continue. You lift one shoulder shyly. “Are you going to go?”

He lets out a gentle sigh, his hand coming up to rub at his eyes. Eventually, he nods. “Reckon I ought to. ‘S where I grew up, y’know?”

“I know,” you whisper. You grunt, shifting onto your stomach so that you can face him properly. There’s uncertainty and anxiety brewing in his irises, and his lips have curved down into the smallest of scowls. You reach out, smoothing your thumb over the crease that’s formed between his eyebrows, and then you cup his face tenderly.

You place your other hand on his sternum, drumming your fingers absentmindedly as you speak.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

A low, surprised chuckle fights its way past Alex’s lips. He looks at you with disbelieving eyes and cocks his head to the side. You bite fiercely at the inside of your cheek, rethinking your words. Does he think that you find him weak? Does he think that you don’t believe in him?

“What?” Alex asks.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you try to make amends. “If you don’t want me there, I understand. It’s none of my business anyways, I’m sorry for—”

He cuts you off immediately, placing his large palm against the back of your head and surging upwards so that he can press a bruising kiss to your lips. Your startled squeak ricochets through the air, but Alex just smiles against your mouth. You moan happily when he deepens the contact, making you unsure of where he ends, and where you begin.

“Want yeh there,” Alex breathes, pulling back with a slick gasp. “I do.”

“Yeah?” You purse your lips to suppress a smile, but it doesn’t work. Alex gazes at you tenderly, stroking his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you whisper, ducking down and planting a chaste kiss to his collarbone. You suddenly remember that you’ve planned a small trip tomorrow, and you add, “Is it okay if you pick me up at the library, though? Then we can head straight on over.”

“Sure,” Alex hums. His brows knit together for a moment, and he taps your chin with his forefinger. “Wait, weren’t yeh already there today?”

You hesitate, choosing your next words slowly. If Alex notices your sudden prudence, he doesn’t comment on it. You gulp inaudibly, sounding out your response with great care. “Yeah. I’ve just—I’ve been reading up on a few things, that’s all.”

“Anything I’d fancy?” Alex jokes. You force out a laugh, hoping that he won’t recognize the artificiality of your smile.

“No,” you lie, grimacing as you lay your head down on his chest. “Nothing at all.”

Alex merely hums, shrugging nonchalantly and letting the conversation drift off into silence.

He wakes up in a cold sweat later that night, whimpering and thrashing around wildly. You have to shake him vigorously until his eyes finally snap open. When he recognizes you, he lets out a wet sob, gasping for air and sitting up straight. You lean your head against his shoulder, rubbing your palm along his back tenderly.

“’M sorry,” he hiccups, shaking his head sadly. “Jus’ felt so real, y’know? ’M so sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” you whisper, your words fluttering onto his skin. You sit behind him, spreading your legs on either side of his body and engulfing him in a tight hug. You can feel him quivering when you press your forehead against his spine, and you try to blink back your own emotions.

Alex continues to shake in your arms, and you squeeze your eyes shut, a single tear trailing down your cheek.

You definitely need to read up on a few things.

~*~

“You alright?” you turn to Alex, peering up at him shyly through your eyelashes.

He grunts in response, keeping his gaze glued to the apartment door in front of him. “’M fine.”

You hesitate, but eventually just nod and face forward once more. The door is nothing special. Dark wood framed by more dark wood, with a slightly-rusted bronze knob and a matching plaque displaying a faded inscription: 4B.

The two of you stand there for a few more seconds, a heavy silence blanketing the atmosphere. You chew nervously on your bottom lip, and then Alex snaps out of his tranquil stupor, muttering a curse under his breath.

“Bloody ridiculous, this is.”

He surges forward, slotting one of the copper keys into the lock on the knob, but you put a hand on his arm before he can push the door open. “Wait!”

“’S wrong?” Alex asks, stepping back and spinning around so that he can face you. You play with your fingers, feeling your face heat up with embarrassment. Alex places his large palms on your shoulders, squeezing softly and repeating (with a bit more vigour behind the words now), “’S wrong, love?”

“Just—,” you break off, sighing quietly. Alex’s forehead has creased in confusion, and you’re not quite sure how to convey what you want. Instead of bothering to trip over your sentence (and make a fool of yourself), you simply step forward, cupping his face in your hands and delivering a profound kiss to his lips.

Alex feels a bit of the tension in his body melt away as soon as you invade his space. He doesn’t know what it is about you that puts him at ease, but nevertheless, he’s grateful for it. You kiss him, and suddenly it’s like nothing else matters. All petty stressors flee from his mind; the only thing he can think about is how soft your mouth is, and how you whimper happily whenever he places his hand against the side of your neck to keep you steady.

“I’m here for you,” you mumble, pulling back only an inch so that you can get the words out.

Alex presses his forehead to yours, squeezing his eyes shut for a mere moment. His hands are clammy, and his heart is pounding erratically beneath his ribs. The frantic pace betrays the cool, unbothered façade behind which he’s been hiding. He draws out the next few seconds, well-aware of the fact that he’s stalling, but you don’t criticize him for it.

You’re just there. If he needs a hand to hold, if he needs someone to listen, if he needs a pair of arms to hug him, you’re there.

And you don’t seem to mind.

That’s why he turns away from you, nudging open the door with one hand and gripping your fingers firmly in the other. You’ve got no time to question him—he’s tugging you inside with only the smallest pull of his arm, and then you’re standing in the front entrance of his old apartment.

You never leave his side. You’re with him as he pads into the kitchen, the living room, the small dining room where he and his father used to eat stoically. You grip his hand with both of yours as he stands in front of the mantel of the fireplace, studying the pictures that sit above the cold, ashen wood. You squeeze his fingers reassuringly as he walks down the hallway, trailing his palm along the wall unthinkingly.

He stiffens dramatically when he opens the door to his old bedroom, and you let go of his hand as he makes his way inside.

It’s odd.

He’d expected the furniture to be dusty—for a thick, veiled smell to hang in the air. But everything is clean and pristine, like the room had been kept immaculate in his absence. His duvet is tucked neatly into the crevices of his mattress, and his dresser is polished. Even the picture frames along the walls are spotless.

“He was hoping you’d come back,” you say softly.

Alex turns to face you, an enormous lump forming in his throat. He tries desperately to swallow it down, but the attempt proves to be futile. You watch him with sad, tender eyes—he hates it.

He hates it.

“Don’t look at me like tha’,” he grits out, shaking his head.

Your eyebrows knit together. “Like what?”

“Like—,” Alex tugs frantically at his hair, squeezing his eyes shut, “Like ’m broken!”

“I’m not!” you insist, rushing forward. You cup his face in your hands, trying urgently to make him understand. “I don’t think you’re broken, Alex, but I’m—I’m only frustrated! Why can’t you ever just let me be here for you?”

“’S not your problem,” Alex says, stepping back. Your arms fall limply to your sides, and you watch with parted lips as he swerves around you, stalking back towards the door of the room. Your mind is reeling, and your fingers are tingling with anticipation.

Say it.

No. You shouldn’t; he’s already so tense, and your words will undoubtedly make him explode. How are you even supposed to approach the subject? Should you be tentative, or just come out with it right away?

You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t.

But you’ve never really been good at controlling yourself.

“I think you should see a therapist.”

Alex freezes.

A long, painful moment of silence follows. Your nostrils flare anxiously, and you clench your jaw to keep yourself from whimpering. Alex turns around slowly, his eyes alight with a furious hue of rage. You want nothing more than to step back, to cower into yourself until you eventually wink out of existence—but you don’t. You keep your feet rooted to the floor, not moving at all, even when he glares daggers at you.

“’Scuse me?”

“I think you should see a therapist,” you repeat, your voice slightly shaky. You clear your throat, forcing yourself to pronounce each word and fake the confidence lacing through every syllable. “I’ve been doing some reading, and there’s this thing—people call it ‘shell-shock’. It’s seen in most soldiers that come back from—”

“’M not goin’ to a fuckin’ shrink!” Alex bellows. Your mouth twists into a deep scowl at the volume of his voice.

“Would you just listen to me?” you cry, stomping up to him. You point your finger at him accusingly. “You’ve been getting worse and worse! The nightmares aren’t going to just magically disappear! If you would just talk to someone about it, I’m sure they could help—!”

“So that’s wha’ this is about, then?” Alex demands. A vein in his neck strains frighteningly. “Y’think I’m mad? Y’think I’m fuckin’ loony?”

“Of course not!”

“Then what is it? None o’ your business, this is! Why’re yeh so hellbent on—?”

“Because I love you!”

That shuts him up.

You’re crying now, angry tears streaking down your face. You wipe vehemently at your cheeks, sniffling quietly. Alex’s jaw is locked, a muscle in his neck twitching. You swallow heavily, gripping the hem of your dress in your fists and balling the material up to keep your hands occupied.

“I don’t know what your problem is,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “But I can’t be with you if—if you’re not even going to try to make things better. I’m not your fucking punching bag.”

Alex exhales at your words—that’s the first time you’ve cursed in front of him.

It’s the first time you’ve cursed at him, too.

“Y’don’t know…,” he says lowly, looking down at you with steely eyes, “Y’don’t know what it’s like.”

“Then help me understand,” you beg. You purse your lips to keep him from seeing how much they quiver.

Alex just shakes his head. He steps to the side, leaving a clear path to the doorway. You peer up at him with watery, pleading eyes, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. He’s staring fixedly at the floor, his hands clasped behind his back and his cheeks red from his previous outburst.

He opens his mouth, and the single word that leaves his lips makes your heart break cleanly in two.

“Leave.”

You sniffle again, straightening your back and releasing the fabric of your dress from where it’s crinkled in between your fingers. A soft sob escapes your lips before you can quell the sound, but you just swipe at your teary eyes with the back of your palm.

“Fine,” you say coldly.

And then you’re gone.

~*~

Alex moves out of your house the next day.

You stay locked up in your room while he packs. Under normal circumstances, you would join him and Tommy downstairs and ensure that he doesn’t forget anything.

But your circumstances are anything but normal.

You can hear Tommy’s chipper voice float up the steps, followed by Alex’s low, indistinguishable mumbles. They’re nearly done—Alex doesn’t have many possessions, seeing as most of his things have been kept at his apartment. You mourn the fact that he won’t be sleeping downstairs on the couch anymore; there had been something comforting about his presence.

“Think she’s upstairs,” you hear Tommy say, and then the steps creak as he ascends to the second floor, “I’ll get her.”

Immediately, you curl up and squeeze your eyes shut. You balance out your breathing and shift your leg slightly just as Tommy cracks open your door. He shuffles faintly before whispering, “Y/N?”

When he’s met with no response, he sighs quietly and closes the door. You hear him amble back downstairs, and then he’s informing Alex, “Sorry mate, she fell asleep. I’m sure she wishes you all the best, though.”

There’s a heavy grunt, and then the front door opens. You open your eyes and slowly slide out of bed, creeping over to your window and peeking down at the lawn from behind your curtains.

Alex pops open the trunk of the car, hauling his small suitcase inside. Tommy’s standing on the driver’s side, leaning up against the open door. He says something, his mouth warping into a sly smirk, and Alex laughs. Your chest tightens painfully at the sight of his smile.

Tommy slides into the car, and a moment later, the vehicle rumbles to life. Alex shuts the trunk, twisting a key into the lock to ensure that it’s sealed. He walks over to the passenger side of the car, pulling open the door.

And then he looks up, his gaze trained intently on your window.

It lasts only a second, but it feels like a century. Your eyes meet his, and you swear that your heart stops. You inhale sharply before pedalling backwards, the action robotic and curt. There’s a burning sensation that’s pricking at your eyes, and you blink quickly to keep yourself composed. You count to twenty in your head before approaching the window once again and—despite your better judgement—peering outside.

But the car has vanished.

And it’s taken Alex with it.

~*~

“How long?”

“Another month or so. I almost died, Alexander. They don’t make light of those things around here.”

Alex nods, sitting back in his chair and lacing his fingers together. His eyes drift and land on the needle hooked into his father’s forearm—the sight makes his toes curl.

The hospital isn’t as busy as it was during his previous visit. It’s quieter, with low mumbles outside in the hall and the occasional squeaking of a wheelchair as nurses roll patients down the corridor. Alex is still tense, but he won’t deny that he feels a lot more at ease now compared to the first time he’d stepped into the building.

He’s sitting next to his father, for one thing. William is propped up on a few pillows, his skin sallow and pale. There are deep bags circling his eyes, and his lips are dry and chapped. When he lifts his hands, they shake violently. Alex almost feels bad for him.

Almost.

The only thing that hasn’t changed is his eyes. They’re bright and alert, carrying years of experience and pain. Alex hates that William’s irises are an identical match to his own. It reminds him of how similar they truly are.

“So,” William clears his throat, straightening his back, “I have to ask. Who’s the bird?”

“Wha’?”

“The girl, Alexander. The one you were shopping with. Who is she?”

“She’s not a bird,” Alex grumbles, looking away. The naked, beige walls of the room are suddenly much more interesting than whatever his father has to say.

“You like her, then?”

He shakes his head. His father frowns in confusion, and Alex just mutters out, “Love her.”

William is the first person he’s told, and he hates that the universe seems to have derailed his plans in such a cruel way. You haven’t spoken to him in days. He hasn’t seen you at all since he moved out of the house. He’s been living alone, and the first person to whom he’s revealed his feelings just happens to be his estranged, unyielding father.

Alex groans. Whatever is out there—God, the cosmos, or some other unknown deity—seems intent on making him miserable.

The only things keeping him sane are those three words you had shouted at him. He also hates that he wasn’t the first one to confess his devotion. He hates that you hadn’t been able to wait, that you’d blurted it out in a hot, fiery moment of intensity and emotion. And he hates—he bloody hates—the fact that he’s clinging to that, praying desperately that you still love him even after your devastating quarrel.

“Does she know?” his father asks, and Alex is yanked from his thoughts. He looks up with muddied eyes, blinking rapidly and shaking his head.

“No,” he says quietly, his throat dry. “We’re—we’re not really talkin’ right now.”

“Why?”

And Alex doesn’t know why he’s saying these things. He doesn’t know why he’s baring his soul to the man who had hurt him so badly. All he knows is that he’s so damn alone, and he can’t keep things bottled up anymore.

“She wants me t’see a shrink.”

He expects for his father to laugh, or gasp, or become defensive. But when he looks back up at him, he’s met with pursed lips and pondering green eyes that are lost deep in thought. “Ah,” William sighs, nodding solemnly. He doesn’t say anything else, and Alex’s eyebrows knit together. He leans forward slightly, cracking his knuckles anxiously.

“What?” he asks, his voice a bit sharper than it should be. William chuckles.

“Let me guess,” he muses, a wry smile twisting along his pale lips, “She suggested it, you got offended, and then you lot had a falling out.”

Alex narrows his eyes, his shoulders tensing at the accuracy of the presumption. “How’d you know tha’?”

“’S exactly what happened between your mother and I,” William says. His eyes grow wistful, like he’s reminiscing on a fond memory. “You were so young. I got back from the Great War, and I was having some trouble…readjusting, I guess. Your mother was adamant about me going to see someone.”

“I didn’t know that,” Alex says blankly. His father merely chuckles again, his shoulders shaking with the action.

“’Course you didn’t,” he smiles, “That’s because I listened to her. Put my damn pride aside and went along with it, even though I thought it was all rubbish.”

Alex stays silent, and William continues. “And I actually got a bit better. Things were going swimmingly. But then—,” he pauses, letting out a rattled sigh, “—she died. And you…you know what happened to me after that.”

“Yeah,” Alex croaks out. He knows.

He and his father reside to sitting in silence. Ten minutes pass before soft snores are escaping from William’s mouth, and his head leans towards the side as he sleeps. Alex sits back in his chair, gripping his chin with his fingers and not realizing how tightly his teeth are clenched together.

He’s not damaged. He’s not a charity begging for more attention. He’s not broken.

I listened to her. Put my damn pride aside and went along with it, even though I thought it was all rubbish.

Alex sighs.

~*~

Alex is a damn fool.

He should have listened to the radio in hopes of catching the daily forecast. He should have decided not to go outside after having seen the pale gray clouds blanketing the city. He should have shot down the small voice in his head that taunted him with unfair jabs at his courage and his masculinity.

It’s just a little bit of rain. The tube is only one mile away.

He needs to see you.

He decides that there is a God, then—a God that is unhappy with him. He’s made it three quarters of the way to the train station when heavy droplets start to fall from the sky. There’s no steady escalation—rather, the rain arrives in a wet crescendo. Soon enough, Alex is hiking his jacket up over his head and breaking into a light jog to find shelter.

The entrance of the station comes into view, and he’s about to quicken his pace, but then he passes a familiar face and stops dead in his tracks.

“Y/N?” he yells over the loud, steady patter of rain.

You turn around at the sound of your name, your eyes widening when you recognize him. Alex can’t help but to notice that you’re soaked. Your hair is matted down against your head, and your dress is clinging to your body (he tries to ignore the fact that the material has become slightly transparent). You’ve got no protection from the weather, and your feet squelch in your flats when you step back.

“What are you doing here?” Alex asks.

“I came to talk to you!” you reply, increasing the volume of your voice as thunder rumbles in the sky. Alex looks up, his forehead wrinkling worriedly as he studies the dark clouds looming overhead. He lowers his jacket before approaching you quickly and thrusting it into your hands.

“C’mon!” he says, placing a protective hand on the small of your back. You grip the material of his coat and try your best to spread it out so that it can shield the two of you. Alex ushers you along, leading you back to his apartment building and cringing when his shoes squish soddenly.

By the time you’re both standing in front of his door, you’re positively drenched. Alex runs a hand through his sopping hair, trying to squeeze out any excess water. His fingers are slippery as he unlocks the door, pushing it open and removing his shoes immediately. You trail behind him, balling up the fabric of his jacket and gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip.

“Fuck,” Alex stammers, shivering. He’s much more fretful than he should be, but he can’t help it. The only other time he’s been this wet whilst wearing clothes was when he was fighting for his life on the outskirts of France.

“Cold?” he asks, spinning around to face you. You nudge the front door shut with your foot and nod shyly, your teeth chattering slightly.

“Take a shower,” Alex says, placing his hand onto your hip and guiding you down the hall. “Don’t want yeh catching pneumonia or summat.”

“What—no!” you protest, digging your heels into the floor, “It’s not my house, Alex. You go first.”

“You’re a guest,” Alex says, frowning lightly.

You scoff quietly, muttering the words under your breath. “Not by choice.”

His scowl deepens, and he clenches his jaw tightly. “Y/N,” he says sternly, throwing his thumb over his shoulder and gesturing to the bathroom that’s only a few feet away, “Get in the shower.”

“No.” You fold your arms over your chest.

Alex lets out a frustrated groan and rubs at his eyes aggravatedly. “So bloody stubborn,” he mutters, shaking his head incredulously.

You simply shrug. “You used to like that about me.”

“Who says I don’t anymore?” Alex asks. His hands drop to his sides, and he grimaces. “Just ’cause you’re through with me doesn’t mean I don’t still think about yeh every fuckin’ second.”

“Alex,” you say quietly, avoiding his intense gaze, “Just get in the shower. Please.”

“Either get in with me,” Alex says, “Or I’m not movin’, and we’re both gonna stay here in these soggy clothes.”

“Fine!” you exclaim, throwing your arms up in the air. You grunt, annoyed at his persistence. Why can’t he ever just let you win? He’s too proud—he thinks he always knows what’s best. If he wasn’t so damn endearing, you would have told him off a long time ago. Why can’t he ever just listen to you?

Alex’s eyes widen when you begin to undo the buttons lining the front of your dress. You mumble obscenities under your breath, your fingers working hastily to rid yourself of the garment. He’s pretty sure he stops breathing when you peel the soaked fabric away from your body, revealing a matching set of undergarments and inches of glistening skin.

“What’re yeh doin’?” He asks, his mouth dry.

You glare up at him. “What does it look like I’m doing?” Your eyes flick down to his shirt and trousers, and you lift one eyebrow. “Weren’t you the one who said that we were getting in together?”

Alex has never moved so fast.

He practically rips off his clothes, only leaving the boxers that sit snugly on his hips. You watch him evenly as he turns around and makes his way into the bathroom. A moment later, the steady sound of running water reaches your ears.

“Oh my God,” you breathe quietly, squeezing your eyes shut. You can’t believe you’re doing this. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”

“Yeh comin’?” Alex calls from inside the washroom. You pinch your thigh and exhale shakily before putting on an unbothered front.

Alex turns around when you walk through the door, and you don’t miss the way his gaze falls to your body. The hunger in his eyes makes you gulp, but you don’t shy away—he’s seen you like this before. You can handle him (you hope).

“Water’s warm,” Alex mumbles. You nod curtly, and then you reach behind your body to unclasp your bra. Alex’s throat bobs when the cups loosen around your breasts, and you look away when you drop the material to the floor.

“What?” you demand, brushing your wet hair away from your face. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

And with a sudden rush of confidence, you remove your underwear as well.

“Fuck,” Alex mutters. He squeezes his eyes shut momentarily, and you bite back a laugh. You’re still upset with him, yes, but you can’t deny how fun it is to toy with him. You step out of where your panties have pooled at your ankles, shooting him an expectant look.

“Your turn.”

Despite the intense longing he feels for you, Alex chuckles. “Eager, love?”

“Don’t call me that,” you order quietly, your eyes falling to the tiled floor. “I’m not your ‘love’—not anymore.”

“But yeh love me.” It’s not a question.

You blink, inhaling sharply and feeling your chest grow tight. “Yes,” you whisper.

Alex sighs, shaking his head. “Couldn’t hold it in fo’ just a little while longer, could yeh?”

“Excuse me?”

“’Cause now I look like a cheap git if I say it back! Fuck, love—,” Alex grits his teeth, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “Was gonna tell yeh the morning we almost got caught. But then all this bullshit happened, and I didn’t think—”

“You love me?”

You’re finally looking at him, and Alex has never seen so much emotion brewing in your eyes. Light reflects off your irises, and your lips are pursed tightly. Your eyelashes flutter prettily every time you blink, and your skin is still gleaming wetly from the rain.

“’Course I do,” Alex says, his brows knitting together. “How could I not?”

“I—,” you hesitate, sucking your lips into your mouth nervously. Eventually, you blow out an exhausted breath, your shoulders slumping dejectedly. “I hate fighting with you.”

Alex smiles softly. “Me too. And—,” he pauses for a moment, “I’m gonna go see a shrink. Already booked the appointment.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, your eyes widening. “You’re serious?”

He nods, and you feel your heart swell with adoration.

You suddenly remember that the shower is still running, and you lift your chin eagerly. “Are we going to get in, or have you changed your mind?”

Alex’s small smile spreads into a grin. He doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to rid himself of his boxers—it suffices as a response, you decide. The two of you stumble into the shower, and you hum happily when the warm water splashes against your back. It’s a welcome change from the cold, icy sheen that had been left by the rain.

“I love you,” Alex says suddenly, and you turn around to face him. He’s standing underneath the spray, his hair matted to his forehead. You step closer to him, fixing him with a tender smile as you push the wet strands away from his face.

“And I love you.”

He leans down, his lips ghosting over yours—he’s still unsure of where you stand. But when you grin and press your mouth firmly against his, he doesn’t have to wonder. Not anymore.

It starts off innocent enough. Alex simply enjoys being able to kiss you again—he’s missed it more than you could ever know. His hands cup your jaw gently, and you hold onto his waist, squeezing slightly whenever he nips playfully at your bottom lip. When he pulls away, you whine quietly and chase him, and he just chuckles lowly as he gives in to your wordless requests.

And then—just like that—something shifts.

Your kisses become a bit more frantic, a bit more profound. Your hands don’t remain stationary, but instead roam up and down his back, feeling his muscles contract as he moves. Your lips part from his with a soft smacking sound, and Alex growls low in his throat when you release a needy whimper.

“Wait,” he mumbles, looking at you through long, damp eyelashes. He’s breathing heavily, his chest swelling with each inhale. “What d’yeh want?”

“What?” you breathe, curving your head to the side so that you can litter sloppy kisses down his neck. Alex curses softly, placing his hands on your shoulders and pulling you back. You pout cutely, and he feels his stomach coil with desire.

“What d’yeh want?” he repeats, his throat scratchy. “Y’gotta tell me what y’wanna do, love, or else…I won’t be able t’stop.”

“Then don’t,” you tell him, gripping his face between your hands and guiding him down for another passionate kiss. “Don’t stop.”

“Bloody—,” he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because he’s bruising your lips with his own, and he has no intention of slowing down. You whimper unabashedly when one of his hands finds your right breast,  kneading the skin in his palm and pinching gently at your nipple. You arch your back into him, and he just deepens the kiss, a quiet groan echoing in the back of his throat.

“Need—,” Alex pulls back with a damp gasp, “—need t’open yeh up f’me, love. ’M not small.”

Sure enough, when you cast a glance downwards, you become privy to the state of his cock. He’s hardened significantly, and with a jolt, you realize that you’ve never actually seen his prick. He’s had his head between your legs and you’ve had your hand down his pants, but he’s never been this bare in front of you.

“It’s pretty,” you say softly, because it’s true. His cock curves upwards against his stomach, and it’s flushed a light pink colour. A particularly thick vein runs along the tight skin, and the coarse hair at the base of his shaft has been trimmed neatly. Part of you wants to drop to your knees and take him into your mouth, but another part is aching to feel him fill you.

“You’re pretty,” Alex says, and you giggle at the compliment. He presses a pert kiss to your nose before cradling your stomach against his palm. “Don’t wanna hurt yeh, darling. Wanna make it the best I can fo’ yeh—just need you t’relax, alright?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

He starts off slow, encouraging you to spread your legs slightly so that he can cup your cunt. You gasp softly when he places a firm finger against your clit and begins to rub gentle circles against you. He bows his head, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking hungrily, and there’s so much going on that you feel as though you might faint.

“Feels okay?” Alex asks, the words slightly garbled as he sponges kisses along your breasts. You nod frantically, your fingers reflexively tangling into his wet hair.

“Feels good,” you say, allowing your eyelids to drift shut. “Really good.”

“Brilliant,” Alex chuckles, gazing up at you with glimmering eyes. “’M gonna try to add a finger, alright?”

You hum in affirmation, and Alex pulls his mouth away from your chest so that he can watch his hand move against you. He swears under his breath when he circles his index finger around your entrance, feeling the slick that’s accumulated there. Your face heats up in embarrassment when he sends a wicked grin your way. “’S not gonna take long at all, is it?”

“Shut up,” you eek out. You gasp when you feel him dip the tip of his finger inside of you, your hands flying to grip harshly onto his forearm.

“It’s okay,” you tell him when you see him open his mouth. “It’s okay, I’m okay! Keep going, please.”

Alex smiles. “So polite.”

He stifles your whimper with his lips as he slides his finger into you slowly. Your walls clamp down around him, and he groans against your mouth. “Love,” he chokes out, his voice laced with pain. “Y’gotta relax a bit.”

“Sorry,” you say, forcing yourself to unwind. “It’s just…it’s been a while.”

At that, Alex’s brow creases. “‘A while’?”

You snort. “I’ve done this to myself, you know.”

His lips part in surprise, and his eyes grow dark. “Fuckin’ hell,” he grits out, pressing his forehead firmly against your shoulder. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You laugh.

Alex begins to pump his finger gently, building up a steady pace. You pepper kisses along his neck, moaning into his throat whenever he presses down against your clit. After a few minutes, he nips teasingly at your earlobe. “Can I add another? Can I make yeh feel good, love?”

“Yes, please.”

He’s gentle when he slides his middle finger in to join. You exhale shakily, craning your neck up and puckering your lips. Alex chuckles, humouring you and kissing you avidly, his tongue licking into your mouth and his hot breaths spilling out against your chin.

“Wanna make yeh cum like this,” he mumbles, “’Cause…I dunno if you’ll be able t’cum on my cock, y’know? ’S your first time.”

“Alex,” you scoff, rolling your eyes teasingly, “You’re rambling.”

“Sorry.” He grins. You’re about to taunt him again, but then he curls his fingers forward, and your knees quiver. A high-pitched whine slips from your lips, and your walls pulse around him.

“Oh my God,” you moan, tilting your head back. “Do that again.”

He does do it again. And again, and again, and again. He prods that spongey spot inside of you and rubs his thumb against your clit until you’re whimpering and releasing onto his fingers. Alex watches in awe as your eyes roll into the back of your head, and his mouth goes dry when you clamp down tightly on his digits. If you’re that tight around his fingers, how is he supposed to handle you squeezing around his cock?

“Can you—?” you break off, trying to catch your breath. “I want you to—I want you, please.”

“Okay, okay,” Alex soothes you, pressing a feathery kiss to your lips. “Christ,” he whispers, cramming his eyes shut. His cock is painfully hard, and he subconsciously wraps a loose fist around the shaft, giving a few half-hearted pumps. You watch him, chewing anxiously on your bottom lip, and he just reaches for your left thigh, lifting it gently so that he can wrap your leg around his hip.

“You’re sure?” he questions one last time.

You nod quickly. “Want to feel you.”

Alex groans, nearly tumbling forward once he processes your words. He angles the tip of his cock up, running the head along your folds a few times and relishing in the whine that leaves your lips.

“Stop teasing,” you pout. He kisses you chastely, giving you a wry grin.

“Might burn a bit,” he warns, the smile quickly slipping from his face. “Need yeh t’tell me if yeh wanna stop.”

“Okay.” You nod, and Alex lines himself up with your entrance.

Ever so slowly, he tilts his hips forward. You force yourself to relax as his tip slips inside, and for a moment, you don’t even feel anything.

Is this what all the fuss is about?

But then he begins to push in a bit deeper, and you wince as you feel yourself spreading around him. He goes at a gradual, lenient pace, his eyes trained on your face to spot any hint of discomfort. It’s really, truly sweet, and you suddenly are overrun by the urge to kiss him.

So, you do.

You keep your lips melded to his as he enters you inch by inch. The stretch makes your eyes water, and Alex kisses all over your face to try and keep you calm. “How far in are you?” you ask, closing your eyes.

“More than halfway.” Alex’s voice is strangled, cracking on the last syllable. He nuzzles his nose against yours, his warm breaths wafting out onto your mouth. “You’re doin’—fuck—so good fo’ me, love. So, so good.”

“Yeah?” Despite your uneasiness, you open your eyes and give him a small smile.

He returns it, nudging his prick a bit further and nodding fiercely. “Yeah.”

When he finally bottoms out, he gives you a minute to adjust. You swallow down the fat lump in your throat and exhale steadily, feeling yourself pulse around where he’s buried to the hilt inside of you. One of Alex’s hands is on your thigh, keeping it hitched up onto his waist; the other is stroking your cheek and brushing your hair away from your face.

“Is it good for you?” you whisper.

Alex squeezes his eyes shut for only a moment, his nostrils flaring dramatically. “Fuck, love—y’have no idea.”

“Good.” You smirk.

Alex chuckles, and the force of it causes his prick to shift a bit within you. You gasp when he brushes up against that special spot, immediately unspooling some of the tension from your shoulders. He looks at you with wide, panicked eyes, but you just trail your thumb idly against his cheek, patting his jaw appreciatively.

“That felt nice,” you tell him.

He cocks an eyebrow teasingly. “An oddball, you are.”

You giggle.

The two of you stay like that for another minute or so, poking fun at one another and snickering like children. You clear your throat, shooting Alex a small smile and nodding once. “You can move, I think. It doesn’t burn as much anymore.”

“Good, good,” Alex rambles before he’s securing your thigh a bit higher up on his waist. He pulls back, and his cock slides out of you slowly. A moment later, he glides back in, the fit slick and smooth. You bite your bottom lip, grinning up at him.

“I like it,” is all you say.

Alex cackles.

After that, things are easy. He develops a stable, fixed pace, sliding into you with just the right amount of pressure. The unusual stiffness has seeped out of your body; you allow yourself to go lax as Alex loops your other leg around his hips and keeps you pressed firmly against the wall of the shower. The warm water sluices down against his back and wets his hair, but neither of you pay it any attention. Alex is kissing at your cheeks and your neck and your breasts, and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier.

You’re having fun.

“This is so nice,” you say airily, planting a short kiss to his lips. “I really like it.”

“Yeah?” Alex grins. He plants a sweet kiss to the tip of your nose. “You’re so cute, love.”

“Quit it,” you giggle, but he just shakes his head.

“I will not,” he says, faking offense, “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and I’ll be damned if I can’t tell yeh that every day.”

“Alex,” you whimper. You grip his face in your hands and press a bruising kiss to his lips. He returns it with just as much passion, his thrusts growing slightly sloppy when your walls flutter around him.

“Y’feel good,” he chokes out, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “’M gonna cum.”

“I want you to,” you tell him, whispering the words as sultrily as you can. You kiss the shell of his ear. “Want to feel you cum.”

“Love,” Alex wheezes. He increases the speed of his hips only slightly, like he’s still more concerned with how you’re feeling rather than the state of his own pleasure. You find it dreadfully charming.

“I love you,” you mumble, digging your fingers into his hair and yanking lightly on the sopping tendrils. “Cum for me.”

“Fuck!” Alex cries out into your throat, his movements stuttering to a stop as he tenses. You gasp when you feel his cock jerk inside of you, and then he’s pulling himself out and spurting hot ribbons of cum all over your stomach. He clenches his eyes shut, his lips forming around silent prayers and pleas.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he babbles, trying to regulate his frantic breathing. He presses himself tightly against you, not caring about the fact that his own release smears messily onto his abdomen. You smile when he squeezes your hips tightly, but his next words knock the air from your lungs.

“I love you, I bloody do. I love you so damn much.”

~*~

“Alex?” you call out.

Alex lifts his head from the fluffy pillow, groaning as he slides out of bed. “’S wrong?” he replies, his voice croaky.

“Could you come here for a minute?”

He walks down the hall of the apartment, peeking into each room and moving on when he doesn’t find you. He finally joins you in the kitchen, standing in the doorway and watching as you stare at the calendar that he’s got hanging on the refrigerator.

You look good. Alex never thought he’d get to see you in only a pair of his boxers and a large, baggy sweater, but here you are. He walks over to you slowly, wrapping his arms around your midsection and chuckling quietly when you jump in surprise.

“You scared me,” you murmur, and Alex presses an apologetic kiss to the side of your head.

“Sorry.” He pauses for a moment before continuing, moving his hand down your body so that he can splay his palm out over your stomach. “Sore?”

“A bit,” you tell him, though you shrug nonchalantly, “It’s not the end of the world, though.”

Alex smiles. “Why’d yeh need me t’come all the way over here, hmm?”

In response, you point to one of the small squares on his calendar. He’s written down a few words in his messy scrawl, but it’s clear enough for you to understand.

“Doctor Ryan Lawrence,” you read out, biting down gently on your bottom lip, “Is that him?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, resting his chin on the crown of your head. “Why? Did yeh think I was lying or summat?”

“What?” you spin around, shaking your head furiously. “No, of course not.”

“I’m just teasin’, love,” Alex grins, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You lean into his touch, looking up at him with big, sympathetic eyes.

“I’m glad you’re doing this,” you say, “Thank you.”

“’M not doin’ it for you, darling,” he says, but then he stops and rethinks his sentence. “Actually, I guess I am mostly doin’ it for you. But who knows? Maybe there’s somethin’ in it fo’ me too.”

You loop your arms around his waist and hug him tightly. “I hope so.”

Alex kisses your hair. “We’re alright, yeah? We’re good?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, pulling back and giving him the brightest smile—he swears he’s never seen anything like it. You smooth your hands along his back and gaze up at him with eyes that are filled with so much love, he doesn’t know how to react.

“We’re absolutely perfect.”

if you enjoyed this series, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[thisfairytalegonebad]

how about you do all the questions too :)

Honestly every time I reblog something like this it’s just the two of us asking each other to do it and nobody even fucking reads my answers but I am very desperate to talk about my own fics and stuff so thank you *blows kiss*

monday: do you struggle with the ‘boring’ parts of writing?I mean, I guess so, I’ve never written a fic that required boring parts before since it’s all just oneshots, but now that I’m trying to make my NaNo writing into a story I’ll have to do that and I still don’t know how so I guess I do struggle with the boring parts (also editing qualifies as boring and I HATE editing)

tuesday: name a fic you have posted which you think is overrated?Celebrity Crush, like c’mon folks that was one of my first fics, and like my third fic in English, don’t you think you could read the newer stuff where I’ve improved? Pls?

wednesday: name a fic which you have posted which you think is underrated?Point of No Return, a FFXV fic that deals with the aftermath of chapter 9 in the game, it got a handful of comments but I feel like it’s one of my better works so I wish more people read it. 

thursday: have you ever written a high fantasy concept?No, and if I weren’t so terrified of writing big stuff I’d totally try it. Maybe someday, though

friday: most self-indulgent fic you have ever posted?In Sickness and in Health, a Free! OT5 sickfic which is like all of my guilty pleasures combined. I’m not even mad about the lack of feedback, I know it’s quite niche but I’m just very much into Style Five OT5. And sickfics of course but that is hardly a secret at this point. 

saturday: what gets you excited whilst writing?When the words flow, I love that. Also when I get to hurt a character because that makes the words flow. 

sunday: how frequently do you take requests or prompts, if at all?I don’t, really. I did it once briefly and got about two requests I think, and if anyone asked me to write something about a fandom I’m in and a character I’m interested in, I might consider writing it, but I’m both very specific about what catches my eye (basically just my favourite of each fandom I’m in) and very scared of disappointing the person who requested something...

fortnight: what wip do you plan on posting next, if at all?Some nice Keith & Krolia bonding fluff god bless

january: what was the first fic you posted this year?Il Treno dei Desideri, a RinRei fic :D I’m still proud of that one and I LOVED writing RinRei, I should really write them more often!!

february: have you ever written and/or a holiday-centric fic?Yeah, the very first English fic I wrote and posted (in the OP fandom) was for the Zosan Christmas Exchange on Tumblr. 

march: do you listen to music whilst writing? I usually don’t, and if I do it needs to be something without lyrics because I can’t focus otherwise. I usually have my earphones on without anything playing tho because it drowns out the sounds around me (like when I’m upstairs and the tv downstairs is on) and I can hear my own breathing and idk that’s calming and makes it easier to focus, dunno why

april: have you ever written and/or posted a crackfic?Nah

may: a fic you have regretted posting?Hm, maybe the ones I wrote first in German, I was 14 at the time and I will never in my life go back to reread them, but they’re still online because I received some sweet comments on them (though one of these days I might just screenshot or copy those and take the fics down anyway idk)

june: have you ever written and/or posted a marriage fic?No, the only thing related to marriage I still wanna write is a RinRei arranged marriage AU but who knows when I’ll finally get off my ass and write it. Maybe during NaNo next year lmao

july: what’s the hottest fic you have written and/or posted if you write smut at all?I don’t write smut haha

august: are any of your fics associated with certain genres/artists/songs/etc? Yes! Several actually, Here in the Darkness, We’re All the Same, that one’s inspired by one of my favourite singer, Rea Garvey’s, song DarknessAlso, Il Treno dei Desideri (linked a few questions above), I took the title from Azzurro by Adriano Celentano but the fic doesn’t otherwise have anything to do with the song. Then, there’s why do you build walls, when you always break them? that was inspired by that very line from Sunrise Avenue’s Question Marks.And I’ve got several others that have the title taken from a song lyric but they don’t really have any connection to the songs. 

september: share a comment or review which still warms your heart?So many, really, I can’t choose just one!

october: name the darkest or angstiest fic you have written and/or posted?Mh, out of those I’ve posted I’d probably say Point of No Return (linked somewhere above), but there’s some scenes in the NaNo fic I haven’t finished or posted yet where I made myself sad by writing about child neglect

november: do you have any rituals or requirements for getting in the mood for writing?Procrastinate until it is 1. past midnight and 2. a day when I have to get up early in the morning

december: have you ever gifted a fic to someone?Yep, only you though ^^

recent: the most recent fic you have posted online?Here in the Darkness, We’re All the Same (linked somewhere)

ancient: the first fic you ever posted online?The very first one was a Glee fic in German, on the German fanfiction website, and thankfully doesn’t exist anymore

seconds: shortest completed fic?he can’t, a lil piece about MCU Peter Parker that barely deserves to be called a fic, it’s not even 400 words long

minutes: how long does it normally take you to complete a fic?That depends, I can write oneshots in one go which is what I do most of the time (That means 3k words in one sitting at most, anything more takes more than one day)

hours: longest wip or completed fic?My NaNo fic! It’s 50k now but if I don’t delete anything it’ll be even longer because I need ‘filler’ scenes to connect the scenes I’ve already written (I am so very proud of this one)

tomorrow: favourite ways to write fluff?I don’t quite understand the question but I’m all about platonic relationships so platonic it is, also since I’m a sucker for all things illness and injury I also love caretaking fluff holy shityesterday: favourite way to write angst?In-ju-ries! *bangs pots and pans*today: have you made any progress in any wips today?Not yet but I’m going to!! I hope to finish the Keith & Krolia fic today

calendar: do you have a schedule for posting?Bitch I don’t even have a schedule for writing, writing happens like twice a year so no

forever: do you balance fic writing with original concept stuff?Nah I don’t care for original stuff, I really just wanna write about my favourite charas all day long. I don’t want to go through the trouble of creating a character I’m attached to when there are some ready made already there

[crowleying]

Bang bang | f!reader

Date: 02.08.2018

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Reader's pronouns: she/her

Words: 1.021

Fandom: The Punisher, Marvel

Genre: Song-fic

Length: Oneshot

Warnings: Crack pairing (kind of), maybe a little angst, the gif isn’t mine, I have no Idea of what I’m doing

A/N: So, this is my first one-shot in a very long time, the first one in English, the first one on Tumblr, the first one about Billy Russo, the first Billy Russo x Reader, and also my first song-fic. I haven’t been writing for too much time so I’m quite out of exercise and I didn’t use to write in English, since it isn’t my first language. So this is probably horrible. The other day I was listening to a song and it inspired me as well as reading all those wonderful fan fictions about Billy here on Tumblr. The song is Bang bang (1966), written by Sonny Bono and sang by Cher. This song had such a great success that many covers of it were made. Among those there are many by Italian singers and bands who translated it in Italian.  There are different Italian translations of the same song. My favourite is the one sang by Ornella Vanoni. So here it is. Since I love also the original lyrics, I decided to mix those two versions together in this fic.

This is about Billy and I wrote it thinking about this character but re-reading it I noticed it would suit Logan too.

I would love to know what do you think about it and please tell me if there is any mistake. I hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

IF YOU LIKE MY WORKS, PLEASE REBLOG THEM

Masterlist

Ao3

[ID: a gif of Billy, laying on his bed in a military tent, smiling. End ID.]

I was five and he was six

We rode on horses made of sticks

He wore black and I wore white

He would always win the fight

Avevamo cinque anni,

correvamo sui cavalli

io e lui contro agli indiani,

eravamo due cowboy

The park was full of children running and playing around that afternoon as well as any other afternoon after school. Their laughter echoing through the air. You were running around riding your horse made of stick in your plain white dress following Billy. He was wearing black and the cowboy hat your father gave him for his sixth birthday. He was riding against the Indians leading you. You two were the cowboys and you always won the fight against them thanks to Billy who was a great strategist and was always able to find all of them. That time wasn’t different.

An hour or so later almost everyone was leaving because they had homework to do. You had begged your mom to let you stay a little longer to play with Billy. She was never able to say no when he was involved. It seemed like she had take it like her personal mission to make him the happiest she could. So you stayed longer and played with Billy. There were no Indians to fight now so you fought each other. Billy’s forefinger and middle finger where pointed against you mimicking a gun when he pulled the trigger aiming right at your heart. You fell from your wooden horse and into the ground. All you could see were the foliages of the trees surrounding you but the only thing you could think about was Billy.

Seasons came and changed the time

When I grew up, I called him mine

He would always laugh and say

"Remember when we used to play?"

Non si può fermare il tempo,

non si può mutare il vento

quindici anni aveva lui,

ricordo quando mi baciò

Nobody can stop the time. It runs fast and before you knew, you and Billy where in high schools remembering about the good old times playing in the park. You two had grown closer during the years, if it was even possible. You called him yours and laughing he would always ask you if you remembered when you two used to play. How could you forget? You couldn’t forget anything about Billy Russo or involving him. You could never forget his deep eyes, black as everything else on him starting with his hair and ending with his clothes. As he liked to say, even his soul was black, but you knew better.

You couldn’t even forget how he shot you that day in the park. The only thing you didn’t need to try to forget was the taste of his rosy lips because you had never had that.

Then, one night, the two of you were hanging out and he took you home. It wasn’t safe for a girl to go around at night all by herself he kept reminding you. You didn’t mind at all, it was just another excuse to spend more time with him, as if you needed one for it. You were in front of your house when it happened. You were going to kiss his cheek but he kissed you on the lips for what it seemed eternity and not even a second. Then he pulled back and left you on your porch with nothing more than a «goodnight». You watched him leaving until you couldn’t see him anymore. After that night you couldn’t forget the taste of his lips as well as the rest of him. It was like if he had shot you again.

Now he's gone, I don't know why

And 'till this day, sometimes I cry

He didn't even say goodbye

He didn't take the time to lie

A vent'anni all'improvviso,

senza dir perché né dove

se ne è andato, lui mi ha ucciso

come fosse un colpo al cuore

You grew up together, you never left each other’s side, nobody was ever able to come between you, not his many foster families, nor anyone else. You always stayed together, no matter what. You never thought about it as a possibility. You never thought of it because you didn’t even know how it was to live without Billy Russo. He had always been there for you and you for him. Not even once you thought he could leave, not like that anyway, not without telling you, without explaining and telling you where to find him or that he would be back soon.

That day you went to the shop where he worked. The old lady who owned the place knew you, you went there every day when Billy had his break to spend time together. She greeted you nicely as always and you smiled. You didn’t see Billy behind the counter which was strange, but maybe he had gone to the toilet.

«Where is Billy?» you asked.

«He is gone» she said before adding surprised «he didn’t tell you?»

Your brain was still on the first sentence. It took you a while to answer her question. You slowly shook your head. You didn’t understand.

Fighting the tears that were about to wet your cheeks you asked «how... gone? He didn’t said where did he go?»

She shrugged. «He left his morning saying he wouldn’t come back. He didn’t say anything else, just to tell you he loves you» she said looking worriedly at you. You were now crying without even realizing it.

«Are you okay?» she asked carefully. You shook your head and turn on your heels. For a moment it seemed like you could see him leaving the shop that morning, but it was only a moment, then you run outside. You didn’t even know where your feet were taking you. You only realized when you arrived at the park, in that same spot where he shot you all those years ago. You laid down just as you did that time. You were crying. He had shot you again and he had left you there, bleeding and crying.