#put Night Springs on repeat for this whole thing

[bigautomaton]

I think the axe should be a splitting maul but those are also Heavy As Hell

We got uhhh, 1 Jon, 1 Mr. Door, and 3 Alan Wakes

Seems about right

[toxicanonymity]

needs

3.3k, joel miller x virgin f!reader

joel master list

Summary: Joel wants to find a bed before you go all the way, but neither of you can wait that long.

A/N: Follows ✨ Fires (1.6, prequel), Aches (900), and Thoughts (1.6), but can read alone.

WARNINGS: I8+, big girthy age gap (20/50s), still only one sleeping bag, pining, c*ck hunger, fingering, grinding, masturbation, oral m receiving, cum eating, unsafe P in V, reluctantly pulling out, loss of virginity, pet names, praise, POV alternates, NO Y/N.

“God have mercy,” he mutters to himself.

He's gonna give it to ya good one day, but not yet. Not in a sleeping bag on the forest floor. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet, he tells himself . . . Your first time shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t be here. But god damn . . .  

-------

It’s all over your face. He’s never seen anything like it, the way you crave his cock. You shamelessly stare at his pants. His whole body, really. You were bad enough before you touched it, and it’s only gotten worse. You can’t focus, you can’t listen. It’s dangerous.  He should put a stop to this, take it away cold turkey. Sleep back-to-back. But you both have needs, and he's not gonna do that.

Joel feels like he might as well be a virgin himself, it's been so long for him. Frankly, he’s dying to put it in you just as much as you long to have it.  He’s been trying to wait until Jackson so he can do it somewhere safe, somewhere a little nicer, more comfortable. 

He wants to wait and make sure it's nice and special for you, but good lord, you’re makin' it hard. You make the sweetest little sounds when he touches you, and even when he doesn’t, like in your sleep. You ask him things like, “doesn’t sex feel better than hands?” He tells you half-truths, like “not always.” Of course it would with you.  Of course it would.

-

You’re in the forest. With dusk approaching, you're just about to set up camp while there's still light. Joel is taking a leak at the edge of a small clearing, calculating mileage in his head, counting down the days ‘til you should get there. His back could use a real bed, too.  He's shaking his dick dry and a twig snaps behind him. His head whips around and he reaches for his gun. 

It’s you. God damnit, he could’ve killed you. 

“Can I see it?” you ask. 

“What the hell are ya doin’ over here?”

“I just wanna see it.” You look down toward his jeans. “Can I?” 

It’s fair that you’re curious, he knows that. You mentioned it the night before with your hand wrapped around it, I wanna see it, really see it, I bet it’s good looking. You’ve only felt it at night and caught glimpses in the moonlight. At the time, he mindlessly reassured you, you’ll see it, baby, you'll see my cock, and he should’ve known you’d spring this on him.

“Not now,” he mutters, trying to calm his heart rate.  “Can ya gimme a second, honey?” 

“Okay.”  He can hear the sadness, practically see the disappointment on your face. God damnit. He tucks himself away and zips up. You're only about eight feet away.  “Now?”

“No.  Ain’t nothin’ to see right now.” You probably don’t realize what a big difference it can make. 

“What do you mean”

“Just trust me, it’s not how you wanna see it.” 

“Why?" 

“Cause it ain’t as. . .”

“Ain’t as what?”

“Nothin’, baby. Just not the right time.”

“Better if we’re close together, right?” You step closer. 

He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a deep breath. “This ain’t the time or the place, honey.” 

When he looks at you again, your face has fallen, and you mumble, “K.” 

He puts a big, comforting hand on your shoulder and walks you back to where y'all are setting up camp. “When we find a bed, I’ll show ya. . .”  

"And when we find a bed," you repeat. Don't say it, don't say it, he prays to God you don't say it. "We can do it, right?" He doesn't answer. "You can put your cock inside me, right?"

Fuck, you're gonna drive this old man crazy. At least one of you needs your wits about you if you'll ever make it to Jackson. "We'll see," he sighs. 

After a moment of silence, your voice trembles as you ask, "We'll see? Why not yes?"

"Cause we ain't gonna make it there at this rate," he complains, then sighs with instant regret. "I'm sorry, honey. But you gotta try to knock it off with this stuff."

You swallow and your eyes glimmer. "Sorry," you whisper. 

He turns away to adjust himself, then sits down on the ground, leaning back against a log and extends an arm for you. "S'okay, c'mere."

You sit on the ground next to him. He squeezes your shoulder and changes the topic to twenty questions. 

——

He’s nicer at night. He’s nice in the day, too, mostly.  Once in a while, you can tell you’re annoying him, and you feel bad.  If only he knew how many times you thought about it and didn't say something, he’d appreciate your efforts. It’s practically all you think about. It’s even worse now that you feel it in your hand every night, but the last thing you want is for that to stop. 

You had been thinking about it all day when you finally asked what you thought was an easy request – if you could just see it, just a glimpse while he already had it out anyway. 

Even if you don’t get to see it, at least it’s easy enough to recall what it feels like.  Smooth, warm, and stiff. Soft veins, tiny wrinkles. A leaking slit. 

—--

“Can I taste it?” you ask one night with your little fist wrapped around his shaft. 

He groans quietly. “Yeah, you wanna taste it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, your hand sticky with the lube of your own slick, a bead of precum under your thumb. You smear the precum and let go of his hard cock, making it slap against his stomach.  You take your thumb into your mouth and hum, “Mmm,” at the salty taste. 

“Whatcha think,” he whispers breathily. 

“Can I have your cock in my mouth?”

“Oh, baby, ‘course ya can.” The zipper of the sleeping bag jingles, then you hear the satisfying zzz as it unzips.  He folds it down and you get up on your knees. You bend at the hip and don't waste a second. You wrap your thumb and forefinger around the base, trying and failing to make your digits touch. 

Then, your lips wrap around the head.  He inhales sharply through his teeth.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

“God no, honey. Go ‘head, taste it all ya want.”  

 You curiously tongue the slit and suck for more. 

“Oh god damn,” he breathes.

You lick around it under the crown and you’re salivating. 

He wraps his hand around yours and moves it up and down, then leaves you be. “Use your spit, honey.” You let it dribble out of your mouth and onto his tip and catch it in your fist. You kitten lick the shaft, tasting your own tang, and letting your saliva fall out of your mouth as it accumulates, occasionally sliding the open ring of your finger and thumb up and down but mostly forgetting because you’re so focused on it in your mouth.

“Ya like that, sweetie? ya like how we taste?” You take a couple inches into your mouth then suck a little more of it in. It twitches against your tongue. The biggest vein throbs. 

“Alright, baby,” he pants and takes it from you. He urgently pulls up his own shirt, slides his hand a few times, then comes with a groan, his voice and pulsing manhood making you ache with need, even though he already made you come. You stay there on your knees.  In the dim moonlight, you watch his tummy rise and fall with the shiny trail leading to, and pooling in, his navel. 

“Can I taste that, too?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

You dip your tongue in the trail below his navel. It’s thicker, headier, saltier than the precum.  It’s not every day you get to taste something new. It’s not often at all. It's delicious.

“Like it,” you whisper.

“Yeah? take all ya want.” 

You lick and seal your lips as you suck it up. You pause to pluck a hair from your teeth, then continue to his navel. You dip your tongue in and his stomach flexes abruptly. You take your mouth off and pause. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.” 

You tongue his navel, then suck, and he inhales a chest full of air as you do it, his stomach rising into your lips. You lick up every drop. 

“Good girl,” he sighs and  cups your cheek. “Such a good girl," he sighs.

—

All day you think about it in your mouth, in your hand, resting hard against your back, between your thighs. You imagine it all over your body. Doesn’t matter if he’s pressing it up against your hip or resting it in the crook of your elbow, God, you just want to feel it somewhere. You try not to think about it inside you too much because that makes you want it so bad, you could cry. Like really cry.

It’s not a want. It's a need.  You see it happening everywhere you look. You see a tree, and you imagine him sitting on the forest floor against it, holding his cock at attention, ready for you to sit on it.  You see another tree and he’s pinning you up against it with your legs wrapped around him, jeans pulled down under his ass as he rails you. You see a patch of moss and cluster of ferns that would be a nice pillow with him on top of you.

You think about it, and you dream about it, too. You can’t help that. He starts wearing jeans to sleep, and you can’t feel the shape of him quite as well against you, but it doesn’t matter. The fact that it’s there and it’s hard is enough to drive you mad. Even after he gets you off, it's bound to come back at some point in the night. Worst case scenario, you lose sleep over it. Best case, it works its way into your dreams.

----

One night, you're moaning in your sleep again, and Joel can hardly take it. His cock is painfully stiff and the strain against his jeans makes him ache. His hips press into you on their own; he can't stop them. All he can do is take off his jeans in hopes that being free of the rigid confines will lend some relief.  He was wearing them as an extra layer between the two of you for this exact scenario, but he can no longer bear it.

On one hand, he’s taking precautions, like keeping his jeans on.  But on the other hand, in the heat of the moment, when he’s touching you, he’s taking measures to prepare you, and to see how ready you are. Lately, he scissors his fingers, inserts three to see how you take it.  “Good girl, that’s real good,  honey.” He curls them inside you, “Ohhh, baby, you’re takin’ this real good.”

God, he wants a bed for this. You deserve a fuckin' mattress at the very least. He’s gotta wait. And yet now he finds himself taking off his jeans. He carefully removes them without waking you up. He lies there with his fist around his cock for a minute, still in his boxers, doing nothing but softly squeezing, as if that’ll make it go away.  Then he resigns himself to the magnetism of your body.  He curves his form around yours again and silently sighs as the hardness in his boxers rests against you and he wraps you in a hug. He manages not to thrust against your ass, but in no time, you're pushing yourself back against him. "Joel," you mumble in your sleep. 

"God have mercy," he mutters to himself. 

He's gonna give it to ya good one day, but not yet. Not in a sleeping bag on the forest floor. Not yet. . . not yet. . . not yet, he tells himself, taking deep calming breaths. Your first time shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t be here. But god damn he wants to take that tight little hole.  

"Joel,” you whine and push back on him again. He can't stand it. He really can't. He has to wake you up.

He whispers, "Whatcha dreamin 'bout, sweetie?" then feels your breathing change. 

When you blink awake, your hips are slowly moving, pushing your ass back into Joel's hard cock until you stop yourself. 

"Sorry," you mumble. "Did I wake you up?" The sweet sound of your voice isn’t helping.

"Don't be sorry, baby," he murmurs into your hair. 

"I dunno how to stop it," you whisper. "I'm sorry."

"Nothin' to be sorry 'bout, baby doll." He hugs you tight. “Don’t be embarrassed.” His cock swells harder against you. He whispers in your ear, "They want each other real bad, that's all." 

"I know." 

"Have a good dream?"

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“‘bout what?”

“I dunno if you wanna hear it,” you tell him. Fair enough, he's told you to knock it off, after all. 

“Sure I do, honey. Was it you and me?”

“Yeah,” you wedge your hand between your legs. 

"You want a hand?"  

“Yeah.”

“What’d ya dream?” he asks as he reaches into your panties. "God damn," he whispers. You're soaked, swollen, and your clit is throbbing against his hand. "Poor thing." He thrusts his hardness against your ass.  "No wonder you're tryin' to get at this, huh?" 

You're quiet. 

"No wonder ya can't stop thinkin' ‘bout it." He thrusts against you again and moans softly. "What'd ya dream, baby?"

“It was. . .” you can hardly form words thinking about it. It was so vivid, so real. “We were right here, like this.” 

“Yeah?” He uses your ample moisture to lightly rub your clit. 

He begins to make peace with himself that this might happen before he wants. He hooks his fingers into your panties. “Let’s take these off for a lil bit, hmm? Let her breathe.” 

“Okay.”  You bend your knees as he pulls your soaked panties down. 

—-

"We were right here like this, in the dream?" He repeats. 

“You took it out of your pants,” you whisper. He moans softly, takes his hand away, and jostles behind you. Then you feel his naked cock against your skin. Your breath hitches and you whimper at the contact.  He returns his hand between your legs and lazily circles your clit, pressing his naked dick against you.

"Took it out like this?" He asks soft and deep.

"Yeah," 

He thrusts against you and whispers in your ear, "Then what?"

"You put it between my legs." 

He inhales sharply then wedges his cock between your thighs, shuddering as he slides it forward along your dripping seam and the head meets his fingers on your clit. 

You tilt your hips and he whispers, "Oh, baby. Like this?"

"No, you put it inside," you whisper. 

Joel's breath hitches and he twitches against your heat. You moan. He slides slowly through your folds to your clit and back. He tries to slow down and think it over, but there are no thoughts, just his stiff, aching cock and your tight little pussy begging for it.

——

“Will you do that,” you ask, looking over your shoulder but not enough to meet his eyes. 

Joel takes a deep breath. “You think I should? Don’t wanna wait for a bed?” He thrusts in small pulses. “Just a few days, baby.”

“They wanna be together real bad,” you whisper. “how they’re meant to be," you remind him.  

Joel groans at your words. “I know, baby doll.” He takes a deep breath. “How’d it feel in your dream?”

“Full, really full,” you tell him, then sigh. “Felt so big.’

“Ohh, fuck,” Joel breathes into your hair and slides his cock against you, wet and stiff.

“It was like I was hugging you with my, um,” you say, then swallow and tilt your hips. "Hugging it."

“God damn,” he sighs. He pulls his cock back, and as he slides it forward again, it catches at your entrance. You spread your thighs ever so slightly. “You sure ‘bout this,” he confirms, and uses the hand between your legs to nestle his tip just inside. You gasp. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yes, please. Joel, please,” you whine. You push back on him with a small grunt, stretching yourself open on his tip. 

“Oh god, baby,” he sighs, then he holds you still and slowly pushes himself inside with a quiet groan muffled by your hair. “Fuck, you’re–ohh, you’re tight.”  You gasp as his girth parts your walls and your body makes room for him.  “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod urgently, and he twitches inside you. 

You shiver with pleasure as he pushes further and sighs, “Oh, baby.” 

“Joel,” you whine, “its so big”

“Too big?”

“No,” you reassure him. “I want it.”

He pushes the rest of himself in until his pelvis is flush. He breathes heavily and mutters, “fuck.”

You moan and push back on him. “s’perfect,” you whine.

“you like havin’ me in here?”

“I love it,” you say. 

“As much as the dream?”

“More than the dream.”

“What happened next?” he asks

“Then you it moved like you do in my hand.”

“Yeah,” he begins to rock his hips, his thick cock dragging inside you. “Like this?”

“nnngghh–yeah,” you nod then gasp as you're filled by his length again. “ohhh,” you moan. "And then you came inside—”

He groans, then pants as he’s moving inside you, “Ohh fuck, sweetie I can’t—ohh, I can’t do that, uggghh–god damn.”

“Felt so good, like a massage”

“Ohh, baby, please don’t–”

���And warm”

“Fuck,” he breathes and covers your mouth with his free hand, bicep flexing under your neck as he does it. No way he’s gonna last with you talking like that. 

He begins to slowly move again and you whimper.  You’re right, it is like you’re hugging him. You’re so tight and wet for him, taking his cock so good. 

"Good girl," he whispers, burying his length in you every second or so, only pulling back halfway each time. 

"Such a good girl, wantin' my cock so bad." He moans. "Waitin' all this time—uggh." You push your hips back to meet his thrusts. "That's my girl, takin' me so good," his next thrust is harder and you moan. "Yeah, just like that," he breathes.  His hand teases your clit as he fucks you. You whimper and he repeats, "just like that," his voice shakier, his breath heavier on your ear, “yeah.”

You moan into his hand, and his fingers circle your clit. “C’mon, baby,” he pants. “Gonna come on my cock?” You nod and hum your agreement. “Better do it now, then, you can do it.”

You let go and your clit pulses madly, your walls clench down on him. It feels so good, your eyes well up in tears.

“Ohh, baby,” he sighs, and suddenly pulls out. He replaces his cock with two fingers that your cunt begins to hug. “Such a good girl, squeezin’ my fingers.”  

His aching arousal presses against your ass, and he humps against you as he fingers you. “Ohh, yea--ohhhh.” His cock begins to pulse, spreading a silky warmth across your skin. He moans and sighs as you finish coming on his fingers and his balls empty. 

—-

He uses a shirt of his to clean you up. As his breathing calms down, he hears you sniffling. “Hey, hey, you okay, sweetie?”

You’re fine, more than fine, but you can’t talk.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself when you don’t answer.  He peeks over your side, gently stroking your arm. “Hey, c’mere, talk to me, sweetie.”  You turn around and face him.  “You okay, honey?”

You nod and smile at him with watery eyes.

His brows knit as he finishes catching his breath.  He kisses you on the forehead and wraps you in a hug. You sniffle again and he speaks into your hair. “I know that was a big deal for you, baby.”  He pulls his head back and tilts your chin up. “It was big for me too, okay?” You nod.  He reads your eyes, then presses his lips into yours. He reads your face again, then repeats the kiss and you kiss him back. He kisses you on the forehead and holds you, stroking your head. You fall asleep holding each other face-to-face.

-----

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Thank you so much for reading and engaging! Your comments and reblogs go a long way in motivation so if you liked it plz consider saying something 🫶. There's a virgin section on my joel master list right above the one shots. Left in Lincoln is a pretty similar Joel, in terms of how he is with you sexually. For more Joel POV, the most recent raider, Night Air, has a lot.

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[thegettingbyp2]

38 -Jess Mariano

We're Not Friends

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You were straddling Jess’ lap on the sofa in his and Luke’s apartment above the diner, your fingers tangled in his hair as your hips swivelled on his cock. The apartment was filled with the sound of yours and Jess’ combined whimpers and groans. You’d had the apartment to yourselves for the past day and a bit due to Luke being over at Lorelai’s and it was safe to say that you were both making good use of the empty space.

‘Jess,’ you whined, on the verge of tears. You were so overstimulated from the amount of times the two of you had fucked in the last 24 hours. Jess’ hands were firmly gripping your hips, bouncing you up at down on his cock as his lips pressed kisses and bites along your neck and chest.

‘Almost there, baby, you’re doing so good,’ Jess murmured into your skin, digging his teeth into your collar to make you cry out and clench around him. ‘I’m almost there,’ he repeated, planting his feet on the ground and using the leverage to thrust up into you. Your body collapsed on his chest as he used your body like a toy. Thrusting once more up into you, Jess let out a deep groan as you felt his cum coat your walls.

Resting against his chest, you nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, your eyes fluttering closed tiredly as his arms wrapped around you. You stayed like that for a few minutes before you reluctantly pulled away and got off of his lap, wincing slightly when he slid out of you.

‘Where are you going?’ Jess asked, still sounding tired but looking more alert when he saw you putting your clothes back on.

‘Home,’ you replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

‘Why?’

‘Because we don’t do the whole hanging around, staying over thing.’

‘We did last night.’

You felt your body freeze at his words. You and Jess were strictly friends with benefits, you’d both agreed on that before starting anything up, not wanting to get on the wrong page of anything. Up until last night, you’d kept your rule of not staying round the others after hooking up but Jess having the place to himself, neither of you questioned it when you’d decided to stay over.

‘Jess,’ you said, sighing quietly before turning around to face him. ‘We’re friends and we made a - ’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘We’re not friends, (Y/N), we passed “just friends” about 20 fucks ago, and you know it, so don’t give me that.’

‘We always said that we wouldn’t let feelings get in the way of this.’

‘Well, too late.’

‘And you’re so sure that we both have the same feelings for each other?’ you asked with a raised eyebrow.

‘If I’m wrong, walk out of that door right now,’ Jess said, stepping towards you, his voice low. His hands moved to settle lightly on your hips and you couldn’t help but shiver when you felt his fingers gently press into the new hand-shaped bruises that were forming on your hips. ‘Walk out and I’ll never bring it up again. But I’m 99.9% sure you’re not going anywhere.’

You couldn’t think of anything else to say, your hands came up to rest on his bare chest and you had to fight the urge to laugh when you felt goose bumps erupt over his skin at your touch.

‘I,’ you began, not knowing what to say at all.

Jess’s eyes softened as he looked at you and he took a step closer to you. ‘You feel it too right?’ You nodded, tears springing to your eyes and a lump forming in your throat, making it impossible for you to speak. ‘That’s all I needed,’ he said before leaning in to press his lips back to yours.

That’s when it hit you. Standing in the middle of the apartment, half dressed.

You were in love with Jess Mariano.

[sageo7]

Okay guys i actually finished it idk why i waited like a month lol. Sorry its kinda shot but Im gonna start writing more Stiles content coming up bc there is a horrible lack of fics on tumblr rn. Send me requests pretty please!!

Stiles was practically fuming on the couch next to you while you sat amongst your friends at one of the movie nights hosted at Scotts house. You had been conducting a little experiment to see how much you could tease him and push his buttons until he did something about it. Stiles was always gentle with you, touching you like you would shatter if he applied too much pressure and it was endearing, for sure… but you wanted more. You wanted him to use you how he needed to; for him to use you for once to satisfy his own needs. Your hand remained on his upper thigh under the blanket draped over both of your laps, innocently watching the movie in front of you to avoid his gaze that had been boring into the side of your head ever since your hand brushed up against him. The whole night has been moments like this, whispering dirty things into his ear and skipping away like nothing happened, bending down to grab things directly in front of him so he could get a peak of your lacy pink panties from under your skirt, and now your hand was inching up his thigh to touch him through his jeans in a room full of your friends. Just when your hand makes contact with the bulge straining against his zipper his hand catches your wrist making your eyes snap back up to his which were dark and heavy lidded, his breathing much deeper than normal.

“bathroom.” Is all he practically growls into your ear before he stands from the couch abruptly walking away. You wait another minute or so before also excusing yourself, none of your friends paying much mind to either of your departures. You creep up the stairs slowly every step making the ache between your legs more prominent and you bite back a moan when you’re practically shoved into the bathroom the door slammed shut behind you.

“jesus stiles.” You say exasperatedly and he just gives you a look and retaliates with “why’re you doing this to me baby?”

“doing what?” You ask feigning innocence and looking away to avoid his eyes but his hand grabs your chin harshly turning you back.

“Look at me. You know what I’m talking about.” he says his hand guiding yours to the bulge in his jeans arousal pricking down your spine at the groan that leaves him from the contact.

“feel what you’re doin’ to me?” He mumbles out his head falling to your shoulder when you cup him properly in your hand. You let out a shuddering breath to recompose yourself and nod “yeah? what do you want me to do about it..?” the question comes out sarcastic and taunting and his hips instinctively move forward trying to rut more into your hand.

“anything.” He breathes out and you shake your head pulling your hand away a desperate moan falling from his lips in protest.

“stiles.. tell me what you want.” you repeat putting more emphasis on ‘want’ and he swallows and nods understanding your meaning.

“your mouth..” he finally manages out after a long pause and when you sink to your knees his words grow more confidence “god I wanna fuck your pretty little mouth..” he mutters his hands moving to pull your hair back away from your face. Your hands move diligently to undo his pants eagerly pulling them and his boxers down, his cock springing free the head already an angry red, beads of precum rolling down the tip. You lick your lips instinctively at the sight and peer up at him, he’s flush, pupils blown wide and mouth slightly agape as he watches your every move with rapt attention his hand holding your hair up in a makeshift ponytail subtlely trying to inch you closer to his dick. You wrap a hand around him and his eyes snap shut a guttural moan bubbling up from his throat when your tongue darts out to lick up the precum before taking the tip into your mouth. With a small huff of air you take him further in inch by inch tormentingly slow, but when you nose brushes against tufts of well groomed hair his hips jut forward making you pull away abruptly with a chocked cough. His hands cup your face immediately panic clear in his eyes sputtering out apologies but you shake your head with giggle batting his hands away.

"just so big sti.." you purr out and his anxiety melts away immediately with a borderline pathetic moan. You take him back in your hand, eyes staring up into his while you tug along his dick lowering your mouth to press wet kisses down his length. A few little kitten licks to his slit has his eyes screwing shut hands tightening in your hair. "please.."

"please?" you repeat pulling your mouth away from him "be more specific"

His features scrunch up in annoyance at the taunting still the words spill out of him immediately "no more teasing.. wanna fuck your mouth.. please" he babbles out.

You hum in approval his neediness making your mouth water and you wrap your lips around him again. Your tongue swirling around his tip snaps the last of his well upheld restraint and the hand buried in your hair pushes you further along his dick. Every movement is lead by his hand, wide eyes staring down at you his grunts and groans spurring you on to just let him guide you.

"i'm so.. fuck baby.. oh my g-" his words get less coherent with every motion hips thrusting forward every few times to meet your lips. It doesn't take much more before he's murmuring out small praises and barely intelligible versions of "i'm close" his eyes roll back slightly, cock twitching in your mouth before warm spurts of his cum slide down your throat and drip past the corners of your mouth. He releases his vice like grip on your hair slowly and you pull away swallowing heavily. Neither of you speak for a few seconds to catch your breath but he reaches his hands down to help hoist you back to your feet wrapping his arms around you securely.

"i love you angel." he mutters out against your hairline "so perfect for me"

[cressidagrey]

The Starlight Princess: Prologue

Summary:

There is a Pool of Starlight in the Spring Court. A piece of the Night Court that has no business being in the land of Eternal Spring. So how did it come to be?

Or: How the Spymaster of the Night Court starts hearing a voice, realises that no, he is not insane after all, frees a princess, kills a High Lord…and finds his mate all at the same time.

Warnings:

Discussion of a flirtation 300 years in the past, Discussion of the Death of Rhys' Mother and Sister, Feyre being nosy, Cassian serving all the gossip

(thanks to @tsunami-of-tears for the dividers!)

“Can I ask you a question?” 

If Feyre could still ask him that question, Cassian was pretty sure that he was definitely not hard enough on his High Lady. 

They were back to training, even hard-won peace was not a time where one could slack off…and Feyre had wanted to return to it after the pregnancy with Nyx and everything that had happened. 

So…Cassian got to teach his High Lady. 

And his curiosity was piqued now. “Yes, of course,” he responded carefully.  What was this about now? What question did Feyre have for him? 

“What was her name?” Feyre blurted out and he stared at her. 

Of all the questions, she could have asked of him, that one was not one he had expected. 

“Whose name?” Cassian asked. Who was she talking about? What name didn’t she know? What name…

“Rhys’ sister,” Feyre clarified. “What was her name?”

Oh. 

That question…

Well, he understood why she had come to him with that question. Though it did surprise him that Rhys had never…never even mentioned her name to Feyre. That he had never…

Cassian remembered her. Of course, he did. Even centuries after her death, she wasn’t somebody Cassian would ever forget. Not just because of who her big brother was, but because…

He would never forget seeing her unattached head. 

He would never forget Rhys’ screams of utter turmoil and terror. He would never…He would never…He would never forget that cold wrath on his face…Would never forget everything that happened afterwards…How Rhys had become High Lord, his ascension overshadowed by the death of his sister and mother…and his father…a whole family snuffed out. 

And for what? 

But even without all of that…Cassian would never forget her. 

He would never forget the girl seemingly glowing with magic, the perfect princess, controlled within an inch of her life. 

There had only been very few things that could crack that perfect facade…

His brother had been one of them. 

“Seren. Her name was Seren,” Cassian answered the question finally, his voice hoarse. “Rhys never told you her name?” 

It didn’t lay quite right with him. But then, if there was one thing that he had…realised centuries ago, then that everybody grieved differently. 

Some took comfort in talking about the fallen…and then there were some who didn’t speak of it at all. 

Cassian had seen both. 

He could understand both in a sense. 

And Rhys…in a lot of ways, he fit the second. 

“No. He has talked about her…sometimes…but…” Feyre shook her head. 

“Her name was Seren,” he repeated again, for one moment fondly remembering her as a child. She had been…She had been beautiful. A spitting image of Rhys in a sense, the same dark hair, the same startling violet eyes…her magic dancing on her skin, and her innate abilities on display. The older she had grown, the more she had reigned all of it in. He still didn’t know if it had been her father’s fault or if she herself had realised that she was putting herself at risk, by showing her abilities that obviously. 

 “She was also called the Princess of Starlight by the people of Velaris…When she was a kid, she used to glow with magic,” he continued with a soft smile. 

She had been stunning. 

Still half a girl, not yet a female grown the last time he had seen her, over a year before her death…

She hadn’t deserved her death. But then who did? 

Nesta had reminded him of her often…The similarities were definitely there. Both had been more blunt than anything, though that habit had been beaten out of Seren by her father until she acted like the princess she was supposed to be. But he had never managed to break her will. Iron-willed and with a spine made out of fucking adamantium…Seren had been a sight to behold. 

“Did you know her well?” Feyre asked him curiously, but he shook his head

“I did know her, but I wasn’t…I was never that close to her…by the time she was…by the time she was born, we were all adults. She was just 17 when she died. Rhys was in Illyria...I was a grunt in the army…The one that was closest to her was Azriel,” he recounted. 

A noise of surprise escaped Feyre. 

“Azriel?” she repeated, surprise colouring her tone. 

Cassian nodded, swallowing. It was something that was unspoken, never voiced aloud. 

But Azriel had taken her death the hardest, giving himself the fault for something that wasn’t his fault.

Then, Azriel had already been Spymaster. And Cassian knew…Cassian knew that Azriel still thought that his shadows should have been accompanying Seren and her mother when Tamlin and his brothers had ambushed them. 

Azriel still thought that he should have known that this was a possibility…should have been aware of the risk. Should have prevented it from ever happening. 

“He used to work for Rhys’ father,” Cassian said quietly. He didn’t want to even imagine the horror of these years for Azriel. He knew that this was still something, centuries later, that Azriel muddled through. “And I always…” Cassian broke off, not daring to voice it aloud. 

“What?” Feyre asked curiously. 

“They were close,” he finally said quietly.  “Seren was three weeks shy of her 18th Birthday when she died. I always wondered if…if she had made it…if three weeks later, the mating bond wouldn’t have snapped for them.” He had had that thought so often over the centuries. 

Wondered if Seren’s death hadn’t taken away every chance of a mating bond his brother had…a chance at happiness. 

Feyre stared at him, blue eyes wide. 

“Was Azriel in love with her? What about Mor?” she asked, quietly, and Cassian shrugged. 

“I don’t think he ever would have allowed himself to act on it,” Cassian said carefully. “She was a princess and he was just an Illyrian bastard. But he would have given his life for her. Do not doubt that for a second, Feyre. She was so young when she died. Too young. And Azriel would have never allowed himself to act on whatever he was feeling…And even if…Mor and him…He knew that that would have never worked out. He knew that then. And I think that after Seren died, he just clung even tighter to Mor.”

Mor was still alive. Mor was the only one that Azriel could still protect because in his mind he had failed horribly with Seren.

“Seren was…she was pure political capital,” he said darkly. “Her father was very much aware of that. He would have married her off to any other court in this land…and a mating bond with Azriel wouldn’t have stopped him. He was already planning on it…The perfect princess with starlight dancing at her fingertips…and daemati abilities that make you and Rhys look like a bad magic trick humans conjured up,” he recounted with a snort. 

Nobody had ever stood up to Seren’s mental abilities. None. 

“She was better at it than Rhys?” Feyre asked, a small smile on her face and Cassian couldn’t help but laugh softly. 

“Even Rhys was powerless against her. He may had more magic…but Seren wasn’t to be underestimated. She plucked thoughts out of your head without anybody noticing. It was…startling. And even her own father knew…” 

“Knew what?” Feyre asked as he hesitated. 

“He knew that one day there was going to come a time where his children would topple his throne…a day where Seren and Rhys would join forces…and not even the cauldron could have helped him then.”

[pityslash]

[repost] suggested mature content, characters are 18+.

katsuki didn't fall in love the same way as everyone else did. there wasn't a spark that took hold of his breath nor an arrow that struck so abruptly. it was slow and steady like a heartbeat, so soothing that he didn't even notice until it was too late.

everything was beautiful and blooming. you met katsuki when it was spring, when you were both too young and stupid for your own good, the cuts and bruises when you played too rough, the mutters of apology.

spring was the perfect time to plant good seeds in a relationship, a time to uproot any unwanted weeds. for years, you two never put a label on your relationship.. friends. but katsuki would find himself spending more time with you, hours of you getting on his nerves, him looking for you in a crowd, the annoying small talk.

it was fine until one day, his friends started to come to him, asking if you were around. “no. how the hell would i know where they are? i’m not babysitting.” it was bitter on his tongue.

“… you’re always together, man. please?” kirishima says, loud on the phone speaker. he said it so casually, the moment of silence before katsuki let out the breath he was holding, and he finally spills.

but in summer, true colors show. it took time, but you see each other's flaws as they are. when you feel each other in a deeper way, attraction grows at a very rapid pace and— physically, the fire of intimacy.

“how much did you drink?” he was drunk. you both were, and it could lead to nothing but headaches and heartaches.

the years of pining and not being able to admit it, when your friends would think you have been together all this time but no, it’s in the three magic words, when you make the feelings clear and spit it out.

it was a party.. a celebration party? there were games and stupid red cups and spiked drinks. the door knob pressed into your back, it hurt but nothing mattered as your hands tangled into his hair, shivering and you’re sure he was the only thing holding you up.

when you pulled apart momentarily to laugh, but quickly reconnected, as if you were each other’s source of air, unable to go without the other for more than a second.

the hands pulling you closer as if it was the last time, nose bumping and he confessed his love to you over a hundred times, how you’re the best person he’s ever met, you listened to every word.

“you love m- me?” the breath catches in your throat. no verbal response leaves katsuki’s mouth, he just nods. katsuki knows he can be emotional when he has a bit of alcohol in his system, he believes it’s more than that though.

a touch feels like it can burn through your skin, his hands slipping under your shirt, his lips were warm but his hands were surprisingly cold. he felt you jump, hand finding him in the dark, maybe you were ticklish..

“is this okay?” it wasn’t often you saw katsuki at a loss for words, even less often would you see him turn that shade of red. despite being under the influence, he never forgot to ask where to put his hands, making sure you were comfortable.

“do you want to?” his thumb brushes against your cheek, breath mingled and you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him back in and swallowing him whole.

this kiss was soft, tender and gentle. just moments before, it was all desperation and fire, capable of breaking one’s heart.

i love you.

but those three simple words were repeated until that was all you could remember, you started to believe it.

your bodies radiated the same heat, a soft touch turns into a light squeeze and he held you down on the bed —bed, couch? did you leave the party? everything is foggy— growing hotter as his lips move against yours, you close your eyes and hold him close the entire night.

“would you still love me if i was a worm?” that was one way to break the silence, the crunch of orange and yellow leaves. “hell no.” and he responds almost immediately, muffled from the cup before he takes a big drink from his coffee.

“wrong answer! we’re breaking up.”

he chokes, and you slap his back. the tip of his tongue burns, and so did the reddening spot on your cheek he pinches. “hell no!”

you trip over your own two feet as he swings an arm around your neck and traps you in a headlock. katsuki almost drops the cup, ready to give you a piece of his mind but he relents. “take that shit back.”

his arm squeezes tighter, not enough to actually hurt you, but you were definitely trying to get free in case he did take this to the ground, trying to get your posture back.

“katsuki what the hell?!”

“i don’t need both arms, dipstick! take it back!”

fall was supposed to be the season of deep connection. when you were no longer blinded, there was no hiding behind the beauty of spring.

“katsuki, if i said no you probably would have showed up at my house with flowers and abducted me to go to that sushi place anyways.”

“but you said you loved me first, remember?” katsuki didn’t waste a second, stirring the miso dissolving in the saucepan. the sink was piled with dishes, spices lined the counter, the smell of steamed rice filling the kitchen.

you immediately drop the knife on the counter and spin around, eyes on him. it was enough for him to try and fail to stifle a laugh. “why are you laughing?! so what if i say i love you all the time, you said it first.”

the holidays were coming up, and somehow christmas and buying gifts was brought up while making dinner. katsuki wasn’t as excited as you were, claiming there was no way in hell he’d write a fucking christmas list.

“i’d buy you everything.” whether you asked for it or not. “if you don’t get on my nerves.”

maybe he didn’t know what you were thinking, maybe he just wasn’t ready. “ha ha, so funny..” but you smiled anyway.

“would i joke about something like that?” katsuki scoffs, staring right at you when you turn back around. he was annoyed; an open book of emotions when you knew what to look for.

he raises an eyebrow and you walk over, tofu in the palm of your hand and he lets you add it to the miso soup, eyes like a hawk. “well—“

katsuki catches your wrist when you reach to grab his face. “sadistic sense of humor?” the monster inside him fell silent, biting his tongue, and his heart raced as your lips brushed against his cheek.

a heartbeat loud in your ears with a song you never grew tired of. but suddenly it wasn’t just about silly christmas gifts, when you pull away first and let out a deep breath.

“i love you.” those words are too familiar but foreign, katsuki might’ve blushed but he makes an ugly face. that phrase earned a new meaning when you came into the picture, once only spoken by his mother and father.

why did it matter who said it first: katsuki was in love with you, more than he loved anyone in his life. a ring on the small chain around his neck is a symbol of your love, and he would never take it off.

forgive me? it’s a beautiful feeling, something so deep and natural like affinity. sharing breaths and two human beings become one. he was your soulmate, how lucky you are to have him by your side.

“it’s fine, i love you too.” it was hushed, but he said it back a million times over. you couldn’t imagine loving someone else the way you loved bakugo katsuki.

he was a man of action; katsuki never gave romantic speeches.

sharing a bed as you’ve done since you were kids. he wakes up first and sighs when he gives you a kiss before jumping into the shower. how he would spread just enough of your favorite jam onto toast in the morning, and get started with a cup of coffee.

seeing new couples on your walk through the park, kissing on benches. and cringing together before holding hands, “we were like that once, baby.”

when katsuki gets weekly texts from his mother asking how you’ve been, and he tells her to fuck off. though, after a few minutes, he will tell her you’re just fine with him.

when you catch up with mutual old friends over dinner, have a few drinks and you laugh when they poke fun at katsuki. “so happy you two got together! this guy has been crazy about you since high school.” and kaminari squealed when katsuki kicked him underneath the booth table.

when he hears you sneaking up behind him finishing up a big meal, the amused huff and he speaks loudly “dinner is almost ready,” before arms wrap around his waist, hands slipping under. your face hides in his shirt, knowing you should go to set the table.. but in a minute.

“your favorite.” katsuki says again, and you show your thanks with a kiss on the cheek.

though in winter, with bright lights all around and colors that match his eyes, there was no joy. weeks of no contact after a stupid fight, the ignored texts and your friends trying to mend what happened.

the cuts on your hands from pulling on the invisible thread that was slowly coming undone, singed and twisted, holding it together until it hurt too much to risk more.

surprisingly, you two have been chatting with friends and having cups of hot chocolate and enjoying the food. but the cold season came with much difficulty, the denial of oneself to lean into the comfort and stability of familiarities.

the way he’d look at you made it obvious he wanted to talk. your friends aren't paying attention when you slip away together, watching the stars as the sun has long since set. there was mistletoe hanging on the door frame.

“so..” katsuki breaks the peaceful silence, “this is it.” this is how we came to be. you glanced back at him, but he did not look at you.

the sweet, hot spiciness of cinnamon is the smell of christmas, whether it’s in the wine or cookies or eggnog; it was inviting.. you can all but taste it.

“bakugo, we haven’t talked recently and i.. know you’re too stubborn for your own good. you’re still one of my best friends, we’ve shared a lot together. we’re out here because you wanted to talk, so...” it took everything in you to muster up the confidence, but it falters when katsuki laughs.

suddenly you feel embarrassed and small in front of him —the man you gave everything to, but before you could break, he turns and for the first time since you were teenagers, katsuki cries.

“my mom has been up my ass for not doing this sooner, i just— needed to think about the right shit to say but i can’t let you leave here tonight not nothing that i’m sorry.”

the blond tries to wipe his tears, words jumbled up and you have to stop yourself from reaching out. he was vulnerable. if you moved too fast, he could run off and fight the first person he saw or just.. crumble to pieces right here.

“fuck, i’m sorry,” he rasped out. “i know i’m an asshole, i’ve been told my whole life. i should let you go and find someone better but i’m scared out of my mind you’re just going to disappear if i let you walk out and i can’t do this without you, y/n. i want this.”

it slips out so spontaneously you’d almost think he was joking, but you’ve never seen him looking so heartfelt or speaking so genuinely.

“this?” you pretended the red on katsuki’s face was just from the cold, but the emotion flickering in those eyes made you hesitate. “us?”

you feel tears well up again, he sounds so hopeful, and you truly want this too. not once have you ever questioned your worth to katsuki, he cared about you and years of built friendship was proof. still…

“us..” you stood side by side, knowing you will never recover from this, but if you walk away now it will be the occasional twinge in your heart. it was dark out and the sky was clear, stars reflected off the fresh snow, sparkling.

“i’m right here.” you’re willing to share this passion for the short time you have together.

“for how long?” he was questioning himself, and you felt like your heart was going to jump out of your chest as he took a step closer, hands shaking. “i’m still yours.”

you would stand here forever with katsuki, shivering from the confessions or late december, you didn’t know. because you get the most dazzling firework for a fleeting second, the firework being in love with him.

katsuki gets nervous but you lean in and close the slight distance, gentle as your lips touch, your nose sits next to his. and his hand lifts to hold your face, so warm it felt as if you could fall asleep with his arms wrapped around you, the contact soaking into your bones.

taste the remnants of chocolate, you felt dizzy and your stomach was doing flips. what he was thinking? did he feel the spark again? it was a feeling better than you ever imagined. when he pulls away after a moment, you wait a second before going in for another.

“i forgot how good you are at kissing,” you say. “i think you stole a year off my life.”

he shakes his head with a smile, eyes still glassy, and you watch as he takes off his jacket, “it’s getting cold, here.” katsuki replies, his voice soft and in a tone only meant for you.

katsuki lays the jacket over your shoulders, taking the lapels and holding it close around his childhood friend.. his first love. you held hands for a while, enjoying the sounds of the party and friends just inside, forgotten.

but as if fate was laughing, you’re snapped back into reality, where you and him aren’t meant to be, when you hear the sliding door open. “hey guys, have you seen the—“

ochako, who is carrying a plate with santa decorated sugar cookies, stops mid sentence. you jumped away despite it being too late, snatching your hands from his. “—christmas cookies…s- sorry!”

[inkdrinkerworld]

I didn’t have the best relationship w my dad and I could totally see Remus healing r just by how kind and genuinely interested he is in their daughter. He loves talking to her, understanding her, getting excited with her on the things she gets excited about

Baby same same SAME

Your daughter bursts through your bedroom door, bolting straight for Remus who’s just finished dressing.

“Daddy, you wouldn’t believe what happened today.”

You roll your eyes, already aware of the whole ‘put down’ that happened in Kindergarten today.

Remus stops brushing his hair and sits on the floor- on a soft rug in the corner of your bedroom that was their designated ‘decompress’ space.

“What happened that I wouldn’t believe, calon bach?”

Your daughter vividly recounts the way one of the boys at school had decided that lunch time was the perfect time to try speaking to her- while she was eating her fairy cake no less and dipped his finger in her frosting.

“Daddy, I don’t know why he would even do that! And I scraped off all the frosting after even though that’s my favourite part because I’m not sure where his hands have been!”

Her dramatics- as Remus fondly refers to them- come from you, and it makes your heart stutter to see Remus remain so enraptured by her story.

Suddenly, tears spring to your eyes, even more so when he says, “How abouts tomorrow we pack an extra fairy cake and you can offer it to him?”

She frowns, a deep worried line in the middle of her forehead. “Do I have to? Because I really do love fairy cakes.”

You watch as Remus rubs her back, pulling her to his lap and deliberates her words.

You remember, without your consent, how conversations like these were usually exchanged with your mother, or your older brother if he was home from work but your dad never allowed any of it.

It would result in a flick of his wrist, a huffed ‘I’m busy can this wait?’ Or a simple yet very hurtful, ‘I don’t want to hear about your day, I just want quiet.’

Remus is never flippant or rude or anything that you had experienced when it comes to your little girl or even to yourself but it makes your heart grow an even stickier fondness for him.

“Okay maybe we can just start by telling him keep his hand to himself and if he wants an extra fairy cake you can offer it to him, yeah?”

Your daughter flops in Remus’ hold, head hanging off his thigh. “I guess.”

You chuckle wetly and Remus looks up at you- worry and then understanding passing across his face. He winks at you and you smile, wiping away your tears.

“Can we watch Klaus tonight? I fell asleep early after tea last night and I don’t think you and mama watched it without me.”

You both didn’t, having been far too exhausted to even blink for long after she had fallen asleep.

“No we didn’t look at it without you, sassy pants,” Remus pats her butt as they stand, “Go lay with mummy and I’ll bring up some snacks and water.”

Her eyes narrow as she climbs up the bed next to you. “Daddy you know I like the juice, the one mummy likes.”

Remus does know, he also knows it’s well past her bedtime already. But then you join the puppy dog eyes against Remus party and he’s putty.

“Fine but only a little.”

“I love you,” is repeated twice to him and he finds the words have never been truer even as he waters down some of the juice for your daughter and opts for her animal crackers that all of you love.

[samodivaa]

Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 3)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Winter Soldier x Reader)

He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. Part 1⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 2 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Part 4⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Music --- Vivaldi - Winter (L'inverno) Quotes - Fyodor Dostoevsky └── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘ Warnings - heavy ANGST, mention of murder, non-con

Listened to it on repeat until i finished the chapter. Enjoy. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Calm, boring days, an unknown future, and an irregular sleep, the days pass and nothing new. The absence of knowledge is the presence of paranoia – she crumbles mentally. It's been happening for so long – it is all that is happening, over and over again. She is full of fear, leading to feeling grief. Her life, a tragedy, a land of devastation and destruction. All the bright, precious things of Bucky fade so fast – in the end, memories are all she keeps. It makes her tremble to think back, to remember how she thought their life would be. Her greatest regret – believing so much in their future. She used to build dreams about Bucky and now she can’t believe if she will ever do it again - she treads the icy path between Spring and Winter, slowly and cautiously, for fear of tripping and falling into the snow again, for fear of losing her dearest Spring. She feels the chill north winds coursing through her home, despite the locked and bolted doors…this is Winter, which nonetheless brings it's own delight – after Winter, Spring always comes next.

She spend so much time in my head and in her heart that she forgets to live in her body, not hearing someone entering.

“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth.”

She blinks at that line of the book, her mind lingering once again to Bucky…but when is a monster not a monster – oh, when you are the reason, it has become mangled…she remembers when those eyes said love loudly, now these walls so quietly shift towards her as he leans on the door frame stealthy, still not alerting her. She puts the book aside, deciding to wash her dishes – her vast inner solitude poisoning her whole existence, there is no dignity in loneliness. The worst moment, when sitting alone at dinner, she has forgotten the ocean eyes, the depth of his laugh, it all had faded into into the past, where memories are silent.

Winter brushes his hands along the hardwood of the door, tentatively waiting for a sign that she had noticed him in the doorway. Three knocks follow on the wooden frame and her shoulders are already quavering, he once again craved a bullet with her name on it, burning Bucky down and in the ashes left behind – coming to burn her.

She glances at the door behind her as she holds her arms wrapped around herself before turning around to face him. Winter seems so human with his genuine smile, nodding slowly when his presence is finally acknowledged. Rage explodes inside, fire rushing over her skin. Winter’s face is flooding with color by then, and she finds that the sight makes her feel refreshingly nostalgic – the shades of Bucky somehow showing.

Dem light plays upon his face, revealing gleaming eyes, a mouth pulled into a grin. Stillness wraps her up in a cold embrace, a chill running down her body as he speaks.

„I warned you and you didn’t listen“

Winter shifts closer, caging her to the counter.

"Oh no…“ she whispers brokenly.

She brakes into a sob she could not contain, hands wrestled free from his grasp and worked their way to shield herself. He grips her hips, drawing her close, and roughly presses his mouth to the soft, swollen lips. Soldat longed for her for so long, dreamed of it as one would of an impossible journey to the moon, and now? How would he ever let her go?

The winters are becoming longer, very monotonous. Spring does come eventually, but it feels so short, looking back – it is not much more than a coupe of days.

He steps back, his fist unclenching, urging her to see – Walker’s work badge. All of her paranoia which played complicated possible outcomes - what an utterly incomprehensible thing has happened - without delay, Winter plucks every vibrating string in her mind by choosing to mock her.

„I warned you“

„You fucking monster what have you done?! I hate you so much I wish they never created you! I want you gone so much it hurts.“

His heart becomes a shriveled rose, poisoned with death and petals fall with every word from her mouth, sending him into a bottomless pit of anger.

„I will tell him, I will tell Bucky the tru-“

If once one has recognized the truth and seen it, you know that it is the truth and that there is no other and there cannot be, whether you are asleep or awake.

The melodious ringing sounds of Bucky’s dog tag chimes deep into her soul – as he holds them in front of her – as if a funeral bell is ringing, pealing for one a last farewell.

„Bucky is no longer“ dressed in all black, he is giving the eulogy „We can bury him together“ he says with the intend to drop them on the floor, but she catches them.

Up in her conscience, it's making her nauseous, she shifts backwards momentarily, but there is no where to run. Instinctively, Winter tightens his hold on her waist, though he neither pushes her away nor pulls her closer – just grounds her in place when she tries to slide to the floor.

„No…it can’t be, I don’t believe it“ comes her unenlightening, despondent response.

„He never picked up the phone that day. It was me, doll“

Now it all began to fall into place. A poor, beautiful, tragic fool - he had thrown her hope away on a moment's false illusion, and she was paying dearly for it. With her hope, her love, her soul.

„No, you are lying“ she whispers brokenly, her voice trembling. She blinks at him, her eyes enormous pools of misery with wetness clinging to the lashes and collecting in the tender indentation above her top lip.

„Stop crying “ he licks the hollow of her throat. "It is getting annoying“ a long, slow lick up her throat "…цветок“ (flower)

And if it frightens and torments her to think of Bucky and the simplicity and silence that accompanies him – she still believes in the illusion that he is there, it’s life-giving.

His left hand slides up gently to cup her chin as he leans in and kisses her once more, and with all her strength that she could find, she slaps him across the face, forcing it to turn to the side. He murmurs her name low. She whispers „no’s“. Winter presses himself close, giving a hollow bark of laughter as his angry gaze searches hers. He feels the trembling woman in his arms, her breathing shallow and uneven, clearly overcome with emotions.

„Тебе лучше, моя куколка?“ (Feeling better, my doll?)

„Don’t you dare call me that“

From the desert of Bucky’s abandoned love, he dares mock her pain. Winter stares her down, watching every reaction as his hands memorizes her curves, groaning, his fingers clawing at her back and quite possibly tearing her shirt.

Bucky dreams - the trees, stripped of all foliage, are white and bone-dry, twisted and curved like desiccated skeletons. Smoke drifts up from the scorched soil that crunches under his feet. In the distance, there’s a hill where, on the other side, y/n stands waving at him. He quickens his steps. She is calling for him, her voice distant, desperate.

The smoke beneath his feet thickens, he is choking as he he is trying to find her.

The fog begins to thin.

He is no longer walking on stone or dirt, but on show.

Winter of the world has come, and her body is lying on the ground, thin layer of snow covering it.

He wakes up, covered in sweat, looking around and everything is so unfamiliar, it’s feasting off his fragile and confused being.

– and there she lies – – not dressed in snow, but in white sheets.

In the deepening grasp of reality, Bucky has no choice but to recognize the trembling in his own heart. A trembling ocean underneath his eyelids. The veil of sadness and shame – causes him to scream as he holds her body, awaiting her warmth.

„Y/n? Baby…what-t, where, baby come on wake up“

„Baby, please wake up, Jesus what happened…I can’t remem-“

But love unexplained is clearer.

She is still clinging on something, still clinging on hope – the dog tags – it seems that she wanted to pour out all her heart into his heart in hopes of waking him up – she loved him, she shall love him always, loving him more than life itself. “Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.” PART 4 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Tag list @kaz11283 @montyrokz @queenashen @pandabearrrrrrr @depressed-gays-of-marvel @introverbatim @chocolatelovemusic @happinessinthebeing @goodkittyspost @venting402 @tilltheendofthelinepal9950 @lovelywritinglady @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @msoldier

[tadpolesonalgae]

To Old Gods

Tamlin x reader

synopsis: you spend a clear, spring night under the pale moon with the High Lord of Spring, only you had not understood the intimacy he was inviting you to join him in, under a night where the veil thins, and things become slightly other

a/n: I realised as a writer, I am technically able to put my own spin on each character. I hope you enjoy this peaceful night journey, and would recommend reading this somewhere you can see the moon :)

Day 1 for @tamlinweek : Heir of Spring

music: Tamlin, by Faun

word count: 1k~

This is the High Lord of Spring you respect and worship—the one who leads the rituals and pays his dues to the old magic.

How he walks silently through the grassy fields, the blades allowed to grow tall and wild so they whisper against his legs as he walks bare-footed along the trail. With small twigs and wild berries woven throughout his regal hair, swaying free in the fresh spring breeze, he resembles a disciple of the old priestesses. Clothed in a thin pale robe, the dark marking are stark against his skin—soot-like dust clouding the rims of his eyes, streaking in three lines outward like scars, and as sharply drawn as talons. One set up over his brows, streaking back into the pale gold of his hair; the second set dripping a tear’s path over the sharp high of his cheekbones disappearing just above the point of his ears around his temples; the third pair cutting straight down from his dark emerald eyes, flowing down over the harsh cut of his jaw, over the strength of his neck, down to the tangle of swirls and symbols that branch across his partially bare chest.

Beneath the moonlight, solemn and stern, you can’t help the comparison that springs to mind—with how the gods were drawn long ago, etched on parchment, or carved into stone. Those same marking that are so frequently forgotten, a tradition sacred to the Spring Court, that the rest of Prythian, even fae-kind as a whole, seem to have either forgotten or discarded. But not here. Here, those carvings are remembered and preserved, worshipped and awed over.

It’s precious, an experience you treasure, being allowed the honour of watching over such a private ceremony. To be permitted near him on this night when he honours his past fathers, the bloodline that stretches and twines like a new stream that has yet to forge its own straight lines through the earth, so meanders and ambles.

How the moonlight spills across his robes, shining over the pale gold of his hair—sacred and holy. Beneath the silver light, you can make out the triskelion that’s been marked on his chest, partially concealed beneath the robes that have been arranged over his broad shoulders. The interlocking spirals stand out clearly, the familiar marking easy to recognise. Earth, water, and sky. Birth, life, and death. The patient cycle of life as it repeats quietly, relentlessly. Repeating persistently yet ever-evolving.

A star falls across the sky, and his green-gold eyes follow its path, attention unfaltering despite the will-o-wisps that glow and bumble about in the field, casting pale blue light about the place as they bob and swirl with the breeze. There are few clouds in the sky this night, meaning their distinct, calming glow is enhanced by the moonlight, practically shimmering beneath its cool-toned light.

He turns in the field, a slow shift of his torso as his gaze finds you effortlessly, features patient and somber, and you move as softly as you can manage, unaccustomed to being barefoot. Aware of the earth beneath your feet, how surprisingly bouncy it feels, like freshly tilled soil that sinks as you step upon it. You wade through the grass, pausing at his side as to not overstep—it is a privilege to even be witnessing this moment, let alone to be invited so close.

Initially you hadn’t understood the importance of the night. Had understood its significance, the value of paying respect to those who had come before, recognising he owed much to his fathers—but had failed to consider the personal ramifications of undergoing the ceremony. What it means, for him—he, who should never have become High Lord in the first place. To stand in the open fields and welcome the past spirits closer, the veil thinning between here and elsewhere. What that could mean for a person who has lost his family, to have this one night where they might once more be together, united on one plane.

Tamlin’s gold flecked eyes are quiet but clear, sharp and as aware as ever, refusing to cower from the night, insisting on being fully present to honour his line.

His gaze locks with yours, and in this brief moment they seem almost ancient, carrying a weight he’s never allowed you to see before. Perhaps one even he’s unaware of carrying, simply having taken over from his father without examining what was being passed onto him. The kind of burden he would be forced to hold upon his back. It’s gone as swiftly as it appeared, his expression patient but solemn as he watches you with an acute understanding that has the hairs on your forearms rising. Feeling bare in a way no amount of clothing could aid with, like he’s somehow able to look directly within you, to scoop up pure starlight from the pool of your soul.

He makes no effort to speak, and you have no inclination to disrupt the peace, so join him in his silence, sharing the whisper of the breeze between you, the swish of grass and the far off snap of twigs as they break beneath soft paws. Tamlin’s gaze returns back to the sky, and the will-o-wisps dance closer, near enough to cast light upon your own robes. Quiet and together, the two of you stand, side by side as you share in the sacred moment. Looking up into the bright, night sky, lit by shimmering starlight, swirling and wonderfully complex. Even in the darkest hours, it’s surprising how bright the world is.

Your heart falters a little when his broad palm extends toward you, and you find deep emerald eyes once again peering down at you, far older than the male before you. There’s a sincerity in the gold flecks of his gaze that has your mind quietening, understanding the request for company on a night as long and as tiring as this. Not tiring in the sense of physical exertion, but in the kind that sleeping poorly despite having rested for so long brings. In the kind of restless strain that grief offers, heavy and mournful, yet enlivened by the rebirth of Spring. A relentless awareness that persists tirelessly, but that has been put into a creature that requires sleep and recuperation to recover and continue.

Your fingers slide over the surprisingly rough skin of his hands, settling in his palm as you’re brought closer, stood directly beside him, beneath this long night.

A night of mourning, and longing. A night for wishes to be made, and relations to be resolved.

A night for past worries to be released, and new beginnings to take root.

A night for rebirth, the kind only Spring can offer.

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[1d1195]

Physics Extra I

Read the rest here: Physics

Some great inspo from my 🌼-anon.

Hope you like it 💕

A little angsty, a little fluffy. Full disclosure--I'm not sure if I was tired or if I'm stupid, but I couldn't remember what year of college they were in and which Physics level they were in so I'm going to clarify here and I'll fix it later on. It shouldn't be too much of an issue. I left it a bit ambiguous if I remember correctly.

~2.5k words

Part of her worried this would happen. The flare of the savior complex paired with her insecurity finally won out. Time spent apart over break helped their budding relationship. It led to an unbelievably passionate reunion after the new year and return for the spring semester. The kisses from Harry’s lips on her mouth and trailing down her body made her warm just thinking about it and it was nearly a month—almost two—ago.

But now, Harry no longer needed a physics tutor. They didn’t have a class together. Fortunately, they did spend most nights together. Harry took her to parties and broke the hearts of every girl that had pined for him for so long. He walked her to class when he was free, and she met him at the gym just to say hi and run on the treadmill while he did his routines with his friends.

Niall and Louis were over every Saturday morning, hungover and whining for her pancakes before she went to the bookstore. Harry spent many nights in her apartment, snuggled around her and it felt so good. So unbelievably good.

She just couldn’t get her mind to agree that it was a good thing.

It was her own doing. How could she not know he would find out. It was exactly the kind of thing that happened in a rom-com or a sit-com or any comedy really. The irony of it all was not lost on her. She should have known.

For someone that studied Physics, balanced two campus jobs, and managed to have a boyfriend, she was an idiot.

*

Harry was at the gym again. It was either the gym or pacing the floor of his apartment. After a day of pacing and grumbling to himself, Louis insisted he leave and do something productive before he put a rut in their floor and lost their security deposit.

Studying was hardly his forte prior to dating her and now she wasn’t there to help him with the finer details of studying—like actually getting him to focus—he was a lost cause. Just being in her presence made it easier to focus. Like a little reminder that she was proud of him.

Thus, he was at the gym, the second time in the day. At the very least he would break his personal record twice in a day. The longer he stayed there, the worse his frustration got. His form was impeccable. Niall kept his eyebrows in a fixed uprise on his forehead. He whistled lowly.

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“Do you know how stupid you’re being?”

“Inform me, please.”

“She’s the whole package, Harry. She’s smart, beautiful, funny, and I thought the pancakes were impressive, but the way she chugs a beer is honestly...” he chuckled. “I want my own tutoring lesson.”

Harry ignored him and made his way for the bench press. “Shut up,” he repeated.

“Harry, it’s ridiculous. You love her,” he reminded him.

“Spot me or shut up.”

Niall sighed. “If I don’t get pancakes soon, I’m going to lose it,” he warned Harry. It had been two weeks. They had barely spoken only murmuring hi when they bumped into one another. People ogled them before they started dating, now it only amplified.

“You’re a grown up, tell her y’want pancakes,” he muttered straining under the weight of his barbell.

“Christ, Harry,” he shook his head. “You’re a grown up. Talk to her.”

Harry did two reps and then his arms started to shake. It was too much for one day on top of the fact that without her help studying she was able to distract him here too.

“Why would she say that?” He murmured.

“Say what?”

“That...” he rubbed a hand over his face. His shirt was soaked with sweat. His scalp was itchy, he wanted to go home. Well, he really wanted to go to her place and lay with his head in her lap while she ran her fingers through his hair. They would watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch and eventually Harry would wake up and carry her to her room where they would snuggle and dream until the morning. “That s’not serious.”

“Well...have you asked her to be your girlfriend?” Niall sat on the floor while Harry straddled the seat. Niall stretched.

“I thought it was implied when we spend every night together.”

“Harry, she’s a nice, sweet girl.”

“Thanks, Niall. I didn’t notice,” he rolled his eyes.

“Well,” he shrugged.

“Let’s go.”

“Fine,” Niall hopped up, grabbed their waters. “But I’m not gonna snuggle with you the way she does.”

*

“This is ridiculous, you know it’s ridiculous right?”

She was lying on the floor between the TV and the coffee table, facedown. An unintelligible groan went into the carpet, and she tilted her head up briefly and then smacked it back on the floor gently. “Fuck.”

“You could easily apologize,” Sarah told her.

“Why did I say that?” She groaned.

“It’s new! And Harry...”

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “Harry’s been nothing but nice to me. He’s done nothing but shown me that he likes me and cares about me. I just ruined it. I humiliated him and I couldn’t even deny it. I feel so...bad. Who does that?!”

Sarah sat on her hips making her grunt. “You. You did that, you idiot.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Well, fix it!”

“Sarah,” she sighed and put hands on her eyes. “He’s never going to trust me.”

“Of course, he does. The only thing that’s going through that stupid head of his is that he hasn’t made you feel more secure.”

“But he did.”

“So tell him. It was a lapse in judgment. Alcohol. Tell him you had a cold. He won’t care. He just wants you to know you can trust him.”

“But I am so...not his type.”

“Well, hate t’break it to y’kitten,” she mimicked Harry’s accent and her nickname. “You are now.”

*

“So how did you meet Harry?” She knew the girl was drunk. She didn’t get her name. It was Shauna or Shayna, or something. She couldn’t remember. Instead, she sipped her own alcohol, glanced around to see Harry playing beer pong with Louis and Niall.

“Uh...” she swallowed. “We had Physics last semester. He needed tutoring.”

“Oh, that’s so cute!” But not-Shauna didn’t make it sound like it was cute. It was so condescending. It made her feel awkward and almost ashamed of how they met. She wished they had met at a party or a bar. Something more college-y—although what was more college-y than meeting in class?

“Uh...yeah, it was,” because it was. It was cute. The way Harry came up to her in the middle of the dining hall—it was out of a movie. He was handsome, perfect, and so nice to her. Even though she heard rumors and felt inadequate about the type of girl he normally surrounded himself with, it was undeniably cute. It was tragic she felt ashamed of their meeting.

“So how long is that?” Not-Shauna continued.

“Pardon?”

“How long have you been a couple, officially?”

It was innocuous. Four months. All she had to say was four months.

“Oh...well...we haven’t really discussed...” she cleared her throat. “I’m not sure of the exact date...” she looked at the contents of her cup. “I don’t think it’s been…” nothing was coming to the surface to explain what they were. Not accurately.

Four months.

That’s all she had to say.

She’d been studying physics for a while. Time dilation was something she only considered in movies and in theory. Einstein’s kind of thing. Not her thing. At a party when she was just asked how long she had been dating the man that spent five out of seven nights in her bed, wrapped around her...hell inside of her... was not a place for physics.

But somehow, the hours ticked by in place of the minutes. The carbonation of the soda water mixing with her vodka was moving in slow motion. It was like she could count every bubble that reached the surface and popped. “Oh, you’re not...official,” not-Shayna said.

Again, that condescension was so uncomfortable, she nearly dropped her drink. The time dilation started again. She was counting the bubbles. “Well, actually—” But not-Shayna was gone. The movie that was her life immediately turned into a horror film. “Oh no,” she mumbled to herself.

The minutes that were hours suddenly turned into seconds. Someone whispered something to someone else. The game of telephone sped by in seconds.

Harry missed his final pong shot. He whipped around to her, her cup halfway to her mouth. Her cheeks turned beet red. As red as the cup she sipped from.

Anger. Anger was an appropriate reaction. A fiery gaze, a flushed complexion. Even hands in fists were understandable for her faux pas.

Anger would have been preferable to the hurt expression on Harry’s sweet face.

*

After her shift at the bookstore, she was lying on the floor again. Sarah invited her to go shopping. But she couldn’t. Nothing seemed right. An idiot. That’s what she was. A Physics student with a 3.9 GPA and she was probably the dumbest person on campus.

There was a knock on her door. “Sarah, I cannot shop,” she groaned. “I’ll probably trip and fall in the food court and ruin some poor teen couple’s movie and dinner date and they’ll never live happily ever after because that’s all I do. Ruin a perfectly good couple.”

“Um... not Sarah,” she jumped off the floor. Laying down to standing in less than one second. She sprinted to the door and yanked it out of the way. “Hi,” Harry said softly.

“Hi,” she answered awkwardly.

“Can I... come in?”

She swallowed, opened the door wider, and moved out of the way. He hurried in, sat on the couch. It was like the first time Harry came over to help decorate. It was basically his spot. When everything made sense. She felt more at ease seeing him in her space again; making himself comfortable.

But comfort only lasted seconds because he looked… anxious. Which only fueled her anxiety.

He rubbed his hand on the back of his head and sighed. Dropped his hands into his lap. “I think we should talk, kitten.”

“I shouldn’t have said it!” She blurted. Her own pacing started. Her heart rate started to fly to a dangerous level. She was pacing in her floor spot that she designated for laying. “I don’t know what was wrong with me! Sarah told me to tell you it was a cold or the alcohol... or maybe I had a stroke. I don’t even remember what she said to tell you. But I don’t have a reason. Which is worse. I wish I had a reason, Harry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I should have said anything but what I said. You have made me so happy over the last four months,” she was still pacing looking like a psychopath. “You have made me feel so safe and so... loved and I don’t know why I had such a lapse in horrible judgment like that. I mean you made me a hot chocolate bar for God’s sake! You don’t mind studying and you don’t care that I drool like a teething infant when I sleep. Even when I get it all over your pillow or your shirt. I feel so terrible, Harry. So completely terrible. I don’t know how I can be so smart in class and make everyone jealous and then go and say that about you. Or not say! I don’t know what's wrong with me but—”

Harry was quiet while she rambled and paced. It was cute. Sweet even. It was nice to know she was rattled, selfishly—they both paced when upset. It was sweet. Cute to know they shared it. He smiled softly. “Do y'want t’be m’girlfriend?”

She stopped pacing, finally. Her heart finally slowed, she put a hand to her chest, like it would keep it slow as she looked at him squarely for the first time since she started ranting. “What?”

“Well,” his grin grew. He looked at his lap again, his palms rubbing on his thighs. “It might be easier on us both t’tell you I love you. Y’know...if y’were m’girlfriend. Might be easier on you t’answer that kind of question if y’had a date t’tell people of when we’ll have our official anniversary.”

“You’re not breaking up with me?”

He chuckled. “No,” he smiled. “Also have t’be officially together t’break up, kitten.”

“You’re not going to wait till I say yes and then ask to break up, are you?”

Harry stood finally, put his hands on her cheeks to hold her in place. He kissed her forehead for an extended moment. It felt so good. Like the other hundreds of times that he did it over the last few months. In two weeks, it felt like a drought. “M’sorry I didn’t reassure you,” he wrapped his arms around her body and instantly she sank into his embrace.

“Did you say you loved me?”

He nodded. “M’hmm,” he hummed.

“Oh.”

“Do y’want me t’take it back.”

“No, thank you.”

He chuckled into her hair. “S’very polite of you, kitten,” he pulled back. “I love you,” he repeated, gazing into her eyes. “Loved you the moment y’agreed t’help me. A poor, sorry, hopeless, Physics-less sap like me.”

“You’re not so hopeless.”

“M’hopeless ‘bout you, kitten,” he assured her.

“I love you too," she gazed up at him, her eyes wide, expressive and so very sweet, "by the way.”

“I thought s’what y’meant in all that rambling," he chuckled.

She didn't laugh. “I’m sorry Harry, truly. That was so not okay.”

Harry shrugged. “I jus’ missed you, kitten. S’okay. I get why y'said it. We never really defined it,” he promised. “M’sorry I didn’t ask sooner or come make up sooner.”

She sighed into his chest. “Will you stay tonight?” She asked quietly. Her voice muffled by his shirt. The thought of being snuggled together made her so happy.

Harry wanted to make a joke about inertia. Or an object at rest. Something. But it wouldn’t come. He was too happy to have made up.

“Try and stop me, kitten.”

“Niall and Louis make you come here?” She asked.

“M’supposed t’ask if you’ll make them pancakes for dinner once we’ve properly made up," Harry chuckled and murmured into her hair.

“What’s ‘properly’ mean?" She asked innocently, a smile on her face that was anything but innocent.

He chuckled. “I’ll teach you,” he winked, tilting her face so he could kiss her deeply; the way he wanted to for the last week and a half.

And teach her what ‘proper’ meant.

--

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[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Everlasting

pairing: midoriya izuku/gn reader summary: watching Izuku reach the end of his life for the ninety-ninth time doesn't stop you from going back to the day you met him for the hundredth time. word count: 1.2k chapters: 1/1 contains: angst, time loop, temporary character death, established relationship, reader has a quirk, no use of y/n • ao3 link

How many times have you stared at the green fading away?

For the ninety-ninth time, the yellowed hospital curtain swayed with the gentle breeze of spring, the season of new beginnings, of life. But not for you. Over the many, many repeats, it became your nemesis—the season of endings, of death.

Fingers intertwined with his, you grazed your thumb over his scarred knuckles. Tears burned your eyes and parched your throat, but his weakened state had you in a chokehold; you couldn’t cry—not yet. So, you swallowed painfully and forced the smile he loved so much onto your face.

“I wish you didn’t have to see me go,” he said, his voice a broken whisper. "I'm sorry for putting you through this, love."

You cupped his cheek tenderly and leaned forward, kissing his freckles that looked like the constellations you pointed to whenever the night sky was clear, as he held you in his arms on the small balcony of your apartment. It was one of the first things you noticed about him when he had walked into your flower shop and nervously asked for the prettiest flower bouquet you had.

Your response was far from professional, as you laughed lightly and told him, “Beauty is subjective, you know.”

His cheeks flushed a rosy color at your words, yet his lips curled into a boyish grin. “That's...uh—” Scratching the back of his neck, he averted his gaze. “I’m not really sure what to look for. I’ve never bought flowers for anyone except my mom before. Could you, maybe, help me choose?”

“Mm, sure, but there’s a price,” you said, tapping a finger to your chin. His eyes, vivid green like a meadow in summer, grew wide. “Tell me a bit about the lady or gentleman that’s about to receive them.”

A curly lock fell on his forehead as he sighed with relief, his broad shoulders relaxing in the formal shirt he wore. You eyed his tie briefly, suppressing another chuckle at how imperfectly cute the knot was, then stepped from behind the counter and nodded to him to follow you.

As promised, he told you a bit about the lady he was about to go on a date with. "She reminds me of the sun, always radiating warmth and energizing everyone around her," was his description of her; nothing sophisticated, yet you could feel the care he put into the simplicity of his words.

Your smile didn’t falter once as you listened to him talk and answered his questions. Every day, you dealt with all kinds of people, but not many of them radiated the sincerity he did. Needless to say, your heart skipped with appreciation for this handsome stranger.

A breath of fresh air, that was what he was—one that you had never regretted inhaling deep into your lungs.

A profound love, that was what he became—one that you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of.

Your best friend, your lover, your hero, your everything now lay in a pristine hospital bed, hooked to beeping machines, surrounded by air that smelled of antiseptic and something stale, and with death creeping in closer and closer.

“Would you choose me again?” he asked, his voice losing its color.

“Always.”

With the remnants of his strength, his fingers brushed your cheek, and he whispered. “I love you. If only we…had more…time.”

It was those final words that made your whole world collapse each time, that made you grip the front of your shirt and place one last kiss on his lips, that forced your head to settle on his chest and listen to his heartbeat growing fainter.

“I love you too,” you said, asphyxiated by your tears. “I c-can’t—I can’t let go. I…I don’t k-know how. Please.”

And you begged and begged for him to stay just a little bit longer, even as he drew his last breath and his heart came to a halt underneath your ear. Even as the beeping machines screamed and screamed until they lost their sound. Even as the room became stiflingly crowded with frantic people who tried to rip you away from him.

Death never cared, never granted your wish. So, neither did you care about it, always making sure to get in its way and disrupt the natural flow.

Throughout many lifetimes, you’d heard people vow to each other to meet in the afterlife or another life, believing they were each other’s forever. You’d seen them hold onto that belief as the love of their lives faded from existence. And they almost convinced you, but you weren’t them, and they didn’t have what you had—a nemesis of a quirk that became your greatest blessing after you met him.

Unwilling to surrender to their idea of forever and viciously stubborn, you chose to stare death down in defiance, laugh in its face, and pay the price.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Gripping his still-warm hand, you whispered “I’ll see you soon”, and closed your eyes for the ninety-ninth time.

As you opened them for the hundredth time, your dimly lit flower shop welcomed you again. It wasn't long until, drenched by the pouring rain battering the windows, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Water dripped from his clothes, his hair, and the flower bouquet you sent him off with earlier. He looked like he’d been to hell and just come back. His green eyes, once vibrant and sparkling with life, were muted and brimming with tears when they found yours.

“I realize this…this might seem odd to you, and I apologize for showing up like this, but I…I just…” He let the flower bouquet fall to the floor, allowing his hands to hide the tears that slid down his freckled cheeks. “Is it crazy to admit you were the one I thought of after she broke my heart?”

“A little, but I guess I made an impression,” you joked, and stepped away from the counter, opening your arms. “Need a hug? It’s free. I promise.”

He peeked through his fingers, giving you a long, uncertain look, before his hands lowered and he nodded hesitantly. “...If you don’t mind.”

His arms, strong and safe, wrapped around you, seeking comfort from a stranger. Your arms, weak and numb, wrapped around him, finding what he represented: home.

“Thank you,” he muttered in the crook of your neck as you patted his back softly. “Is there a way I can make it up to you?”

“You can start by giving me your name.”

Droplets of water gathered at the tips of his hair and fell on your cheeks once he raised his head. Green eyes searched yours, basking in the honeyed light of your shop. He looked at you with curiosity, while you looked at him with familiarity.

A meeting of two broken hearts—a first time and a repeat. Today, someone broke his heart, and he cried for a lost love. But today, unbeknownst to him, he stumbled upon another someone who loved him beyond reason, beyond death, beyond time.

Taking a step back, he extended his hand to you. “Midoriya Izuku.”

The smile that he would come to love once again curled on your lips as you took his hand and placed your name in the palm of it. Along with your heart and soul. For the hundredth time.

Because for Izuku, you would defy death and relive it all again.

The time loop would never be broken.

And your love would be everlasting.

[softpascalito]

Traditions - Pedro Pascal Characters Headcanons

Summary: Which tradition do the Pedro boys enjoy? I have thoughts.

Relationships: Joel Miller x Reader, Javier Peña x F!Reader, Dieter Bravo x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader Tags/Warnings: Explicit Language, Non-Descriptive Smut, Headcanons

notes: excited to post the first of a few hcs to come this month! i hope you enjoy <3

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Joel Miller

Joel may not show it but he actually likes Christmas traditions. It can't be anything too big or fancy but there's a few small things he remembers about Christmas in his own childhood that he continues with Sarah and later with Ellie.

After the outbreak, he doesn't celebrate. Not just Christmas, he doesn't celebrate anything for years. By the time his first Christmas with Ellie rolls around, he is already badly injured. He doesn't even realize it's Christmas Eve.

The next year, with both of them living safely in Jackson, he makes up for it best he can, agreeing to join a Christmas dinner hosted by Tommy and Maria.

You've met before but this is one of the first occasions where you begin talking. It's only months later that you realize you may not have been seated next to each other by accident.

Tommy and Joel contribute to the night with a tradition from their childhood. After dinner, they bring out Luminarias, handmade Christmas lanterns that they've evidently prepared in secret. The other lights are dimmed and the entire house is bathed in soft, orange light.

He ends up on an armchair by the window with you perched on the armrest and you both sip your drinks in the dim light while the other guests slowly file out. Joel swears that it cements the lights as his favorite tradition.

Javier Peña

Christmas, for Javi, usually means a trip back home to meet the family. Born and raised in Texas, it's one of the most important parts of Christmas: Everyone being together, despite their differences.

Colombia and the cartel case are a welcome excuse to not take part in the family gatherings. Every time he does visit Laredo, which only totals to three times during his time in Bogotá, he can't stand the way people look at him.

When he goes back after Cali, he doesn't even make it through half of the gathering. There have been too many drinks emptied and too many questions asked and he is back in his truck before anyone can notice he's disappeared.

Four years later marks the first time he does show up for Christmas again, with you by his side and proudly showing off the noticeable bump under your sundress.

You think he's joking when he whispers to you that night, explaining that his new favorite Christmas tradition is keeping you stuffed and spending all of Christmas Eve next to the tree, hands caressing your stomach to feel for movement from his baby

He isn’t joking. Three years in a row, the timing aligns perfectly and like clockwork, a baby is born every spring. It's definitely not the worst tradition you can think of.

After a satisfying number of babies however, the tradition shifts back to its origin: Gatherings with the whole family. And you have quite the family to show off with three little ones and Javi by your side.

Dieter Bravo

Dieter loves having you over for Christmas at his house in the Hollywood Hills. It starts innocently enough, with Covid ruining plans for any other possible get-together.

He orders enough food to last for days, rolls a generous joint for you to share and puts on a Hallmark Christmas movie for giggles.

It ends up getting you both in the feels, despite ticking off every possible cliché. By the time the credits roll around, Dieter's body is pressed against yours, both of you sinking back into the fluffy couch pillows.

The next three days are an intangible mess made up of cheese, weed and sex. In no particular order.

For once, no agent calling disturbs the bubble the two of you have created for yourselves and when New Year's rolls around, you both vow to repeat the same kind of Christmas next year.

Din Djarin

Din doesn't really know or celebrate Christmas until you and Grogu come along. When you start decorating and making a few purchases, he grumbles slightly but lets you go through with it.

To your (and his) surprise, he doesn't hate the decorating. It's a nice change of pace to just sit for a while, make chains of popcorn and dried fruits and watch the child play with a few of the Christmas decorations while you consider the best spot for the tree.

Din does help with all that you can't reach and with securing everything so that your whole work won't be ruined the second the ship takes off.

It's dark outside when you are finally done, Grogu napping below the tree after wearing himself out. Din lifts you onto his shoulders almost effortlessly, allowing you to place the golden star on top of the tree while he watches.

You light the tree together afterwards, the twinkling lights reflecting in his beskar armor, multiplying the light by what seems to be a million and it makes your knees weak.

Every following year, a beautiful tree decorates your living quarters. You both pretend it's something you only do for Grogu. You both know it's not.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

can't get you {sirius black}

requested by anon: Post!Azkaban Sirius except he absolutely refuses to go outside in the cold no matter how many jackets he has on bc it reminds him of the dementors in Azkaban and reader helps him work through it.

character: sirius black x reader

Even now five years after his escape from Azkaban, Sirius Black still struggled in his day-to-day life. Nightmares were still a regular occurrence for him as much as he tried to pretend they weren't. Each and every night Sirius would toss and turn, waking you up from your own sleep, and would end up leaping up panting and body shimmering in a cold sweat. He let you help him, let you hold him and let himself break down in the crook of your neck but to everyone else, he was fine; no nightmares, no PTSD, no trauma, no nothing.

There was one thing Sirius hadn't told you about his struggles. One thing he deemed silly and hardly necessary. He didn't want you to think he was weak so he hid it for as long as he could, always having an excuse up his sleeve until one day, his secret came out.

Sirius Black had a fear of the cold weather.

The fear didn't develop for a few years. One day it just... happened. He had been out with you one day, arms bare in the cool Autumn breeze, and all of a sudden the cool seeped into him, cooling down not only his skin but his blood, his organs, his everything. His breath had caught in his throat as his heart hammered. There was a ringing in his ears as his head whipped around - he was looking for it; looking for the Dementor. Why else would his whole body feel cold and dull? Why else would he be chilled to the bone? Yet, there was nothing. He was safe. You'd asked if he was okay, warm hand on his cool cheek which snapped him back to life.

The following day he had put on a jumper and a jacket, believing he had just made a poor outfit choice, but even then the cold crept into his chest like the tendrils of the Dementors and he couldn't... He couldn't face it.

So, he always made up a lie or an excuse to not face the cold.

"Head's quite sore today, love, I'd rather not."

"Moony's going to come here instead, easier that way."

"I don't feel like going out today."

Until one day when he had came out with you during spring time. The last three days had been temperatures of almost twenty degrees Celsius, positively lovely outside, so he had ventured out with you. At first, the weather was lovely with the sun splitting the sky but after lunch, things took a turn.

You were excitedly pulling Sirius down the street to bring him to the new vinyl record shop that had opened up when all of a sudden, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Come on, Sirius," you grinned, turning back but quickly, your face fell as you saw his expression. His eyes were glazed over as he stared through you. The cold crept in, taking over his body and freezing him in place. He looked horrified at something but he wouldn't respond to you asking him if he was okay. You walked towards him, repeating his name a few times but still, no answer. Sirius's eyes closed, that ringing in his ears was back and he felt like he was under water; sinking to the depths of a freezing cold ocean, unable to hear and unable to breathe.

"Sirius!" You cried out, planting your warm hands on his cheeks and forcing his head to tilt to yours.

Warmth. Sirius could feel it, slowly defrosting him from the outside to the inside. He suddenly could swim, pushing himself up and away from the black tendrils of the Dementors that wanted so desperately to drown him. He swam upwards and managed to break the surface-

"C-Cold!" He spluttered out, choking as he gulped air into his lungs but the air was cold and it wasn't helping. He was beginning to panic, "So-So cold!"

"Here," you said as you hurriedly pulled your jacket off, draping it around his shoulders. You pulled it tight around him but he was babbling about it not being enough, that it was still too cold. Your attempts to rub his shoulders, trying to get heat into him was futile and you could tell he was panicking. You had to get him somewhere safe and somewhere warm.

"Come on," you grabbed his hand, which helped to ground him a little bit with your warmth, "it's not far. Can you walk?" Sirius nodded but he only managed to get about 100 yards before he froze again.

His head was whipping around wildly, "They-They're coming!" He hissed. Passers-by gave him odd glances, "(y/n), they're going to get me!"

"Who, Sirius?" You asked desperately trying to continue dragging him down the street. Grimmauld Place was another two hundred or so yards away, "Who's going to get you?"

"The... The- The Dementors." His voice was a strangled hiss as he looked at you, a crazed panic in his eyes.

You involuntary gave a small gasp, "Oh, Sirius," you whispered as your eyes flooded with tears, "they can't get you. They won't get you." You had no idea Sirius was affected this much. Of course you knew about his nightmares but he always seemed so... fine? But as you looked at him, trying to console him, you realised that maybe this is why he didn't like going out much. It was cold... like the Dementors. It all made sense. Your heart ached for him as you looked at his scared face, "Hey," you said strongly forcing yourself to be brave for him. He needed you to be strong, he needed you to be his strength in his moment of weakness. Again, you planted your hands on his cheeks, "you feel that? You feel how warm my hands are? Sirius, answer me." Sirius nodded, blinking a few times as though coming back to himself, "You're safe, Sirius. You're with me and the Dementors can't get you here. They're gone, not coming back for you. I know that you're cold but that doesn't mean they're coming to get you... They can't get you, Sirius, you hear me? You're safe."

He nodded and you gently took his hand and tugged him, "We need to get you home, Sirius. We'll put the fire on, get a blanket, some tea... We'll get you warmed up, okay?" He nodded again, "I need you to walk Sirius. I know you're cold and I know you're scared, I see how scared you are, baby, but I need you to trust me okay?"

His lip wobbled and his eyes filled with tears but he softly whispered, "O-Okay, I trust you." God you wanted to break down into tears but you couldn't, not yet. You had to get him home, make sure he warmed up and calmed down. You had to protect him. He staggered and stumbled but he allowed you to pull him to Grimmauld Place. He managed okay but around the half way mark, he started to pull away from him.

"Sirius, you're okay," you said, slightly breathless as you wrestled to hold his hands, "I promise you they're not coming to get you. You're safe. I've got you, Sirius. You are safe." This settled him until you got him into Grimmauld Place, shoving him through the door and locking it quickly behind you, "Kreacher!" You screeched loudly. A crack behind you signalled Kreacher's arrival, "Make us tea please, quickly. Oh and put some chocolate on the tray too." Kreacher grumbled something before he apparated to the kitchen to get it sorted, probably an insult but you didn't care.

Quickly, you bundled Sirius onto the couch, grabbing the blankets from the chairs and wrapping him up into them. He was chittering, eyes squeezed shut. With your wand, you sent a fireball into the fireplace which immediately set the logs into an orange blaze. You wrapped yourself around Sirius, pressing your warm cheeks against his cool ones, "You're safe," you repeated over and over, "they can't get you in here, you hear me? You're safe. I've got you, Sirius. I've got you, not them, just me. It's just me and you," a crack sounded, "and Kreacher. That's it." He placed the tray of tea on the coffee table, "I promise you, Sirius Black, they will never hurt you again."

You continued to murmur warm words of comfort to him and slowly, he began to defrost. His body wasn't so rigid and his skin wasn't so cold anymore. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times from the brightness, "I'm safe?" He said hoarsely.

You nodded furiously, "The house has so many protection spells on it from Remus and Minerva and even Albus himself. The Dementors aren't after you, they're not going to get you. If they tried it, I'd send them to hell, Sirius. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, I promise you." You pressed a warm kiss to his forehead, "You are safe, I promise."

You peeled away from him to pick up a mug of tea, "Here," you said forcing his hands to wrap around it, "drink, you'll feel better. Oh, and eat this," you said, grabbing a chocolate from the tray, "open up." Sirius complied with the tiniest of smiles and ate the chocolate. Remus was right, chocolate always helped.

You stayed beside him as he sipped the tea. Once he was finished, you took the mug and wrapped yourself back around him, "How do you feel?" You asked quietly.

"Warm," he said with a chuckle. He was slowly coming back to you, "but I'm not ready to take anything off yet. I want to be warm for a while."

You nodded, "That's fine with me," you said, kissing his forehead again, "we'll just be warm today. No plans, just warmth."

[kimberly-stocks]

I’ve got a nsfw literati prompt 🙏

could you write something along the lines of Jess helping Rory de stress after constant studying? 👀

Canon compliant. Set in season 3, sometime in spring I guess? At the time Lorelai started seeing Alex. Not in any way connected to my story Things I'd never say.

Rory heard a light tap on her window and stood up from her desk, stretching tired muscles to open the window for Jess. She pushed the frame up and looked outside to find her boyfriend standing there with a to-go cup of coffee from Luke's.

"Hey," he said giving the coffee to her.

"Bless you!" She took it gratefully, gulping hungrily.

"You didn't come by the diner after school, thought you might need some fuel."

"Yeah, I had to study. I have this stupid history test tomorrow," Rory groaned.

"When do you think you're gonna be done with it?"

"About ten, maybe?" He nodded in response.

"I'll leave you to it then," he gave her a small smile and almost turned to leave, when she tugged on his arm, and pressed her lips to his in a brief kiss.

"Thank you for the coffee, you're my hero."

"No problem."

~xxx~

A little after ten Rory stood up from her chair, every verterbra creaking in protest from being in the same position for too long. She was just putting her books and notepads away when she heard a tap on her window once again. She smiled to herself and went to open it for the second time that night.

"Hey, how's your studying going?" Jess asked intertwining his fingers with hers through the frame.

"I just finished. Wanna come in for a bit?"

"Where's your mom?"

"She's staying at Alex's tonight."

"Huh," he smirked at that piece of information. Coming here was a right choice after all. He sneaked inside with the grace of a cat, closing the window behind him. Rory plopped on her back across the bed.

"I'm exhausted, all those dates and names, I have no idea how I'm gonna remember it all tomorrow, so much cramming with only one cup of coffee is an impossible task." She whined. Jess came to lie next to her, taking her hand in his.

"I know a great way to help you relax," he started.

"Which is?" She turned to look at him.

"Orgasm," he smirked.

She gulped nervously. She let him touch her boobs through her clothes for the first time a few weeks ago, and since then Jess was dropping hints about doing something more, but she still wasn't ready to have sex with him. She didn't want to offend him, but didn't want to go all the way either. It was quite a predicament.

"Uhh... I'm not... You know..."

"I know. You don't have to have sex to get an orgasm, you know?" He turned to look at her only to catch her turning away from him, her cheeks flaming red.

"Oh..." She didn't know how to react to that. What did he expect?

"It's okay if you're not ready for that either," he squeezed her fingers tighter in reassurance.

A long pause followed. Jess seemed relaxed, enjoying just being next to her, while Rory's thoughts were racing a mile a minute. Was she ready for anything sexual at all? It sounded kind of enticing. Scary, but enticing nonetheless. And her mom wasn't going to be home till morning. But she had a test tomorrow, so she couldn't be late for school. She didn't want the repeat of her first year with that meltdown about a Shakespear test. Then again, it wasn't awfully late yet, and she could use some relaxation.... She squeezed Jess's fingers to get his attention, and asked "What else can we do for... You know, uh, orgasm?" She could see his smirk out of the corner of her eye. She still didn't dare to look at him directly, too embarrassed and shy about the whole conversation.

"Remember how I touched your breasts the other day? I can touch you like that down there too. Through the clothes. Or not. If you want."

"Okay," she whispered after a moment of hesitation. She felt him move to hover above her. They locked eyes before he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, coaxing her to relax. The very next second her instincts kicked in and she lost herself in the kiss, like she always did with him.

They were making out for a bit until she felt his palm covering her breast gently. He started massaging it, kneading and rolling her nipple between his deft fingers. She moaned into his mouth. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath her sweatshirt, so she could feel everything. Encouraged by her reactions he went to kiss and suck on the sensitive skin of her neck. His hand never leaving her chest, alternating between her soft mounds. Rory was clutching at his back, threading fingers through his hair, pulling his head closer to her neck. She loved it when he kissed her neck. Then slowly his hand started travelling lower until it came to the juncture between her legs. She pressed them together, losing focus for a second. He looked up at her "May I?" She nodded shakily and relaxed her thighs. His palm landed on her pubic bone and just settled there, his fingers between her legs, applying pressure and heat to the most intimate spot even through her sweatpants. His eyes went completely dark, contrasting to his usual hazel shade. Her lips parted in anticipation, and he started rubbing her softly, careful not to scare her with overwhelming sensations. It felt weird in a way that she never let anyone do that to her, but she still didn't quite understand what she was supposed to be feeling. And then.... He found her clit and everything changed. She gasped suddenly at the shock of feeling like an electric current went through her limbs.

Jess focused on that spot he found, and started rubbing her there in circles, increasing the pressure some. Her eyes closed and she was washed with pleasure she's never felt before. He kept caressing her methodically, tirelessly until her breathing got shallow and with one final moan she climaxed in front of him.

"There you go," he whispered pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, extracting his hand from between her legs slowly.

Rory was lying there with her eyes closed, breathing erratic, her mind completely blank of all the thoughts and concerns. She blindly reached for him, and he intertwined their fingers one more time. Watching her was such a treat. Looking at her pale cheeks gaining color, and then shining bright pink with arousal, her lips parting, her tongue darting out to lick them, her chest rising and falling, nipples hard, poking through the fabric. She was a vision. And he was pretty sure he just gave her the first ever orgasm of her life.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Five nights at Freddy’s but it's Batman.

If you were expecting this to make sense....Don't.

I started ranting about this while half asleep.

I'm not following any time line just game order.

Also we're skipping fnaf 2.

Barbara Gordon is Charlotte "Charlie" Emily.

She is killed by Joe Chill aka the Joker aka William Afton aka the Purple Guy.

Her father, Jim Gordon aka Henry Emily is devastated. He has no idea how this occurred.

Not a clue.

Totally didn't see the purple car at the crime scene.

A purple car he sees every morning.

... Nope.

He goes to the cops but it's Gotham so they don't do shit.

However, because it's Gotham Batman shows up to help.

But unfortunately no one knows who killed poor Babs so gotta do some investigating.

Also there's been a string of dissappearances around the restaurant.

People are loving calling it "the missing children's incident."

And the cops are doing nothing so Batman is also investigating that and wonders if the two are connected.

Bat's makes the great decision to go undercover as a nighttime security guard.

And despite the fact he is very clearly billionaire Bruce Wayne in a security uniform.

No one recognises him.

He is now Mike Schmidt.

... You know still a better name for his cover than Matches Malone.

And because I recently watched Batman: The Doom that came to Gotham.

Great, one of the weirdest things I've ever watched.

... Don't watch it if you like Talia because... Yikes.

Anyway, so Bruce is very much on his fear works because villians are superstitious and cowardly.

I don't believe in magic, everything can be explained by science.

...And than Golden Freddy bursts into the office.

Had to rework a few things than.

It takes him less than 5 nights to figure it all out.

Beats the shit out of and gets Joe Chill arrested.

But it's Gotham and FNAF so it doesn't even go that far.

Not that they know for years later.

During this time Bruce adopts another kid, Jason.

Yeah Dick is here but he left to another city.

He's officially the smart one.

No he doesn't have a character equivalent he's just... There.

Jason however later turns out to be Jason Chill aka the son of Joe Chill.

Aka this worlds Michael Afton.

Gets wind his real father isnt Willis Todd but Joe Chill.

Goes after him, despite him being in hiding for years.

Does this by working at Fazbear Frights as a nighttime security guard.

Witnesses Joe Chill destroying the animatronics.

Releasing the spirits and causing Joe Chill to back into his Spring lock suite.

Multiple springlock failures occure.

Jason gets on tape that he's the murderer and killed Barbara Gordon.

Bruce and Jim show up and together they set the place on fire with Joe Chill's body inside.

But no body is ever found.

One of the old locations starts up again.

Bruce finds out Joe Chill had another son, and adopts him.

Leaving out the whole... We set him on fire.. Maybe.

This kid is Tim Chill aka the crying child.

Who Jason likes to mess with and Tim messes with him back in turn.

Jason plays a seemingly harmless prank on Tim... That he ends up taking too far.

And in his defence no one knew that the Golden Freddy animatronic had the jaw strength of a shark.

Bruce goes into mourning.

The body goes missing.

Jason wanting to fix things does his own investigation and finds Circus Baby's entertainment and rentals.

Ran by Chill robotics.

Turns out Joe Chill decided to literally put his child back together.

And infused Baby with his remnant.

His lil clown.

Though both sides of Tim, both Joker Jr and the brother of Jason fight over Jason's fate.

Whether he should live or die.

Joker Jr I mean Baby wins and Jason is scooped.

Dick, who was staying in Gotham for Tim's funeral, realises Jason has gone missing.

And goes out to search for him.

Finding the his brother now a disturbing shade of purple and an undead zombie.

Gets Jason back home, Jason is basically catatonic only repeating "You won't die, you won't die" over and over.

Bruce gives him a big hug, apologising for blaming Jason and pushing him away.

Though Jason is convinced Tim's fate is his fault.

He ends up puking up Ennard, which Bruce captures and puts in the Batcave.

They take what's left of Baby and upload Tim's consciousness to a robotic version of him Jim just... Had on hand.

Along with a robot Barbara.

... Yeah don't, don't worry about it.

Jason apologises profusely, Tim calls him a dumbass, things are finally right with the world.

Butt this isn't enough for Jim who realises an animatronic can't replace his Barbara.

Decides if I can't have my happy ending none of you can.

Has a redo birthday party for Tim and sets the place on fire.

... Except it does literally nothing and Bruce shoves him in Arkham and just takes Babs back with him.

Way to go smart guy.

Damian Wayne aka Gregory shows up at some point. He got told he couldn't go to the pizzaplex.

And went anyway.

Gave everyone a heart attack, stole Glamrock Freddy and made a friend in Cassandra Cain aka Vanessa.

A trained assassin who Joe Chill was trying to hypnotise into killing for him.

They tried to kill each other if the cause of a night so they're friends now.

Bruce adopts another child all is well with the world.

Until Jonathan Kent aka Cassie shows up because of a fake message luring him to the pizzaplex saying Damian was in danger.

The mimic gets it's butt kicked, Bruce lectures Clark about not keeping an eye on his son.

The hypocrite.

And everyone goes home.

Oh and Jim and his wife got divorced when Babs died.

His wife taking and raising their son, James Gordon Jr aka Sammy Emily.

Who's just off living life and is still a serial killer.

Soo... Yeah.

... Idk what this is but it exists now.

[aho-dapa]

Some elucien smut

for @kateduchessofdolittle

Edit: just some good ol’ cunnilingus in the garden

Light streams down through the trees and hits the angles of her face in such a way that Lucien has to pause to take it in. Strands of chestnut blond hair glows bright, almost like sunlight itself.

Elain is talking about roses and how she used to eat them when she would forage through the forest near their old cabin. She would dry some so she could put in her father’s tea.

A small bitter smile for her father before it melts into fondness.

He can only focus on her, on how long it took to get to this moment where she felt comfortable around him. It had taken a lot of walks in the garden. Of offering to listen to her thoughts without judgement.

She looks up at him then, her smile near blinding. Dazzlingly, her brow furrows in confusion and faint amusement.

“Here.”

Mind still addled from her visage, Lucien doesn’t think anything of it when she pushes a rose petal in his mouth.

He chews on it, curious.

Would Night Court roses taste different from Spring Court ones?

“It’s not that sweet. Since it’s darker.” Elain tells him, plucking a petal from the same rose and placing it in her mouth.

Lucien thinks something momentous has just happened. What, he can’t really tell.

She breathes suddenly and Lucien watches her body flush nearly as red as the roses around her.

“The roses here…” she begins, putting her hand over heart, as if to steady it, “they don’t have any… special effects?”

Fae roses. Prythian roses. Only as magical as the grass is.

But Lucien doesn’t say that.

“Elain.”

It must be the way he says it, the way his gaze falls along her collarbone to the hand on her chest. Her low-cut dress is typical in the human lands. The boning and structure of it. She had explained it to him once, not knowing all he wanted to do was find out for himself. To undo the laces in her hand.

He looks up, to her warm brown eyes, and she nearly jumps in surprise.

“Elain.” He whispers this time. A request.

Her breathing becomes unsteady. Her hand falls to her lap. The rose pricks her finger.

Elain hisses, breaking eye contact, and Lucien can smell the blood on the breeze.

“Here,” he repeats her earlier words, “Let me.”

Her extends his hand out for her and she places the back of her hand in his palm. His thumb curls over her wrist, over her pulse.

It’s simple magic. But he blows gentle on the wound before healing it. Her hand twitches. Her heart beats faster.

He looks over their joined hands. Again, a request.

“Lucien.” She breathes out his name, and he slowly slides his hand from her wrist to her forearm, kneeling before her where she sits on the stone bench.

The garden around them almost quiets over the pressure beating in this moment, in their bodies.

He looks up at her, and she leans forward, her hair brushing his cheek.

“What can I do?” His touch is tentative, from her arm to her thigh. Assuring that this was what he could ask for.

Elain pinches her lips, her expression even more flushed.

She doesn’t know how they got here, or why she spreads her legs open for him to fit between.

She is no stranger to these types of relations, but it’s been years and what grows between her and Lucien is a delicate thing. Or maybe all things beginning to her seem delicate.

Maybe it’s in the way he’s currently touching her, as if he doesn’t want keep her in a place she doesn’t want to be.

With his hands rubbing up her legs, over her under clothes, near her inner thighs, there is nowhere else she would rather be.

“My,” she begins, still nonetheless embarrassed, “my underclothes. You’ll have to undo my whole dress to… to get underneath them.”

Which meant other things. And they were currently in someone else’s garden.

Something in Lucien’s eyes sharpen at that and he takes a moment to consider her before he seemingly decides on something. She doesn’t have much time to wonder what he means by, “Winter Solstice, then,” until he’s under her dress and pressing his chest to her leg, his face on her thigh. His puffs of breath make her legs tremble.

Elain bites the inside of her cheek, looking up at the ceiling of the small stone veranda. She casts a glance through the windowless openings. Not enough to be caught, but enough for her to be seen.

She makes a small, muffled sound when his hands reach for the clothing between her thighs—and rips her under clothes apart at the seam. She almost falls back in surprise, and she holds onto the edge of the bench to keep her steady.

But then he’s there, his breath ghosting over her skin. And she’s gripping onto the bench even harder, her own breathing barely under control, when Lucien holds the under part of thighs and licks from bottom to top. His tongue slips in between her folds and he takes a moment to slowly glide his tongue flat against her clit.

She gasps at that, suddenly alarmed by the way her eyes water, when she instinctively rubs against his tongue more.

She keeps her mouth closed, her moans muffled, when he continues to tighten his hold on her thighs and lean her back a little so he can have more access to her.

Elain is so lost to the sensation of his tongue on her, that she wishes she could grab his hair instead, to pull him away by it so she can pull him up to kiss her. But most of those thoughts are gone the moment the tip of his tongue slips inside her. Gliding over the edge, in and out, deeper and deeper, until she’s lifting her hips to his rhythm, unable to even think about being caught in this situation.

Now seated at the edge of the bench, keeping her own legs apart, Lucien licks over her clit again while his fingers rub against her before slipping inside. It aches a little when his fingers curl into her, his knuckles stretching her even more.

But then Lucien sets a quick pace, one that forces her to divide her attention between her rising orgasm and making sure she doesn’t fall off the bench. One where she can’t hold back her moans as well as she should, where if anyone were to walk by, they would know what was happening under her dress by her face, by her sounds.

Her heel that she had dug into the grooves of the tile give way, pushing Lucien’s fingers deeper into her unexpectedly, and Elain cries out as her body trembles into her orgasm.

Lucien lifts his mouth from her and puts his arms under her legs and around her waist, keeping her steady. He buries his face in her leg, near her thigh, and Elain shivers, oversensitive.

They remain like that, trying to find their breath. Elain tries to hear over the beating of her own heart to listen to the sounds of birds around them. She eventually looks down at Lucien, still buried in her dress, with the tips of his shoes peeking out from the hem. The sight of it is ridiculous enough to her that she chuckles a breathy laugh and caresses his head over the layers of her dress.

“Come out of there so I can kiss you.” Elain states with a bright smile.

Lucien huffs, laughing, and the feel of it sends shivers down her spine. She taps his head pointedly in retaliation.

Lucien leans back on his heels but ends up getting caught in her dress. Muffled and almost annoyingly amused, Lucien pleas, “Help. I cannot find the exit.”

Elain laughs again and starts pulling her skirts up, finding modesty useless in this situation.

Lucien stretches backward and makes a disgruntled sound when he lands on his back, her skirts puffing up. Her dress still covers his waist and she finds herself trying not to burst out laughing at the knots in his hair. But it’s the bright softness in his eyes that makes her stifle them.

Lucien breathes deep, staring up at her.

Elain would have started squirming under the intensity of his gaze, if she were not so happy, “Didn’t I tell you to do something?”

She goes to poke his side gently with her heel, but he hisses suddenly, pushing her leg back, “Careful, careful! I have a situation down there.”

Well. That would be understandable.

Elain peers down at him, on the mossy stone floor, and she’s tempted to have him right here, in this veranda. She’s certainly well enough prepared for him after all.

“Well, we can’t have you walking back like that.”

Lucien’s answering smile is but nothing short of devious. And if not a little fond.