#nothing else. that is four words xoxo

[etchedstars]

this is your local bitch of a poet here to say that the phrase "run away with me?" is NOT a poem and should not be framed as one. that is not a poem that is literally just a phrase. hit it with your car

[wholoveseggs]

Rules {Part Five}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Five

It was never a good idea, falling in love with the enemy. But how were you supposed to know how it would all end up?

♡♡ THANK YOU so much for all the love for this series!!! I had so much fun reading all your comments and inbox messages. Enjoy! and please don't hate me for the ending...♡♡

10.7k words {sorry not sorry} - Warnings: salvatore!sibling reader, smuttttt, Elijah being the sexiest middle-part menace he can be, secret affair, forbidden romance, KLAUS, a little Katherine cameo, ritual sacrifice, death, murder, pain, pain and more pain...

{Part One} {Part Two}{Part Three} {Part Four}

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

Trying to fix my tags! I re-added all of you, and now you will be posted at the top!

If you no longer wished to be tagged just shoot me a DM {I won't be offended} xoxo~

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming @criminallminds @rosemarypotion @spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse @sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2 @itsjulzandmydiamonds @spideysbabe @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury @sekaishell @ziayamikaelson @amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28 @loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123

Information, of all things of value in this world, is most precious. Katherine had learned that the hardest of ways.

She had been trying to keep tabs on everyone, especially the Salvatore brothers, who were the cause of her most recent headaches. Dwelling on the irony of that made her skin itch, considering the amount of time she had spent causing them grief.

She was sipping on a glass of bourbon, trying not to think about how her plans were crumbling. She hoped to charm Elijah, get him to protect her like he did last time.

But when he found her, he wasn't the same. He didn't have the same softness about him, the gentleness in his eyes. He was harder, angrier, more ruthless. She supposed that was her fault, she wondered how her life would have turned out had she trusted him...

She didn't regret her choice, she knew it was worth it, she always chose her freedom first, nothing else mattered. 

And she had almost gotten away, if only she had a little more information.

But now, here she was, back under the thumb of the man who had taken everything from her.

Klaus.

"Please, just...kill me. I've told you everything that I know," she pleaded, not sure why she was bothering.

He never showed her mercy, but she couldn't help but hope he would spare her, if not for old times sake.

"You see, I believe that you believe that, but what would you not know? What could they be keeping from you? Hmm? Anything? Tell me." He said, his voice was calm as he compelled her to speak the truth.

"When I was at the Salvatore house, I saw their sister, drugged and unconscious. They were keeping her that way,"she said, her voice trembling, she couldn't control the words that came out.

Klaus smiled, the wheels turning in his mind, "Any theories on why they would do that to her?"

Katherine had an idea, but she had no proof. She had no idea what Damon was up to, but he always had a plan.

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head, she didn't like where this was going.

"C'mon, you have always been a clever little minx," Klaus purred, his hand coming up to caress her cheek, it made her feel sick. 

"The only reason I can think of is to stop her from doing something," Katherine said, her mind racing, thinking back to everything she had seen, and the things she had missed.

Klaus grinned, his hand moving down to her throat, he began squeezing the air out of her.

"You can detect weaknesses like a bloodhound can sniff out a fox, so tell me, sweetheart. Is this your best guess or are you holding something back?" He asked, his fingers tightening.

She struggled, clawing at his arm, desperately trying to loosen his grip. "She's... Loyal to a fault, to those she loves, she tried to kill me in the 1800s for messing with her brothers,"

He raised an eyebrow, his face a mask of amusement, "So you think she's shifted loyalties? To whom?" He let go of her throat, and she collapsed to the ground, coughing and wheezing.

"I don't know... The only other players in town are the wolves... There's no reason for her to side with them..." She paused, her mind racing.

"There's only one other option," she said, her face contorting into a grin.

"Who?" Klaus growled, his patience was growing thin.

"Elijah.”

You woke in a strange daze, unsure of how much time had passed. You didn't feel rested, in fact, you felt sluggish.

You sighed softly, trying to gather your strength. Your mind was slightly hazy and you felt hungover. Your limbs were not responding to your commands, causing you even more panic.

Your eyes finally opened, adjusting to the light. You were in your own bedroom, laying on your bed, the soft hum of your ceiling fan was the only thing you could hear.

You had a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you slowly looked around. There was a pile of empty blood bags on your nightstand, a cup full of vervain, and a half-empty bottle of bourbon. It was clear that someone had been here taking care of you and keeping you sedated, judging by the empty bottle it was most likely Damon.

You rolled out of bed, stumbling across the room. Your legs were weak, and you were still groggy. You managed to make it to the door and pull it open.

It was eerily quiet, the ticking clock in the hallway was pounding in your ears. You walked towards the stairs, leaning heavily against the wall, hoping to make it all the way down without falling.

As soon as you made it to the bottom, you were overcome with a wave of nausea and dizziness. You grabbed the banister, closing your eyes, waiting for the spell to pass.

Fuzzy, half formed memories came flooding back to you. Elijah was gone, your brothers had stabbed him, and then they had drugged you, so you couldn't wake him.

You remembered Damon coming into your room, holding a blood bag up to your lips, forcing you to drink.

You remembered Stefan, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing the hair off your forehead, telling you to sleep.

You remembered Elena, cleaning your face, her voice low and gentle, she had been crying, apologizing.

Someone had carried you outside, then Elena invited you back in. The house was under her name now, a new defense measure added. You wondered who they were trying to keep out, had Klaus finally come to town? Fear suddenly gripped you... Where was everyone?

You slowly made your way to the basement door, taking the steps one at a time, trying to ignore the overwhelming need to puke.

Once you were down in the basement, you looked at Elijah's body, lying in the same position you left him. His clothes were now charred and tattered, the pillow and blanket were gone, probably burned to ash.

You moved closer, collapsing on the floor next to his body. He looked the same, gray, his eyes closed, his hair in disarray. You brushed his hair back, leaning down and kissing his forehead.

"lijah," you whispered, reaching out to hold his hand. "I know we agreed, if anything happens, we would say goodbye and walk away, but I can't, not this time. You're a part of me, I don't think you even realize how much you have come to mean to me."

You looked at the dagger in his chest, weighing the consequences of pulling it out. You didn't know what would happen if he woke up, he could rip you to shreds, or he could pull you into his arms, and hold you until you stopped crying.

There was a fifty-fifty chance he would do the latter, and that was good enough for you. Your fingers curled around the blade and you pulled it out. Then you dropped it onto the floor, letting it land with a metallic thud.

Nothing happened.

Elijah was still.

You leaned down and pressed your ear to his chest, listening.

Nothing.

"Please," you said softly, kissing his cold cheek. "Please wake up."

You returned to laying your head on his chest, your fingers curling in the fabric of his suit.

You closed your eyes, tears running down your face, holding in a breath. Waiting, waiting, waiting…

Suddenly, his heart sprung to life, beating rapidly. You sat up quickly, looking down at him, his eyes were open.

You could hardly believe it, he was looking up at the ceiling, his chest heaving, his mouth open. Then he sat up, gasping for air, looking around the basement wildly.

He was in clear agony, struggling to breathe, he looked at you with anguished eyes, the color returning to his face.

"I can't...I can't be in this house." He rushed to his feet, falling over himself, stumbling his way to the exit.

You limped out of the basement and upstairs, racing after him. The moment he got outside, he collapsed on his knees, taking in deep breaths.

You knelt in front of him, safe behind the threshold of the doorway.

"I'm so sorry," You said, your voice shaking. "I had no idea. They drugged me and I couldn't..."

"Y/n," He interrupted, his eyes finding yours, they were full of pain. "I...need a moment,"

You nodded, holding back tears that were threatening to spill. He looked awful, his clothes were ruined, and his skin was gray and dull. He was clearly starving.

You took the dagger and rolled it past the threshold, it hit his knee and he grabbed it, holding it in his hand. He glared at the blade, then looked up at you.

"Thank you," he said, his expression softening. "So much for rule three,"

"You would have done the same for me," you replied, a hint of a smile on your lips.

He slowly got to his feet, his skin still a bit gray, his face tired and worn. He held his hand out, inviting you to step over the threshold, which you did, allowing him to pull you into his arms.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the embrace, your arms wrapped around his neck, you buried your face into his shoulder.

"This is a bad idea," he said, his voice rumbling in his chest.

"I know," you said, squeezing him tightly.

He didn't respond, simply holding you against him, his breathing steadying.

"Do you want to get out of here?" You asked, looking up at him, a sad expression on his face.

"That is an excellent idea,"

Your phone would not stop ringing.

You had been ignoring it for the last few hours. Elijah had taken you to a luxury hotel the next town over, far enough from Mystic Falls so you didn't have to worry about anyone showing up unexpectedly.

You were sitting on the bed, eating some room service, watching him try on some suits he had compelled the concierge to bring to the room.

"Who keeps calling?" Elijah asked, looking at you over his shoulder, buttoning a shirt.

"Damon and Stefan," You replied, sighing, "they are probably worried."

"Why haven't you answered?" He asked, frowning.

"Because... I'm mad at them," You admitted, picking at the food on your plate. "After what they did to me,"

"They were protecting themselves, and you," he said softly, putting his suit jacket on, and smoothing it.

You were surprised by him defending them, considering they had literally killed him.

"It doesn't matter, I can't face them right now," you said, shaking your head, "I'll just ignore their calls, it's the best I can do."

A text from Damon popped up on your screen, in full capital letters, it read:

‘WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?! ANSWER YOUR PHONE.’

You grumbled and picked your phone up, ready to block him when you got another text. This one was from Stefan:

‘Klaus is in town, in Alaric's body. Please just let us know you are okay,’

Your breath caught in your throat, and you froze, staring at the message.

Elijah had been looking at you and saw your reaction, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know, maybe nothing," you said, showing him your phone, his face darkening when he saw the texts.

He looked at you for a long moment, like he was contemplating his next words very carefully.

"What?" You asked, wondering what was going through his mind.

"We can't do this," he said, shaking his head. "It's too dangerous."

"What?" You said again, standing up and walking over to him.

You placed your hands on his chest, sliding them up to his shoulders. He was avoiding your gaze, but his arms moved around your waist, pulling you against him.

"What's wrong?" You asked, searching his face, but he still wouldn't look at you.

"Rule two, darling," he said softly, pressing his forehead to yours, his hands caressing your back.

"Don't do that," you said, your voice breaking, your chest ached, you were holding back tears. "I don't care about the rules, I just want you,"

"You don't know what you're asking for," he said, his breath hitching, his voice low. "If Klaus finds out about you and I, he will kill you,"

"Why? Why do you want to kill him? Who is he to you?" You asked, wanting answers, your hands curled into fists on his chest.

"I've known him since I was a child, he's my brother," he said, pulling back, so he could look you in the eyes.

You blinked, not believing what he was saying.

"But..." you stammered, not sure what to say.

He swallowed hard and began telling you all about his life. His family, what life was like in the viking age, being turned vampire, learning his mother had been unfaithful, that his beloved brother was a bastard.

"I never saw him any different, none of our siblings did," he said, his voice wavering.

You could tell this was a difficult subject, you squeezed his hand, reminding him that you were there.

"We learned of our mother's infidelity in the worst way possible..." He trailed off, his voice shaking.

"You don't have to," you said, scooting closer, wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his shoulder.

He leaned his head against yours, his fingers stroking your arm. "I've done many terrible things, but what plagues me the most is what I did to Niklaus,"

"What did you do?" You asked, lifting your head to look at him, his brown eyes were watery.

He shook his head, unable to vocalize it, and you didn't push him. You held him, waiting, knowing it would take time.

He eventually continued, his voice low, filled with shame. "My mother was a powerful witch, she cursed him. She bound his werewolf side, made him weaker, unable to turn. She used the full moon to make it possible to break the curse."

You frowned, thinking over what he was telling you. It didn't make any sense, Klaus was a vampire, not a werewolf.

"I thought..." you said, hesitating. "I thought he was a vampire,"

"He is," Elijah said, nodding, "he's also a werewolf, but that side of him bound,"

He continued his story, explaining how Klaus was different, that he was a hybrid. The first and only of his kind, half vampire, half werewolf.

He told you how Klaus was angry and resentful, and that he had good reason to be. That he and Klaus had spent many centuries trying to break his curse, to free him from his chains.

"So the ritual isn't about werewolves or vampires being freed from their curses," You said, the realization hitting you.

"No, it's not," He admitted, frowning. "It's about my brother,"

You were quiet for a long time, processing all of the information. So Klaus had no intention of freeing the werewolves or the vampires, he just wanted to be free.

"So why do you want to kill him?" You asked, looking at Elijah.

He sighed, rubbing his face, clearly struggling.

"I have other siblings, and he took them from me," He said, his tone was strained, the words catching in his throat. "I've searched for decades, and I can't find them,"

You squeezed his hand, encouraging him to continue.

"I've lost all hope of ever finding them," he said, his jaw clenching, he looked at you with his dark tear filled eyes. "All I have now is my revenge,"

You nodded, understanding where he was coming from. If you lost your brothers, you would burn the world down to avenge them.

"What is the ritual supposed to do?" You asked, curious, wanting to learn more.

"He has to kill a werewolf, a vampire, and a doppelganger. Their blood is necessary for the ritual," he explained, his fingers gently running along your arm. "When it's complete he will be weakened, then I will kill him."

"Elena is innocent... Elijah I'm sorry but you can't let him hurt her," you said, frowning.

He looked away from you, his brow furrowing, "She has to die, but not permanently,"

"What do you mean?" You asked, confused.

"A few centuries ago, there was another doppelganger, I grew some affections for her... I found a way to keep her alive," he said, his tone was flat.

"Katherine," you said, the name leaving a bad taste in your mouth.

He nodded, "I will give Elena the elixir I acquired for Katerina. It will save her,"

You let out a sigh of relief, at least Elena would be safe.

"To kill your brother, it's not an easy thing to do," You said, leaning your head against his. "Are you really prepared for what it means?"

"The full moon is in three days," He said, changing the subject, his expression was grim. "The ritual will happen then,"

"Yes," he said, without a moment of hesitation.

You sat in silence, neither of you knew what to say.

"Sometimes there's honor in revenge," he said, his hand resting on your leg. "And sometimes you just need to put down a rabid dog, no matter how much you once loved him."

"Eli-," You started, but he cut you off with a kiss, his lips crashing against yours.

You melted against him, forgetting what you were about to say. He had this way of silencing you, and it drove you crazy.

"No more talk of the ritual," he said, his fingers gently brushing over your cheek, his eyes gazing into yours. "I want to enjoy the time we have left,"

You didn't know what to say, so you nodded, and he kissed you again.

Elijah watched you sleep, the sheet barely covering your naked body. His fingers traced patterns along your skin, his touch light as a feather.

He was trying to ignore the dread, the sinking feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach.He needed to plan, to prepare for what he had to do, but the only thing on his mind was you.

He should have known better, he was foolish to have ever gotten involved with you. When he came to Mystic Falls he told himself no weaknesses, no distractions, and yet here you were.

"Stop watching me, it's creepy," you mumbled, rolling over, the sheet falling off of you, revealing your naked form.

"Apologies," he said, unable to help the smirk that tugged at his lips.

"I forgive you, I know I'm irresistible," you said, yawning, stretching, your body arching.

He chuckled, leaning over, kissing you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours, "If I asked you to do something, would you do it?"

You gave him a curious look, your fingers tangling in his hair, "That depends,"

"Would you stay here, and not interfere with the ritual?" He asked, his brow furrowing, his tone was strained.

"Elijah-," You said, sitting up, the sheets pooling around your waist.

"Please," he begged, his eyes softening.

"But Elena-," You tried to protest, but he cut you off with a kiss, his hands cupping your face.

"Your brothers will keep her safe, but if you were involved... I would lose my mind with worry," he admitted, his eyes filled with turmoil.

"I thought this was just physical?" You teased, hoping to ease the tension.

He smiled and shook his head, his thumb caressing your cheek. "I love you," he said it so softly you barely heard it, his voice cracking.

You looked at him, searching his face for any signs of a lie, but there was none. He wasn't lying, he was telling the truth, the sincerity in his words and his eyes was evident.

Your words caught in your throat, a lump forming. You couldn't bring yourself to say it, you wanted to, but it was like there was a block.

You pressed your lips to his, your tongue sliding past his lips, kissing him deeply, trying to pour all of your emotions into it.

He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing your jaw, "Say it,"

"I can't," You whispered, your voice wavering.

He tilted your chin up, his dark eyes meeting yours. "I love you miss Salvatore, and it frightens me more than anything ever has,"

"Elijah," you said, cupping his face, your heart aching. "I... I love you too,"

He pulled you into a kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you into his lap, your legs wrapping around his torso.

You were panting, the kiss was heated, needy, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You felt his erection against your inner thigh, hard and ready, and you ground against it.

"I love you," you repeated, his hands grabbing your ass, pulling you closer.

"I love you," he replied, his lips attacking your neck, sucking, biting, marking you as his.

You reached down, wrapping your fingers around his length, sliding your hand along his shaft, positioning him at your entrance.

You lowered yourself down, desperately needing to feel connected to him, his fingers dug into your hips as you sat fully in his lap, taking him deep inside of you.

He moaned, his eyes closing, his head tilting back, you leaned forward and kissed his neck, your fangs scraping along his skin.

You rolled your hips, slowly, taking him in and out of you, his breath hitching with each movement. You grinned against his skin, loving how you were making him react.

"That's it, take what you need," he said, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, keeping you close to him.

"I love you," you breathed, your voice a soft whimper, as you sunk your fangs into his neck.

His blood flooded your mouth, warm and sweet, and you sucked, feeling his pulse beating against your lips. He tasted like pure power, it was unlike anything you had ever experienced.

He moaned, his fingers tangling in your hair, gripping it tight. You were riding him, moving your hips in a fluid motion, grinding down onto him, feeling his cock hit that perfect spot deep inside.

You pulled back, his blood dripping from your lips, his hands were on your ass, guiding your hips. He kissed you, biting down on your bottom lip and tasting you. Your blood mixing together, it was the most erotic thing you had ever done.

"That's my girl," he whispered, his voice ragged, his eyes dark with lust. "So beautiful, and mine,"

"Yes, all yours," you moaned, grinding down harder onto him.

You felt his hand moving between your ass cheeks, his finger finding your puckered hole, slowly pressing into you.

You gasped, your eyes fluttering closed, it felt so good, him inside of you like this.

"I want you to cum for me, my sweet little love," he said, his voice soft and gentle, his finger moving deeper.

You moaned, clutching at his chest, your nails raking along his skin, drawing blood. The combination of him filling you, his finger, and the taste of his blood in your mouth sent you over the edge.

You let out a long, low moan, against his lips, your walls clenching around him, milking him for everything he had.

He grunted, his eyes fluttering closed, he bit his lip, trying to muffle his moans, and he came deep inside of you.

Your body was trembling, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close to him.

You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, his skin slick with sweat, the smell of sex and blood hung heavy in the air.

You pulled back and kissed him, his hand cupping the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"After this is all over, will you come with me?" He asked, his hand stroking your cheek.

"Where would we go?" You asked, smiling.

"Anywhere, preferably somewhere with a beach and sunshine," he replied, his fingers running through your hair.

"It's a date," you said, nuzzling his neck, breathing in his scent.

"A date?" He chuckled, his fingers tickling your sides, you giggled and squirmed away from him. "That's new for us,"

You grinned, looking down at him. "I like the sound of it,"

"As do I," he agreed, his hand stroking your cheek.

"When I first met you, I never would've thought we'd end up here," you mused, running your fingers along his jaw.

"Neither did I," he admitted, his lips turning up into a small smile.

"So, tell me about this beach trip, what would we do?" You asked, wanting to keep him talking, not wanting to leave his side.

"Hmmm," he said, thinking for a moment. "I would find us a quiet little bungalow, right on the water, with a private stretch of sand for us,"

You closed your eyes, listening to the smooth timber of his voice, imagining the soft waves and fresh ocean air.

"And we'd have our meals brought in by servants, we'd lounge on the beach, swim, and make love whenever the mood struck us," he said, his fingers dancing across your back.

"I could live with that," you said, sighing contently, enjoying his warmth.

"I'm glad," he said, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours, a soft, gentle kiss.

You broke the kiss and stared into his dark eyes, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

"If anything happens to me I want you to know, I don't regret a single second of it," he said, his voice soft.

"What?" You asked, giving him a worried look.

"You need to know, in case I fail, and my brother ends me before I can end him," he said, his face serious, his eyes clouded with fear.

"Elijah-," you started to protest, but he cut you off.

"Promise me," he said, his voice pleading. "If this ends badly, you will remember rule three,"

"I thought we had given up on the rules," you said, trying not to let him see how afraid you were.

"Not this one," he said, his voice cracking.

"Why? You can't seriously expect me to-"

"Please," he said, his dark eyes locked on yours. "For me,"

You sighed and nodded, leaning into him, his arms wrapping around you.

"Thank you," he whispered, his fingers stroking your back, his lips brushing against your hair.

"Just come back to me," you said, trying not to cry.

"Always,”

The problem, Damon: you talk a good game but you don't actually know anything. She'll never forgive you. And never for a vampire...It's a very long time.

Elijah's words had been echoing around in Damon's head since that morning, the smugness in the older vampire's voice made him want to put his fist through the wall.

He had made a mess of things, but he couldn't admit that to anyone. The feeling he had when he learned that today was the day of the sacrifice, the day that he would lose Elena... He simply couldn't handle it. His desire for action was overwhelming.

He didn't like everything being out of his control, so he did what he had to do. And now his brother and Elena hated him. Elijah being right was the cherry on top of his shit sundae. 

In times like this, when he hit rock bottom then fell a little further, he turned to his oldest friend, his closest confidant, his beloved sister. 

But you weren't picking up the phone, despite Elijah's assurances you were alive and somewhere safe, it didn't soothe his worries.

So he tried one last time, and this time you actually picked up, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he heard your voice.

"If you are calling to lecture me on love, I will remind you that you are no better," your voice made his throat constrict.

"I know, I'm not," he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

"Are you okay?" You asked, a little softer.

"No," he answered, his voice shaking.

"What happened?" You asked, concern creeping into your tone.

"Everything's gone to hell," he replied, his voice strained. "I gave Elena my blood... Well actually I made her drink my blood,"

"Oh Damon..."

"I had no other choice,"

"She's going to hate you,"

"I know, Elijah told me,"

"Damon... He's right,"

"I know that too,"

There was a silence on the other end of the phone, he could hear you moving around, like you were packing a bag.

"I'm on my way," you said, finally. "Partly to kick your ass, partly to give you a hug,"

"Always the multitasker," he joked, his voice cracking. "But do not come home tonight, I just need to know you are safe,"

"I'll do what I want," you said, and he could almost see the pout on your lips.

He smiled, he had missed your stubbornness, and it was the closest thing to normal he had felt all day. But he couldn't risk you being involved, everyone was already in the crossfire, and the thought of you being added to that mix was too much for him to bear.

"Sister," he said, his voice firm. "Please, please, listen to me, just this once, and stay away,"

You let out a long, irritated sigh, "I'm so bored, and I'm getting hungry,"

"Well then go find someone nice to eat and watch a movie," he suggested, chuckling.

"I can't concentrate, not when everyone I love is in danger," you grumbled.

"Does that love extend to Elijah?" He asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"Yes," you said simply, and his heart ached.

He had known, of course, but hearing you say it aloud made it real.

"Why him? Like seriously..." Damon asked, he was genuinely curious, and he needed something to distract him from the shit show he had gotten himself into. "How did you even meet him?"

"I was hunting," you answered, sounding amused. "He found my methods to be entertaining, and I found him to be a challenge,"

"Did you know who he was? What he planned for Elena?" Damon asked, trying not to sound judgemental.

"Yes, I knew who he was. But we had rules, to keep things from getting complicated," you explained.

"That didn't really work out did it?" He teased, smiling.

"No," you admitted, laughing.

There was a long pause, and he could feel his emotions starting to get the best of him.

"Damon, promise me you won't die for her?" You asked, your voice wavering.

"You know I can't do that," he said, his voice low.

"I know," you whispered. "Just please, try to survive this,"

"I'll do my best," he promised, knowing he couldn't really promise anything.

"I love you big brother," you said, and his eyes started to water. "Tell Stefan I love him too,"

"I will, I love you too," he choked out, and he heard the line go dead.

Damon stared at his phone, the picture of you, him and Stefan was staring back at him, his heart aching.

"I hope I see you tomorrow, little sis,"

The town you were hiding out in was quiet and a little boring, but you didn't mind. It was the first time in a long time you had had a few days to yourself, no drama, no life or death situations. Just perfect mundanity.

You were lounging in a café, enjoying a cup of coffee, and watching the locals, wondering what their lives were like. You envied them, their simplicity, their happiness. You imagined you and Elijah in a little house, in a place like this, with a garden and a view of the ocean.

You were lost in your own world, dreaming about the impossible, when someone cleared their throat. You looked up, a smile playing at your lips. Dinner had just arrived. 

He was handsome, with curly hair and blue eyes, he had a sharp wicked glint in his eyes that sent a thrill through you. You always enjoyed a good meal with a bit of bite.

"Mind if I sit?" He asked, grinning.

"Not at all," you purred, gesturing to the chair.

He sat, and ordered a coffee, and he turned his attention back to you.

"I don't mean to be so forward, but you are downright striking," he said, his gaze running over your body.

"Thank you," you said, giving him a flirty smile. "It's a bit of a family trait,"

"Is that so? Mine as well, if you can't tell," he said, smiling.

You laughed, enjoying his company.

"You aren't from around here," he observed, sipping his coffee.

"Neither are you," you said, tilting your head.

"I'm just visiting, on vacation," he replied, grinning.

"Same,"

He was charming, and handsome, and you could feel the hunger starting to rise within you.

"I'm staying at the Inn down the street," he said, giving you a hopeful look.

"I'm staying there as well,"

"Well then, may I escort you home?"

"You may,"

The walk back to the Inn was short, you enjoyed his company, he was easy to talk to, and funny.

"Would you like a nightcap?" He asked, flashing you a crooked smile.

"That would be lovely," you said, grinning.

His hand came to rest on the small of your back, guiding you into the room. You usually enjoyed playing with your food a little before you ate, but you were committed to Elijah now, and you didn't want to stray.

As soon as you entered his room, he pinned you to the wall, moving in to kiss you. You politely dodged by pressing your lips to his neck, breathing him in.

"You are a vision," he said, his hand sliding up your arm, and into your hair.

"Thank you," you murmured, your fangs grazing his skin, his pulse racing beneath your lips.

He moaned, and gripped your waist, pressing his hips against yours. You could feel him, hard against your thigh, and you went to bite down.

Suddenly, he pulled your head back by your hair, hard. With strength you hadn't expected, he forced you back, pushing you hard into the wall, the plaster cracking behind you.

"I see why my brother is so taken," he growled, his eyes darkening.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, "Klaus,"

"The one and only, love," he said, smirking.

You tried to pull away, but his grip on you was too strong.

"Don't worry, love," he purred, his hand stroking your cheek. "I won't hurt you,"

"Fuck you," you said, glaring at him.

He smirked, and kissed you, hard, his teeth cutting into your lips.

"You're a feisty little thing," he said, licking his lips. "Even wilder than your brothers,"

You hissed and tried to struggle, his hands tightening around your arms, digging into your skin. "If you hurt them..."

"Now, now," he said, tutting. "Let's not make threats, especially when you can't back them up,"

You bared your fangs at him, but he only grinned.

"I've been wanting to meet you," he said, his thumb brushing across your cheek. "Elijah's little distraction,"

"I'm more than a distraction," you growled, struggling against his hold.

"Hmmm," he hummed, leaning in and nuzzling your neck. "I know,"

You were too frightened to speak, your whole body trembling.

"It's what I'm counting on dear,"

Klaus had been dragging you through the woods for what felt like hours.

Your fear had turned into anger and you began to try and fight him. It seemed to amuse him for a while, he'd let you run only to catch you with ease.

"Why are you doing this?" You growled, his hand holding your arm tightly, leading you through the trees.

"To be reborn, as I truly am," he said, his expression thoughtful.

You rolled your eyes and let out an annoyed sigh, he was a narcissist, the kind of man who enjoyed the sound of his own voice.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this?" He asked, looking down at you. "One thousand years,"

 "I know," you sighed.

"Of course you do," he said, smirking. "Elijah loves to spill his heart out after a good bedding doesn't he?"

You didn't answer him, he was trying to get under your skin, and it was working.

"My brother has always been the strong, self righteous type, with an unbreakable moral code," Klaus chuckled, picking up his pace, dragging you along. "That is... Until he gets his face between a pretty pair of legs,"

"Fuck you," you spat, anger boiling up inside of you.

"You have a smart mouth," he said, his fingers squeezing your arm. "I think I'll like to see how you use it later,"

You freed yourself from his grip and slapped him hard across the face. No man was allowed to speak to you in that way, and you certainly weren't going to tolerate it from this monster.

His expression changed from amusement to anger in the blink of an eye. He slammed you against a nearby tree, the twigs and branches impaling you.

You cried out, blood pouring from the puncture wounds, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look him in the eye.

 "That was very, very stupid,"

His words sent a chill down your spine, and a fresh wave of fear washed over you.

"What's the matter?" He asked, his tone taunting. "No more choice words and acts of violence for me?"

"Don't kill me," you said, tears starting to run down your cheeks.

"I won't," he assured you, his lips brushing against yours. "But I will kill everyone in Mystic Falls if you don't do what I say. If you don't believe me... Just ask sweet little Katerina about it,"

Your blood ran cold, you knew what he was capable of, and you had no choice but to obey him.

Through the trees you could see a circle of fire, and you felt dread sink into the pit of your stomach.

"No," you pleaded, trying to pull away.

"Stop being so dramatic, love," he said, rolling his eyes.

He pulled you into the clearing, throwing you down on the ground next to the three women sitting in their own rings of fire.

You could see Elena, a terrified look on her face, along with her aunt Jenna and a woman you didn't recognize.

"Hello my lovelies," Klaus said, grinning. "Are we all ready?"

He gave you a swift kick, then grabbed you by the hair and pulled you to your feet. "I brought an assistant with me,"

He pushed you forward, leaving you to stand there as he walked to the altar, handing the moonstone to a witch standing nearby.

You looked at Elena and Jenna, they were beyond scared, their eyes full of tears, and you felt your stomach twist, you didn't know how to help them.

The witch had begun to chant, a mixture of Latin and something else, the moonstone began to spark, then it exploded into nothing.

"Bring me the wolf," Klaus demanded, looking at you with a wild, manic look in his eyes.

You shook your head, your whole body trembling, you refused to let him hurt someone else.

"It's either them or the entire town, love. That includes your brothers," he growled, his jaw clenched.

The thought of losing Stefan and Damon made your stomach clench, and tears started to run down your face.

"Bring her. Now," he growled, his tone brokering no argument.

You walked towards the first ring of fire, to the terrified woman who was writhing in pain, her cries echoing through the trees.

The ring disappeared as you approached, and you lifted the girl into your arms. She was whimpering and shaking, the transition having begun.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, carrying her to the altar.

"Good girl," Klaus hummed, taking the wolf from your arms, and laying her on the stone.

Klaus kneeled over her, looking down at her with an evil grin, his eyes were filled with a mix of desire and madness, and he plunged his hand into her chest, ripping her heart out.

Jenna and Elena screamed, watching Klaus hold up the wolf's heart, his expression triumphant.

"I'll make it quick, I promise," Klaus said, grinning. "They will barely feel a thing,"

You looked over at Elena and Jenna, their screams piercing the air, the witches chanting growing louder.

Elijah was looking up at the night sky, watching the moon slowly make its way across, his thoughts on you. He couldn't stop thinking about your smile, and the way your eyes lit up whenever you saw him.

If tonight went smoothly, he had so many plans with you, the first was taking you to Paris, a city that was sure to dazzle you. After that he would whisk you away to Rome, where you could visit the many art museums and eat all the food you wanted.

He wanted to spoil you, shower you with everything you could ever want, and then some. It had been nearly sixty years of searching for his brother, trying to uncover the rest of his family. He felt like tonight was the first chance he had to truly mourn, then he could finally move on and spend the rest of his time with you. 

He had spoken with Stefan earlier, before he left with Bonnie to go stop Klaus. He liked Stefan, he was an honorable man who respected the choices of the ones he loved, even if he didn't agree with them.

Elijah hoped he and Stefan could be friends one day, once everything settled down, he knew that would make you happy. To see peace between him and your brothers. Damon would be a more difficult task, he reminded him of Klaus, cocky and impulsive, and that was a difficult combination.

The waiting was beginning to make him antsy. He had to wait for the right moment to strike, but there were so many factors outside of his control, he didn't like the feeling. He needed to distract himself, keep his mind from wandering too far.

He thought about his siblings, of sweet Rebekah, wild Kol, and serious Finn. What would they think of him killing Klaus? He wished he could have saved them, he wanted so badly to see them again.

He let out a long sigh, steeling himself for what he had to do. Klaus was no longer his brother, he had been twisted into a monster, and he had to be put down.

It was time, he could see the moon hanging high above him, it was time to end this. 

You watched Klaus squeeze the wolf's heart over the altar, the blood dripping into the fire, igniting it.

"Next, the vampire," he said, grinning.

You stood, frozen, watching him, as a wave of guilt crashed over you.

"Bring me Jenna, go on,"

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes.

"No," you said in the smallest voice. 

You could hear Jenna and Elena, talking to each other, they were saying their goodbyes and it broke your heart.

Klaus turned, and walked over to you, his eyes were dark and cold, and his jaw was clenched.

"Are you offering yourself in her place then?" He growled, his hand coming up to grab your chin.

You didn't answer him, you were staring over his shoulder at Jenna and Elena.

"I'll take that as a yes,"

You let him drag you to the altar, and push you down onto the cold stone, he forced you to kneel. You didn't fight him, you had lived for many decades longer than sweet Jenna and Elena, the old should always give their lives for the young.

Klaus let out a hearty chuckle and kicked you over, his hand gripping your hair.

"I don't recall you being on the guest list," Klaus yelled, looking into the dark forest. 

You heard the sound of footsteps as someone approached, it was Stefan. His expression was calm, but his eyes were furious.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Salvatore?" Klaus asked, amused.

Stefan looked at you, a concerned look on his face.

"Well, I figured you could start by letting my sister go," Stefan said, his voice firm.

"Hmm," Klaus said, looking down at you. "I don't think I will, she's quite the little spitfire, and I rather enjoy her company,"

"Let her go, I'll take her place," Stefan offered, taking a step forward.

"That's quite noble of you," Klaus said, smiling. "But, I think I'd prefer my original plan. I rather appreciate the symmetry of three women...Three goddesses sacrificed at nature's altar."

He grabbed both you and Stefan and dragged you towards the rings of fire. Throwing you both down next to Elena and Jenna. 

"Quite the predicament. You know, it's funny, all this talk about preserving family, and here's Stefan, granting your wish," Klaus said to Elena, smiling.

Stefan and Elena were looking at each other, a silent conversation passing between them.

"Oh, don't look so glum," Klaus said, looking between the two. "There's actually no choice,"

Klaus took a stake and plunged it into Stefan's spine, causing him to yell in pain, unable to move.

You and Elena both screamed, you got to your feet to strike Klaus, but he grabbed you by the throat, squeezing hard.

"Let them go," Elena pleaded, tears running down her cheeks. "I understand that I have to die, but they don't,"

Klaus ignored her and looked into your eyes, his hand tightening around your neck.

"Bring Jenna to the altar, or I'll kill Stefan," he growled, his fingers digging into your skin.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes, you couldn't lose Stefan.

"Please," you whispered, your hands clawing at his.

He let you go, then walked back to the altar.

"Bring her, now," he ordered, pointing at the ring of fire surrounding Jenna.

You stood, walking slowly over to the fire, the ring disappeared and Jenna looked up at you with tear filled eyes. She looked so afraid, so helpless.

"I'm so sorry," you said, your voice breaking, as you helped her to her feet.

You walked her over to the altar, Klaus waiting patiently.

"Jenna, I'm so sorry," you whispered, your hand brushing the hair from her face.

She was sobbing, her body shaking, and you held her close, stroking her hair.

"Please Klaus, just use me instead, she's innocent," you begged, tears running down your face.

"You Salvatore's are so predictable," Klaus sighed, rolling his eyes.

Klaus walked over, and pulled Jenna from your arms, he threw her down onto the altar. Everything seemed to blur, you could hear Elena screaming, the chants of the witch, the cracking of the fire. You saw Stefan reaching out to Elena through the flames, and then, it was quiet.

Klaus plunged a stake into her heart, Elena's wails were all you could hear. Jenna's lifeless body was lying on the altar, her face frozen in fear. You had brought her to her slaughter. You had killed her.

"Such a wonderful assistant," Klaus cooed, he grabbed your chin, his bloody fingers digging into your skin. "Be a good girl and bring me the doppelganger,"

You looked into his cold eyes, his mouth twisted into a smirk.

"Now," he growled.

You nodded, then walked over to Elena, tears were running down her cheeks, but she put on a brave face as the last ring of fire disappeared.

"Elena," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes, your whole body was shaking. "I'm so, so sorry,"

"Don't," she said, her voice shaky. "It's not your fault. It's nice to have a friend here at the end,"

She held your hand as you helped her walk over to Klaus. You looked at Stefan, he was struggling to free himself, his eyes filled with worry.

"Elena," Stefan called, his voice breaking.

"It's okay, Stefan," she said, her grip on your hand tightening. "I'm ready,"

You helped her up onto the altar, and Klaus looked down at her with hungry eyes.

"Thank you Elena," he said softly, pulling her against him and moving her hair away from her neck.

"Go to hell," she said, her voice strong.

He chuckled and sank his fangs into her neck.

Elena didn't fight, she let death take her, her grip loosening on your hand, as her last breath left her.

You were shaking, the sound of Klaus drinking from her filling the silence. You had lost two friends today, and the world was suddenly a lot emptier.

When the last bit of blood left her body, Klaus dropped her to the ground and the fire in the altar went out.

You knelt next to her, brushing her hair away from her face, then you looked back at Stefan who was writhing in pain, crying at the loss of Elena.

Klaus staggered a bit, the full moon peeking out from the trees. He groaned, and started to change, his bones cracking as he stumbled forward, his expression a mask of pure bliss.

"It's happening," he moaned, his eyes turned gold, and he was overcome with pleasure. "I can feel it,"

You couldn't stand this any long, all this pain and death. You needed it to end.

You moved down the steps towards him, grabbing a branch off a nearby tree, snapping it in half.

"Come on, sweetheart," he taunted, turning to look at you, his eyes shining. "I'm indestructible,"

"I don't care," you snarled, lunging for him. "You still feel pain,"

You charged at him, striking him across the face, your rage blinding you, making you miss his fist, as it collided with your stomach.

The blow threw you across the clearing, and you landed on your back, the air leaving your lungs, the branch now lodged in your side. 

You saw Damon come running out of the woods, he first looked to Elena, then to Stefan, but when he laid eyes on you, he ran to your side.

"No, no, no, no," he said, his eyes filled with panic, he pulled the wood from your side. "You're not supposed to be here,"

You could hear the concern in his voice, and you smiled up at him, cupping his face. He helped you to your feet, your wounds healing, then he pushed you behind him.

"Damon," you said softly, trying to stop him.

"Bonnie is here, it's okay, let me handle this," he said, his tone stern.

Klaus was standing there, laughing maniacally, a mad grin on his face, then his body began to shake and he fell to the ground.

Suddenly his laughter turned to screams, as Bonnie came striding out of the trees, chanting a spell, she raised her hand, causing Klaus to scream in agony. The fire returned to the altar and spread into the trees, her magic all around them as she channeled every ounce of power she possessed, bringing the hybrid to his knees.

Then she choked on her words, gasping for air, looking around for the source.

"Get the witch!" Stefan yelled, pointing to Klaus' witch, still standing at the altar, her hand outstretched.

Bonnie raised her hands, trying to focus her power, but she was struggling, and you could see the strain on her face.

The witch threw Bonnie into the air, knocking her out, her body hitting the ground.

Damon ran for the witch, and tackled her, his teeth sinking into her neck. He killed her instantly, her body going limp in his arms.

The fire disappeared, the flames extinguishing, the magic disappearing. A deadly quiet settling over everything.

Suddenly, you felt a hand in your hair, dragging you backwards, the pain making you scream.

"Elijah!" Klaus roared into the woods, "I know you are out there, show yourself!"

You saw Elijah walk out of the trees, and into the clearing, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were locked on yours.

Klaus's fingers dug into your scalp, and he pulled harder, forcing you to your knees between them.

"What a sight," Klaus mocked, grinning at Elijah.

"Hello, brother," Elijah said, his eyes still locked on yours.

"You've come to kill me?" Klaus said, chuckling. "How is that working out for you?"

He pulled you back to your feet, your whole body trembling.

"Actually, I've come to make you an offer," Elijah said, taking a step closer, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh," Klaus said, amused. "An offer, I wonder what that might be,"

"Spare them, and I will pledge my loyalty to you," Elijah said, his voice soft, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You're lying," Klaus growled, his hand wrapping around your throat, his fangs grazing your skin. "You're only offering yourself, so I won't kill her. That's not true loyalty,"

You saw Damon lift Elena's body into his arms, carrying her to Stefan. Then he pulled the stake out of Stefan's back, allowing him to move again.

"Elijah," Stefan called, his voice shaky. "You need to finish this,"

"I can't," he said, shaking his head. "Klaus will kill her,"

Damon rushed to Bonnie's side, trying to wake her up, and Klaus laughed, his lips pressed against your ear.

"Run to your love, if you make it I'll let you live," he whispered, shoving you forward.

You stumbled, your legs barely able to support you, then you started running towards Elijah, tears streaming down your face.

You made it to him, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight, he was murmuring soft words into your ear, his breath tickling your skin. And you finally felt safe again.

"Are you okay?" He asked, pulling away to look at you, his fingers brushing the hair from your face.

"Yes," you said softly, your hand gripping his jacket.

You were staring up at him, his brown eyes were warm and full of worry, and you had forgotten how much you missed him.

"Good," he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours.

Your lips met his at the same time you felt something strange in your back. An odd pressure that made you gasp into his mouth.

You pulled away from Elijah, there was a strange look on his face, his mouth falling open, and he looked down at you, a look of pure terror in his eyes.

For the first time in centuries, you felt cold, the world was spinning around you. You knew what was happening, 

Your hand pressed against his chest, you could feel his heart beating against your palm. You looked up into his brown eyes one last time.

"Rule three, my love," you whispered, before your life faded away, and your body fell against him.

Elijah looked down at you, your skin rapidly turning gray, your eyes vacant. Then he looked up at Klaus, who held your heart in his hands.

"This is for betraying me," Klaus said, dropping the organ at his feet, the blood running down the stone steps.

Elijah stood there, his arms wrapped around your lifeless body, his whole world was crumbling.

He could hear Stefan and Damon screaming, but it sounded far away, the own beating of his heart drowning out the rest.

Klaus grabbed Elijah by the neck, forcing him to drop your body, and shoved him to the ground.

"Look at her, the way she's staring up at the stars, it's quite beautiful, isn't it?" Klaus mocked, as Elijah watched you, lifeless on the cold stone. "And it's all because of you,"

Elijah looked away, a tear falling down his cheek, his brother's words cutting into him.

"You're pathetic," Klaus hissed, his hands gripping Elijah's jacket, your blood staining the fabric. "To think you could beat me,"

Elijah closed his eyes, trying to block out his brother's words, but it was no use, his mind was replaying every moment with you. Knowing he would never taste your lips again, or hear your laugh. You would never fall asleep in his arms.

He looked over at Damon, who had rushed to your body. He was holding you, rocking you back and forth in his arms, with Stefan by his side, his face stained with tears, a look of anguish on his face.

Elijah's world was fading away, as he was overcome with rage and anguish, a darkness consuming him, and Klaus just kept talking, his voice becoming more and more distant. 

Then something within him snapped, a creature that was lurking underneath his skin came bursting through, a monster taking the place of the gentleman.

He turned his attention back to his brother, and Klaus froze, the fear clear in his eyes.

Damon watched as Elijah pushed Klaus backwards, causing him to fly across the clearing, skidding along the dirt, landing a few feet away.

Elijah walked in a slow, deliberate pace towards Klaus , his expression devoid of any emotion.

"You're right, Klaus," Elijah said, a cold smile spreading across his face. "We are not the same,"

Klaus tried to stand, but Elijah shoved him back down, he grabbed Klaus leg and twisted it until it snapped. Klaus howled in agony, and Elijah smiled, twisting the other leg, and his brother's screams were echoing through the night.

"You want to be a beast?" Elijah growled, pulling Klaus into the air by his neck, his hands wrapped around his throat. "Let me help you,"

Damon felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Bonnie was standing there, her eyes full of sorrow.

"Damon," she whispered, tears running down her face.

"Go, help Elijah," he said, his voice hollow. "I'll stay here with her,"

Bonnie nodded, she stood up, her body trembling. Stefan jumped to his feet to help her stay upright, and she began to chant once more. 

The altar burst into flames for a third time, illuminating Klaus and Elijah in a ring of fire as they struggled against each other.

"What is this?" Klaus yelled, pushing Elijah away, trying to fight the pain. "What have you done?"

"Something that should have been done centuries ago," Elijah growled, rushing towards his brother, knocking him down, pinning him to the dirt, his hand raised.

"In the name of our family, Niklaus...," Elijah said, plunging his hand into his brother's chest, curing his fingers around Klaus's heart. "In the name of her..."

"I didn't bury them at sea!" Klaus yelled, his hand trying to pry Elijah's away. "They are safe, I swear,"

Elijah looked at him, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

"I can take you to them," Klaus pleaded, his hands gripping Elijah's wrist. “Their bodies are safe. If you kill me, you'll never find them,”

"Elijah, don't listen to him," Stefan yelled, walking towards them.

"Brother, please," Klaus begged. "She wouldn't want this, please,"

Your beautiful face flashed through Elijah's mind, and he looked back at Damon, who was kneeling there, tears in his eyes, clutching your body.

"You're wrong, Klaus," Elijah growled, his hand squeezing the organ in his grip. "She would want this,"

Then he tore Klaus's heart from his chest, and watched the life fade from his brother's eyes.

Klaus's body dropped to the ground, his heart still beating in Elijah's hand, and the flames died down, leaving the clearing in silence. 

Bonnie walked up to him, looking down at the flames. 

"Good," She said, her voice hoarse.

Elijah looked back at Stefan and Damon, they were kneeling next to your body, Stefan's hand caressing your cheek. 

Elijah rushed over to you, looking down at your peaceful face, you almost looked like you were sleeping.

Elijah brushed the hair from your face, his hands were shaking. He couldn't understand how something so beautiful could be snuffed out so easily.

"Don't touch her," Damon said, pulling you away from Elijah.

"You did this," Damon snapped, glaring at Elijah. "It's your fault she's dead,"

Elijah nodded and stepped away, Damon was right, it was his fault.

"Damon," Stefan said, reaching for his brother.

"No, he has to answer for this," Damon said, getting to his feet, your body in his arms.

"It's over Damon," Bonnie said softly, looking up at him. "It's over,"

Damon looked down at you, and tears started to stream down his cheeks. He was shaking, and Stefan reached for him, the two of them clinging to each other, your body between them.

"I think it's best you leave," Bonnie said, her eyes filled with sadness. "Please, go,"

Elijah nodded, his heart breaking as he looked down at your lifeless form, knowing this was his fault.

"Where will you go?" Stefan asked, as he wiped his eyes.

"I need to find my siblings," he said softly, looking away from the sight. "With Klaus dead, everyone he compelled will be free, I'll follow the clues they left behind,"

He looked back at you, and his heart shattered.

"Will you be okay?" Stefan asked, his hand on Elijah's shoulder.

"One day," he replied, turning to look at him, a small smile on his face.

"Thank you," Stefan said softly.

Elijah gave them a small nod, then disappeared into the trees, heading far away from Mystic Falls. His heart forever bound to yours. 

~Epilogue

Time changes all things, this was something Damon had the basics of understanding, but nothing could prepare him for how it would affect him when he became human again.

He was an old man, something he never expected to experience, and yet there he was.

"Are you ready?" Elena asked, her hand on his arm.

"Always," he answered, his voice weak, but his smile was genuine.

She leaned in and kissed his cheek, her eyes still as bright and beautiful as the day he met her.

The walk to the Salvatore family crypt was slow, and the pain in his joints was unbearable. He hated getting old.

They entered the stone building, and Damon let go of Elena's arm, making his way over to your stone. He placed his hand on it, the smoothness soothing his calloused hand.

"Hi sis," he said, smiling down at the stone. "It's been a while, i've been so busy,"

He took a seat in the chair next to your grave, he had brought it decades ago. He was a man who liked his comfort, and he spent hours talking to you, catching you up on everything that had happened since the last time he was there.

"I have grandkids now! Can you believe it? They are the cutest, I even named a boy after you, well, the closest we could come, but, yeah," he said, a wide grin on his face.

Damon looked over at Elena, who was laying flowers at Stefan's grave. She was the only one left, and he was so grateful for her.

"I miss you and Stefan so much," Damon said softly. "But it won't be long now until I see you again,"

There was an awkward cough and Damon looked up to see a delivery boy standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.

"I have a delivery for Miss Y/n Salvatore," he said, walking up to him, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"She's not exactly up for company," Damon said with a chuckle, gesturing to your stone.

"I know, this actually isn't my first time doing this," he said, a smile spreading across his face. "Actually, the guy who use to deliver along this route said that he's been delivering here once a week for his entire fourty year career,"

Damon stood up slowly, his bones protesting the movement. He held his hand out and the boy handed him the flowers.

"Thanks, kid," Damon said, sitting back down, there was a note tucked in with the flowers.

The boy gave him a little wave before disappearing.

Elena came to sit next to him, her hand on his knee, she gave him a sad smile. "What does it say?"

Damon pulled out his glasses, and read it out loud, a tear rolling down his cheek.

For a thousand years, I had never known love, until you, and for a thousand more, I will wait for you. 

-Elijah

Rule one: When we are together, it will just be us, no one will know.

Rule two: No talk of business or family, don't get personal.

Rule three: When it's over, it's over.

{Part One} {Part Two}{Part Three} {Part Four}

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡~LOVE YOU GUYS

[rosyblooom]

blooming season🌷 (1) | ln4

"grief is just love with no place to go”

PAIRING: lando norris x fem nepo!reader WORD COUNT: 2.6k WARNING(S): mentions of death & blood, swearing SUMMARY: four years after she fled monaco, y/n is back on the anniversary of her father's death. however, an unexpected encounter with an f1 driver disrupts her plans. A/N: my first time doing this, so probably has errors. if you've got any thoughts or requests pls let me know xoxo hope u enjoy! :)

part 1 <- | part 2

The scent of salt still lingers in the air, but now it feels different, not as welcoming as it used to be. It's a painful reminder of days gone by, days filled with joy and warmth that now seem distant and unattainable. No matter how hard you try, you can't shake off the memories, replaying them in your mind like a scratched vinyl record that refuses to play properly.

Today marks four years since your father's passing, and four years since you left Monaco. You were just eighteen then, fresh out of high school, when the news of your father's tragic car accident hit you like a ton of bricks. In a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sorrow, you packed your bags that very night and left before the weight of it all drowned you.

You couldn't bring yourself to attend your father's funeral, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't real. But deep down, you knew the truth—your father was gone, and nothing could change that. Even as you threw yourself into your studies, pursuing a nursing degree, the pain never truly went away.

And now, here you are, sitting alone on this deserted stretch of beach, watching the waves crash against the shore in a steady rhythm.

This spot holds a special place in your heart, known only to a handful of locals—a fact you couldn't be more grateful for. Here, away from the watchful eyes of tourist crowds, you find solace as you simply listen to the earth rotate.

You exhale slowly, leaning forward to brush the sand from your palms before reaching into your bag for the bottle of red wine nestled inside. It takes a bit of effort to uncork it completely, but the satisfying pop is worth the wait. With careful precision, you fill a wine glass to the brim with the rich, maroon liquid—something to take the edge off.

"Welcome back, Y/N," you whisper to yourself, lifting the glass in a silent salute. "Thank you, thank you. I can't imagine anything worse."

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, a stark contrast to your usual composed demeanour. It's been 1,460 days, yet it feels like your world only just came crashing yesterday.

Needing calm now, you take a sip of the wine, savouring its sweetness, when the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention, pulling you back to the present moment.

"Seriously?" you think to yourself, feeling your heart plummet like a stone sinking into deep waters. You took every precaution to keep your return under wraps—after all, you paid good money for that privilege.

Arriving just last night, you made it a point to rise at the crack of dawn, a time before the world awoke; a time when it's just you and no one else. You couldn't bear the idea of facing the prying eyes that would surely accompany the day ahead. For once, you didn't want to be known as the daughter of one of Monaco's wealthiest families; you simply wanted to be yourself, stripped of titles and expectations—a daughter mourning her father.

Feeling like a trapped animal, you become acutely aware of every sound and movement, your gaze locked on the figure approaching.

A man.

His brown curls bounce with each step until he comes to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from you.

With a small wave and a nod, he greets you with a simple "Hey."

It takes a moment for you to register that the greeting is directed at you, causing you to tear your gaze away without a response. Your eyes flit between the gentle ripples of the sea and the man settling down uncomfortably close, prompting an annoyed grunt to escape your lips.

“Fuck spatial awareness, huh…,” you mutter under your breath, though not quiet enough to evade his notice. He slips off his black headphones, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Sorry, what?"

You clear your throat, then sit up straight and gesture expansively. "All this space, and you have to sit right next to me?”

He smiles.

Your gaze narrows.

"But I'm not right next to you," he retorts with a playful grin. "You're all the way over there." He points towards you and then at himself. "And I'm right here."

"Well, it's still too close," you snap.

"Sorry, did you buy this beach or something?" he counters, his grin widening. "Last time I checked, it's open to all members of—."

Growing increasingly frustrated, you interject, "No, I didn't buy anything. I just want some personal space. But clearly, that's lost on you."

With a scoff, you spring to your feet, snatching up your towel and cramming it into your bag, sand and all.

"Wait, you don't have to leave," he insists, his footsteps drawing closer. But you pay him no mind, tossing your phone into your bag and hastily gathering the rest of your belongings from the ground.

Once everything is crammed into your bag, you snatch up your half-empty glass of wine and stand upright, only to feel a foreign warmth enveloping your hand and glass. The man now stands directly in front of you, invading your personal space completely; you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his piercing green gaze.

"Look, I'm sorry if I did something wrong, but—" he begins, but you cut him off sharply.

"Way too close now," you snap, attempting to pull your hand away, but he refuses to release his grip.

"You do realise I'm trying to apologise, right?" he asks, confusion evident in his eyes.

"I don't care."

His grip remains firm. "There's plenty of space for both of us here."

"It doesn't matter anymore," you respond, your patience wearing thin.

The struggle continues, your voice growing louder with each tug. "Let go of the fucking glass!"

Suddenly, a sharp yell pierces the air, followed by the hollow thuds of broken glass hitting the ground. Shock washes over you as you barely register the sticky liquid trickling down your hand and onto your toes.

"Ah, shit," he exclaims, snapping you out of your daze. You quickly assess the situation, noticing the shattered remnants of the wine glass scattered on the ground, staining the sand crimson.

Panic sets in as you frantically check your hand and feet for any injuries, your eyes wide with fear. After several anxious moments, you breathe a sigh of relief.

I'm okay.

The tranquillity is abruptly shattered by deep groans echoing through the air, drawing your attention to the man's slumped figure with his back turned to you. His face remains hidden from view.

Though he's clearly in pain, you're tempted to slip on your shoes and make a hasty escape. Today is already burdened with its own weight; you're not sure you can handle any more. You even take a step back, ready to flee, but then something stops you.

A pang of guilt washes over you, weighing you down like heavy bags strapped to your legs. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly admit to yourself, "I can't believe I'm about to do this."

"Okay, fine. How about you put on your big boy boots and let me take a look at that?" you say, crossing your arms expectantly.

There's no reaction from him, not even a response.

Rolling your eyes, you drop your bag onto the sand and cautiously circle around him until you're face-to-face with his unruly brown curls.

"Hello?" you tap his shoulder, frustration creeping into your voice. "Earth to the stranger who doesn't understand personal space?"

"Seriously?" he retorts, his tone sharp.

His eyes meet yours as he straightens up, his expression guarded, but you simply shrug, maintaining a neutral demeanour, and extend your hand.

"Let me see," you say calmly.

For a moment, he simply stares at you in bewilderment, but then he tentatively extends his hand towards yours.

"I see," you breathe, examining the large cut in his palm with care, mindful not to dirty it with your fingers. Despite the blood seeping from the wound, you release a relieved sigh after a thorough inspection—it's not as deep as it initially appeared.

"Alright," you announce, dropping his hand and clapping your hands together. "Go home, make sure nothing touches that hand, clean the cut, and bandage it. Keep it dry for a couple of days, and then reassess."

Without waiting for a response, you turn towards your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and shoot him one final glance.

"This has been... unpleasant," you remark dryly. "I really hope our paths don't cross again. Goodbye."

"Wait!"

You shake your head and ignore him, determined to continue onward.

"Wait!" he calls out again, desperation evident in his tone. "I don't have any bandages!"

You stop walking, considering his words, but still don't turn around.

"And... I don't have any sanitising stuff either," he adds, his voice trailing off slightly.

Slowly, you turn around and wave your hands dismissively in the air, shouting back, "That's what supermarkets are for! I guess it's time for a shopping trip!"

Just as you're about to spin on your heel and leave again, his voice cuts through the distance.

"Look, you seem like you know what you're doing. Can't you just help me out here?"

Shielding your eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, you squint at him as he begins jogging toward you. "That advice," you shout back, "was me helping you out. Trust me, I wanted to leave way earlier."

For a moment, neither of you speaks as you watch him closing the distance between you. When he finally comes to a halt in front of you, you instinctively take two steps back—you need your personal space.

"So?" he says between pants, waiting for your response.

You furrow your brows, deep in thought. "Well, I don't have anything on me, sorry to disappoint. But like I said, there are shops around here."

You resume your walk, but to your dismay, the guy falls into step with you almost immediately.

"So, what? You have nothing at home?" he presses, his gaze burning into the side of your face.

Refusing to meet his eyes, you increase your speed.

"Right, because I'm just going to invite a stranger," you emphasise, "who I didn't want to be around in the first place, into my home."

His hand suddenly grips your arm, causing you to instinctively rip out of his grasp, both of you coming to an abrupt halt.

"What?" you bark, irritation seeping into your tone.

"You can google me," he offers, his voice calmer now. "Lando Norris, Formula One driver. Search my name up. You'll see pictures—every single detail about me, you'll probably find on the internet. Now I'm not a stranger anymore, right?" he suggests, his gaze pleading.

You remain silent, shifting your focus toward the calm waters as you breathe in and out. It feels as though the world has paused, waiting for you to come to a decision, to reach a conclusion.

Today, the anniversary of your father's death, is a day you've been dreading yet anticipating for so long. Its disruption unsettles you, but deep down, you know you can't simply ignore it. As much as you wish to skip over this chapter of your life, tear out its pages, and never look back, you can't. It's not healthy.

Still, that doesn't mean you can't delay it for a little while longer.

"Fine," you sigh, relenting to the situation, and begin rummaging through your bag until you locate your phone.

Quickly, you extract it and raise it to Lando's face, snapping a photo of him with the flash on.

"What the hell?" he exclaims, blinking rapidly.

"For my protection," you state matter-of-factly. "Just because you're famous doesn't mean you can't be a bad person."

Once his gaze meets yours again, he runs a hand through his hair and offers a sheepish smile. "Fair enough."

You nod, acknowledging his words, and continue your walk toward the car park.

"I'm not a bad person, though," he adds quickly, catching up to you.

"Colour me convinced," you reply dryly.

*********

As you approach the car park, annoyance bubbles within you at the sight of it: filled with cars and swarmed by dozens of people.

"You said you're a Formula One driver, right?" you ask, tilting your head up at Lando.

"Yeah, why?" he responds.

Instead of answering, you grab the hood of his jacket and pull it over his head.

"Why did you do that—" Lando begins, but you cut him off.

"The last thing I need is a mob of your fans, okay?" you interject firmly. "The quicker we get this done, the sooner we can go our separate ways."

Lando chuckles as he adjusts the hood. "I'm really that bad, huh?"

"Worse," you deadpan.

"...Right."

With your raven car in sight, you quicken your pace, relief flooding through you. The last thing you want is for people to realise you're back, especially not today.

However, as if your luck has run out, a woman steps in front of you, blocking your path. You immediately turn your focus to Lando, motioning for him to take a picture with his fan and hurry up.

But instead of the attention falling on him, a weight suddenly falls onto your shoulder, catching you off guard. You clear your throat, preparing to speak, but the woman beats you to it.

"Oh my goodness, Y/N. It's you, isn't it?" the woman exclaims, her voice filled with recognition and sympathy.

You can't reply; your mouth feels dry, your tongue heavy with unspoken words.

No, not today. Please, not today.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Y/N," she continues, her expression radiating pity. It's uncomfortable—the way she looks at you, the way she touches your shoulder so gently. It feels like you're being burned alive, yet you're immobilised, just as you were four years ago when you first heard the news.

"Your father was such an amazing man. And you, I mean, you've been missed. My daughter loves you—"

Suddenly, you're being pulled forward, jolting you out of your trance. You struggle to keep your balance as you try to comprehend what's happening—the woman is gone, and Lando's hand is firmly clasped around yours, pulling you closer to him.

Your personal space has been completely invaded, yet you don't feel the usual urge to pull away. Even if you did, you're not quite sure Lando would let you.

"Your car's the black one, right?" you hear him ask, but the words don't immediately register.

"Huh?" you mumble, still reeling from the encounter.

"That black car over there," Lando points and leans in close, his gaze locked with yours, "that's yours, right?"

You nod, still not quite ready to speak.

Lando releases your hand and holds out his palm to you. "Okay, car keys, please?"

"What? No," you shake your head, rejecting the idea. "There's no need for that."

"Come on, I'm a Formula One driver, remember? I won't crash it."

"It would be irresponsible of me to let you drive in this state," he adds, his voice firm.

"And what about your hand?" you nod toward the injury.

"Like I said," Lando smiles slyly, cocking his head to the side, "I drive race cars; I think I can handle driving with one hand."

Rolling your eyes, you relent, "Okay, fine."

With a sigh, you fish out the car keys from your bag and hand them over to him.

4:05 ───────────ㅇ─ 4:28

[satorusluver]

You're Mine

Fem reader x Gojo Satoru

biscuitsngravie asked: 23 (jealous sex) w gojo pls 😭🙏🏾 Anonymous asked: 45 (possessive sex) + Satoruuu Tags: smut (MDNI), fluff, mild angst if you squint, p in v, creampie, established relationship, doggy style, jealousy, pet names (baby, angel, princess), mild degradation (slut) Word count: 1,400 ish (how did this end up so long, it was supposed to be a drabble lol) A/N: Sorry this took so long but I had a lot of fun writing it, so I hope you like it xoxo.

Hickeys and bruises litter your torso, your breath is heavy and erratic, and your limbs are struggling to hold your body up after so long of being in your current position. That position is being on all fours under the strongest sorcerer, his thick cock pounding into you with such force that you think you'd go flying off the bed if it weren't for his large hands having a firm grip on your waist.

But even now, with the fat head of his dick ramming against your soft cervix so hard it makes your eyes water, you know he's holding back. Even if he's still a little pissed at you for flirting with Nanami, he's not giving you everything he's got because he knows he could seriously hurt you if he did - he's not called the strongest sorcerer for nothing. So with every brutal thrust into your tight cunt, you know there's love behind it.

Then, you suddenly feel him pull out of you, dragging his cockhead along your slick, puffy folds that are dripping with a mix of your fluids and his. You hear the faint sound of him chuckling at your needy whines when the tip of him brushes against your oversensitive clit.

"More, please..." you mewl, pressing your ass back against him.

"More? My little slut wants more?" he asks in a tone that somehow manages to be even more arrogant than usual, even for Satoru. "You always want more, always so desperate for my cock. Why else would you act like such a brat at a time like this?"

You hate that he's kind of right. You'd been all but dragged back to your apartment after your boyfriend had witnessed you flirting with Nanami at an event the three of you were attending. Yes, stone-faced, serious Nanami, who is everything your energetic and borderline flamboyant boyfriend isn't. His usual happy-go-lucky attitude had been replaced by frigidity, his dark sunglasses lowered to glare down at you with sapphire eyes narrowed in irritation as he pulled you close and whispered for you to "get in the fucking car, princess." You didn't even get to see the food being brought out.

"Didn't think it would bother you so much...'m sorry, Toru..." you say innocently, but you're not really sure that you are when it's earned you three orgasms.

In the few months since your years-long friendship with Satoru had turned romantic, he'd never shown any legitimate jealousy. Satoru is nothing if not confident, and a bit of a flirt himself at times, being part of his unreserved nature. This coupled with the fact that he's absolutely gorgeous means he gets hit on A LOT. Sometimes even right in front of you.

So you in all of your brilliance decided to try to get back at him with what you thought was a little harmless flirting. Granted, Nanami was only polite to you, not really flirting back since he (and everyone else) knows you're with Satoru. But that isn't the point. The point is that you were showing interest in someone who is Satoru's complete opposite, someone who has outwardly expressed his disdain for Satoru's outgoing and carefree personality. And while Satoru doesn't usually get insecure, that actually managed to get under his skin, which is how you ended up here.

"This is what you wanted, right? This is why you were acting out? You love the way it feels, don't you? The way it stretches you out, the way I can reach your cervix without even trying?" your boyfriend teases, his voice low and husky in your ear.

You just nod dumbly, finding coherent thoughts impossible when all you can think about is just how fucking bad you wanna feel every thick inch of him ramming into you again, fucking you until his name is the only thing you remember.

The sound that escapes you when he finally pushes past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance is little more than a desperate cry, but you have no sense of dignity left when the six eyes himself has got you bent over for him and is spearing you on his massive cock.

"You look so good like this, all covered in my marks," Satoru croons, one of his fingers lightly tracing the hickeys he left on your neck and shoulder. "Hope they don't fade before Nanami sees them. If they do, I'll have to give you more."

He leans his body over yours, reaching to hold your chin in his hand and turn your head back to face him. Crystal blue eyes meet yours, and there's a moment of something almost vulnerable in his expression before his face hardens into the same look of jealousy he gave you when he pulled you away from Nanami earlier.

"My pretty girl. Mine. You think Nanami could ever fuck you like this?" His tone is soft, but there's still a dark glint in those beautiful eyes. His words are emphasized by him pulling out until only his cockhead remains inside of you, and then slamming roughly back in all at once.

"N-no, Toru, only you," you gasp out, the intensity of his thrusts knocking the wind out of you as you feel that knot beginning to coil in your lower stomach for the fourth time that evening.

"Only me? That's right, baby, I'm not just the best at jujutsu, am I? I fuck you the best, don't I? I love you the best, don't I?" That hint of vulnerability is back, and you wonder if you really have gotten to the great Gojo Satoru in a way you didn't know was possible. That he really was deeply afraid of losing you, the only other person he's ever felt close to aside from Geto Suguru all those years ago. You nod reassuringly, one shaky hand reaching behind you to pet his face as you manage to get out a breathless "love you, Toru" in between gasps for air.

Satoru's hand slides down your waist to rub at that sensitive bud between your legs. You can tell that he is nearing his own end as well by the absolute filth he spews almost mindlessly. "Fuck, baby, I love the way you clamp down on me when I rub your cute little clit. You gonna cum for me again? Yeahhh, you are. That's a good girl, oh fuck yes, milk that fucking cock, 'm gonna fill you up."

You rock your hips back against him, moving to meet his strokes as best you can with your worn-out, achy legs. You're painfully close to reaching that high you so crave, and every press of his swollen tip against that spongey spot deep inside you causes your whole body to tense up with pleasure. Satoru barely manages to hold it in until he feels you cumming around his fat, veiny cock one last time, letting out a guttural moan at the feeling of your gummy walls clenching so tightly around him as you cum in white-hot waves so intense it causes starry spots in your vision.

Your legs finally give out from under you, that last orgasm draining what little energy you had left to hold yourself up. "I got you, angel," Satoru whispers huskily, his strong arms holding your hips up as he fucks into you, desperately chasing his own high. His full, heavy balls that you can feel slapping against your ass with each forceful stroke begin to tighten with his impending release, and moments later you feel it - the whole length of his dick throbbing and pulsating deep within you as your insides fill with that familiar warmth.

"Fuuuck", Satoru groans, shooting his hot, sticky cum right up against the entrance to your womb. He almost collapses on top of you himself now from the intensity of his own orgasm.

After taking several seconds to catch his breath, Satoru gently maneuvers both of you onto your sides, careful to keep himself inside of you. One arm wraps around your middle as he pulls your back snuggly up against his chest.

"I wasn't too rough, was I?" he inquires, his brows furrowing and his sparkling blue eyes turning pouty with concern.

"Don't worry, I'm alright," you reply breathlessly, still recovering from your final orgasm.

"Good. Love you, love you so much," he whispers, littering a few soft kisses along your cheek and jawline.

"I'm glad you're okay...but you're mine, princess, and if I ever catch you flirting with Nanami again, you won't be able to walk for days." He chuckles light-heartedly after he says it, but you get the feeling he's not joking.

[gurugirl]

DEVIL DICK | a preview

Full one-shot posted on Patreon only!

devil dick: a man who doesn't have much to offer, but he gives it his all between the sheets and keeps 'em coming back for more.

. . .

"That's devil dick," Regi said. "Dick so good it gets you hooked and coming back for more but that's all he has, ya know? So, of course, he's giving it a hundred in bed. He's got nothing else. No job or money…"

.

The sticky sweet, electric blue cocktail you were sipping on was doing its job. Ethanol molecules passing through the barrier of your bloodstream and the area of your brain responsible for controlling your central nervous system caused that familiar feeling of intoxication to take over.

In other words, your normally high-functioning brain, along with its good judgment was being temporarily impaired.

But that's exactly what you wanted.

It was Friday night at one of the many popular bars downtown. You had no rhyme or reason for choosing this one. You just did. And when you found yourself a spot at the end of the bar all you knew was that you were going to have three, or maybe four, cocktails and then call it a night.

The bartender suggested their Friday night $6 special, the name of which you had already forgotten. But it was tasty; a little tart and a lot sweet. Coconutty. You could pretend you were somewhere in the Caribbean on vacation. Maybe an island off of Cartagena somewhere, basking in the sun and watching the ocean lap into the white sands.

But actually, you'd rather be right where you were in the big city sipping your shitty drink on your uncomfortable stool with terrible music pumping from the speakers.

Why? Because of the curly-haired man that was a few people down and catty-corner to you at the bar. The one who kept looking at you like he wanted the same thing you did. He was drinking a brown liquor. Whisky, brandy, or rum perhaps. Neat.

His big hand wrapped around the glass as he eyed you from his spot and he sipped up the intoxicant in much the same way you were nursing your own.

No words needed to be spoken as you emptied your third cocktail. He raised his tattooed arm to call the bartender to close out his tab. And then he pointed at you, pink lips moving, curving around his vowels slowly as he spoke.

You already knew what this was. You and the man had been communicating with your eyes and body language for the past hour and now he was paying your tab and that meant you were about to leave with him.

It was a good thing that your inhibitions were lowered. The ethanol effectively neutralizing your brain's don't-do-that switch.

Your card was returned and you stepped off the stool just as Mr. Pink Lips approached, giving you a hand to steady yourself before he followed you out of the bar, hand at your low back.

The night air did nothing to sober you up when you finally turned to speak, "Thank you for getting my drinks in there."

He grinned, "You're welcome. I'm Harry."

You slid your palm against his and introduced yourself, "What now, Harry?"

"Got a place we can go to?"

"Um… yeah. We can go to mine."

Harry bought your drinks so you got the taxi. Normally you wouldn't bring strangers back to yours but, again, your neurotransmitters weren't firing off as quickly as they normally did. And you were horny and he was fine as hell.

Sitting with your thigh glued to his in the backseat of the car he wrapped his palm around your neck ever so gently and tilted your head back before sliding his lips against yours. The gesture was dominant, forceful, but he wasn't rough. It felt like he knew what he wanted and you'd let him have it for the night.

. . .

Interested in more? 👀 Consider joining my Patreon!

xoxo

[enchantedbarnes]

Uncle Buck • Part 6

I Caught Fire

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Single Aunt!Reader

Word Count: 900

Masterlist: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven |

A/N: I know, I know - I'm sorry I suck at posting. Again - none of this was planned to go on after Part 1 😂 Only warning is this is just a short silly idea that popped into my head. However, I do have something else that's much longer cooking up, I just have been on the struggle bus to finish it. Ideas and suggestions are always welcome and what keeps this nonsense going. If you wanna spam me with replies, gifs, reblogs, what you love about these - maybe it will get the inspo bus moving along again. xoxo thank you so much for all the love so far 🥰

Bucky arrives at the house to meet up with you. You both had plans to check out the local farmer's market.

Nora opens the door with a welcoming smile, "Hey, Bucky!" She pulls him into a quick warm hug.

"Good to see your handsome face around here again," She teases while stepping back to let him step inside, "She's in the attic, go on up."

Bucky gets to the attic landing and hears music.

Stopping short he waits a moment to listen. You're singing along to the song playing.

He takes a seat on the bottom steps, enjoying the moment of you happily singing along without a care in the world.

"I'm melting, I'm melting!

In your eyes, I lost my place

Could stay a while

And I'm melting

In your eyes like my first time

That I caught fire

Just stay with me, lay with me.."

Benji walks out of his room and is about to let out a shout of excitement when Bucky holds a hand up and brings his finger up to his lips to silence him. He waves Benji over and pats the open spot next to him.

Benji runs over and takes a seat next to Bucky with a grin.

Bucky silently nods his head towards the stairs and points upstairs with an eyebrow raised.

Benji answers the silent question with a shrug and nod, as if to say, "Yup, this is what we deal with here."

"You can stay and watch me fall

And of course, I'll ask for help

Just stay with me now

We could take our heads off, stay in bed

Just make love, that's all

Just stay with me now!"

Bucky's eyebrows raise so high they almost levitate off his face.

The chorus starts up again and you let out a string of curses, "Shit. Damnit. Fuck. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7- Wait...Shit.. 6-7-8-9-10..."

Bucky holds his palms up and mouths, "What is she doing?"

Benji then mimes crocheting while mouthing the answer. "She lost count or something, happens a lot..." He whispers.

The next song starts to play. A soft guitar intro begins only to then be broken up with fast drums and heavier guitar, the unexpected transition almost startles Bucky.

Benji starts air drumming along to the song while headbanging.

Bucky lets out a silent laugh with a shake of his head.

"The toxicity of our city, of our city," you join in, singing along to the more aggressive chorus of Toxicity by System of a Down, "YOU, what do you own the world?

How do you own disorder? Disorder!

Now! Somewhere between the sacred silence

Sacred silence and sleeeep

Somewhere, between the sacred silence and sleep

Disorder, disorder, disorder!"

Benji is still busy in his fantasy drum performance rocking out.

Bucky starts to wonder what exactly happens in this household on a daily basis. He's certain nothing he can possibly imagine will be anything close to the actual reality.

His phone vibrates in his pocket pulling him out from his thoughts. You had sent him a text.

Did you take a scenic route to get here?

You could say that.. be there sooner than you'd think.

He's about to stand up when Benji grabs his arm and mouths, "Wait. One second..." Benji scurries off to his room and comes back a moment later with his tablet. He taps around for a bit and the song changes. The intro seems to grab your attention because he hears you go "Oooh shit." Benji smirks.

The two sit there a moment, Bucky can hear shuffling and footsteps, but they're not approaching the stairs from what he can tell.

He looks over at Benji to see if he has an answer.

"This is her favorite band," he whispers, he motions Bucky to follow him.

They both slowly move up the stairs, one step at a time, until you're in view. They stay low trying to keep out of sight as much as they can. Benji is lying on his stomach against the stairs with his head peeking up. Bucky continues to sit on a step and has his arm leaning on the next step, propping his head up to watch in amusement as you dance around the attic while carrying your crochet project with you, somehow continuing your row of stitches. You start singing along as the vocals start up.

"If you have an opinion

Maybe you should shove it

Or maybe you could scream it

Might be best to keep it

To yourself…

To yourself!"

Benji hops up and runs over to you as the beat picks up, both of them start jumping up and down with each other.

"This is why I don't leave the house!

You say the coast is clear

But you won't catch me out

Oh, whyyyyy?"

You point your crochet hook at Benji as a makeshift microphone and continue dancing as you shout, "This is why!-" You suddenly catch sight of Bucky leaning against the wall with his arms crossed at the top of the stairs and freeze in your spot.

"How long have you been here..."

"Honest answer?" He asks with a smirk.

"Obviously."

"Something about catching fire a few songs ago."

"Oh my God," You groan in embarrassment. "Creep!" You laugh while throwing a ball of yarn at him.

"Maybe they'll have a karaoke contest you can start at the market."

Another projectile ball of yarn hits his chest.

Song list/links:

I Caught Fire by The Used

Toxicity by System of a Down

This is Why by Paramore

Taglist: if you'd like to be on the taglist let me know. Also if you're on the taglist and change your username - let me know so I can update the list! xo

Next: Part 7 Goodnightmorning

Dividers by @saradika

@pono-pura-vida @bitchy-bi-trash @random-writer-23 @jvanilly @clintsupremacy @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction@firstcashheroathlete@stany0url0calwh0res111@sjsmith56@eliwinchester99@babymady@shaking-a-jar-of-bees @its-daydreamer23@capswife@thecubanator2@wintermunsonreads@buckybarnessimpp@moon-light1928@emily-roberts@jeanbarton@doublevirgogirl@unknownpengu@trixxietat@imdoingbetternow@buckys-bbg@samsgirl93@lovebittenbyevans@inwhichiramble@jbuckybarnesfan@buckysfirstbitch@marvel88 @spiderman-stilinski@marvelfreakgirl@assassinscross@foolishwaitersblog@thatsojasminesworld@buckysbaby-doll@kilikina34512@rintheemolion@themorningsunshine@saranghaey@je-suis-prest-rachel@alovecraft@openup-yourmind@alicedopey@ilovetaquitosmmmm @sebbystanlover-vk@sleepertown@ivorycrow19@songoficecreamandfireworks@ellabraun9339@vicmc624@tiedyedghoulette@superduckmilkshake@ozwriterchick@kandis-mom@wintersoldierdarling@scooobies@magz-muni

[getsojaded]

you don’t go to parties || calum hood

word count: 2.3k+

warnings: ALCOHOL!!!! pls continue with caution if triggering. + swearing, and a fuck ton of angst. like a stupid amount. calum x she/her reader, lowercase intended!

a/n: guess what my fav song off 5sos5 is lol. i am so in love with this album so i quickly wrote this up xoxo

i still think about the times we were heavy

racehorse trippin' on the dirt that you got on me

vultures spinnin' up above of what's left of me

we go stupid every night, what a tragedy

“you are not about to take another shot,” calum’s slurred voice laughs at the girl beside him, as she attempts to make a clean pour into the small glass in front of her. needless to say, she didn’t do such a good job. that’s what happens when you’re one too many drinks in.

“you smoked four joints outside. i’m allowed to take as many shots as i want!” she responds, tilting her head back as the liquid runs down her throat, resulting in a sour face from y/n as she reaches for the closest bottle of coke.

a red, puffy eyed calum stumbles closer towards y/n and embraces her in a hug, kissing her temple. “we do this too much, don’t we?” he asks, as he sways their bodies back and forth.

“yeah, way too much..” she trails off, as the two get lost in the moment of each other, standing in the middle of the overcrowded kitchen.

the music is loud, the room is hot, there’s too many people, and there’s too many coloured lights flashing everywhere.

but calum and y/n didn’t care. staring into each others eyes with the widest grins plastered across their faces, they both knew that they wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

when you’re young, the number one rule you’re always told is have fun, you’re never gonna get these years back.

the pair made sure to do everything possible to make sure they wouldn’t regret it.

but being young doesn’t last forever.

in the blink of an eye, life changes and the real world is in front of you.

no more college parties getting absolutely shitfaced every weekend. no more spontaneous adventures in the middle of the night because you have nothing else to do. no more doing things that you shouldn’t be doing. no more distractions.

no more young love.

calum and y/n couldn’t have seen it coming at all.

but when you’re having as much fun as them two, who would’ve?

calum realized that school wasn’t for him, and started pursuing a music career with him and his friends that he met in college, who felt the same way as he did.

y/n on the other hand, was determined to earn her degree and make her family proud.

despite their differences, they had no doubts about keeping each other around. they loved one another, and that’s what truly matters, right?

so calum didn’t think too much of it when he started going to parties alone, when y/n declined because of her loads of homework piling up on top of another.

he always made sure to come back to her at the end of the night, holding her tight while she slept, burnt out from the thousands of words she read just hours before he came back to her dorm — he had practically moved in, although he wasn’t even in school anymore.

and it worked for them.

until they got older.

still so in love, they managed to get a place together after y/n graduated. and while y/n was out and about hunting for jobs, calum was in the studio with his band.

and whenever calum was in the studio with his band, it led to a party at the end of it. and he always made sure that his y/n was on his hip, as they drank and danced the night away together.

“they’re so cute,” luke chuckled as michael was pouring himself another drink, as they watched the two hold each other as they drunkenly sang the words to some old chris brown r&b love song — of course calum knew every word.

michael turns his head to the couple standing in the middle of the living room, and even though there’s a countless amount of people beside them, it feels like they’re the only two people in the room. “they’re forever. no doubt about it.” michael responds to the blonde boy sitting next to him, a little smile curved on his face.

–

i’m still here in the darkness

back where we started

you made me a heartless monster

i’m caught up in distractions

fatal attractions

i’m starting to come undone

it was so good.

it was so good, until it wasn’t.

when y/n started working full time, calum and his band still had nothing else to do. i mean, an album release and a world tour just before, you need some sort of a break.

y/n started working 9-5’s and calum was still showing up to functions without his plus one. one party turned into fifty parties, and next thing you know, it’s a surprise it calum makes it home before y/n goes to bed. y/n was so busy, she couldn’t even tell that calum had been going out so frequently until her first day off rolled around the corner.

and there she was, sitting in the middle of their shared apartment, watching tv and waiting for her boyfriend to come home.

she knew that she should go to bed; she had work the next day. but she’s never spent a day without at least knowing where he was. at least that’s what she thought.

calum rolls in around 3:00 am, stumbling into their home and kicking off his shoes. y/n rushes towards him to make sure he doesn’t fall, her arms wrapping around his body as he clutches onto her shoulders. “baby, you’re awake. it’s so late!” he slurs, kissing her on the cheek.

“i was waiting for you,” she whispers in response, assisting him in going upstairs. “does this happen every night?”

“only the nights you don’t come with me.”

“so… every night.”

–

calum’s never felt more pain in his life. yeah, he’s felt like shit when he’s throwing up outside some random person’s backyard, or when he loses his balance and falls face first into the pavement, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the moment that y/n walked out on him.

coincidentally, calum had no intentions of staying out past his studio session today. walking into their abode before midnight was now a rare occurrence, and it felt refreshing to calum as he drives home, the sky painted a pink and orange shade as the sun started to go down.

walking into his apartment and being greeted by duke — which hadn’t happened in quite a minute — the house was quiet.

i mean, when calum goes home, it’s always quiet. y/n’s always sleeping. but this silence felt eerie. from what calum was aware of, y/n had always liked to keep some music on throughout the house while she did her activities — work, cooking, showering, anything.

“y’know where mama is, duke?” calum asks the little dog in front of him, getting up from his knees and making his way up the stairs, duke following behind him as he opens the door to their bedroom.

there y/n is, sitting at her desk, with her laptop and various notebooks spread out. but her laptop isn’t turned on, and it doesn’t look like she’s doing anything. she’s just sitting there.

walking towards his girlfriend, he takes notice of a suitcase placed beside her desk, he dismisses it, and greets her with a kiss on the cheek. “hey baby, how’s your day been?”

she turns her chair to face him, getting a clear look of him before she starts to speak. “you’re here early.”

“yeah, nothing to do after the sesh today.”

“hey calum, let me ask you something.”

calum should’ve known something was off the moment she called him by his first name.

“yeah, what’s up?” he responds, throwing himself onto the bed and getting into a comfy position.

“when was the last time you actually bothered to have a conversation with me?”

“what?” he confusedly asked in response. “where is this coming from? i literally had one with you yesterday morning.”

“you said good morning to me, and proceeded to tell me that you were going to be home late. that’s not a conversation. in fact, that’s all you’ve been saying to me for the past four months.”

it's safe to say that y/n wasn't in the picture anymore.

after countless of apologies and promises from calum's side, she knew what was best for her – she knew that he was too late. so a few days after what y/n felt like the hardest, but at the same time, easiest breakup that she'd ever have to do, she gathered all her things. from the bedroom, to the bedroom, to the fucking kitchen, and left.

the fact that breaking up with him felt easy broke her heart in two.

she loved him. she loved him so fucking much. and he let her down. he disappointed her to a depth she would've never thought he would reach.

so she said her goodbyes to the fluffy little dog following her, kissing his soft head and whispering, "take care of him, okay?" with duke barking in response as she made her way towards the front door.

"goodbye, cal."

when calum came home to dead silence, he knew what had happened. doesn't mean he liked it, though.

rushing up the stairs to see an empty half of a bedroom and a cleaner, less product filled bathroom, he knew what she had done.

and there's nobody else to blame but himself.

–

and now it’s 5 am clinging to my couch

and everyone i ever knew is standing in my house

oh, i’m wondering who i’m looking for

cause you don’t go to parties anymore

i got the last five years running out my mouth

always stay too late, i should kick me out

oh, i'm wondering who i'm looking for

cause you don't go to parties anymore

describing calum as a fucking wreck was an understatement. all that man did was party, after all. but this was getting out of hand.

luke, ashton, michael, and even their fucking partners tried talking to calum to try and get him out of this excessive phase. "there's better ways to handle this," michael would tell calum when he catches him in a sober state.

"she's gone because this was all i did," calum would respond. "i have no reason to stop now."

and everyday, you would catch calum at some random los angeles party. it could be a distant mutuals, a random person's, or even his own.

sometimes it would be his own house a little too much – he couldn't handle the loneliness.

which explains calum's extreme lack of sobriety in his backyard, going on a tangent about the mistakes he's made.

the poor, unlucky guy taking a seat next to calum on the couch was not prepared for calum's behaviour.

"is she here?"

"who's here?"

"y/n, my ex."

"sorry dude. don't think so."

"we were together for five fucking years. five years and i fucked it all up. it's all my fault, and i'm never gonna get her back. i miss her so much, i'm never gonna be the same without her," calum pours his heart out to the complete stranger sat beside him, taking another swig from the bottle of tequila he was holding.

the backyard is filled with so many people, and it's almost a challenge to walk around, yet his eyes are still looking for the girl that got away, while he continues to talk about her.

luke walks over to the couch that calum and the unfamiliar person are seated on. "hey, is he bothering you?" luke asks, earning a chuckle from the guy. "nah, at least not yet. he's just been.. talking about his ex."

luke sighs, rubbing his forehead. "yeah man, i'm sorry you had to hear all that. he's been like this for way too long now, doing the same shit every night. i've had to drag him out of people's houses in the middle of the night a couple times 'cause he had no other way home."

"damn.. she really did a number on him, huh?" stranger responds, luke nodding. "i understand why she left, and i think he does too," he points to calum. "he's just having a hard time accepting it."

calum turns towards both boys sitting beside him with an upset expression plastered all over his face. "of course i'm having a hard time accepting it! it's all my fault! i drove away the only girl i'd ever been in love with and i'll never be able to get her back!" the drunk, heartbroken boy explains, finishing the last of his bottle before kicking it onto the ground, away from him.

as the early morning creeped up and his house got more and more empty, the three boys decided to stay back and help him clean up, knowing that the host himself won't be able to.

"feels like we've been cleaning forever." luke mindlessly says, checking the time. "holy shit. 5 am."

"we need to do something about this, he can't keep doing this to himself." ashton frustratedly stats, picking up what felt like the 500th solo cup on the ground.

"what's it gonna take for him to listen? we've tried so hard." michael says, gathering all the empty bottles of alcohol and throwing them into his recycling bin.

"we all know who he's gonna listen to. but i doubt that she'll ever want to speak to him again."

as the trio take a look at the man currently sprawled against the now empty couch, he begisn to stir, and slowly opens his eyes.

"this," ashton points to the situation in his backyard, "needs to fucking stop. i don't know how many times we have to tell you this."

"i know man, i know. i'm sorry. thank you for helping me clean." calum sheepishly says, now feeling embarrassed at his three best friends stand in front of him in disappointment.

"did, did she show?" calum speaks up again, the tiniest glimmer of hope laced in his voice.

"no. you should know this. she doesn't go to parties anymore."

[askinkiskarma]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ xɪɪɪ - ɪɴ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ

pairing: neteyam x human!reader

➽ a/n: finally, a new drabble! i'm actually quite happy with this one, and you better read until the end for a (hopefully) nice surprise! ly besties, smooches and xoxos

➽ words: >700 words

➽ warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: fingering, tiny little degradation, tiny bit of praise

➽ taglist (x) ➽ kinktober masterlist (x)

A moan - small and insignificant, you thought, pushing past your plump lips like the air through the trees on a particularly stormy night. But he heard it, and that was enough for the movement to cease, enough for the pleasure bubbling up in your core to dissipate almost as quickly as it began. A shiver - down your spine, at his hushed purring words, his voice sweet like honey and molten like the lava in the Pandoran volcanoes you’ve only but heard about and envisioned in dreams and fantasies. 

“What did I say happens if you make a noise?” 

A sharp inhale - looking around the room, where Na’vi and humans stood alike, focused intently on the motion picture displayed clearly on a big projector. Like in a cinema, you were told. Humans love movies, they go out of their ways to experience them the way they were intended, and Norm insisted - no movies unless on a proper screen. It was nice. A stepping stone in the right direction, in the continuous if not a bit unrelenting desire to improve intra-species relationships and merge the now two coexisting words. So maybe what you were doing now was good, right? Cooped up under a blanket in between your best friend’s thighs, his fingers knuckle deep in your soaking cunt, hitting spots inside of you you didn’t even know were possible, his thumb drawing circles on your clit… It’s progress, right? You’re… building up rappor with the Omaticaya… right?

A promise of four purple bruises - as his hand digs into your hip, willing you for an answer you didn’t want to give him, because if you did, it would mean facing harsh reality. 

“Answer me, yawne.”

Whispered touches on your folds - as he teases you with the promise of more, as he tortures you with the lack of it. It’s heaven and hell, just like his whole entire being is. Neteyam was the perfect man, an angel on paper - sent from above to heal, to mend, to be everything anyone’s ever wanted of him. The perfect son. The perfect soldier. The perfect sibling. The perfect friend. The devil in actuality- like he was now, in the confines of the privacy you normally found yourselves in when like this, desperate to own you, possess you, eager to strip you of your clothes and sanity layer by layer until you were nothing but a fucked-out shell of who you were at the beginning of the night, until you were begging him to stop… until you were begging him for more. 

“S-stop. You said you’d… stop.”

A low chuckle - evil and mischievous, filled with underlying ache and a deep desire to put you over his knee and show you how good girls are supposed to behave. Later. Right now, he wants to see you squirm, he wants to hear you struggle to keep that pretty little mouth shut as he makes you come on his fingers over and over, until you’re squirting and mewling and crying, until you inevitably fail and he has to watch you scramble for a lie, stumble on your words as you say to the people watching in confusion that the movie was just that emotional. 

“That’s right. So what am I supposed to do now, mm?” 

A whine - desperate and pitiful, as you grind on his drenched fingers, looking for any relief, any friction that could alleviate the emptiness in you. The chuckle was a full blown laugh now, perfectly matched to a particularly funny scene in the movie. It wasn’t weird when everybody else laughed, too, right? Neteyam couldn’t have told anyone asking what was going on on the screen if they paid him, and well, he was glad because this… this was so, so much better. 

“Keep go…argh! Keep going, fuck!”

A moan - as he enters you again, two of his large fingers stretching you like a dream, hitting spots inside of you you didn’t even know existed. All of a sudden the world, this room, they were null in your mind, and you were alone with just him, with just these feelings and the man who was making them real, with the orgasm you felt rapidly approaching and what you knew would be the beginning of a long, long night.

“There we go. My little slut, taking my fingers so well. Maybe it’s time to give this people a real show, huh… Vol?”

taglist: @pandoraslxna @sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @hadesbabygurl@linydoll @the-mourning-moon @kasai-https @dvxsja (if your tag doesn't work pls check your settings x)

[seonghwaddict]

no strings, no expectations — choi san PART FOUR OF LILO'S 600 FOLLOWER EVENT

requested by @chokchokk. "HELLO LILO BABES // first of all congratulations!!! <33 toasting on 600 followers and more to come YUH !!! so uh. about the request hehe. // friends with benefits to lovers!san (i think im a genius for this one) angstier hurt/comfort with suggestive themes! // i’ll leave the full scenario to your amazing mind!!! // hope you have fun with it xoxo" lilo’s notes. AHHH HI CHOY THANK YOU SO MUCH!! i absolutely love this request omg. also, i'm so sorry for taking so long to post this but it's finally here!!

prompts. “do whatever you want to me.” ; “are you jealous? want me all to yourself, do you?.” pairing. fwb! choi san x fem!reader

warnings. fwb !san, jealousy, suggestive themes, angst, hurt/comfort. wc. 1.3k

you and san had an unspoken agreement.

you were friends with benefits – two individuals who shared stolen moments, heated touches, and whispered confidences, all under the guise of a casual relationship. it was a pact, a bond that had no strings attached.

at least, that's what you both thought.

your connection was like a hidden flame, flickering in the shadows, igniting your desires whenever you were near. the chemistry between you was undeniable, an intoxicating cocktail of attraction and familiarity that drew you together time and time again.

one evening, you found yourselves entwined on your couch, your lips tracing the contours of his skin that no one else got to see. it was as if the world outside didn't matter, and in that moment, you were the sole occupants of a universe built on raw desire. breathless and flushed, you lay side by side, gazing at the ceiling.

your fingers traced circles on san's bare chest, your voice a low whisper. "this… what we have, it's nice."

san turned his head to look at you, his hazy eyes reflecting the dim light of the room. "yeah," he replied softly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your arm. if you paid attention, you would’ve noticed he was spelling his name over the soft flesh. "no strings, no expectations. just us."

you nodded, a small smile curving your lips. but in that instant, your phone pinged, signalling a message. you grabbed it from the coffee table and your smile faded as you read the text.

"who's that?" san asked casually, but his eyes were sharp, observant.

"just a friend," you said, but your voice held a hint of unease. "nothing important."

san's jaw clenched imperceptibly, but he chose not to press further. instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "you know you're important to me, right?"

you shivered at the touch of his lips, and for a moment, it seemed like the words held more weight than just casual comfort. but then you chuckled, a touch nervously. "yeah, i know."

after that evening, days turned into weeks, and your connection continued to burn brightly. yet, beneath the surface, an invisible shift was taking place. you had started spending more time with yeosang, a guy you'd met through mutual friends. you laughed at his jokes, your eyes lit up when he entered the room, and slowly, he became a fixture in your life.

san couldn't ignore the subtle changes. he noticed how your phone would light up with yeosang's messages, how you'd excuse yourself to take his calls, and the way your face softened when you talked about him. it was like a storm gathering on the horizon, and san felt a growing unease in the pit of his stomach.

one evening, after another intimate encounter, you lay entangled in each other's arms. it was your fingers that traced absent patterns on san's chest this time, just as they had done countless times before. but tonight, something was different. san felt a surge of frustration and insecurity building within him—and beneath all that, dread.

"y/n…" he began, his voice tense.

"yeah?" you looked up at him, your expression soft and open.

he hesitated, then blurted out, "do you ever think about… us? like, beyond this?"

you sighed and leaned up just a bit, your fingers gently brushing his cheek. "san, we agreed – no strings, no expectations. remember?"

"i know," he muttered, his jaw clenching. "but do you ever wonder if this could be more?"

your fingers stilled, and you gazed at him for a moment, searching his eyes as if trying to decipher his thoughts. but you couldn’t find anything. he felt strangely unreadable compared to all the times you were able to read him like an open book. "san, you know we were never exclusive. this was always casual."

he nodded, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "yeah, i get it."

it was hard to miss the gentle frown that overtook your face at his reply. why was he being so dry? your fingers gently nudged his chin so he was looking at you. "hey, we're still friends, okay? and i'll always be here for you. but i can't keep everything on hold because of our arrangement."

a bitter taste settled in san's mouth. "i know," he said, his voice strained.

you leaned in, your lips brushing against his. "i hope you understand."

later that night, san found himself alone in his apartment, wrestling with his emotions. he remembered your encounters, the stolen moments, the laughter, and the parts of him he had shared with you but wouldn’t dare even mention to anyone else. he had been so sure that your connection meant something more, even if you hadn't put a label on it. and now, seeing you with someone else, he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

he picked up his phone and typed out a message to you.

"come to my place?"

within minutes, your reply came.

"i’ll be there in 10."

just as you had promised, you arrive in ten minutes. the process of ringing the door bell, him opening the door, and then leading you to his bedroom was mostly silent. you could tell something was on his mind, but knew better than to pry- knowing san well enough, he’d tell you upfront what was wrong without the need of your prompting him.

"do whatever you want to me." he muttered, his voice a mixture of frustration and longing as his hands traced your waist before stopping and pulling you towards him by your hips. “i need you.”

your gaze softened, and you reached out to touch his cheek. "san, i never wanted to hurt you. you mean a lot to me."

“do you, now?” he tilted his head to the side, a darker expression crossing his eyes for a split second. it was gone before you could fully register it, but his next words made sense of how he was behaving. “i bet yeosang means a lot to you, too, huh?”

taken aback, you blink at him silently. once the words processed, you clicked your tongue, your gentle grip on his cheek hardening ever so slightly. "are you jealous? want me all to yourself, do you?"

his lips quivered, and for a moment, it seemed like he might cry. but he controlled his expression so well it might compete with the way he controlled you in bed. "maybe a little," he admitted quietly, voice strained and jaw clenched.

“if it’s about yeosang, what does that have to do with you, san?”

his reply was sharp, cutting through the silent environment like a bullet. “are you not listening? i like you, y/n. i like you and for the past months i’ve had to watch a different guy get close to you in ways i could only long for.” he paused for a moment, his breath hot on your face. “and it bothers me because even though you’re the one waking up in my sheets, i thought that i’m not the one you long for.”

unsure of what to say, you slipped your hand down from his face and pulled him into an embrace, holding him tightly as if you could anchor him to you. “i… i’m so sorry.”

"i wish things were different," he murmured.

you clung to him, your fingers gripping his shirt that you knew would find a place on the floor by the end of the night. a beat of silence passed between the two of you before you spoke. "they can be."

sometimes, the heart had a way of demanding more than casual arrangements can provide. as you held each other, loved each other, you faced the uncertainty of what lay ahead – a future that was no longer just about stolen moments, but about the possibility of something deeper, something real.

[ networks . . . ] @cromernet @blankjournal

[ perm taglist . . . ] @ad0rechuu @sankatchu

[angeart]

Ari AU - Part Five

Part five of the Popstar Grian AU (ari au <3) that I am indulging in with @xoxo-ren-xoxo. This time written by yours truly :3c Expect turbulence spread out across 3,2k words.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

CONTENT WARNINGS for this part: suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, mental health crisis, despair and desperation, seizures, medical crisis, a sprinkle of angst (a whole lakeful)

The New Normal

And yet, life goes on. They settle back into routine, trying to find some footing in this new normal. Scar is trying so hard, taking everything as it comes, needing to be ready for anything, doing his best to spin things into the positive. He needs to be the strong one here. He needs to be attentive and watchful, patient and loving.

It’s not a wretched work, if it’s for Grian. He’d do anything for her. 

(Sometimes, he dreams of waking up to the bathroom light being on, and Grian lying limp and unmoving in his arms.) (Sometimes, that dream feels so real—it’s happened again, he didn’t wake up this time, it’s too late—he wakes up in panic and cries, a mix of grieving and relief as Grian confusedly stirrs in his arms, the bathroom light off.) (The pills are hidden, in Scar’s charge, but if Scar can get to them, so can Grian. Right?) (He’s terrified.)

He desperately wants Grian to stay alive, but he wants more than that. He wants Grian to laugh. (He fell in love with the sound of that laughter, eyes squinted in the sparkly, wild, life-filled reflection of it. The unabashed happiness pooled there. Oh how it hurts his heart to think that he might never have that again— how it hurts his heart to think that Grian might never have that again—) 

He wants his words to be able to soothe and heal. He wants to kiss it better. He wants his hugs to do something. He feels so helpless. Like nothing he does makes a big enough difference.

But maybe the small things matter, too. Maybe they count. Maybe they add up.

He isn’t going to give up. Not on this. Not on Grian. He’s going to be there, stay, and do his best.

Despite everything, they manage to carve out some good things for themselves. Scar is creative, and kind, and funny. He bakes for Grian, gives her all the cookies she could ever want (which really isn’t many, because she’ll get sick if she eats too much). They spend hours just talking, laughing, cuddling. Grian even sets up a few pranks for Scar, on the best days.

But things aren’t really good. Most days, Grian can’t bring herself to get out of bed, and Scar has to fight hard to make sure she takes her medication and drinks some water, if nothing else. He hugs her through rough nights a lot, heart splintering as he listens to Grian’s choked, unending cries. 

Sometimes, Grian goes through the apartment looking for things to hurt himself with. Scar tells her to come to him when it feels like that, but most often than not, Grian’s mind is her worst enemy. It isolates him. It drives him to make bad choices, in silence.

Which is how Scar finds him once at three AM sobbing underneath the kitchen table, all the drawers open and emptied. 

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He knows better. Instead, he just crouches down and gathers Grian in his arms. He rocks them both gently, pressing a kiss to Grian’s hair. Hoping to offer some comfort. To be a lighthouse when the waves and cliffs are too deadly around them.

Grian leans on him easily, burrowing into offered arms, crying.

She asks, hoarsely, wretchedly, Where are all the knives?

Scar shushes her and rubs her back and softly murmurs that’s not something she needs.

Grian claws at Scar's chest and says he needs it, actually. Desperate and hurting. (There’s an agony howling behind his ribcage and he can’t find a way to silence it. It hurts. It hurts, why doesn’t Scar understand?)

Scar just hugs tighter. No. 

And on it goes. Scar keeps all sharp and dangerous objects locked away. Grian cries when she searches desperately and can’t find anything. The house is too secure. It’s too guarded. There’s nothing dangerous enough in their home.

But that just means that Grian has to look elsewhere.

In the middle of the night, wrangling his fear of being seen, of reporters, of getting a seizure from a camera flash. All those fears are overpowered by a much darker, urgent need. 

It doesn’t matter if she’s seen if she’s going to be gone soon, right…?

Which is why, one night, Scar wakes to the sound of the front door shutting. 

-

Attempt Three - The Lake

The apartment door has an alarm installed that beeps when it’s turned off. It’s this sound that wakes Scar up, a quiet beep beep that makes him deliriously think of the heart monitor at the hospital. He’s disoriented for a minute, processing that sound plunging into silence, and he has a horrible thought that it was all a dream and Grian actually never made it out of the hospital.

But then he blinks and his brain catches up. Grian made it home. He was home, but he’s not in bed. And that sound? That was their front door.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

He blindly grabs at his phone and runs downstairs. He yells for Grian in case he’s wrong and Grian is still at home. He calls him. It rings in their bedroom.

The pit in his stomach deepens and he quickly puts on his shoes and rushes outside, eyes wide and heartbeat panicky-fast as he looks around. The street is quiet, dark, deserted. Devoid of even the seemingly ever-present reporters. (A fact that strikes him as eerie and worrisome, where otherwise it’d call for relief.)

With shaky hands, he manages to dial a number. He calls the crew. Breathless and lightheaded, he says—not very coherently—that Grian is gone.

“What do you mean, gone???”

Scar’s legs are about ready to buckle under him. He starts walking in one direction, then spins in the other. He’s shaking horribly. He can’t think. He’s babbling into the phone, ignoring Impulse entirely as he tells him to slow down and take a breath. That feels trivial. He doesn’t have time for slowing down. He needs to find Grian, now.

His head is spinning, running into dead ends. He needs help, so he asks the crew, desperately, if they have any idea where Grian would have gone. (“Listen, if you were gonna off yourself, where would you go?”) 

They don’t know the neighbourhood too well, since they don’t live there, but with mounting unease, they try to suggest general enough places, seeing if one will stick. (Hoping that none of the easy options are actually within walkable distance.) Is there any tall broadcast tower or something? Is there a highway near your guys? Any bridges? Train tracks? Uh, a lake?

Scar almost trips. A lake.

His phone almost falls out of his grasp as he breaks into a sprint.

Thankfully, unlike him, Grian wasn’t sprinting like a madman. And yet it still feels like Scar is almost too late, when he arrives within sight of the lake only to see Grian waist-deep in. His brain short-circuits, relieved to have found her, relieved that Grian is still okay (for now, for now) (for how long?), while still running on absolute mayhem of a thought-robbing panic. 

Scar rushes in, of course. Yelling Grian’s name for anyone to hear. There’s a big splash as he runs into the water, followed by his absolutely desperate begging.

Stop. Please stop. Don’t. Please, Grian, no.

But as he approaches, Grian takes a fearful step back. Deeper in. Further out of Scar’s reach.

Scar startles and stops. They’re both in the cold water now. Grian’s staring at him with wide eyes, both their breathing erratic.

She didn’t expect Scar to go after her. Didn’t think Scar’d wake up. (A mistake. She should know better.) Honestly, Grian isn’t really thinking straight at all. Something in him is splintering as he stares at Scar, who looks so heartbroken and terrified.

Scar continues pleading. He isn't even sure what exactly he's saying; he just has to keep going until something sticks. His voice trembles. He talks softly, even though his words come out in jumbled heaps. He begs. He bargains. 

He takes a tiny step forward.

Grian takes a wide, alarmed step back. Flails. Stumbles. Barely keeps himself upright.

He’s so close, so close to what he intended to do. The water is right here, beckoning Grian to go under. To let the surface close over her and take everything away.

But he doesn’t want Scar to dive after him. He’s irrationally terrified of Scar stopping him now.

She asks Scar to go home.

Scar looks at him as if he was insane. No way he’s doing that.

And then his phone rings, the crew checking in. Grian startles, flinching, everything about her threatening to take several more steps back in an instant. Scar frowns and swipes at his phone to silence it before holding his hands out placatingly.

He says it’s okay. It’s just the two of them. It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay.

(Nothing is okay.)

Despairingly, Scar tries to dredge up a memory. Something nice. He closes his eyes for a second, swaying from dizziness. He thinks of dim lights. Of a melody. Of better times, back when Grian laughed like she meant it.

Gingerly, he reaches a trembling hand out to Grian. His eyes are teary when he opens them again, his voice shaking as he asks for a dance.

Grian’s heart hurts. A dance?

Scar nods. Mhm! He gives a smile, as best as he can. He says it’s a nice night for a dance.

And Grian finds that he— He wants to. He wants to give in. He wants—

He wants to live.

He wants to be spontaneous and he wants Scar’s arms around him and he wants—

She doesn’t know. It still feels like she should take a step back and let the lake take him.

The spontaneity has been so thoroughly stifled in Grian’s life, by the media and the constant pressure for perfection. She doesn’t remember how it felt, without these shackles and restraints. Without all this suffocating weight on top of her.

But as she looks up from Scar’s hand, he sees that here are tears in Scar’s eyes, and he’s smiling so softly, and his hand is reaching out, and— Grian used to love dancing with him. They used to be silly. They laughed a lot. It always felt nice, Scar’s arms securely around her.

She can feel her heart breaking in her chest.

She wants to have that again.

Quietly, Grian makes a tentative step towards Scar. 

Instantly, all of Scar flares up with the instinct to go forwards, to meet her halfway, but Grian still looks so wound-up, like he’d run off. So Scar stays still. Lets Grian come to him. He’s trying to soften it, desperately attempting to make it easier, more enticing than whatever else that’s got Grian in its grasp—he says gentle things and hums melodies, splashes a bit of water around, laughing under his breath (a bit unsteadily) about how he’s never danced in a lake, doesn’t it sound like fun?

And Grian smiles a little bit. Yeah. Yeah, it does sound fun. (Even though her concept of fun is crumbling, understanding of it slinking out of reach, despite all of Scar’s efforts to paint the whole picture. Grian feels like he’s wearing a blindfold.) It— It sounds ridiculous, actually. But in a good way. In a Scar-way. (Grian loves the Scar brand of ridiculous.)

Grian gets to Scar, and Scar tries to grab him without being too desperate about it. Gentle. Fond. A dance hold. He presses a kiss to Grian’s hair, murmurs a quiet “Shall we?” and leads them in soft sways, right there, waist-deep in the water. [ART]

And maybe he starts singing something stupid.

And maybe Grian’s caught off guard enough to actually laugh. (The sound still carries tears and hoarseness in it, but it is a laugh.)

-

All Fragile Things Come To Ruins

And yet they can’t keep this moment for themselves. Just like anything else, Grian isn’t destined to be allowed to keep things. To be allowed to to crumble and be put back together in any semblance of privacy. Even when she’s made of cracked glass, ready to shatter, he’ll never stop being hounded. Every moment of weakness or vulnerable tenderness exploited and taken away. 

There’s a flash, from a different part of the shore. Followed by another one.

They could’ve just ignored it, for the moment, if it wasn’t for Grian’s condition. A flash of light in the dark is suddenly much more dangerous than it ought to be. It’s a physical weapon, carving at Grian, instead of just tearing away at his mental state.

Scar feels Grian freeze up in his arms. He hears in his breathing that something’s wrong. She’s seizing and Scar has to act fast.

He tries to remember the things written in the booklet he read. Grian is twitching against him. The water splashes at their sides. 

Okay. Okay, stay calm, Scar.

One. Loosen any clothes around the neck. Great, Grian’s wearing a button-up pyjama top, so that’s easy. Or, should be. Scar still fumbles a little with shaky hands, trying to keep hold on Grian—who’s putting his whole weight on Scar—and fighting with the buttons. But he manages to get it done, relatively quickly. There. No constricted breathing.

Two. Record when the seizure starts and stops. 

This is when Scar’s mind starts properly spiralling. What is he meant to do if his phone is wet? He doesn’t wear a watch, and— Wait, are they meant to get out of the water? Is it considered dangerous?

Scar’s vision blurs, but he does his best to take a breath. He needs to get them through this. Hold grian steady. Above water. It’s okay. It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay.

Another flash.

Scar buries Grian in his arms, trying to shield her from the light without moving him too much. He wants to yell at whoever is doing it—but knows it would achieve nothing. He wants to fight them. He’s scared and angry and Grian’s life is in his hands, in a wholly different way than just minutes ago, but no less terrifying.

Three. After he’s stopped spasming, move him into a recovery position. That means getting to solid ground and getting safely on the floor. Gently. That’s a whole other issue.

Grian’s only held up by Scar right now, literally the only thing keeping him afloat. It’s okay. It’ll be okay, Scar says, as much to Grian as to himself. He does his best to keep his voice steady, because he knows you’re meant to speak calmly. He only needs to call an ambulance if this goes on for more than 5 minutes. 

Scar has no idea how much time has passed.

Once Grian stops convulsing, Scar basically carries him out of the water. He’s really not meant to move her so much, but there’s no other way to get Grian into a recovery position. He improvises, heart terrified, hoping what he’s doing is right.

He carefully—so very carefully—puts Grian on the ground, on his side, as much in a recovery position as Scar can remember. 

And then he waits. 

And waits.

Time passes, and Scar has no idea if it’s been five minutes yet. Anxiously, he tries to breathe steadily and count seconds, even though it no longer matters without any starting point.

When it’s been more than one minute since he started—just when he’s contemplating calling an ambulance—Grian gasps loudly. His breathing is laborious and heavy, panting, but he’s back. He’s awake. It’s gonna be okay.

Scar doesn’t touch him straight away, just in case, but he uses his body as a shield to block any more potential camera flashes. He speaks calmly to her—or as calm as he can manage—and asks if she’s okay.

Grian nods, a little out of it still. He’s shaking like a leaf. That was scary. Scarier than the first time, when he passed out. Or maybe this was just worse because he remembers it. Or maybe because it happened in a lake. There wasn’t any ground to hit, any breath to take, if things went wrong. She was completely reliant on Scar.

And Scar didn’t let her down. He kept him safe. 

That doesn’t make it not frightening. But Scar is still here. Still protective. Still determined. Still unwilling to give up or let go.

Through the fuzz, Grian deliriously thinks that the moment before it all went down was actually good. It— It was nice. 

Of course it would be ruined by a camera.

Of course it would be.

Grian isn’t allowed to have anything of his own anymore. Not his breakdowns, not his romantic moments, not joy, not tears, not medical emergencies.

Nothing is his.

He curls up on the ground, presses his forehead into the grass and sobs.

He wants that moment again.

He wants it back. He wants it not to be stolen. He wants it to be his—

He wants to be allowed to keep something.

He can’t. He can’t.

The lake is right there, taunting him.

Scar’s fingers are so gentle when they brush her hair, his voice filled with affection and concerns as he checks up on her. 

It all feels like emerging from water to take gulps of air (they burn in her chest, but they feel so good), only to be yanked back down below, sharply and without warning, lungs flooding with saltwater—

He’s drowning again and he’s tired of drowning.

He sobs, pleading for it all to just stop. To have an out. An exit. To be allowed to end it.

Scar shushes him softly, kissing his hair. Voice reassuring, if raw. 

It’s this moment that really convinces Scar that he has to say something, publicly, even if it might not make a difference. Because this is destroying Grian—it has destroyed Grian—and Scar can’t just watch it happen. He thinks about this while comforting Grian, fully aware that Grian won’t want him to say anything. But it’s going to happen. It has to happen.

But they still need to get through this moment first. They need to get back home, together, both of them, safe and alive.

They’re both cold. Wet and shivering. 

Scar waits a while longer, not rushing anything, but then he suggests they should go home when Grian feels alright to stand.

Grian doesn’t know if she’ll ever feel alright to do anything.

She feels devoid of energy. Sad and hollow and. Isn't it all pointless? She can stay here curled up and shivering. It doesn't matter.

Scar just really, really wants Grian to go home with him.

Grian’s heart is too hurt and tired to refuse. He gives in easily to Scar’s guidance (having someone safe make the decisions for her), surrenders to his arms (is it trust, or is it just a hollow lack of caring of what happens next?).

With so much care, Scar lifts Grian up.

He carries him home. Leaving behind wet footsteps. Murmuring comforting nonsense the whole way, despite his own sky-high anxiety. (There are more flashes.) (Grian’s face is pressed into Scar’s chest. She’s shivering in his arms.) Scar’s hold on Grian is gentle yet tight, a firm grasp; something in him is scared that if he lets go even a little bit, Grian will slip from his reach.

But Grian doesn’t want to go anywhere. He doesn’t want to go away. He wants to stay right here, curled in Scar’s hold. Cherished. Protected. Loved.

Cold, worn, devastated, and scared, but still so very much in love, they go home.

[esta-elavaris]

Part Thirteen [4,751 words] ~ James Norrington/OC

An AU of my completed, 400k+ word fanfic Catch the Wind [AO3], in which Elizabeth, not James, is the one to discover Theodora Byrne after she crash-lands into the world of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Page breaks by cafekitsune.

Also now on AO3 and FF.net.

Masterpost - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - *Part Thirteen* [you're here!]

Tag list [let me know if you want to be added!]: @teawithshakespeare @missfronkensteen @dancerinthestorm

A/N: At this point, my approach to this fic is “what if POTC was an Austen novel?” and we just need to live with the consequences xoxo

“Is this not a bit much?” Theo asked doubtfully, scrutinising her reflection.

“My dearest darling Theodora, that is the point,” Elizabeth replied simply.

Both of them had already been dressed by the maids, and now they were resorting to a bit of primping as they waited for the appropriate time to head downstairs.

“I’m not opposed to a bit of glam, but this is…you’ve got me looking like Marie Antoinette.”

“Who?”

Whoops. At least making slips like that with Elizabeth wasn’t quite as disastrous as it might’ve been with anybody else.

“An extravagant French queen.”

“The goal was more fierce ancient warrior goddess attends a ball in her free time.”

“You need your head examined.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“I expect you’re rather more affectionate towards our dear captain, to have captivated him so.”

“Ugh.”

“Then again, perhaps it’s the muttered fieriness that has captured his heart so.”

“Ugh.”

“I heard that the first time.”

“And you’ll hear it again, at this rate.”

“Too right, save your charm for its most fervent applicant.”

Theo then unleashed a third, hearty ugh at her friend – but Elizabeth anticipated it and uttered a matching one in unison at the exact same time, and both of them dissolved into very immature laughter. It was much too difficult to get too annoyed at her friend. Mostly because she seemed to delight in it.

Their looks were not quite matching, but certainly themed alongside one another, and it had all started when Theo gave Elizabeth her gift.

Having never been one for big heartfelt emotional gestures, she felt like her insides were eating themselves as she sat with Elizabeth in the drawing room after dinner. It wasn’t like she never did anything nice for people, she wasn’t a feral animal, but…well. The Irish had a way of doing these things. Usually by offering forth whatever the warm gesture was, along with a (loving) insult and a refusal to make a big deal about it after the fact. That, she suspected, wasn’t the way of things here. And to be honest, she didn’t even consider that fact a bad thing – she certainly wouldn’t judge Elizabeth for being warm and sincere, but she just had little idea of how to respond to it. Maybe it wasn’t even just an Irish thing, maybe it was a product of being raised by a guy, amongst guys.

Combined with the time period disparity, she was left with hopelessly little idea of how to be a woman in the expected manner in these parts. Usually, Elizabeth found that equal parts amusing and charming, likely because Theo didn’t eschew traditionally “girly” stuff. She wasn’t about to stamp her feet at the sight of anything pink and frilly. But the fact remained, that she didn’t want this to be amusing or awkward, or whatever else it was she managed to be here. The last thing she wanted was to put a dampener on this.

So, resisting the strong urge to simply chuck necklace into Elizabeth’s lap and call it a day, she cleared her throat and straightened, taking a sip of her wine in an attempt to appear casual.

“So…I have a present for you,” she began.

Elizabeth’s dark eyes lit up with curiosity and excitement both, one eyebrow arching a little. That was fair. Not because Theo was the ungenerous sort, but because she didn’t exactly have a whole lot to be generous with around here, other than her time. And she had that in spades, which made it lose its lustre a bit.

“I know how much you like my necklace,” she said, reaching up to tug at it where it sat between her collarbones, “and I was half-tempted to just give you it, because it’s the only thing I really can offer, with the way things are right here. Y’know, other than my dazzling personality.”

Huffing a laugh at her remark, Elizabeth’s brow furrowed as she shook her head.

“Theo, I could never accept such a gift-”

“Which was why I didn’t try,” she nodded, “Bit of a crap gift if it just makes you feel bad. But…well. I worked my wiles, and I got a bit of advice, and then I found just the right craftsman for the job.”

Something glimmered in her eyes, and Theo knew then that she’d caught the hint of who exactly had been involved in the making of the necklace.

Presenting the pouch, she pinched the drawstrings between her thumb and forefinger, and then offered it to Elizabeth. Finally, she did a passable job at not appearing as awkward as she felt while she watched her open it, tipping the contents out into her palm. That awkwardness disappeared the moment Elizabeth grinned, and was forgotten entirely when she dragged her into a hug that was more tight than she would’ve thought the younger woman capable of.

If there’d been any small doubt in her mind that she was only pretending to like the necklace – which had been a real fear, given the many fine jewels that she had in her jewellery boxes upstairs – it would’ve been erased by Elizabeth’s sunny disposition in the following days. In fact, whenever they encountered others, servants or friends both, she began each conversation with ‘have you seen what Theodora has given me?’ while Theo flushed under the sheer weight of her enthusiasm.

Yes, she’d done well. She’d have to thank Norrington. Although she suspected he’d have the same dislike for accepting profuse thanks that she did, but that might double the fun. Still, Elizabeth had decided that the necklace should be the focal point of her get-up for the men’s going-away dinner, so no doubt he’d see that, and the hand he’d had in it, as thanks enough – at least once he saw her enthusiasm for it.

“I have to wear silver to accentuate my lovely new necklace, so it only makes sense that you wear gold.”

“My necklace also silver, so shouldn’t we both be wearing that colour?”

“Heavens, no. There’s a fine line that separates what we’re doing, and being a couple of strange old spinsters who wear identical garb and speak in tongues.”

“I already do the latter, depending on who you ask.”

“All the more reason not to partake in the former,” Elizabeth teased. “In any case, that is why you shall borrow one of my necklaces tonight.”

She might’ve disliked being dressed up like a doll, were Elizabeth’s tastes not so damn good. That was the thing with Elizabeth, she never tried to dress her up like her. Everything she flung at her managed to have Theo’s own feel to it, and the garments that did not were artfully styled so that they would once the look was complete. And how many modern women ever had a chance like this? It was like being on a period drama set, without the ordeal of having to learn lines. Fibs about her origins aside…and more concerns over potential lead poisoning. But Elizabeth wasn’t one for powdered faces, however much she was determined to induce a powdered wig fetish in Theo.

Her hair had been wrestled into a voluminous updo, with swooping curls defying gravity pinned up at the back, and one lone crimson ringlet left to fall at her collarbone, ending a good few inches above where the neckline of the gown began.

The necklines here took a bit of getting used to. The way the gowns shoved whatever a woman had in the chest department entirely up, and making even one like herself who was rather un-blessed in the chest suddenly appear busty. Sure, she hadn’t been averse to showing off her figure back home, but it turned out she’d thought the Georgians distinctly less free with that kind of thing than they actually were. For a time that she’d gone into thinking of as very buttoned up, she’d quickly realised how wrong she was when Elizabeth had giggled at her (albeit kindly) for asking if putting so much chest on display wasn’t a bit scandalous.  

It turned out she’d arrived a bit early, if she expected people to faint over the notion of a woman having breasts.

And anyway, the gown was gorgeous. Gleaming gold damask that caught the light of any and every candle in the room, making it appear almost liquid rather than just mere fabric. The sleeves ended with ruffles at her elbows, and there was a minimal amount of bows and frills and lace, so there was no worry that she’d feel like she’d be better suited atop a wedding cake than sitting having drinks with her new friends, and…uh…”friends”.

The sad fact of this impending departure that it was taking half of her allies with it, and Elizabeth had proven the only woman around here who was inclined to take a shine to her. Unless they could start dragging the maids along with them to afternoon tea.

Elizabeth’s gown was similar to hers, although not quite an exact replica. It had more of a floral motif, in shades of silver and dotted here and there with pearls. She looked like some sort of wintry queen when all was said and done – although the coldness of the look ended the moment she smiled. As breathtaking as she was, it was a wonder the other women didn’t hate her and not just Theodora. But in their minds, any positive attributes Elizabeth held were likely just expected. They were correct.

In truth, Theo didn’t envy her. When she met expectations, she’d receive little recognition for it. When Theo showed any fine qualities, it was a pleasant surprise to those inclined to like her, and infuriating for those who did not. The former was nice enough, the latter was funny.

Which made Amelia’s impression of a bulldog chewing a wasp while Elizabeth delighted over her gift during the gathering downright hysterical.

Theo couldn’t tell if the brunette knew she could hear her or not. She stood some ways away, speaking in a little circle with Norrington, Lieutenant Groves, and a handful of other ladies, while Theo mingled with those who had not chosen to snub her. That number was growing, she noted, but there was still something about their smiles that disconcerted her. A tenseness, and an analytical look hidden in their eyes, like they were turning over and over every word she spoke to find some hidden meaning.

She wished them luck with it – for while she had her secrets, there’d be no guessing them for any folk here. It was amidst one of Mrs Spencer’s speeches, during which she listed every fish known to man and whether she liked it or not, and which was the best cooking method if she did, that she caught wind of Amelia’s snide comments, floating airily across the room.

“I confess, she could personally hand me the Crown Jewels and it still would give me no notion of what she’s attempting to say when she speaks, more often than not. It seems a strange consolation prize for Miss Swann.”

Theo stifled an eyeroll, for fear that Mrs Spencer would think she was levelling it at her.

“I find Miss Byrne’s manner of speaking charming. It’s clever,” Groves said, visibly uncaring that Amelia very much did not want to hear that.

“In its own way, no doubt,” she replied boredly.

“No, in the true sense of the term.”

A break in Mrs Spencer’s list (during which she debated whether she preferred crab or lobster) allowed Theo to chime in. Mostly because she couldn’t help herself.

“I’m very beautiful, too – talk about that next,” Theo called over, leaving no doubt as to the fact that she’d heard every word.

Groves grinned and then laughed, “What was it you said the other day? About an old colleague of your father’s – a lanky fellow? Built like a…”

“Built like the side of a bank note.”

“Yes! That’s the one. I confess, I’ve been laughing at that ever since you said it.”

Beside him, Norrington’s lips thinned, and he gazed down into his wine glass as if in disapproval.

Was Groves being inappropriate, or did he just disagree with his opinion? Considering she couldn’t much imagine the former, that only left the latter. Didn’t it?

“Well, to your discerning ear, Lieutenant,” she offered a smile and raised her glass.

Groves mirrored the gesture, and even Mrs Spencer gave a trickling laugh and sipped from her own, but Amelia scoffed. And Norrington? Norrington took a long drink from his own glass that seemed to have little to do with the toast. All while not looking at her.

At some point as the night wore on, Theo excused herself to seek the night air. It was a cloudy night, which kept the stifling heat of the day trapped down upon them, and with all of the bodies and the revelry inside, it soon grew stifling. The saving grace – out here, at least – was that it had begun to drizzle. It was refreshing, even if it would work a few questionable waves into her carefully primped hair.

That didn’t bother her, though. Everybody here was even drunker than she was, and those who gave a toss about what her hair looked like were those who already searched for reasons to dislike her. They could crack on. Walking quietly over to a stone bench in the middle of the patio, she sank down upon it and breathed deeply. She’d need to sober up a little before going back in. All right, she wasn’t exactly shit-faced – there’d be no risk of her climbing up onto a table and belting out ABBA’s greatest hits – but she didn’t like to be much beyond mildly tipsy around this lot.

Most of this lot.

It wouldn’t do to grow too comfortable, but she was at least pleased to find that the list of those she didn’t feel like she had to be permanently on her complete and total guard around had grown more than she ever could’ve hoped. Elizabeth had been the first to occupy it. Then Governor Swann, even if she was never destined to be the best of friends with him. Then Groves, and now – most surprisingly, and in the biggest U-turn of all – Captain Norrington.

“I see we both had the same idea.”

Norrington’s voice was distinct and instantly recognisable from where it sounded behind her. Maybe she’s summoned him with her thoughts.

“Would I be imposing if I joined you?” he hedged.

“Not at all,” she offered a smile, “but I haven’t got any books on me for us to discuss, so we’ll need to find another way to play nice.”

He offered a low huff of a laugh. “I’m optimistic about our changes.”

To her relief, his earlier questionable mood seemed a thing of the past. As he spoke, she scooted along to the left side of the bench and he took a seat to her right, uncaring for the raindrops that had gathered atop it.

“Mm. We’re the capable sort, I think,” she replied. “Speaking of, I’d ask you if you’re prepared for tomorrow, but I’m worried you’d take it as an insult.”

“Once, from you, perhaps. But no longer.”

Was she mistaken, or was humour creeping into his tone? He continued before she could dwell on it – and this time, he was definitely teasing her.

“I am well prepared, or else I should not be here. Shall you miss me?” he asked drily.

“Mm. If, on a scale from one to ten, one is being delighted to see the back of you and hoping you never return-”

“I rather regret asking now.”

“Let me finish - and if ten is I won’t eat or sleep ‘til he’s back, I’d give you…a solid…seven.”

“Seven?” he seemed surprised.

“And a half. Maybe even an eight, in your warm and fuzzy moments.”

“I’m not sure I have any warm and fuzzy moments.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re not half as scary as you’d have people think.”

“Scary?” he echoed with a snort. “Did you find me so fearsome when we first met?”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“No. Truly.”

When she realised how sincere his question was, she gave it the thought it deserved before answering.

“Okay, scary was the wrong word. Not just because I don’t frighten that easily.”

He chuckled quietly, “I can believe that.”

“But…intimidating, maybe that’s the word. That’s your job, though, isn’t it?”

“And we did not have the most harmonious of introductions.”

“Memorable, though.”

That earned her another laugh.

“Certainly memorable, yes,” he hesitated then for a moment and then finally asked. “I must ask – do I intimidate you now, still?”

“No,” she admitted. “If I’m being honest, and I’m only being honest because of the Governor’s very good, very strong, wine…I’ve never been so happy to be so wrong about a first impression.”

Before they could linger too long on something that was just a touch too close to sincerity – and before she could overthink the way his entire face seemed to soften in response to her words – she pressed on.

“What about you? Do you still think I’m the mad malevolent influence I appeared to be in the beginning?”

“Mad, perhaps,” he teased drily. “But not malevolent.”

“However…?” she sensed the continuation in his tone.

“However,” he conceded, “I do think there is much you are not telling me.”

“Well. Have to save something for my biography.”

He didn’t appear to find that as amusing as she’d hoped.

“Look…anything I’m not telling you…it can’t harm anybody here. Truly. If it would, I’d leave.”

“I believe that. Once I may not have, but I do now.”

“Good.”

“Could it harm you?”

Theo didn’t respond.

“Miss Byrne- Theodora. You can tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters a great deal!”

“I don’t understand how we got here,” she fretted with a tired laugh, “we were just joking on.”

“We were just about to discuss something frankly, for perhaps the first time.”

“For the first time? What are you talking about, we speak all the time. Are you…are you saying you think I’m usually lying?”

“No, I do not, but we have never gotten anywhere before now.”

The words hit some alarming note deep within her.

“Gotten anywhere? What do you mean gotten anywhere? I don’t…”

Theo trailed off. Because she’d been about to say that she didn’t understand, but as her mind worked through the fog of the alcohol, the heat, and the panic, she suddenly found herself understanding all too well.

Whether her dawning realisation showed on her face, or Norrington could simply guess the natural route her thoughts were taking, she didn’t know – but he quickly tried to intercede.

“Theodora, I did not mean-”

“Have you…” the prospect seemed too ridiculous to be true – to voice – and it had her feeling sick to her stomach, but it was all that made sense, and the panic in his widening eyes only seemed to confirm it.

Because James Norrington did not panic.

“Have you only been speaking to me to try to get somewhere?” she asked. “The books, the lunches, the long conversations…has it…has it all been to get me to lower my guard? Have you just been biding your time, the whole time, hoping I might slip up? And…and what? Admit that I’m secretly a pirate? That I’m here to rob everybody and run?”

“Of course not,” he insisted intently, eyes boring into hers as though force of eye contact alone could force her to believe him. “I said I believe you mean no harm, and I spoke truly. I have come to believe that.”

Theo did not respond. Because there was more he wasn’t saying.

“I…I merely hoped that if you came to trust me, that you might…be willing to reveal whatever it is you have not.”

She felt sick. Physically sick. Or like she’d been punched in the chest. Both at once, really. This whole time. This whole time. Every conversation, every book, every lunch, every joke, every smile…it had never been because he’d just wanted to spend time with her, or even wanted to make things right. He’d been playing the long game.

And sure, she hadn’t thought the sudden U-turn had been a miraculous change in his opinion of her. She thought it had started off as a desire to keep Elizabeth happy by being amicable with her friend, but…but that it had morphed into…

God, she was an idiot. Exactly what she thought it had morphed into, or was morphing into, hadn’t been clear to her until now, upon being shown how wrong she was. Christ, she’d watched three very long movies of the guy mooning over Elizabeth, and she’d really thought that a couple of jokes and a fucking sandwich from her would change that? Even a little bit?

How many of their conversations had he endured rather that enjoyed? Listening to her prattle on the same way she listened to Mrs Spencer, waiting either for her to slip up, or shut up, only presence out of duty? Out of protectiveness towards the Swanns?

How stupid could she get?

Several half-baked words of parting flitted through her mind. Some of them were even vaguely clever. But she had neither the heart nor voice to actually say any of them. So instead, she rose to her feet – though she could hardly feel them beneath her.

“Theodora,” he faltered and tried to reach for her hand, but she yanked it back and took her leave.

Amelia was at the piano when she moved inside. That was good. Not just because she was a fantastic player – which she was – but because Theo knew by now that the night would soon draw to a close. A few more would play, the drinks would be finished, and the guests would trickle out.

While there was nothing she wanted to do more than race upstairs, get into her nightgown and hide from the world beneath the covers, she refused to do that. Not just out of pride, but because she felt numb, bereft, and mortified, all in one. And that was paralysing.

The song drew to a close as she walked in and moved to stand at the side of the room, but Amelia’s dark eyes found her the moment she was finished playing.

“Miss Byrne! You next!”

Norrington returned to the room as she spoke, but Theo didn’t look at him.

“I can’t play,” she said.

“Oh, but you must be able to play something. Anything! We aren’t snobs here,” no, just vipers, “we’ll admire a good effort if nothing else.”

“I agree,” Norrington intoned.

If Amelia looked delighted at that, Theo felt the exact opposite – and she saw her own horror reflected in Elizabeth’s reaction, from where she sat by her father.

“I will take a tu-” the blonde’s attempt to rescue her was interceded by her father.

The Governor, deep in his cups by the flush on his face, chuckled and interrupted Elizabeth.

“Come now, Elizabeth, you’ve already played twice. Give Miss Byrne her chance to shine – I’m sure you know something worthwhile, my girl, and none of us here are renowned composers. It is for novelty only, I assure you! You are among friends.”

He wouldn’t have insisted, had Norrington not encouraged Amelia’s spite.

And she couldn’t refuse, could she? Not now that the man who was housing her had bid it. He’d meant no harm, he had no way of knowing about the wound he was in the process of packing salt into, but Theo felt her nausea increase tenfold.

The drizzle outside had set into her hair and set it askew, and what remained of the damp on her skin and dress both quickly warmed in the head of the room until she felt like she was stepping into a sauna. It was suffocating, and only added to her discomfort.

Walking numbly to the piano felt like being trapped in a nightmare – the sort where you turned up to an exam you hadn’t studied for. Naked. She knew some things. Mostly from pissing about on friends’ keyboards, or from music classes in high school – a decade ago. Nothing compared to what people here knew. And nothing well. Chopsticks, the first two seconds of Für Elise, and the song from the sodding Titanic movie.

The final option was the one she knew the most, but that only spoke for how little she knew the others.

Sitting down at the piano, she didn’t meet Elizabeth’s gaze – because she knew the sympathy she’d see there would crack whatever composure she’d plastered on as she left the gardens. It took a bit of plodding to find the first note she was looking for (the ones in her old music classroom had the keys labelled with stickers and/or sharpie, but there was no such help here), and even that drew a muffled snicker from somewhere behind her.

The rest was no better. Halting and awkward, as she hit wrong notes and either had to muddle through it, or pause and find the right key. At first, she thought nothing could be worse than the silence behind her – because she’d never heard such a large crowd be so, so silent. But then another snicker followed. As well as a few coughs, whether from second-hand embarrassment or as an attempt to disguise yet more laughter.

And she didn’t take herself seriously. Anybody who met her knew that. Back home, this wouldn’t be embarrassing at all. Among friends. How many times had she sat in a friend’s bedroom, a joint between her lips as she muddled through Paint It Black, laughing at her own mistakes and leaning into it before handing the instrument to someone who actually knew what they were doing? But she was not among friends here. The conversation she’d just had proved that to her.

It was all she could think of, and it had her wanting to crawl out of her skin.

She ended after the first verse, utterly unable to bear trying to go on (ironic, considering the song choice), and the Governor began to clap. To give him credit, he wasn’t even being an ass.

“A valiant effort, Miss Byrne! A valiant effort!”

A few murmurs joined in, Groves insisting he should go next – no doubt a kind-hearted attempt to make whatever she’d just tried to play look good in comparison. Theo brushed by him, and then took her leave of the room entirely. That meant going by Norrington, but the night couldn’t get any worse anyway. And if she didn’t leave soon, she’d cry in front of everybody. She refused to do that.

She made it as far as the stairs before he caught up to her.

“Theo- Miss Byrne, I did not mean to-”

Whirling, she found he did indeed look horrified. Apparently his victory had not tasted as sweet as he’d thought. Something about that only made it worse.

“Do you realise, Captain, that every time you’re kind to me, it only lasts so long as it takes my guard to drop, and then you’re cruel again? Then you embarrass me, again?” her voice came perilously close to breaking and she took a moment, inhaled deeply and fixed her eyes at some point above his head rather than at him. “So, at what point do I become the idiot for falling for it?”

“I did not-”

“Just leave me alone. That’s all I ask. Leave me be. You’ll be rid of me soon enough.”

She turned and began to ascend the stairs before he could reply, but he – thankfully – made no move to call after her.

James watched Theodora ascend the stairs in the Governor’s mansion feeling positively nauseous with regret. Not only at what had transpired in the gardens, but at how gloriously his half-baked in-the-moment plan had backfired thereafter.

She was out of sight by the time he was aware of Groves’ approach, his lieutenant moving silently to stand by him.

“May I ask you a question from one man to another, and not as a Lieutenant to his superior?” he asked quietly.

“Fine,” James replied flatly.

“…What was your thought process behind that? Back there in the sitting room?”

The question cut more deeply than any admonishment might’ve.  

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO - Night Watch

In conclusion, your honor, they both are terrible.

tw: discussions on police, policing, militia and the aftermath of war.

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"Your entire institution is predicated on prejudice. On a system of checks and balances that is, frankly, broken. And if I may so say, utterly..." He lets the word roll off his tongue like a profanity. "Piltovan."

Her eyelids flicker. "I beg your pardon."

"I am not speaking ill, Councilor. Merely stating facts. You can't wave a wand and restructure a system built on grinding one-quarter of its population into the dirt."

"We are attempting to rectify—"

"You are merely patching a leaky roof. The rest of the house remains dilapidated." He gestures toward the Skylight Commercia: a dome of glass, the emerald sky a luminous curvature overhead. "Worse, it's built on burial grounds. A tomb of Zaunite bones."

Medarda considers him from beneath veiled lashes. "You paint a bleak picture."

"Zaun was forged on fatalism." Silco's tone is wry. "We know how to make do."

"With blackguards?"

"That's a false equivalency."

"Is it? I've heard they can be quite... ruthless."

Silco smiles, a cold sliver of teeth that says, Ah ah ah.

"Blackguards and Enforcers have nothing in common. Yours are centralized, and the officers have scant contact with the public. They hide behind masks. Their salaries are too high; their privileges too many. They don't answer to those they protect. They answer only to the Council. Small wonder they've piss-poor local knowledge." Crooking a finger, he traces the Enforcers' rigid formation: two ranks, four soldiers per line. "Look at yours. They have no idea how to interact with Zaun's populace. They see a child, and they move her by force. They see a lone woman, and they harass her. They see a pair of punks, and they think, Here’s a meat-shield." 

He gestures at his blackguards, an idle fan of fingers that runs parallel to the splayed smoothness of their trajectory. "Mine know how to keep a low profile. How to read a situation. How to deal with a problem without creating ten more. That's because they belong to the very neighborhoods they patrol. They know the city's rhythms intimately, and the informality fosters trust among Zaunites. They're also disseminated by zone, and answerable to the underbosses, who in turn report to the head of War and Treasury. It means no single authority has a stranglehold on their loyalty. Their stake is the city." 

"How... democratic."

"Democracy is a pipe dream. Hierarchies will always exist, no matter the system. It's Topside’s leftovers that I would have replaced."

"With a wartime militia?"

"Don't feign naïve. The post-conflict period is always the most volatile. A highly mobile security force that isn't stymied by long chains of command is necessary to deal with the chaos. Else foreign infiltration will take hold, and freedom fall to the wayside." His tone downshifts from censure to caveat. "I trust you don't need reminding." 

Medarda's features flicker with a muted challenge: I hear the hypocrisy and will raise you double. 

"I do not," she says. "But independent militia can easily become tools of extensive repression."

"If you fear the rise of a fascist regime," Silco says, "that is because you lack a basic understanding of how the Fissures work. Zaun isn't a grid of building blocks. It is a patchwork quilt. One piece is not interchangeable with the next. The districts each have different social, spatial and economic profiles. The locals have strong ties with their neighbors. And a fierce antagonism to top-down authority. Here, everyone is connected. An information network that spans every inch of the city. You can't subdue it with violence. We'd rise up again. If a monolith arose in our midst, we'd tear it down. We're fond of monsters. But we’ve no use for kings." Rueful, he shakes his head. "I'd be a fool to crown myself one."

Medarda stares at him. It's as if, out of a morass of misconstrual and treachery, she's glimpsing the first silhouette of truth. Her eyes, green and gold, show glimpses of a woman—a girl?—who is struggling to surface.

"So what is the end-game?" she asks.

"Mine—or Zaun's?"

"Both." She backtracks, clarifying. "What is your plan for the blackguards? They are wartime militia. Zaun is at peace. Surely you intend to disperse them."

Silco's scarred lip pulls upward. "Put a lid on the pot and it'll boil over, hm?"

"Will you let the fires burn?"

"I'll let the fires die first, Councilor. Once the situation is stable, we'll reassess." He stops, contemplative. "You know, in my younger days, we had a Night Watch. It was a volunteer initiative. Groups of men and women who patrolled the streets, keeping vigilant for troublemakers."

"They were disbanded for brutality. Councilor Hoskel told me—" 

"Oh, I can well imagine what he told you." He mimics the gruff-voiced, toadying bluster. "’Bunch of cutthroats themselves. Who'd they be looking to catch? Each other?’"

The curve of Medarda's lips compresses with laughter. In all ways, the caricature is devilishly on-point. 

"Something to that effect," she says. "I was inclined to dismiss it."

"You'd be wise to. The Night Watch weren't disbanded for brutality. They split for their own safety. The moment the Wardens caught wind, they branded them as a gang.  Enforcers were deployed in droves. It became too dangerous to stay in operation."

"What happened to them?"

"Some were arrested and sent to Stillwater. Others died fighting back." He shrugs. "All were labeled criminals."

"Why do you bring it up?"

"Because I believe we can revive it. The Night Watch was an experiment. But a promising one. They knew the neighborhoods and understood the terrain. Best of all, they understood the people. They had the same history; the same heritage. They knew the difference between a threat and a rowdy drunk. Under their aegis, it was safe for children to play in the streets. Safe for young women to walk alone. They weren't an occupying force. They were locals helping locals." 

"How is that different from the Firelights?"

[pikapeppa]

My dear I can safely say you have ruined all other Geralt x Reader fics for me, you just write him TOO PERFECTLY. Finding a good game Geralt fic that just truly transpired his essence completely has been a riiiide, but your Chamomile and Gwent series is nothing short of truly stunning. By gods if you ever feel compelled to write more Geralt even outside of that series know that I will devour that content but I appreciate the natural close you seem to have come to. Thanks so much for your beautiful words within that series I can’t explain how much I really enjoyed the read.

Thank you SO SO MUCH for these wonderful kind words!! I genuinely hope to write more Geralt in the future, especially since there appear to be like four more Witcher games in the works?? 😂I know Geralt won't be the protag, but if there's material and ideas there that I can mine for Geralt and Reader, you bet I will! After all, the third fic ends with her starting her actual witcher training, so who knows... 🥰

Seriously though, thank you so much for this very kind message!! If anyone else wants to check out Chamomile and Gwent, it is here on AO3! Three fics covering 600k+ words total, NSFW, Geralt/f!Reader.

-- love from your friendly neighbourhood Pika! xoxo

[amirahart]

Car Crash || Charles Leclerc

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x (Y/N)

Warnings: Language, mentions of hospitals and car crash, idk what else

Summary: (Y/N) gets into a car accident, and Charles all but turns the world upside down.

Word count: 2280 words

Authors note: 1. I GOT A BUNCH OF LIKES AND FOLLOWERS??😭😭 THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH 2. Inspo from this Prompt by @creativepromptsforwriting 3. Pls request stuff idk what to write

Xoxo Art

Charles couldn’t even remember what they were fighting about. It was probably something stupid, anyway. He had been stressed about the upcoming race -and the fiasco that was his team’s strategy-, and (Y/N) had been worried about some upcoming deadlines that she had at work. They were not in the greatest moods, was the point, and it was late at night, and they were a tad hungry. So, at the first opportunity, they both snapped at each other. One thing led to another, and (Y/N), always the reasonable woman that she was, got up and slammed the door, grabbing her car keys and setting off for the Monegasque roads to clear her head.

So, here he was, sitting on the couch, no longer fuming, just glancing at his phone every two minutes to see how much time had passed since his girl left. Charles was literally worried sick, calling and texting her, but she was still not replying. She had been gone for five hours at this point. Where on Earth could she be?

For the first hour, he tried to distract himself. He tried to start a race on the simulator, but he saw (Y/N)’ hoodie thrown over his chair, and he got mad again. He tried to take a nap, but every time he closed his eyes, his brain filled with thoughts of her. He thought about going for a walk, but he decided against it, because he didn’t want her to find an empty house when she came back.

The second hour, he spent pacing around the house, peeking through the window, in case that her car pulled in the driveway. He was still far too stubborn to call or text, not ready to admit defeat in the argument that seemed continuously stupider and stupider. As he paced around, his anger started to evaporate and started to be replaced with worry. (Y/N) hadn’t been living in Monaco for a while, and even though she had been around the city, it had only ever been with Charles on the driver’s seat. What if something had happened to her?

The third and fourth hour were spent being paranoid. Charles made up a billion different scenarios of what could have gone wrong. What if she got lost? What if she ran out of gas? What if she stopped somewhere and she got mugged? What if she was hurt? What if she was so mad, she never came back?

At about the four hour and ten minutes mark, Charles’ worry seemed to completely overpower his anger, so much so that he called (Y/N). He decided to push all his catastrophic scenarios to the back of his head. Nothing would have gone wrong, he decided. She would just accept the call, reassure him that she still needed some time to cool off, and that she would be home soon to talk.

All this positive energy shattered when the phone kept beeping, and beeping, and beeping, and then went straight to voice mail. His heart kept getting faster every time the phone beeped. He called her again. Maybe she had her hands full at that moment, and she would answer this time. She didn’t. And he felt his heart sink to his stomach.

So, for the past fifty minutes, Charles kept calling, and texting, and calling, and texting, with no reply. He called some of her friends, but none of them knew where she was. She called her gym, her hairdresser, her nail salon, and her favorite restaurant, and still, (Y/N) seemed to have disappeared from the face of the Earth.

Charles was ready to get in his car and look around for his girlfriend when he heard his phone ringing. He all but lunged himself at his phone, picking it up immediately.

“Ma chérie? Are you okay, I’m so sorry for everything…”, he started to apologize, but he was immediately cut off.

“Charles?”, (Y/N) said, and the tone of her voice almost made him drop her phone. Her voice was shaking, she sounded like she was on the verge of tears, and it made Charles’ heart shamble.

“Chérie, where are you? I’m coming to get you”, he bolted to the door, grabbing the keys to his Ferrari, rushing to the car.

“Charles I’m sorry, don’t get mad, I didn’t mean to…”, she interrupted herself with a sob, which made Charles wince.

“Baby, please don’t apologize, just tell me where you are”, he was already in the car, turning it on and waiting for her instructions.

“I- I’m not sure, it just hurts a lot, Charles, it hurts”, she cried. Charles immediately pushed his foot down, not even caring that he had no idea where to go. Monaco was small enough, he’d find her.

“(Y/N), please breathe, take a deep breath. What happened baby, what hurts?”, tears filled his eyes as he thought of his (Y/N) being in pain.

“My hand, I was just trying to… and then the other car… and he keeps yelling at me… I don’t know what to do”, she was hyperventilating, interrupting herself by sobbing, and Charles was ready to throw up.

“My love, you’ll be okay. I’m coming right now, everything will be okay, just please, please take a deep breath and tell me where you are baby. Please”, his vision was blurring by his tears, and he was thanking God for the high speeds that his car could reach.

(Y/N) managed to give him her location, and Charles, reaching speeds that were in no way legal, reached her in no time. He spotted two cars, one of them undeniably (Y/N)’, and he ran with all his might to reach her.

Just like she had said in the phone call, there was a man outside the driver’s window, which was now cracked. He was yelling at his girl in French, making him see red. “Eh!”, he yelled at him, gaining his attention. “Va te faire foutre, qu'est ce que tu crois faire” Go fuck yourself, what do you think you’re doing?

“Cette salope a totalisé ma voiture”, he yelled back without turning his attention away from the car, hitting the window, and making (Y/N) flinch. The moment Charles saw that, he lost all self-control. He grabbed the man and slammed him down on the hood of his car.

“Tu as de la chance qu'elle soit blessée, sinon je te ruinerais!”I, he growled in his ear. You're lucky she's hurt, otherwise I’d ruin you.

He left him there, not even caring if he hurt him or not. All he cared about was whether his girl was okay. His legs couldn’t move fast enough to get him to her door, he almost broke the door trying to open it. Charles finally got to her, weaving his hands around her waist and bringing him close to his body in a front piggy-back ride. (Y/N) hid her face in his shoulder, soaking his shirt with her tears.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here. All is well now”, he whispered in her ear, stroking her hair, and kissing her gently. The whole world seemed to dim. It was only the two of them in that moment, glad to finally be in each other’s embrace. Everything seemed to be okay in that moment, when (Y/N) had her Charles’ arms around her, and Charles had his (Y/N) tight in his hands.

He didn’t know how much time had passed with them just holding each other, but Charles remembered that she said she was hurt, and immediately set her down. He stole a glance to her car. The front of it was totaled, but it was nothing he couldn’t afford to fix. The guy who was yelling at her must have recognized Charles, and his face whitened immediately. He gave him one of his business cards with his contact information, got into his car and left, but Charles could not care less. All that occupied his mind was (Y/N)’ tear-stained face, and her hand that she was clutching to her chest.

“Chérie, please let me see”, he kneeled next to her, feeling his heart break for what seemed like the millionth time tonight at the sight of his girl so fragile and broken. He noticed bruises and scratches up and down her legs, and a huge bruise right on her cheekbone.

Hesitantly, (Y/N) showed him her arm. Her wrist was swollen, her entire hand was red. It was definitely broken. Charles gently grabbed her in his arms again, guiding her to the car and showering her with kisses.

“My love, we have to go to the hospital. You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay”, he kept repeating, more to himself than to her.

They both got to the car, and after a quick call to the police, they made their way to the hospital. (Y/N) was now totally relaxed in the presence of her boyfriend and felt guilt wash over her at the argument. Charles kept his hand in hers the whole drive, glancing at her every so often to assure she was well. She tried to apologize three times, but Charles kept cutting her off, kissing her hand and telling her that all would be well.

When they made it to the hospital, Charles all but carried (Y/N) to the Emergency Room. He got her a private room, forced the doctors to double and triple check everything, made them run every test, even if they assured him that it was not needed, and almost yelled at every single doctor and nurse that was on call. (Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh at her boyfriend’s behavior. She kept having to hold him back from being rude to the staff- she knew he was never rude to working people and that it was just the adrenaline, but it wasn’t the poor nurse’s fault that the pillows weren’t fluffed to his liking-.

Finally, (Y/N) got her diagnosis- a fractured wrist- got treated, and was left in her room, as the doctors decided – after some pressure from Charles- to keep her in overnight to monitor her. So, the young couple made themselves comfortable on the hospital bed, cuddling into each other after what was a super stressful day.

(Y/N) was cuddled into Charles’ side, with her head on his chest, as he ran his fingers through her hair. “How can you look so beautiful in a hospital gown?”, he mumbled into her hair, making heat rise to her cheeks.

“You’re the best boyfriend ever, have I told you that?”

“Yes, once or twice”, he cuddled into her.

“Thank you, honey. For everything, I mean”, she spoke softly.

“Stop it, Chérie, you don’t need to thank me. If anything, I need to apologize. It’s all my fault”, he said, and (Y/N) immediately clapped her broken hand over his mouth to shut him up.

“It’s not your fault that guy ignored the stop sign. You did more than enough today. Don’t feel guilty. You heard the doctors, it’s just a fracture and some bruises, in 6 to 8 weeks I’ll be good as new”

“I think that we should go to another doctor tomorrow, just to be sure…”

“No! No more doctors! I’ve seen enough doctors to last a lifetime”, (Y/N) exclaimed, and they both broke out laughing. “Just promise me that you won’t force me to see any more doctors”

“As long as you promise me that you’ll never leave home like that again. I’ll drive you around everywhere, I promise”

“I promise I’ll never leave. I’m sorry”, she looked up to see him already looking down at her with a small smile.

“I’m sorry too”, he kissed the top of her head, and they slipped in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence. Charles hugged her tighter to his side. He never wanted to experience the kind of feelings he experienced today. The thought of anything happening to (Y/N)… he couldn’t even fathom it. He was too thankful to have her at his side.

He looked around the room, the largest room in the hospital, as he had specifically requested. It was filled with flowers that he had ordered, which he knew was a bit excessive, but he wanted his girl to feel as beautiful and comfortable as possible after the shock that she went through today. On the nightstand that was next to the bed, amongst the vase of peonies-her favorites-, was a red marker that probably one of the doctors had left. He immediately smiled at the idea he got.

He leaned over to grab the marker, gaining (Y/N)’ attention. “What’s wrong baby?”, she asked, and instead of an answer, Charles just shushed her.

“Give me your hand, Chérie”, he cooed, grabbing her broken hand with his left one. As his non-dominant hand traced soft circles on her fingers, his right hand uncapped the marker and started scribbling away with a goofy smile on his face, which made (Y/N)’ cheeks rise. She stole a quick kiss from him, but he kept his focus on her cast.

When he was done, he showed her the cast, like a proud kid showing off his drawing, and she immediately burst out laughing. Her previously white cast was now decorated with messy red handwriting spelling out “This is proof Charles Leclerc is the better driver in the relationship” “#16”, “Je t’adore”, and other little doodles. What made him proudest, though, was the sketch of his formula one car that he had made on the palm of her hand, which was terrible, but it made her smile so hard her cheeks hurt.

“You’re an idiot”

“I love you too”

[masterofmunson]

promises, promises (5)

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend, Eddie Munson, accuses you of cheating on him due to your strange behavior. If only you could tell him you were hunting interdimensional monsters instead.

Word Count: 5.8k+

Warnings: SMUTTY SMUT SMUT SMUT (oral m receiving, fingering, praise kink, choking kink (not really, his hand just rests on her throat), gagging, dacryphilia, slight soft!dom!eddie if you squint hard enough), MINORS DNI I MEAN IT, language, mentions of death, violence, think that’s it but if there’s more that I haven’t mentioned, let me know!

Author’s Note: Here she is! Please let me know what you think. I mentioned it earlier, but this story will now be seven parts instead of six. As always, comments/reblogs/asks are very much encouraged and appreciated xoxo

“I was worried you were going to listen to Jason and hurt me, you know,” you confessed to Lucas the next morning.

You spent the night in Nancy’s basement with Steve, Dustin, and Max while Robin slept in Nancy’s bedroom. You watched Max throughout the night, watching her for two-hour increments before it was one of the boys’ turns. You don’t remember if she slept.

While you switched off on Max Watch, you attempted to comb through all the documents from The Watcher that Nancy and Robin gathered from the library yesterday about Victor Creel. You were looking for a needle in a haystack. The amount of questions the four of you gathered was enough to overwhelm you and stop for the rest of night.

Lucas turned to look at you and hurt flashes across his face. Despite the years between you, you had always been close, and like Max, he would come to you for relationship advice. You never took sides when they fought and ran to you. You talked them through their issues and helped them come together, but that was before Billy died.

Max had broken up with Lucas after Starcourt, and it devastated Lucas far more than all the other times they broke up. It felt permanent, lasting, and all you could do was offer a shoulder to lean on since Max wouldn’t return your calls.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said, glancing down at his toes. “I didn’t think that Jason would actually go on a manhunt for Eddie. I should’ve stopped him. I’m sorry.”

You smile softly at the young teen and gently nudge him with your shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m glad you decided to leave the Dark Side. Eddie will be thrilled.”

Lucas laughed and shook his head. “You sound just like him.”

Silence falls over the basement as your eyes flicker towards the corner Max had been held up in for the last hour. With her headphones on, she writes furiously at the small desk. The soft sound of Kate Bush spills into the basement. The four of you can’t help but stare at her backside. The thought that Max may be gone sometime today terrifies you.

The door to the basement opens and Nancy and Robin hurry down the stairs with a series of files in hand. Nancy takes the seat beside you and hands you a red folder. Opening it, a sheet of paper spills out with your name on it with a handful of extra-curricular activities and honors you did in high school with a few embellishments.

“What’s this?” you asked, holding up the folder in front of the group before passing it on to the kids to look at.

“Our way to get in to see Victor Creel. We have an interview with the director, and hopefully we can persuade him to let us speak to Victor,” Nancy said. “Did you find anything useful in the articles?”

You shook your head and Nancy noticeably deflates. There was nothing you could do until you actually spoke to Victor. You hope he could provide the answers you needed to help Max and stop Vecna from hurting anyone else. Steve bickers with Nancy and Robin as they climb up the basement stairs to the main floor.

“Can I talk to you?” Max murmured, shifting awkwardly on her toes.

You nod and stand up from your spot on the couch. Opening the basement door, you step outside and Max follows behind, walking towards a corner of the house so Dustin and Lucas couldn’t see. Max sighs and thrusts out her hand, an envelope between her fingers.

“What’s this?” you asked, taking it from her and flipping it so the flap of the envelope faces you.

“It’s a failsafe if you know…  if you know things don’t work out for me.”

“Max—”

“It’s just in case, okay? Please take it. Don’t read it until… until after.”

You sigh and nod begrudgingly, sliding the envelope into the pocket of your windbreaker. Your heart aches for the redhead. You’ll figure something out. You know you will. No one else was going to die at the hands of Vecna if you could help it. Max closes the space between you and launches herself into your arms. You hold her tightly and hug her like your life depends on it. Max’s tears are muffled into your jacket and you gently card your fingers through her hair. You hug her until she pulls away and wipes the tears off her cheeks.

You don’t say anything. What is there to say to someone who knows that they may die today? Instead, you throw an arm over her shoulder and walk back into the basement. The letter weighing in your jacket.

….

The hour that it took to change, get ready, and drive to Pennhurst Asylum went by quickly. With you in the passenger seat, Nancy driving, and Robin babbling away in the back, you went over the series of questions you wanted to ask.

By the time you arrived, you exhausted all the questions, and anxiously waited for the director of the asylum to take you into his office. Robin’s foot shook anxiously and you reached across to hold her hand. Your heart beats wildly against your chest and the iron grip Robin has on your hand makes your fingers sweaty.

When Director Hatch opens the door, the three of you stand up and introduce yourselves under your aliases Ruth, Rose, and Rebecca respectively. Taking a seat in front of his desk, Nancy hands him the falsified paperwork the newspaper team cooked up before you left Hawkins. You swallow hard when he mentions your high GPAs. Nancy takes the reigns by talking on behalf of the three of you.

“Would it be possible for us to speak to Victor?” you asked with a gentle smile.

“I’m afraid not,” he answered, lacing his fingers together before resting them on his desk as he looks at you. “There’s a rigorous protocol for those that want to see patients like Victor. You put in a request, then undergo a screening process, at which point the board will make a decision.”  

Director Hatch slides your files back towards you and you noticeably deflate under the rejection. You shift uncomfortably in your chair and tug at the turtleneck you’re wearing. An awkward silence falls over the office and you glance at Nancy and Robin. Your ears start to ring as you tune out whatever the director says afterwards.

Suddenly, Robin starts to ramble. Your eyes widen as you and Nancy stare at her. She stands up from her spot beside you and tugs at the top of her blouse anxiously. Robin blubbers about how you had put in multiple requests to meet with Victor and had been denied each time. She tells the director that coming to Pennhurst was a last-ditch effort to save your thesis. You watch Robin lie with incredible ease and how it was her dream to meet the man that ignited her passion for psychology. She pleas with the director that if you were men, you would meet Victor Creel no questions asked.

That seems to do the trick.

Walking out of his office towards the main halls where patients spend their days, he gives you a tour of the grounds. You walk through the gardens of the asylum towards the other side of the grounds. Director Hatch opens the door for you and the three of you walk inside. Nancy makes small talk with the director as you walk through the music room.

“Having the patients listen to meaningful stimuli like their favorite song can help them with treatment,” Hatch stated matter-of-factly. “It helps them come back to earth, so to speak.”

You nod along and follow him out the door from the music room down a series of steps until you’re standing in front of the door that leads to the criminal ward of the asylum. You swallow hard and rub your hands against your skirt. “Would it be possible for us to speak to Victor alone?” you asked.

Dr. Hatch turns away from the door to look at you. “Alone?”

Robin stutters out an explanation, coming to your aid. “I think we would just love the challenge of speaking to Victor without the safety net of an expert like yourself,” she said. “Then we can really rub in to Professor Bradley’s face.”

His brows pinch together. “I don’t believe I know a Professor Bradley.”

“Brantley!” Nancy laughed nervously. “She meant to say Brantley.”

Robin stumbles over her words and blames it on her nervous excitement on having the opportunity to speak to Victor Creel. Dr. Hatch nods his head slowly and relents, allowing the three of you the opportunity to speak to him alone. When he starts climbing up the stairs again, you let out a sigh of relief and Robin reaches to squeeze your hand again.

The guard in charge of the criminal ward opens the door and the three of you slowly walk behind him. You feel like your heart is in your throat with how fast it’s racing. The moans and groans of the other inmates fill your ears as you walk down to the end of the wing. The guard wakes Victor with the sound of his baton hitting the metal bars of his cell. It makes you jump in your shoes.

You let out a careful breath as the guard returns to the other end of the long hallway. You glance over at Nancy before you take a tentative step towards the cell. Your fingers gently squeeze the bars.

“Victor?” you whispered gently.

“I told Hatch no reporters!” he barked, slamming his hand on the metal table. The sound of his scratch marks filled your ears.

“We’re not reporters,” Nancy replied. “We came for help… we believe you. Whatever killed your family is back in Hawkins. Our friend will be the next victim if we don’t find out what you did to survive. Can you tell us what happened?”

Victor turns to face you and you bite back the gasp that threatens to escape your throat. Victor’s eyes were gone, instead scars littered his face. Robin reaches for your hand again and squeezes it hard. You felt like you were going to sweat through your blouse.

Victor’s voice fills the air as he tells you the story of what happened to his family leading up until the night they all died. His wife and daughter were plagued with nightmares and visions every night. There were dead animals in the yard all the time and there was a lingering, heavy presence over the home. He had tried to exorcise the demon, but it only seemed to anger it more. Victor shares how his wife was the first victim, and when he tried to escape with his kids, he had been sent back into a memory from the war. He heard an angel, and by the time he came to, his son and daughter were gone.

Victor starts to whimper and he crawls back into his bed. You notice that he starts to hum an Ella Fitzgerald song under his breath. Your heart aches for the trauma Victor’s had to endure over the last 30 years. He plead not guilty by reason of insanity, and he wasn’t even crazy. It’s only when a bunch of teenagers come and ask is when he’s believed.

The door to the criminal ward opens and Dr. Hatch comes storming down the hall with two guards behind him.

Shit, you cursed. You hoped you could sneak out afterwards, and now you were fucked. Trailing behind the director with Nancy and Robin at your side, you whisper under your breath. “Remember how Dr. Hatch said that music helps bring patients back to reality? Victor was humming a song earlier, he said he heard a voice of an angel. What if music is the key to saving Max?”

“It’s worth a shot,” Robin muttered back.

Nancy glances over her shoulder to look back at the guards. “I think we can out-run them to the car.”

Robin starts to shake her head and you nod your head in agreement. You and Nancy take off through the garden. Robin yells after you and runs as fast as her gangly legs can take her. The guards shout after you and you turn the corner to get to the parking lot. Jumping into the back seat, you slam the door shut and Nancy takes off.

“Code red! Code red! Did you find anything useful?! Max is in trouble!” Dustin shouted from the radio.

“Music!” you shouted back, fumbling with the dial. “It’s music. Play her favorite song. It should bring her back from the visions.”

Now you would just have to sit and wait to see if it worked.

The drive back to Hawkins is done in silence. You didn’t know what to say to fill the gaps in the car. You didn’t know if music helped save Max from Vecna. Dustin stopped responding. When Nancy pulls into the driveway, you notice Max sitting on the curb with Lucas’s arms around her.

Clamoring out of the car, you run straight to Max, enveloping her in your arms. She sobs into your chest and clings to your backside. Tears of relief slide down your cheeks and the faint sound of Kate Bush escapes her headphones. You pull back to get a good look at her. Her cheeks are flushed a warm pink and red rims her eyes from crying, but Max is fine. She’s still here.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you muttered, resting your forehead against hers. Max doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. She knows she has you and the rest of the group to lean on. Max doesn’t have to hide anymore. She knows that she’s not alone.

You let her go and take a step back, catching your breath. You turn to Steve, asking for your bike from the trunk. He gets it out for you and rolls it up the Wheeler’s driveway. Reentering their home, you change back into your comfy clothes and say goodbye for the night. It was time to go see Eddie.

You say your goodbyes and promise to come back first thing in the morning before leaving the house. Riding down the street, you make a quick pitstop at the general store. You purchase some bread, peanut butter, jelly, and chips to feed your boyfriend. You also buy a gallon of water, a toothbrush for you, and Irish Spring soap for Eddie.

Carefully setting the paper bag into the basket attached to your bike, you ride the four miles it takes to get to Lover’s Lake from the center of town. Turning down the road, you carefully dismount your bike and store it in the boatshed when you arrive at Reefer Rick’s house.

Walking up the small hill to the house with the bag in your hands, you carefully push the door open and step inside. “Eddie?” you whispered loudly in the dark. “It’s me!”

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, you scared me,” Eddie said from his hiding spot near the master bedroom. You let out a sigh of relief and stumble around the room until the light from the bedroom illuminates your features. Eddie grins and takes the bag from you, setting it on the bed before securing you in his arms. “I missed you. I was starting to worry about you when I hadn’t heard from you today,” he mumbled into your temple. “Is everything okay?”

Your fingers claw at his backside as you breathe him in. You have to remind yourself that Eddie’s here, that Eddie’s safe. The reminder that Max could’ve died today had you been just a second slower haunts you. You can’t help the sobs that escape your throat as you cry into Eddie’s chest.

Eddie carefully guides you to the bed, the food in the bag long forgotten. Eddie whispers sweet nothings into your ear and runs his fingers up and down your back as you cry. Your tears dampen his shirt, but he doesn’t mind.

When the tears subside enough to let you catch your breath, you pull away so that your eyes meet his. Eddie’s warm smile makes your heart summer-sault and he holds the side of your face gently. His thumbs brush away the last of your tears and he leans down just enough to press a soft kiss to your nose, and then to your lips.

Your fingers cling to the Iron Maiden t-shirt you brought just the day before and you wince as the scabs on your knuckles start to tear open. Eddie pulls away and looks at you with concern. “What? What is it? Did I hurt you?” he asked.

You shake your head at him. “No. My knuckles are just sore from punching Jason in the face yesterday. I’m okay.”

Eddie’s grin is blinding at your answer and he carefully takes your hand in his, brushing his fingers over the inflamed skin on your knuckles. You tense when he hits a sore spot and Eddie whispers a soft apology. He brings your bruised hand up to his lips and kisses the tender flesh.

“I’m starting to think you’re a bad influence,” he teased against your skin. The smirk on Eddie’s face as he stares at you makes your skin flush with heat from the tips of your toes to the top of your spine. “What would my uncle say if he found out my girlfriend punched the Jason Carver in the face?”

“I imagine he would tell you to get on your knees and have you ask me to marry you,” you retorted with a grin. “Or he would give me a high five. You can decide, baby.”

Eddie’s soft laughter fills the space inside the bedroom and he gently lets go of your hand in favor of holding your waist. His nose brushes against yours before he dips down and captures your mouth in his. The kiss sets your stomach ablaze.

Your eyes flutter close and your mouth opens just enough so that Eddie can slip his tongue inside. You moan against his lips and cling on to his t-shirt again. Eddie grins wolfishly and gently presses you into the mattress. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively and the feeling of Eddie’s hand resting against your throat makes your stomach tingle.

“Are you,” kiss, “going to,” kiss, “tell me,” kiss, “why you were,” kiss, “crying?” he muttered against your greedy mouth.

You swallow hard and card your fingers through his hair. “That depends. If I say no, will you still kiss me?”

Eddie pulls away and you groan in protest, reaching for him. Eddie leans back on his thighs and stares down at you expectantly. His hands run up and down your sides as he waits for an explanation. You sigh loudly and reach to trace the outline of his Master of Puppets tattoo on the inside of his arm.

Your bottom lip trembles as you recall the day. You told him about the letter Max wrote you and the circumstances at which point you were allowed to read it. Eddie knew that you were relatively close to the gaggle of freshmen he subsequently adopted into Hellfire Club, but he hadn’t realized the extent of it. You explained where you went today and that you had the opportunity to speak with Victor Creel.

“It was just… so sad, Eds,” you cried into your hands as he listened to you. “He’s spent the last 30 years mourning the loss of his family and the whole world thinks he killed them. You can tell how much he loved them. He still wears his wedding ring. I just… I wish there was a way we could help him… get him out of Pennhurst so that he can live the remaining years of his life as a free man.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, pulling your hands away from your face and bringing them up to his lips to kiss, “my sweet, bleeding heart. I’m sorry. I wish I could be more helpful. I hate seeing you like this. It kills me.”

You shrug and push on. Eddie lays down with his back against the headboard and pulls you between his legs. His hands slip underneath your t-shirt and rest on your stomach as you share the rest of the day. Max comes up again, and this time you don’t try to hide the trembling and fear in your voice. You confess to Eddie how scared you were on the drive back from the asylum, wondering if Max was still alive. You tell him about the relief you felt when you saw her at the Wheelers home.

When you’re done recounting the day, it feels as if the weight of the world was lifted off your shoulders. Being able to share the ins and outs of something you’ve kept a secret with the man you love is liberating. It’s freed you from lying to Eddie any longer.

The tears come to a slow stop and you hold on to Eddie like your life depends on it. Your soft sniffles fill the room and Eddie kisses along your neck to the side of your head, coaxing you to take deep breaths.

Eddie climbs out of bed and reaches for the bag on the floor. He empties it and grabs the food. “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to go make us sandwiches,” he whispered before kissing you.

You take the time away from Eddie to collect yourself and take a speedy shower. When you step back into the room in just your t-shirt and undies, Eddie’s waiting for you on the bed, his sandwich untouched.

Returning to bed, you eat in silence until you’re done. Tossing your napkins into the trash beside you, you sink into Eddie’s embrace. Your legs tangle with his between the sheets and Eddie hides his face in your neck. You turn your head just enough so that your eyes meet.

“Is your favorite song still Master of Puppets?” you asked softly, resting a hand on his cheek.

Eddie grins and kisses the inside of your palm and nods. “Sure is,” he confirmed quietly. “Is yours still that cheesy song by Tears for Fears?”

You huff playfully and slap his chest. “Everybody Wants to Rule the World is not cheesy, Eddie. It’s a great song!”

“Whatever you say, princess,” he hummed against your skin.

He nips and sucks at your skin and you sigh blissfully, rocking your hips back to meet his.

“Eddie,” you plea, feeling the rough tent of his jeans against your back, “please. Please, Eddie.”

“Are you sure?” he whispered against the shell of your ear, his touch hot and heavy. “We don’t have to.”

“Yes,” you answered. “I want to. Do you?”

He nods against your neck. “It’s all I want. I’ve been thinking about you since the moment I touched between your thighs two days ago.”

Your whines fill the bedroom and Eddie smirks against your skin. His hands slide down your bare legs and squeeze your inner thighs. Eddie’s fingers creep up until they’re palming the center of your panties. He rubs you through the thin cotton and pulls the crotch aside to slip his fingers through. You mewl at his touch and grab at his wrist, feeling Eddie’s rough, calloused fingers gather up your wetness.

Eddie’s skull ring brushes through your folds and his finger plays with your clit. You cry out and dig your head into the pillow, rutting your hips back into Eddie’s. Eddie laughs into your ear and slips a finger into your gaping hole. Your body clenches at the intrusion, still not used to having fingers other than your own inside you. Eddie’s hot groans fill your senses as he slowly pumps his fingers inside of you.

With two fingers now scissoring you open, his thumb pressed against your clit. You moan loudly and feel the creeping pressure of an orgasm approaching between your legs. With Eddie’s free hand, he slides your t-shirt up your chest before your chest is on display for him.

Eddie maneuvers himself so you’re back is against the mattress and you’re underneath him. Eddie’s warm, sweet eyes are dark with desire as he watches you writhe beneath him. His soft smile turns wolfish and his fingers massage your tits before he leans down and captures one of them in his mouth.

You groan and tug on his hair harshly. Eddie moans against your skin and it sends you spiraling. The building pressure between your legs only grows with each thrust of his fingers. His tongue laps at your nipple, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise at the top of your chest. All you can think of in your over-stimulated haze is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. You gasp his name.

“Eddie, please, please let me cum. Please!” you blubbered, breathing hard.

“Go ahead, honey,” he mutters against your chest, his eyes meeting your fucked-out gaze.

You release with a cry of his name and your fingers tug his scalp harshly. Eddie moans again as he brings you through your first orgasm of the night. Your chest heaves as you catch your breath and Eddie slowly removes his fingers from in between your thighs, causing you to clench on nothing as they leave you.

Eddie kisses along your hairline and you turn your head so you can look at him. Eddie’s face is a deep pink and sweat gathers at the top of his head. You gingerly brush a finger against his cheek and swallow hard. “Can I… can I take care of you?” you asked bashfully.

He grins, playfully nipping at your finger before leaving a kiss. “Only if you want to.”

“I do. I just… I don’t know how. I haven’t done it before.”

Eddie’s smile only grows at your confession and he brushes a finger against your cheek. “That’s okay. I’ll help you through it. We can stop anytime, okay?”

You nod and quickly change positions with your lover. You eagerly tear Eddie’s shirt from his shoulders and toss it on the floor. Your mouth finds his neck and you bite and nip and the pale skin. Eddie holds you in place with his hands on your hips, squeezing hard when you begin to leave a trail down his body.

You leave hickies along Eddie’s slender chest leading to his happy trail. Your fingers trace the outlines of his tattoos before you shimmy down until you’re eye-level with his crotch. Letting out a careful breath, you slowly undo Eddie’s belt and unzip his pants. Eddie reaches for your chin and forces you to look at him. You swallow hard and kiss the inside of his palm before tugging his jeans, and his boxers, down his waist and off his legs.

You can’t help but gasp at the sight and it makes Eddie chuckle. You remember what he felt like a few days ago and the euphoria you felt when he was inside you. The same feeling returns and it makes you squeeze your thighs shut at the thought of Eddie’s warm, thick cock inside of your aching pussy.

You gently wrap your hand around Eddie, looking up to make sure you’re doing it right. He nods encouragingly and you slowly tug on his cock. Eddie curses and throws his head back and it gives you all the confidence you need to keep going. You thumb at the tip, gathering the pre-cum between your fingers before leaning down and gathering him in your mouth.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he cursed, resisting the urge to fuck your mouth. “You feel so good.”

You tongue at the head and he hits the back of your throat. It makes you gag and Eddie tries to pull away to make sure you’re okay. Your fingers dig in to his bare thighs and slowly begin to bob your head back and forth against his cock. Eddie’s hips rut against your mouth and his fingers settled at the back of your head, guiding you in and out of his cock. Tears spring at the corners of your eyes as you take him deeper inside your mouth. Drool falls down your chin and Eddie moans loudly.

“Need your pussy, baby,” he whined. “If you keep suckin’ me like that, I won’t last.”

He gently pulls your head away from his aching cock and guides you back up his chest. Eddie’s fingers hold your chin and he slots his mouth on yours. He moans at the taste of himself on your tongue and wraps his arms around your middle. He carefully pins you beneath him and grabs your legs, pushing them up against your chest as he tugs your panties off your hips and throwing them on the floor.

“This okay, baby?” he asked, lining himself at your aching hole, teasing between your folds. You nod wordlessly and Eddie tuts at you. “Words, baby. I need you to use your words.”

“Yes!” you cried, clawing at the sheets beneath you. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Good girl,” he hummed and the praise shouts straight to your waiting center. Eddie braces himself against you and teases the tip of his cock at your entrance. He slowly thrusts inside of you, bottoming out with a moan against your ear.

You whine pathetically and claw at his backside. The pressure against your legs at the position you’re in sends tingles down your spine. Eddie’s warm chest pins your knees to your stomach and he slowly rocks back into you, his warm cock pressing against the deepest part of you.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you babbled, too cock-drunk to say anything else other than your lover’s name as he brought his hips back and forth to meet yours. Eddie smirks against your hot skin and turns your face so your mouths meet in a hot and heavy kiss. The kiss is teeth and tongue and it has you aching for more. “More, Eddie. I need more.”

Eddie’s warm laughter slips into your mouth and he pulls away just enough to get a good look at you. He pets at your hair and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re so greedy, baby. Here I am inside you and you’re begging for more. What do you want, honey? Tell me,” he hummed, brushing your hair out of your eyes with his fingers. His eyes darken as he stares down at you, waiting for your answer.

You breathe hard and flush under his intense gaze. You swallow the lump in your throat and whisper, “Can you… can you play with my clit? Or—or you can let me do it?”

Another wolfish grin appears on Eddie’s face and he kisses you hard on the mouth. “Of course, baby. Is that going to help you cum, hmm? You need my fingers and my cock?” Eddie’s skilled fingers slide down your body and press against where you needed him most.

You don’t have it in you to be embarrassed by Eddie’s teasing. You nod pathetically and grab his wrist, holding him in place so he couldn’t pull away. The pressure between your legs grows as Eddie continues to thrust into you and finger your throbbing clit. The sound of skin slapping fills your ears and the stench of sex fills your nose. Eddie noses at your neck and bites into your skin. You cry out and dig your fingers into his back.

Eddie smiles against your hot and sweaty skin, nibbling the shell of your ear. His hot breath fans across your face. “You almost there, honey? I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep squeezing me like that,” he whispered as you clenched around him. Eddie curses in your ear.

“Yeah, yeah. Just… just keep doing what you’re doing. You can cum if you can’t hold it,” you sighed against his mouth.

Eddie growls against your lips. “Nuh uh, sweetheart. You cum first or you don’t cum at all.”

You cry out at his empty threat and Eddie’s fingers press through your folds and gather your wetness between his fingers. The headboard knocks against the wall with each thrust. Your eyes flutter closed at your release nears and Eddie lays his hand on your throat.

“Open your eyes, princess. I want to see those pretty eyes when you cum.”

Eddie’s words send a shock through your body and you open your eyes. You whine loudly as you stare into his warm brown eyes and cum with a cry of his name. Eddie moans your name and you watch his brows knit together as he released inside you. You sigh in relief and Eddie’s thrusts slow as he coasts through his orgasm. Eddie hides his face in your neck and kisses your throat until he stills inside you. You turn your head and gently card your fingers through his hair. He hums against your skin as you catch your breath.

Eddie gently pulls out of you. You hiss at the sudden emptiness between your legs and watch Eddie scurry to the bathroom. He returns with a warm cloth and gently wipes between your legs before using it on himself. Eddie tosses it on the floor before climbing back into bed and holding you against his chest.

You bask in the warm silence of the room and Eddie’s lips kiss your throat.

“Can I tell you something?” Eddie whispered in your ear.

“You know you can tell me anything,” you replied softly, turning your head so that your eyes meet his.

A faint blush covers his cheeks and his nose brushes against yours. “I wanted to ask you to prom,” he confessed, “y’know… before shit hit the fan and I was accused of murder.”

Your eyes widen at his confession and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles through your throat. “Prom? Eddie, you’ve been a senior three times and haven’t gone to prom once. You wanted to go to prom with me? You hate high school functions.”

Eddie shrugs bashfully. A shy laugh escapes him. “I hadn’t found the right partner. Plus, you even said that you didn’t go to prom when you were still here.”

“My brother got married that weekend,” you recalled, “that’s why I didn’t go.”

“What do you say, hmm? Will you go to prom with me?”

You grin and hold his face between your hands. You press a sweet kiss to Eddie’s lips. “Of course I’ll go to prom with you, Eddie. If we don’t go, who will spike the punch bowl?”

He grins and affectionately squeezes your cheeks together, kissing your puckered lips. Eddie’s warm laughter swallowing you whole.

[academicdisasterfic]

I wish you would write a fic where... remus and draco have a conversation about being trans (while harry and sirius are off...i don't know...throwing tennis balls at old portraits who knows)

xoxo alnonymous

Well, you certainly got my number with this one, very anonymous person who I do not know at all - thank you, love. I adored writing it.

Huge thanks to @theonlywolfpants for the beta.

CW for implied past abuse/transphobia (nothing explicit).

'Does it ever get easier?'

The question is abrupt, cutting through Lou Reed's gravelly tones and the sounds of Harry and Sirius arguing over the motorbike outside. Through the window, Remus can see Sirius throw his head back and laugh as Harry smacks him with a spanner.

Just a perfect day Drink Sangria in the park

It is a perfect day, today; one that makes the war seem a million years ago, though it's just been shy of two. Each day, they get better. Harry gets fewer nightmares, Sirius spends less time as Padfoot, Remus finds the full moons more bearable.

Draco smiles more.

Remus sighs a little and places his knife down, looking over at the young man beside him.

Oh it's such a perfect day I'm glad I spent it with you

'Do you want the honest answer?'

Draco's breath hitches a little, and then he nods. He still hunches, even since Sirius paid for his surgery; like he's determined to take up as little space as possible.

Remus remembers what he was like before, and part of him almost misses the arrogant brat who refused to face a Boggart.

Since finding out what that Boggart was, Remus can't blame him.

Oh such a perfect day You just keep me hanging on

'It didn't get easier for a long time,' Remus finally says, and the words hang heavy in the air between them. Draco swallows, and his eyes cast downwards; the same grey eyes that Sirius inherited.

'But, you see,' Remus continues, 'I got better at being myself. People say be yourself like it's simple to figure out who that is. Even after I came out, I still spent years having no fucking clue who I was, no clue what the rest of the world saw.'

'How did you figure it out?' Draco asks, twisting at the threads of his jumper, half chopped courgette spilling across the bench.

Just a perfect day Problems all left alone

'I still don't know what the rest of the world sees, most of the time,' Remus admits, and they both smile as Sirius smudges engine oil across Harry's cheek, transforming into Padfoot and bowling him over. 'But I know this. I know I'm a husband. I know I'm a teacher. I know that I regret being too insecure and young to believe in the love of my life when it mattered. I know he regrets the same.

'I know that Harry feels completely loved for the first time in his life, and I know that he looks at you like you hung the bloody stars.'

Draco laughs, a little wetly.

You made me forget myself I thought I was someone else, someone good

'I know that bad isn't always bad, and good isn't always good, and that if I could kill your father, I would.'

Draco goes silent for so long that Remus thinks he's overstepped, but when he glances at him again, Draco's hands are trembling, and he's reaching for Remus, steadying his fingers against his palm. Remus closes his eyes and breathes.

'I know that the four of us are a family.'

Draco lets out a sob, and then Remus is pressing him into his chest, holding his slight frame as he shakes.

They stay like that for a while.

'I know,' Remus eventually says, very soft, 'that you are exactly who you are meant to be, and one day you will look at your body, and it will be yours.'

Draco nods against his chest, and then pulls back slightly, wiping his eyes.

Outside, Harry yells at Sirius to get cleaned up before dinner, and he turns and looks through the window, sunlight streaming across his face and glinting off his glasses. There's black oil all over his dark brown skin, and his smile is happy and crooked, and he's holding a single daisy.

'He brings me a new one every single day,' Draco mutters, rubbing his nose.

'See?' Remus raises his eyebrows at him and turns back to the courgettes. 'That's a thing you know.'

'That my boyfriend is a bloody sap?'

Remus bursts out laughing, shaking his head.

'No. That every day brings new life.'

Draco smiles, gentle and dimpled, and the kitchen is filled with light and the smell of rosemary when Harry and Sirius come bounding in, Harry immediately grabbing Draco's face and kissing the tear tracks from his cheeks.

Remus sighs as Sirius' arms wind around his waist, engulfing him in the scent of leather and sunshine.

In the corner, the record spins, and the song fades out.

You're going to reap just what you sow You're going to reap just what you sow

If you would like, please send me a prompt starting with "I wish you would write a fic where..." and I will give you more queer joy xx