#she was standing on top of something though i think

[ellecdc]

Stolen Siblings and 10 Year Plans

poly!wolfstar x Rosier!reader who is to go nowhere near them under any circumstances [667 words]

CW: fem!reader, siblings, rivalries, chaos and fluff

“Oi! Rosier!” Sirius called, dodging a few first years who went careening by him as he made his way over to the Slytherin table. “What’s the deal with your sister?”

Evan fought (and lost) against an eye roll as the hand currently gripping his spoon tightened.

“For the last time” he seethed “I have no bloody clue what a wrackspurt is.”

“No, not that one.” Sirius dismissed with a wave of his hand. “The other one.”

Evan’s eyes narrowed at the Gryffindor. “Y/N?”

Sirius smiled. “Yeah; what’s her deal?”

“What do you mean ‘what is her deal’?”

“You know…is she single? Does she like blokes? Do you know where I can find her?”

Sirius had barely gotten the end of his sentence out when Evan’s hand slammed against the table, earning him a look of concern from Dorcas who protectively slid her bowl of porridge closer to herself.

“Why in the buggering fuck would you want to know?” Evan demanded.

Sirius offered a flippant shrug of his shoulder. “She’s fit, yeah? I’m thinking of asking her out but thought I should check first.”

“I thought you were dating Lupin!”

“I am dating Lupin!” Sirius confirmed with a wide smile just as Remus appeared behind him.

“‘Lo, Rosier. Meadows.” Remus greeted.

“Lupin.” Dorcas greeted in turn, though Evan didn’t bother with the pleasantries.

“Oh come on! What’s with you bloody Gryffindors?! Your weird friends already stole Reg!”

Sirius’ brows furrowed as he looked towards the offending weird friends currently sitting on either side of his brother at the Gryffindor table.

“Stole? Wasn’t he technically mine first?”

Evan didn’t grace that with a response, simply pushing his bowl away from himself and making to stand.

“No. Nope. Absolutely not. I cut my losses with Reg, I made peace with the Hufflepuff,” Evan stated, gesturing vaguely to Regulus and then to Pandora who was sitting nearly on top of one Xenophilius Lovegood, “but Gryffindors?! Not a fucking chance.”

“Awe, come now, Rosier, there’s no need for that-” Remus started, but was interrupted by Evan calling Barty’s name.

“You rang?” Barty drawled as he jumped down from one of the high windows, apparently having been enjoying his breakfast from above.

“They’re doing it again.” Evan complained.

“What do you mean?”

“These two fancy Y/N.” He explained petulantly as he gestured towards said two.

“Again?! What is with you Gryffindors?!” Barty screeched, turning to ask what Sirius assumed to be a rhetorical question. “First Potter and Evans ruin our Blackier wedding-”

“The what wedding?” Remus asked cautiously.

“The Black-Rosier wedding, Lupin, do keep up.” Barty spat at Remus’s interruption. “Do you know how adorable my nieces and/or nephews were going to be?!”

“When in Merlin’s name was Reg and Y/N dating?” Sirius asked then.

“They weren’t.” Dorcas offered in monotone. “Barty just likes making 10 year plans.”

“But…other people’s?” Remus tried, but the conversation was swiftly moving along.

“Go find Y/N,” Evan directed Barty, “she’s to go nowhere near these two.”

Barty’s interest seemed positively piqued at that; foiled 10 year plans forgotten. “Oh! A little game of finders keepers? Don’t mind if I do!”

And the two Slytherin’s were off.

“Are…are you boys going to do something about that?” Dorcas asked after a few beats of silence, gesturing towards the direction that the two boys had just disappeared with a flippant thumb.

“She’ll sniff those two out in a matter of minutes and avoid them like the plague.” Remus snorted as leaned forward to pluck a strawberry from the spread. “Besides, we’ve got a secret weapon.”

“Astronomy tower.” Sirius offered conspicuously as he folded the map up and tucked it back into his pocket.

“Brilliant.” Remus confirmed, offering Dorcas a salute. “Best be off.”

“Stay out of trouble, will you?” Dorcas called after them, though she knew it was a lost cause.

“You know what, Meadows?” Sirius returned as he followed Remus backwards. “I don’t think I will.”

Dorcas let out a chuckle turned sigh. “Figures.”

[mangotangerine]

what if ozzie created hell's version of ao3 and then radiostatic became one of the most popular ships but alastor didn't find out because ew, technology, until one day he did, but the top 69 fics are written by the same person & have incredibly realistic aspects that only one other person in hell would know

well, i wrote it. see below the cut for what i have so far

vox writes fanfic (and his username is alastors_babygirl)

Alastor goes nearly a century without acquiring any of those ridiculous, overdesigned electronic devices that the rest of Hell rots their brain with.

×

Things have been odd as of late. Angel Dust has been giving him strange looks—not the usual objectifying leer meant to evoke discomfort, but something more inquisitive—and Niffty has taken to giggling every time he walks past that tacky television they keep in the lounge. It hadn’t bothered him at first, as Angel Dust has always been a strange fellow, and Niffty is… well, Alastor isn’t sure if even she understands her own whimsy, sometimes.

But now, it’s getting a bit out of hand.

“Niffty, my dear,” Alastor says, “I have a question for you.”

She giggles, likely because he is standing next to the television. She manages to get it under control, though he can still hear the laughter in her voice as she says, “Yes?”

He glances pointedly at the television, then back at Niffty, and her grin widens. She kicks her feet and covers her mouth to hold back the giggles that threaten to erupt, and Alastor sighs. He is not going to get satisfying answers from her. “Never mind,” he says, weary. “Perhaps Charlie knows.”

×

Charlie blushes a bright red and flips her phone face-down in a panic, when he finally asks her in her office.

“Um—um, well…” she trails off, body language broadcasting her discomfort.

“This is getting tiring,” Alastor says, letting irritation bleed into his voice. “Despite my confidence that it is not the case, because who would be so foolish, I feel as though I’m being mocked. It is quite unpleasant.”

“No! No no no!” she squeaks. “No, it’s not that, it’s just…” she takes a deep breath. “The fan fiction.”

“The what now?” Alastor asks, eyebrows furrowing.

She bites her lip, glancing down at her phone. “Asmodeus um… launched this new website,” she starts, and Alastor wrinkles his nose in disgust. Ugh, not this nonsense again. “And, well… people write stories on it about... about media or things they’re fans of. Like—like use the characters and setting, and… andyou’rethemostpopularship,” she says in a rush.

Alastor looks down at himself, and then back up at Charlie. “I didn’t take you for the type to be critical of somebody’s figure, regardless of the inaccuracy of your statement,” he says, clearly disappointed, and Charlie gasps.

“No! Ship—ship, like relationship! Not—I would never.” She’s offended now, frowning at him. “Why would you think I’d—”

“Please, Charlie,” Alastor says sharply, “Explain to me in plain language.”

She bites her lip, then shrinks a little in her seat. “Sometimes people… um, write stories about people, who they think would be good in a relationship… like romance stories.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Alastor snaps.

“You’re the top—you’re the um, most popular, uh, ship. Relationship. Well, not just you, it takes two—anyway.” She stops, and smiles at him nervously.

“Who is the second party in this ‘relationship’ involving myself?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

When she tells him, he very politely demands to be shown this website, and she meekly flips her phone over and slides it toward him. He looks through it, smile fading slowly until it’s just a barely-there quirk of the lips. “Who?” he asks, unable to hide the venom in his voice. “Who is writing these?”

“Many—many people, Alastor. It’s—there’s—I, I mean, you see how many stories!” she squeaks.

“Do you read the ones where I’m involved with your father?” he asks, suspicious, as he points at the device. She gasps.

“No!” Charlie practically yells. “No, I do—I do not read sex stories about my—”

“Sex stories?” Alastor asks, voice thick with radio distortion, and she covers her mouth in horror at her own mistake.

“I—I mean, not all of them are—I mean, there are a ton that are just—and not just with my dad, but with—you know, him, and they’re—they’re so sweet, Alastor!”

The exhaustion is settling in his bones now, his ever-present smile twisted into a sardonic grimace. “I fail to understand how there can be any stories involving me and that—that walking billboard that are sweet.”

“Well, um…” she hesitates, nervous. “You could… you could read some?”

“I will most certainly not be doing that,” he says. “I will be going now. I appreciate your transparency, as painful as the information was to extract from you.”

Alastor leaves with his signature flourish, melting into the shadows.

×

He goes a week before he folds, though he has one of those egg creatures Sir Pentious left behind procure an electronic device for him instead of trying to find one himself. He then commands it to demonstrate how to navigate to that vapid archive of obscenities everyone seems so enraptured by.

Though there are a lot of these creepy little stories, and just as many writers, the most popular of these ‘fan fiction’ novellas are all written under the same pen name and have very specific personal details that only one other person in Hell would know.

Well, he supposes it has been quite a while since he’s gone to terrorize that tower in person. Why, he’s been positively angelic since his return to the public sphere. It’s time to pay his old friend a visit.

×

He could go in the front door, cause a scene, really ham it up for Vox’s pervasive cameras, but that’s too easy. Too predictable, and what sort of performer would he be if he didn’t improvise and change things up a bit?

Alastor materializes in Vox’s office, behind his chair. He is, unfortunately, not alone, as Alastor had hoped. Startled, Velvette screams, and Alastor turns to blink at her owlishly.

“Was that really necessary?” he asks.

Vox spins around in his chair so fast it keeps spinning, makes 3 revolutions before Vox manages to stop it. Alastor looks Vox up and down, nose wrinkled in distaste.

“I just greased it!” Vox says defensively. “It doesn’t do that all the time, I can—I can control my chair!”

“Why is he here?” Velvette hisses, and Vox points menacingly at Alastor.

“Yeah! Why is he—why are you here?”

Alastor inhales deeply, and lets out a slow, disappointed sigh. “We need to talk.”

“Get out of my fucking tower,” Vox snaps.

“I’d love to,” Alastor says, “as soon as you answer some questions about the creepy little love stories you’ve been writing online.”

Vox blanches, as much as a television screen can blanch—that is, his face turns greyscale, reminding Alastor very distinctly of the picture shows his mother used to take him to as a child. It’s very amusing, on Vox.

“Velvette, get out,” Vox orders, voice sharp. The color slowly bleeds back into his face, one pixel at a time.

Velvette gets up, looking like she’s about to argue, when Alastor turns to face her directly, twirling his microphone in hand as his smile grows.

“Fine, fuck you,” she spits, and makes her way out.

Then it’s just Alastor and Vox. Vox and Alastor. Two old friends. Two old buddies. Pals. Former pals. Ex-partners.

“I can explain,” Vox says, panicked.

“Oh,” Alastor says, sounding delighted. “You’re admitting to it so easily? Usually you’re more difficult than that.”

“Fuck,” Vox groans.

[celestiamour]

since you asked for hyun-ju ideas, here am i 🙂

Imagine being her girlfriend and finally managing to hype her up to wear something more feminine for a date (like a dress or a skirt), only for that confidence to be shattered by some strangers on the street ;((

so, after a bit of comfort, you just need to prove how they were wrong, and show your sweet girlfriend how nice you think she looks on that outfit *wink wink*

ft. cho hyun ju x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ hyping her up to go out wearing a skirt for the first time┊0.7k words

contains: fluff with suggestive content at the end!! gender dysphoria & insecurity but mainly euphoria, established relationship, reader is shorter

➤ author's note: i went off prompt and didn’t do smut for this one because i really just wanted to focus on her gender euphoria moment, so sorry (also this is my first time writing for a trans character centered around gender identity! my knowledge mainly comes from having an ex girlfriend who was trans and told me about her experience, but if i got anything wrong or need improvement for something, please tell me so that i can improve and do hyun-ju justice!)

she stared at herself in the mirror, almost in disbelief at first at the reflection looking back at her. it’s insane how a little bit of makeup and stylized outfits could completely transform her appearance, the magic being something she’s heard about plenty of times but has only been able to witness at this moment. her fingers nimbly adjusted her hair, brushing it back before pushing the front stands forward to frame her face, and then flying to her pleated skirt to straighten it out. her heartbeat was all over the place, both from the happiness of finally feeling like herself and from the anxiety of planning to go out in public like this.

hyun-ju paused at the thought of that, looking back at herself and suddenly focusing on all of her insecurities again— the more masculine features that other people would point out and whisper about from her face to her frame. she looked at her bare legs and found the contrast with the dainty piece of cloth too stark to ignore, finding herself crossing her legs and wondering if she should just wear pants like she usually did.

self-consciousness started to consume her entire being and thoughts about it not being enough raced across her mind, taking in a deep breath and considering just taking it all off to stay in for the night. the last thing she wanted was to get harassed by some assholes on the street just for trying to be herself, especially when she knew you would yell back at them and a fight was very much possible as it happened in the past before ending with you in the hospital for a broken wrist (the other guy was in a much worse state, but she still didn’t like the idea of you getting injured or possibly even arrested for her behalf).

“babe, are you finished changing?” you called out and broke her out of her thinking, but you entered before she could say anything. she cringed slightly and closed her, feeling embarrassed until she heard you gasp in pure delight, “oh, you look so beautiful!”

the heat radiating off her cheeks from being sheepish quickly changed to that of being flustered, “r-really?”

“of course!” you took her hands into yours, spinning her around like she was a princess wearing the most luxurious ball gown ever crafted even though it was bought at a local mall, “i knew this outfit would look good on you, it really is your color!”

“right, i was just worried it looked weird…” she felt a little stupid expressing her concerns, but she knew you were understanding, “i just feel like… i don’t know, i feel like i’m too tall to wear something like this…”

“being too tall isn’t a problem! personally, i would kill to be your height and to have your legs, and i know plenty of other people would too. it’s a trait that lots of top models have, so you don’t have to worry about anything!”

your words made her crack a smile, feeling the initial confidence flood her and your arm wrap around her waist as her gaze returned to the mirror once again with both of you admiring her beauty. seeing herself in your light was always enlightening like she was a completely different person in the best way possible, and she was so grateful to have you as her girlfriend to pull her out of her negative thoughts. 

“well, we better get going. if we stand here always just staring at how pretty you are, i might not be able to control myself and we’ll be home all night,” you teased, standing on your tip-toes and kissing her carefully on the lips so as to not mess up the tinted gloss.

“i don’t think i would mind that…” 

“don’t tempt me now…” the fluffy atmosphere became charged with a familiar tension with your touch lingering on her skin, one of your hands traced up her thigh with sinful ideas forming on how you could mark up the unblemished skin and ruin the makeup you wanted to preserve a mere few seconds ago.

after a few seconds of heavy silence, you finally pulled her to join you on the bed, all teasing smiles and lust, “well, we can just order an uber instead of walking, we can spare ten minutes. that’s all the time we need, isn’t it?”

[sheeple]

Puck you!

Genre(s): Modern!au / Ice hockey!au Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Ice hockey player!Mattheo Riddle x Reader Summary: You decide to go to an ice hockey game on your own and end up with a broken nose, a round trip to the ER, and a boyfriend. Warning(s): Broken nose (obvs) / kinda rushed A/n: Is it kinda inspired by a Saturday evening of mine? Who knows? [Masterlist]

It was stupid. Who goes to their very first ice hockey game all alone? Well... apparently you. You've tried to ask your friends and even your parents. But your friends were all busy and your father said, "I'm not going to spend my Saturday evening anywhere else except at home, on the couch." Spoiler alert: he and your mother went to a dinner with their friends that evening. Hypocrite.

So here you are, all alone and being very cold. You're having a great time nonetheless — even preferring ice hockey above soccer (don't tell your manager) — but even though you went with a sweater and one of your thicker winter coats, you are so damn cold! And seeing people pass by with steaming coffee you decide to get a hot beverage for yourself once the second break starts.

As soon as the buzzer sounds, you're out of your seat and off to the coffee corner. Smiling at the lady, you order a hot cocoa with whipped cream on top.

"How are you liking the game so far, dearie?", she asks with a kind smile.

Swallowing a big gulp of whipped cream, you wipe your mouth. "It's great! It's my very first one and way more brutal than I thought but it's so awesome. The cold's something I have to get used to", you laugh.

"Well then", she reaches behind the counter and pulls out a bright green beanie, "take this, love. Think of it as a welcome-to-the-sport present." She winks and you thank her profusely.

Seeing as the fifteen minutes are almost over, you quickly hurry back to your seat. But once you approach you see someone else sitting in it. No big deal, enough space. Moving further down, you spot an empty seat between two families and decide it's good enough for you.

Thanking the people who get up from their seats to let you pass, you quickly take place and put on the beanie. To your surprise the combo of beanie and hot chocolate does wonders.

The players skate back on the rink and the game starts again. Your hometown team the Green Snakes stand with 7 to 2 points before the Godrick's Lions and the crowd is electric. You know there's some age-old rivalry between the two teams — two cities really — that you never really understood. But hey, people need something to be competitive about.

For the so many-ith time, the game stops and number 86 is sent to the penalty box. Again. He's been playing rough all game, really firing his pucks at the opposite goal and knocking other players to the side. You pull up his profile on your phone to see who's behind the mask.

Number 86. Riddle, Mattheo. Hmm... he's rather handsome with his dark curly hair and, if you dare say, adorable smile. According to the Green Snakes' website, he's known for playing rough and getting up just as hard as he's knocking people down.

While you're distracted by your phone, you don't see how said player misfires a puck at the goal. It bounces off the sides before launching over the rink walls and into the stands. Straight at you.

With full speed, the black mini-missile lands right in your face. It bounces off your nose to be more precise. You feel it crack under the speed and pass out almost exactly directly.

Meanwhile, on the ice, Mattheo winces as the puck he shot hits the very cute girl straight in her face. He's been eyeing you the whole game that's also why he's getting so much time in the penalty box — to look at you but he won't admit that.

He wants to immediately rush off the ice and run over to the stands where paramedics are loading you on a stretcher. But the hand of his captain stops him and he shakes his head. "We can visit her after the game. It's only ten minutes left and then you can make sure she's fine."

Mattheo knows his captain is right but he can't focus on the game anymore. His coach switches him out for Malfoy and he sends the remainder of the time on the bench. As soon as the buzzer sounds the game is over, and he's off to the dressing room to have a quick shower before sprinting towards the medical bay.

When you came by, you were lying in a slightly warmer room than you remember. Wait... what do you remember? Hot chocolate, the beanie, 86, the puck. THE PUCK!

You shoot up and immediately regret it. The room spins around you and your head throbs. Your nose hurts like a bitch and you have an unrelenting runny nose. A nurse rushes over to you with gauze in her hands and presses it to your nose.

"Oh dear. Try to breathe slowly and through your mouth. I'm afraid your nose is broken. I've already called the doctor to set it straight for you".

"It's broken?", you say softly, not believing what you're hearing. Reaching up with a hand, you touch the tender flesh and hiss as pain flashes through your body. And now your head throbs, amazing...

As the nurse cleans up the bloody rags he turns towards you with a soft smile. "I'll tell your boyfriend that you're awake so he can come in."

"Boyfriend?", you echo perplexed.

That makes the nurse frown deeply and scribble something on the chard she's holding before exiting the room.

Since when do you have a boyfriend? You've surely hit your head pretty hard. How else could you forget a whole-ass boyfriend?

The door opens and a head with dark curls peeks around, scanning the room until his eyes fall upon you. As he closes the door behind him you recognise the guy. The one and only number 86 standing before you with a guilty look on his face. That puck for sure did a number on you.

"How are you feeling?"

"Considering I've gotten a puck against my noggin? It hurts and my nose is broken. And apparently, I've got a boyfriend in the time I was KO."

He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the edge of the hospital bed pretty harshly. "Yeah... Sorry about that. They wouldn't let me stay if I wasn't family or involved with you." You can see him cringe with the way he phrased that. "I'm really sorry about the whole puck incident. Coach always says I play too roughly and this just proves it..."

Before you can answer, there's a knock on the door and in walks a doctor followed by the same nurse. "Good evening Miss, how are you feeling?", asks the doctor as she shines a light into your eyes.

You throw number 86 a glance. "Despite that my nose is crooked and my head hurts, pretty okay."

The doctor hums. "So no dizziness, vagueness, or forgetfulness?"

You shake your head, slightly regretting the motion.

"Good. Good. I'll grab a colleague from ENT to put your nose back how it belongs and then you are free to go home. Sounds good?"

You nod and soon you're left alone with number 86 again. Breaking the silence, you hold out your hand and introduce your name. Even though he broke your nose, you still have manners.

He's quick to take your hand to shake it. "Matt. Is there any way to make it up to you?"

"You could let me break your nose in return?", you joke, but quickly backpaddle as Matt legitly seems to consider it. "No, you're crazy! It was a joke!"

Matt chuckles awkwardly and scratches the back of his head. "Can I take you out to drink once your nose is fine again?"

A small smile grows on your face and you nod. "Yeah... I would like that."

Around an hour later you let yourself fall on your bed; your nose bandaged and yourself still a little woozy because of the anaesthesia they gave you. You hold your phone dangerously above you as you stare at the text that has come in.

Hey! Looking forward towards our date next week! I promise you we'll stay off the ice (for now) This is Matt btw :) Goodnight

[lavenderprose]

Emmrook Short: Rooftop Interlude

~~~

ALRIGHT well this scene doesn't fit the narrative of the fic the way I thought it would. Currently gnashing my teeth and trying to fit it in elsewhere. I'll just throw it up here in case it ends up being left on the cutting room floor. Have at it.

Emmrook | Explicit | Semi-Public shenanigans ahead

They are in Treviso, the coffee is strong and the stars are beautiful. Rook watches with an open, laughing mouth as Emmrich hangs from a zipwire and, embarrassingly, screams with both exhilaration and horror as he flies above the glass-calm surface of a dark canal.

When his feet touch on the ground, his knees immediately buckle, though they don’t hit the pavement. Rook jumps forward and angles her shoulder against his chest. His arms go reflexively around her and she laughs and laughs as his nose crashes into the top of her head. She smells of honeysuckle and sweat.

“Whoa,” she says, stumbling only a little under his greater height and weight. She pulls back just far enough to meet his eyes, grinning as she says, “Hey, you did it! It gets easier every time.”

“Oh!” he says, panting, voice gone just slightly hoarse from the hollering. “That was…oh my, that was—quite something, I’ve never—” He straightens up, laughs, swipes a hand through his hair. Rook doesn’t move away, and he’s distantly aware that she probably should—the area they’re standing in isn’t necessarily public, frequented as it is almost exclusively by Crows using the vast rooftop system to move about the city clandestinely. That said, it isn’t necessarily private either. One could easily misinterpret the sight of them standing here, panting and wrapped around each other.

Still, Rook doesn’t move. Her hands find their way up his back, curled over the angle of his shoulder blades, and Emmrich can almost feel every movement of her fingers, every creak of her joints even through the thick fabric of his greatcoat.

“Lucanis went ahead,” she says, and flicks her fringe away from her face with a small, neat movement of her head. Emmrich watches as her mouth opens, her eyelashes flutter, and her tongue wets the length of her top lip. “He was—um, worried Viago would get upset if we left him waiting too long. Also, Spite was getting antsy.”

“Ah,” Emmrich breathes. “Well, forgive me the time I delayed us. I consider myself quite athletic, mind you, but overcoming one’s dread at the idea of zipping through the air—that’s quite something else!” He barks out another laugh, because it’s the only thing he can think to do.

“You did great,” Rook says again, and shifts against him in such a way that her hip collides with the front of his trousers. It’s purely accidental, and wouldn’t affect him in the slightest under normal circumstances—he’s more than capable of controlling himself, even with the feelings she inspires in him. There is, however, a great deal of adrenalin still coursing through him, and when her body presses to his—and one of her hands finds his chest.

“I am so sorry,” he gasps, taking a full step back. He’s embarrassed, flaming with it, and unfortunately it does nothing to ease his problem. There’s a wire crossed there—he’s never taken the time to examine it.

A moue of surprise curls onto her face. “That’s—alright. No, really, it’s fine—” She makes a grab for his hand as he takes another step back, and the grip she tugs on him with is shockingly strong. When he brings himself to look closely at her face, pushing past the mortification, he finds a sheen over her eyes and a high, pink blush blooming across her cheeks. She sucks her lip into her mouth. “Um. Here—”

She pulls him away from the ledge by which they are still, bizarrely, standing. There is a very narrow crevasse between the rooftops of two buildings, less than two full feet in width, and it’s into this crevasse that she leads him. They keep going until the moonlight almost doesn’t hit them anymore, illuminating only the silky top of her tonic-lightened hair and the metal notions on her gear.

Once sufficiently deep for her liking, she turns and pushes him into a wall. He’s panting, exhilarated and just a little alarmed, and she whispers, “Emmrich. Tell me, um. Tell me to stop, and I will.” Then her small hand reaches down his front, finds the outline of his erection, and tenderly caresses the throbbing head of his cock.

“Oh,” Emmrich whimpers, head clonking back against the brick wall. All ideals of propriety he’s ever been taught demand that he tells her to stop—that he politely rebuff her advance, initiate an encounter properly, privately, or else give himself over to the silent longing that is his lot in life. He knows he should, and yet cannot bring himself to; he is weak, weak for her, and she is beautiful, warm and offering herself to him like a wrapped gift. The weight of her hand, her sweet breath against his neck—he can only welcome them.

“Sh, sh,” she whispers. “You feel good. Is that—do you like—”

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, that’s—” He sighs, squeezes his eyes shut. “Please, Rook—please.”

Rook gasps against the crook of his neck, wet and hot, then she’s gone. His head spins as he processes her absence, and then her hands find him again—from below, and he looks down. Amber pools, so deep he could sink into them and never surface, examine him from hip-level. Her fingers are frantic, fumbling at the buckles and ties between the air and his flesh.

Emmrich Volkarin, who is far enough into his second half-century of life that he should know better, and still young enough that the world often manages to surprise him, stutters out a single word of protest—Rook, simply her name—and then can’t bring himself to finish the thought.

“I want to,” she says instantly, clearly aware of his train of thought. “Maker, I want you in my mouth. Let me suck your cock.”

“Okay,” he squeaks. “Okay—yes—that—Rook, darling, that button is a clip—"

He is stunned, overcome and so deeply aroused that he thinks his head might just pop clean off. Rook, who seems to know this, fixes him with a look of utter desire and he knows that whatever is driving her to do this, it isn’t something he needs to save her from. He joins her fumbling and, together, they free him from his clothes. The sight of his purpled, wet cockhead next to her comely face is utterly obscene, and it almost undoes him before he has the privilege of sinking into the heat of her mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her, as she taps his cock on her chin.

“So are you,” says Rook, speaking directly to and possibly about his penis, but he can’t really hold it against her. He’s been known to appreciate the presence of a hard cock in his face, as well. The thought startles a chuckle out of him as she inches closer, settling into the task she’s chosen.

She shifts from her squat to kneel on his boots, keeping her knees out of the alley refuse, and his toes flex against the sweet, heavy burden of her weight as she takes him. Her tongue is clever, slick, twirling underneath the glans. Her eyes stay open and somehow, against all odds, his do too. Her lips are red, a perfect pucker around the veined shaft of his cock. Emmrich has always enjoyed congress in all its forms, giving and receiving, but the act of oral pleasure has always filled him with a particular mixture of shame and desire. Something about the baseness of it, the inherent submission of kneeling before someone and servicing them.

Rook doesn’t seem to do it as an act of submission, or even particularly an act of service. She gives fellatio selfishly, if that’s even a thing. Genuinely appears to enjoy it nearly as much as him; groaning around him, pressing forward until her nose is buried in the still-dark hair at the root of his cock, and fluttering her eyelids as if he can bring her to her own ecstasy simply by fucking her mouth. It would be a lie to say he hasn’t thought about this—Maker, he has, and he’ll be judged for that someday. He’s also thought about his hands on her breasts, the curve of her ass in his lap, and the way she might taste. They aren’t thoughts he’s ashamed of, necessarily, because he would never breathe a word of them to her unsolicited. He’s red-blooded, she is beautiful, and it has felt for at least some short time now that they were hurtling towards this inevitably. Nevertheless, it’s shocking that it would happen now.

He considers himself a sexual being, deeply enjoys the act of it as both a source of intimacy and relief, and seeks it out when he desires it. It has, however, been a long time since he had the time or inclination to do so. She brings him to the brink quickly, and he can hardly breathe to signal to her his impending release.

“Rook,” he gasps, a hand clutching onto the nearest part of her—which, unfortunately, is her hair. He grips a handful of it far harder than he intends to. She groans encouragingly, hands spidering up to grasp at the backs of his thighs, and he bites savagely into his gloved hand as he spills onto her tongue.

She leans over and spits, which is one of the grosser things he’s ever found erotic, and then asks, “Do you have a handkerchief?” Her voice is quiet, now with the subtlest rasp. He immediately pulls out his handkerchief and offers it in trembling fingers.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, wiping her mouth. She tucks him back into his trousers, reverse-engineering the complicated arrangement of his buckles with only a little guidance, and then briefly rests her forehead against his stomach. His toes are beginning to go numb under her weight—a minor and extremely bearable pittance.

“Are you alright, darling?” he asks, curling a finger under her chin.

“Mm-hm.” Rook tilts her head up, eyes still closed, and presses a lingering kiss to his thumb. It reminds him that they have yet to so much as kiss, despite the taste of him now lingering in her mouth. “I’m so turned on I don’t think I’ll be able to walk straight. Give me a second.”

“Ah,” Emmrich murmurs. She giggles. “If you desire some assistance in that regard, I would gladly offer it.”

“No time,” she sighs. “We were supposed to be at the Diamond ten minutes ago. Spite will know what we’ve been doing, and I’m sure he’ll tell Lucanis.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,” Emmrich says, resting his head back against the wall. The stars are just visible between the eaves of the two roofs almost meeting each other overhead. They seem almost audible in their brightness. “Spite is more likely to smell the alley than the sex. We’ll tell him you fell in a gutter.”

“Oh, I’ve been in the gutter alright,” Rook mutters against his hip, and they share another giggle.

The meeting with the Talons is awkward. Their delayed arrival had, indeed, aggravated Viago de Riva—though Emmrich has it on good authority that this is by no means an impossible feat. Lucanis, too, fixes them with a vaguely disgruntled look. Emmrich returns it, not missing the flash of purple on the edges of Lucanis’ pupils, and can only hope that a steady, reproachful look is enough to dissuade Spite from inserting himself into the conversation. Despite his assurances to Rook, Emmrich doesn’t yet know enough about Spite to be absolutely assured that Lucanis’ demon counterpart won’t smell Rook’s breath and immediately take it upon himself to announce his knowledge of their liaison.

This, thankfully, never comes to be. Teia is predominantly amused by their obvious dishevelment, and Viago is still grateful enough to Rook for Treviso’s rescue that he lets any observations of his own pass largely unmentioned. Lucanis only says one thing as they pass through the Eluvian.

“…on your own time next time, okay?” Emmrich hears, as Rook and Lucanis emerge through the mirror behind him. He also hears Rook’s huffed laugh.

“Sure.”

Spite, emerging at last through Lucanis’ throat: “Rook. Your breath. Smells like co—”

“Ah,” Emmrich snaps, prim, because Spite responds well to firm guidelines. Misguided spirits are, after all, something of Emmrich’s specialty.

“Ugh!” Spite snaps, before fading back into obscurity behind Lucanis’ eyes.

“Well,” sighs Lucanis, rubbing his neck. “This has been…fun. I’m going home.”

Rook lets him stomp ahead through the strange brush of the Crossroads, giggling under her breath, and Emmrich ignores the stark sting of mortification on the back of his neck. When the tails of Lucanis’ cape are swaying a satisfactory ways in the distance, Emmrich slants his gaze towards her and mutters, “I think you’re amused by this, my dear.”

“They were going to find out anyway,” she sighs, and shakes a hand through her hair, falling badly now out of its pins. It’s been most of an entire day since she put them in. She pockets them as they come loose until, after a moment, her hair falls over her shoulders in a sleek, pin-straight waterfall. The shadows of her black roots are only just beginning to surface at her scalp. “We’re all living on top of each other. It’s like the Novice Watcher’s dorms all over again.”

“It was a rather, um, effective way to ensure our relationship becomes common knowledge,” Emmrich murmurs, hands twisting together as they meander after Lucanis’ rapidly retreating form. “There are Crows in Vyrantium who I’m sure will know by the end of the week. And with Spite knowing, it’s only a matter of time before—”

“I’m giving it ‘til Thursday,” Rook says, it currently being Tuesday.

“Mmm. That’s generous.”

“Emmrich.” She stops, hands buried in the pockets of her Watcher’s apron, and waits for him to wheel to face her. She’s frowning and seems to be actively engaged in the act of making herself smaller, like she’s bracing for a blow. “We don’t have to…if that was too much, just let me know. I’m not made of glass. I’ve been rejected before.”

“That,” he says, stern, “is far from what is happening here.” The idea of rejecting her after the gift of her attentions in the alley, as unwise as they may have been, makes him see red. Someone, somewhere, must have made her feel so utterly worthless at some point. Someone left her to think that her body could be taken for granted and her sexuality scorned. He should hope that individual never crosses his path on a dark night.

It’s only the intensity of his voice that seems to keep her from pursuing that line of thought. She shifts nervously, a sort of girlish uncertainty about her, and she says, “This is kind of how I am. Impulsive. I don’t always make great decisions. You should know that before this goes any further.

“Rook,” sighs Emmrich, and he closes in to grip her hands. “Do you honestly think that my sexual experiences are limited to dark bedrooms? Quite the opposite. It’s rather flattering to me that you witnessed my floundering and still desired me at all afterwards, let alone right that very moment.”

“Well.” Rook, posture loosening at last, slides her arms around his neck. “It was very sexy floundering.”

“Point being,” Emmrich murmurs, lips against the tip of her ear, “I greatly enjoyed the experience. I’ll admit to being somewhat…embarrassed, but that isn’t necessarily an undesirable consequence for something of this nature. Not for…a man such as myself.”

He waits for the meaning of his words to reach her, and that delicious shame drifts down his back when her eyes widen. “Oh. Oh.”

He clears his throat. “Yes. So, darling, you did nothing wrong…aside from make us tardy for the meeting with the Talons. I do so abhor tardiness.”

“Right. So, next time, work time into the schedule for the rooftop blowjob.”

“Congress under the stars can be so romantic,” Emmrich sighs elaborately, and he knows her confidence is done faltering when she laughs.

He wants to touch her, to feel the promised arousal between her thighs. He thinks about it on a loop as they walk back to the Lighthouse, but she begs off when they arrive.

“I’ll fall asleep on you,” she threatens.

“Not a distasteful thought,” he murmurs, hands low on her hips. He imagines easing her to sleep with swipes of his tongue—a gentle orgasm leading to a deep, dreamless slumber.

He feels her shiver. “I want to. I wish…but I have so much on my mind. Viago is concerned about Antaam movements, Davrin and I need to go speak to Antoine and Evka as soon as possible. I need to think. I need…” She sighs, rolls her eyes. “I think I need to talk to Solas.”

Of course. He’s allowed himself to forget, however briefly, that the Dread Wolf still quite literally occupies her mind. Her slumber is never truly her own, never private. He wishes now, as he often has, that they had met in the Necropolis, before the world took it upon itself to attempt to end for the third time in as many decades. Or else that he could insulated her from the burdens of her station, at least long enough for more than a furtive rooftop fuck.

When they part at the bottom of the stairs to her room, it’s almost unbearable to watch her go.

“Rook,” he says, before she opens the door. She turns to look over her shoulder, and he says, “If you need me—”

“I do,” she says, and disappears.

[hellfiremunsonn]

Don't Touch The Racoons. Eddie Munson x Reader

Don't Touch The Racoons

I DO NOT ALLOW MY WRITING TO BE REPUBLISHED ANYWHERE OTHER THAN MY OWN BLOG WITHOUT MY CONSENT

Summary: Eddie helps his very loopy girlfriend after she dislocates her shoulder.

18 + IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER DO NOT READ OR INTERACT WITH MY WRITING. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

Warnings: None really? fem reader though no real descriptions, mentions of a 'heavy' medication, but not specified. Just assumed they'd give you something for the pain of having to pop your shoulder back in, and it making you a lil loopy! (IF THERES ANYTHING I MISSED LET ME KNOW)

AN: not proof read, and not based off of anything or a request, just something that I had in mind, and thought it was cute and funny!

Word count: 1.6k

Eddie was working a late shift at the shop, working overtime for some extra cash when he gets a frantic call from Robin telling him you slipped and dislocated your shoulder.

He immediately panics and is about to head out the door when you plead with him on the other end just to finish his shift. 

"We w-wont be long, m'okay Ed's really" you lie. You wanted to be brave for him, and for your friends who are with you in the waiting room of the hospital.

Reluctantly after another ten minutes you convince Eddie to finish his shift and to wait for you at his trailer. 

It's around midnight when Eddies phone finally rings, and he nearly fumbles it across the room with how quickly he grabs it. "Hello?"

"Wakey wakes Munson! Were on our way back with your very, loopy girlfriend" Robin says on the other end of the phone. 

Eddie groans as he sits up from the couch, breathing out a sigh of relief knowing they'll be back soon. "How long till you guys get here?" He asks wearily, standing up from the couch to begin pacing back and forth. 

"Fifteen minutes, barely, were practically down the road" Robin says comfortingly. 

"Okay okay... good... how is she?" 

"Oh insanely loopy" Robin laughs "It's pretty cute though.

"Oh jeez, guess they gave her some good stuff" he shakes his head, thinking of just how loopy you're going to be when you get here. 

"Oh for sure they- no babe, you can't touch that, no stop it, put your hand down for the love of christ-" Robin rambles at you, and Eddie can hear you giggling in the background as Robin tries to control whatever loopy antics you're up to. 

"Is that her giggling like a school girl?"

"Yes! she's being a menace! A very slow and giggly menace, but a menace all the same!" 

Just as Eddie goes to respond he sees the headlights of Steves car pull up into his gravel driveway. He hangs up the phone with out saying goodbye and heads over towards the door. 

When he makes it to the porch, Steve and Robin are helping you out of the car, practically dragging you with your heavy limbs and fogged brain. 

"Jesus Christ, can se even walk?" He says while jogging down the few steps, reaching out towards you to help you into his trailer. 

"teddy teddy teddy" you say while reaching forward with your arm that isn't in the temporary sling. 

Eddie steps closer and wraps his arm around you in a tight hugs, pressing a scatter of kisses to the top of your head. "How's the patient?" he says while looking at you, but he's really asking Steve and Robin. 

"She is absolutely stoned out of her mind right now" Robin says with a smirk, looking over at you while you cling to Eddie, your head lolling against his chest. "They defenitly gave her the good stuff"

"You're if bubble gum was a person" you mumble, rubbing your face against his chest. 

Eddie lets our a snort of laughter and shakes his head. "And why am I bubble gum, baby?"

"Cause you are" you scoff, as if it's obviously 

"Mhmm okay, good explanation" he says shaking his head. "Lets get you inside alright?"

"Insssiiidddeeee" You sing out.

Eddie laughs again, leading you into the trailer slowly, and guides you over to the couch, making sure your sat down, comfortably and safely before standing back up in front of you. "There you go baby, now just stay right here okay? I'm gunna say bye to Steve and Robin" he says while pushing some hair away from your face gently. 

"Don't touch the racoons" you say with a warning tone, pointing a finger at you to emphasize your point of seriousness. 

Eddie stares at you blankly for a moment, attempting to hold back a smile as he gently pushes your hand back down to your side. "I promise not to touch the racoons" he confirms while turning around to the front door where Steve and Robin are giggling at your antics. 

"Did she just say 'don't touch the racoons?'" Robin asks, still trying to stile another round of laughter.

"Yes. Yes she did" Eddie says while trying to keep a straight face.

"Steve finally breaks, letting out a burst of hysterical laughter, while robin just smiles and shakes her head. 

"Well you're going to have an interesting night, that's for sure" Steve says after he's managed to catch his breath. 

Eddie shakes his head, and turns back to glance at you, still sitting on the couch. Your head is lolled to one side, one eye open, and the other one closed, a dreamy, dopey look on your face, that he can't help fall more in love with. "Alright you two assholes can head off now, I've got her covered" he says giving the both of them quick hugs. "Thanks for taking her to the hospital for me, and keeping her face"

Steve and robin wave off his thanks. "Good luck with your walking zombie of a girlfriend!" Robin says with a playful salute.

Once they drive away Eddie heads back inside, walking over and kneeling in front of you on the couch. "Hey there baby. How are you feeling?"

"Super duper" you say with a smile.

"Yeah super duper sounds about right" He says with a smile. Reaching out to tuck some hair out of your face again, looking over your features as you sit there all loopy. 

You lean your cheek against his hand, humming in content at the feeling. The warmth of it spreading across your face. 

Eddie smooths his thumb over your cheekbone as you lean into his touch. Seeing you so out of it like this was definetly a big change from your usual self he had become so familiar with. "The meds they gave you are really doing a number on you aren't they? he asks, but it's mostly him talking to himself. He doesn't expect a reply, let alone a coherent one at that, but you still try. 

"M'all tingly" you mumble out.

"Yeah that's the medicine baby" he says quietly. Taking a moment to just admire your features, and the way you look up at him with those eyes of yours. 

"Where'd you go?" you ask, tilting your head while you speak.

"What do you mean baby? where did I go?" he says confused.

"You weren't at the host-hop-hospital with me" you struggle to get the sentence out, but manage in the end.

Eddies face softens, and he nods his head. "I know baby, I'm really sorry, I was working remember? You didn't want me to miss out so you convinced me to stay" he says while bringing his free hand to cup the other side of your face so he can get you to look at him directly. 

"They stole my blood" you frown.

Eddie has to stop himself from laughing so hard at the words that just came from your mouth, not wanting to offend you in your drowsy state. "They weren't stealing your food baby, that's just how hospitals work, they gotta make sure you're okay"

"Thieved it right out of me!"

Eddie can't help but laugh then at how ridiculous you were being. Normally he'd have at least some idea of what you were talking about, seeing you be all giggly like this when you were high. But right now it was like trying to decipher everything a very small, very stoned child was saying. 

"They were testing your blood for science, baby, not stealing it from you, very big difference" he says, trying to help you understand despite knowing it's no use right now.

"Science! pffft" you snort, leaning forward until your head thunks against his shoulder.

Eddie cradles the back of your head, while pressing a kiss to to it. "Well science is important baby"

"You're eyes are science" you say matter of fact. 

Eddie has no idea how to respond for a moment. "My eyes are... Science?" he repeats with a raised brow. Wondering if all the loops in your brain had finally melted together.

"Yep" you say confidently. 

Eddie is still confused, but if it's one thing about right now is that he's learning to just go with whatever it is you're saying. "Interesting..." he says with a laugh "and they're science because?"

"Cause they sparkle duh"

"Jesus Christ you really are out of it" he says mostly to himself. 

"Hey where's my bear?" You say abruptly, looking around for the blue stuffed bear that is always safely tucked away in Eddies bed for when you sleep over. You frown when you don't see it in the living room. 

"He's in my room babe, where he always is"

"Can we go to him? I miss him" 

Eddie gives you a fond smile and stands up from his kneeling position in front of you while reaching out to take your good hand in his. "Course we can go to him" he says while gently lifting you off the couch. 

"Woah" you say when you wobbly slightly once you're back on your feet. "The floor is melty"

Eddie lets out a loud laugh, unable to keep that one in. Keeping you steady with his arm around your waist he looks down at you with a smile, almost tempted to let you go just to see if you really would fall over, but he doesn't. "No the floor isn't melty" he says "You're just really high"

"Looks pretty melty to me" you say skeptically. Taking a tentative step forward, tapping the toe of your soon on the ground first, just to REALLY make sure it was sturdy enough. 

Eddie looks at you in amusement. It was like every clumsy bone in your body had been amplified to a maximum and he could barely believe it. "I promise you the floor is not melty"

As the night goes on, and you sleep off the drowsy medication, you manage to tell the story to Eddie about how you dislocated your shoulder. All the while he holds you close, keeping you warm and protected and silently vowing to himself to wrap you in bubble wrap when you were away from him.

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

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5

Y/N

The morning sunlight feels too bright as it spills across my room, illuminating everything in a way that feels almost accusatory. My head feels strange, like it’s stuffed with fog, and my throat is dry, scratchy. For a moment, I just sit there, trying to piece together what feels like fragments of a half-remembered dream.

Then, like the tide rushing in, it all comes back.

The lake. The joint. Jinx.

I let out a breath and rub my temples. I’ve never felt like this before—untethered, like my mind isn’t quite my own. I think of the way the smoke had burned going down, the way my chest had tightened, and the strange, floating clarity that had followed.

And then there was her.

Her laugh, sharp and biting, but somehow not cruel. The way her knee had bounced, restless, and her voice had softened, just for a moment. The way she had looked at me when I said I was sorry—like she didn’t quite believe it, but also like she wanted to.

I drag myself out of bed and stand in front of my mirror. My reflection stares back at me, hair messy, dark circles under my eyes. I don’t look like the version of myself I’m used to seeing: polished, composed, prepared.

I think of what I said to her.

“I’m sorry for abandoning you.”

It feels heavier now, in the harsh light of day. Not because I regret it—I don’t—but because it feels like the start of something I don’t know how to finish. She’d told me I’d drown if I tried to save her. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I would have.

But I didn’t even try.

The thought twists in my chest.

Last night feels like some strange, otherworldly moment, the kind that doesn’t belong in the real world. And yet, I can’t shake the memory of it: the lake, the stars, the soft ripple of water, and the way, for just a heartbeat, it felt like we were connected again.

The thought lingers as I go about my morning routine, though routine feels like the wrong word. Everything feels slightly off-kilter, like I’m moving through a world that isn’t quite real. I brush my teeth, but the minty taste feels muted. I splash cold water on my face, but it doesn’t chase away the warmth still clinging to me from last night.

Her words echo in my mind, over and over.

"You’re here now, aren’t you?"

It wasn’t forgiveness, not entirely. But it wasn’t rejection, either. It was something in between, a place I’m not sure how to navigate.

As I stare at the mirror, toothbrush abandoned in the sink, the weight of her words settles deeper into my chest. "You're here now, aren't you?" They linger, stubborn and unyielding, like a riddle I can't solve.

The person staring back at me looks like me but doesn’t feel like me. My hair’s still a mess, my skin pale in the unforgiving light of the bathroom. The faint redness from the weed still lingers in my eyes.

I trace my finger along the edge of the sink, the smooth porcelain grounding me in a way my thoughts can’t. It’s strange—how last night feels both impossibly distant and uncomfortably close, like I could reach out and still touch the ripple of the lake’s surface.

And her.

Her outfit from last night comes to me in sharp flashes, each piece a quiet reminder of her refusal to be anything other than herself. A cropped black top, with her bright blue bra peeking out, so unbothered by convention, leaving her arms bare to show off the wispy blue of her tattoos. The short, plaid skirt swung with every step, the bold pinks and purples clashing in a way that almost made me frown, but it somehow fit her perfectly. Like she was daring you to see her, truly see her, and not look away.

The torn fishnet stockings ran up her legs, disappearing beneath worn, slouchy leg warmers, and those boots, scuffed and heavy, told a story of a thousand steps taken in places I would've never dared to follow until last night. They weren’t made for dancing, but for standing firm, for walking through chaos. Her tiny, ridiculous purse, a cartoon animal with an angry face, hanging low on her hip truly a bizarre touch, but it made sense on her. She didn’t need it to make sense, and that’s what made it hers.

Those long, impossibly messy braids—swinging behind her like streaks of wild blue, tied off with bows that looked like they’d been thrown together in a rush. And her makeup… dark, smudged lipstick and eyeliner like she’d put it on in a haze of laughter and frustration. It was a little all over the place, but she looked beautiful.

I catch myself mid-thought, the word beautiful lingering too long in my mind. I clench my jaw and press my lips together, willing it away. No. That’s not what this is about.

I'm not attracted to her, I'm simply observant. There's just something compelling about her, she gathers attention, I'd be a fool not to notice.

And I'm not a fool.

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Jinx

I’m sprawled out on Silco’s desk, knocking papers everywhere.

He’s too busy with whatever shady crap he’s dealing with, so he doesn’t even flinch. He’s used to this shit by now.

Not that I care. I’m busy with my own thing anyway.

“So like—Y/N, right? Last night? You remember her, right?” I swing my legs up, now dangling upside down off the desk.

“Or, you probably don’t, you’re busy and all that... but whatever.” I wave it off with a lazy shrug, but I can’t stop grinning.

"But she, like... totally caved.”

I catch his good eye for a split second before he looks back at his paperwork.

Like he’s trying to ignore me, but he knows he can’t, he's actually the biggest softie

“She totally, totally, smoked that joint with me,” I announce, watching him carefully.

Silco stops.

There’s a pause.

Like he’s trying to process my words. His eyes narrow as he stares at me.

“Jinx, I give you those drugs for your business entrepreneurs, not for yourself. You know you’re not supposed to be smoking,” he practically reprimands me.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, sure,” I interrupt, waving my hand like I’m shooing off a fly.

“Let me stop you right there, Dad. It wasn’t technically a joint. It was a—uh—lollipop.” I smirk, daring him to call me out. “Yeah, a lollipop. Cherry-flavored. Totally innocent.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about patience. “Jinx.”

“What?” I sit upright, hands spread wide. “I’m being honest! Honest Jinx, that’s me.”

His sigh is so long and drawn out I think he’s going to pass out.

But nope.

He’s still there, looking at me like he’s trying to figure out why he puts up with this.

“Anyway!” I barrel on, kicking my legs against the desk.

“She took it. Like, I held it out, and she just... grabbed it. Like, no hesitation. Well, okay, a little hesitation. But then bam! She’s holding it. And then she freaking smoked it—well, tried to. Looked like she was about to fucking puke Hilarious.”

“Language,” Silco mutters, shuffling his papers like he’s pretending to work.

He’s not fooling anyone.

“Right, right. My bad. She looked like she was about to violently combust,” I say, snickering.

“And then, guess what? She laughed. Laughed, Silco. Like, this cute little giggle thing. It was... weird. But, like, in a good way? Made her seem, I dunno, human.”

I flip onto my stomach now, chin resting in my hands.

“And then, for, like, a split second, I thought she was gonna kiss me. Like, what the hell, right? Y/N? Kissing me? Insane. But it was there. The vibe. The moment.”

Dad- Silco looks up from his paperwork. “And did she?”

I throw my hands up, nearly knocking over a paperweight.

“No!"

I scoff.

Silco leans back in his chair, giving me that annoying, knowing look. “You have feelings for the girl.”

I scoff, loud and dramatic. “Like her? Please. She’s just... interesting, that’s all.”

“Mmhmm.” His smirk grows, and I know I’m losing this battle.

“Okay, fine, maybe I like her. A little. But don’t get all weird about it, okay? She’s... complicated. And I don’t do complicated.”

“Jinx,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “You are complicated.”

I blink at him, thrown off for a second.

Then I roll my eyes, flopping back onto the desk like a starfish.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just don’t tell her I said any of this, okay?”

His chuckle is quiet, almost fond. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

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Y/N

After the oddity of the party last night, I found myself sitting at a booth in Piltover’s diner, the kind of place that pretended to be casual but was just polished enough to remind you it wasn’t cheap. Across from me, Caitlyn was sipping tea, her posture as straight and proper as always, while Mel flipped lazily through a menu.

I was quiet. Too quiet, probably, because Mel eventually glanced over and raised an eyebrow. “What’s with you? You look like you’ve been exiled from your own kingdom.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, forcing a small smile. I stirred the remnants of sugar into my coffee, avoiding eye contact. My thoughts kept drifting back to the lake, to Jinx, and to… everything about last night that I couldn’t quite make sense of. But I wasn’t about to bring it up. Caitlyn’s feelings about Jinx were less of a mystery—they weren’t feelings; they were pure, unfiltered disdain.

I sipped my coffee, letting the warmth ground me as the memory of last night tried to creep back in: Jinx’s laugh—sharp and unpredictable—the way her eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t quite name. Her voice, teasing and cutting but... not unkind.

I shoved the thought aside.

“So,” Caitlyn began, setting her teacup down with a small clink, “I kissed Vi.”

My head snapped up at the same time Mel practically shrieked. “You what?”

“It wasn’t that dramatic,” Caitlyn said, though the faint pink in her cheeks betrayed her attempt at nonchalance.

“Okay, hold on.” Mel leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “I need every detail. Where? How? Was it good? No, wait—start from the beginning.”

Cait sighed, but the smile on her face told me she wasn’t bothered by Mel’s theatrics. “After you two left, we were standing by my car. She made some comment about how I should loosen up more often, and before I could reply, she kissed me.”

“Shut up,” Mel said, grinning ear to ear. “That’s amazing. Was it good? Don’t lie.”

“It was... unexpected,” Caitlyn admitted, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. “But yes, it was good. Very good.”

I tried to focus on my coffee, letting their conversation fill the space between us. Cait deserved this. She deserved something uncomplicated, something sweet and warm and full of possibility.

Unlike whatever was clawing at the edges of my mind—something messy and confusing and entirely unwelcome.

“Are you two a thing now?” Mel asked, leaning in like a gossip columnist.

“I don’t know,” Cait said, her tone thoughtful. “Vi doesn’t seem like the type to want to label things. And, honestly, I’m fine with that. For now.”

Mel looked impressed. “Wow. Look at you, Miss Go-With-The-Flow. Who are you, and what have you done with Caitlyn Kiramman?”

Cait rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t falter.

As their laughter filled the space between us, I tried to hold onto it, to let it distract me. But my thoughts were already wandering, back to the lake and the way Jinx had looked at me when I’d apologized.

There was something unsettling about the memory, not because of what she’d said, but because of how it had made me feel. Like I was standing on the edge of something I didn’t understand.

As they resumed their chatter, I let their voices fade into the background, my mind returning—despite my best efforts—to Jinx. To the way she’d leaned back on her elbows, her grin sharp and teasing. To the strange softness in her eyes, fleeting but undeniable. To the way my stomach had flipped, unbidden and entirely unwelcome, when her hand had brushed mine as she passed me the joint.

I stared into my coffee, its surface rippling slightly as I shifted in my seat. This was nothing, I told myself. Just residual adrenaline from an unexpected night. That’s all.

But the quiet flutter in my chest told a different story.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hope you enjoyed it, the complicated feelings are only just starting ;)

please like and reblog!

[inez-winchester-cameron]

Could you write a longer one shot or smth about that pogue!reader x enemy!rafe? I love the concept sm!!💕💕

this is the post I'm thinking about:

thinking abt sweet lil pogue reader who cant stop thinking abt rafe..her supposed enemy even though she rubs her sticky cunt to the thought of him atleast 3 times before she can sleep..

our little secret

rafe cameron x pogue!enemy!reader

summary: you and rafe both have completely opposite but big reputations but something about him draws you in. in a sort of way that you can't quite explain, nor could you try explaining to your friends

cw: 2 year age gap, innocent and sweet reader, virgin reader, masturbating, suggestive, idek

note: i think id be willing to write more on this topic but i kept this mostly brief. requests open for spn and obx!!

you and rafe are complete opposites in nearly ever sense. rafe cameron is the king of the kooks, a drug addict, a party animal, with raging anger issues. you on the other hand are a sweet little member of the pogues, refuse to touch any drugs, and would rather be at home relaxing than go to a party. on top of that, your two groups are complete and total enemies. you and rafe are supposed to be enemies.

but rafe's always been nice to you, or atleast he's not a complete dick to you. whenever he sees you in public while you're alone, he always finds some sort of reason to talk to you.

"where's your little pogue friends, princess?"

"looking lonely, huh?"

"tell jj he better not show his damn face at one of my parties ever again. think you can handle that, princess?"

and during the altercations between the groups, he stays away from you, harassing the others, never you.

and you know it's wrong. he's a dick to your friends, he treats them like trash. but there's something about him.

maybe it's the big blue eyes or the height difference or the hair. or maybe it's the sweet little nicknames he calls you, and the longing looks he gives you.

whatever it was, it had you shoving your hand down your pants before bed every night. your mind came up with the wildest scenarios, the dirtiest shit.

rafe pinning you against the bathroom sink at one of his parties.

him pulling you away from your group and shoving his dick down your throat.

him calling you dirty names while you bounce on his cock, your tits in his face.

after one particular incident, you find yourself getting home asap to touch yourself. rafe had approached you at a party, where you stood alone. unlike the rest of your group, you were rather shy and all your friends left to be social.

as you stand alone, you sip on the cup that jj had filled for you earlier. you look around, nervously, hoping one of your friends returns to you soon. your heart starts beating faster as rafe cameron approaches you. he gives you a sickeningly sweet smile.

"hey princess, where are your little pogue buddies at?"

"with other friends.." you mutter.

"really? they're leaving a sweet little thing like you all by herself?"

"yeah i can take-" you start but you're interrupted.

"what the fuck are you doing?" jj suddenly asks, barging into the scene, pushing rafe away from you.

"fuck off, maybank, i didn't touch her," rafe says, putting his hands up, "i'll see you later, sweets." he winks at you before walking off.

-

later that night, as you lay in bed, you find yourself thinking about the incident. your hands are neatly laying on your stomach and as you think more and more you find yourself shoving one down your pj pants and underwear.

you sigh as your hand makes contact with your sticky cunt. you rub over your clit for a moment before spreading your lips apart, running a finger over your hole and spreading your slick along your cunt.

a few seconds later, you're shoving a finger up your cunt and whining. for the life of you, you could not get a good angle, ever. you always saw people raving about and talking about how good it feels to finger yourself or get fingered, but you could never get the right angle or feeling by yourself.

after a few moments of absolutely no pleasure, you pull you hand back, groaning. your phone buzzes and you jump a bit. your free hand reaches for it and you pause as you read your newest notification.

'rafecameronobx has requested to follow you'

[thesnowtiger]

My prediction for the next Alien Stage video is that Hyuna and Luka will compete against each other and in the end of the clip Hyuna somehow will die ( sorry for saying it but it's true ).

And no, I don't think this way because I saw this:

I already had the idea in my head for a long time after watching "Alien Stage TOP 3"- video where they show this ⬇️

And this ⬇️

And after these two ⬇️

Was it a coincidence? 🤔 I don't think so. After all, this is AlienStage we are talking about!!

And let me remind you something:

"Alien Stage TOP 3"- video was released on August 2023 which means almost half a year BEFORE round 6 where the competitors were this two boys:

Hmm how strange, don't you think? 🧐. This looks a lot like that image from the beginning ⬇️

After R6 we had round 7 where Luka won and become the champion again. But the end of round 7 was interrupted by special guests one of whom is Hyuna:

And now, AFTER R7, the AlienStage team starts to give us information focused mainly on Luka and his backstory! Vivinos also confirmed that the next video will show "how much Luka cares about Hyuna" ! ⬇️

So guys, after all of this information what you think they are doing? Can you guess? I will help you - THEY PREPARE US FOR THIS ⬇️

If Luka won against Hyuna and she die in front of his eyes then her death will completely ruine his facade and emotional distance thanks to which he was able to become a champion so many times.... Her death will broke him, shortly to say. ( We, as a audience though, will be able to understand this only if we know beforehand how Luka actually feels about Hyuna and why he became the person he is now.)

That's why after that Luka will die ( how exactly I don't have an idea yet but this certainly will happen) and in the end of the whole Alien Stage story Mizi will be the only one left alive. I think that she probably will take the place of Hyuna and become the leader of the Rebellion Humans but this is just my personal theory which for the moment I can't defense with evidence.

What I can proof though is why I think Mizi will be the only one left alive in the end. I have two evidence:

1. The "Alien Stage TOP 3"- video

2. The front-cover of The AlienStage official art book

In both of them Mizi is standing alone on the stage.

[venomwrites]

Despite the fluff this is a ficlet written purely because I 100% believe Vi would leave lipstick prints on Caitlyn before Caitlyn would leave them on Vi. Also on Ao3

“Violet.”

Vi is caught off guard enough at the sight of Tobias standing in the doorframe. The two of them have a fragile sort of truce going. One she’s happy to keep going. It’s centered around Caitlyn, who needs them both. Usually when he comes to get her, it’s for something Caitlyn needs. Tobias looks at her with that tight, sad expression he always makes. Vi is stunned he doesn’t ask her about her intentions with Caitlyn. But she guesses it’s pretty clear what those are since she’s here. She’s given up the expectation he’s going to tell her to get out again. It’s become clear that he actually didn’t have the right to do anything more than question her presence. The house isn’t his. It’s Caitlyn’s. But he doesn’t ask anymore, he just nods when she helps Caitlyn in a way he can’t and she does the same when the tables are turned. But now it’s just the two of them staring at each other. 

“There’s talk of rationing electricity,” he says, “we need to preserve the candles.”

Heat creeps up her neck but she refuses to give into it. She opens her mouth to point out the rations definitely wouldn’t apply to the Kirammans. And besides she’s been rationing candles for seven years. She knows how to get soot from her eyes and not ruin them. When they start rationing matches they can talk. Tobias’s throat works and then he shoves a bag at her. 

“Cassandra always kept a supply. Caitlyn needs something more specialized now,” when she doesn’t move he puts it in her fingers, “goodnight.”

Then he vanishes as quickly as he came leaving Vi standing there with a bag, a blush and not much of an idea of what to do with either. Behind her there’s a shift of weight as Caitlyn tries to see what’s happening. She’s condemned to the right side of the bed where the IV hook was already set up from Vi’s own time there. But that puts most of the room out of her field of vision unless she turns her head. It’s uncomfortable on the best days right now so Vi tries to do everything in her field of vision. She walks over to where Caitlyn is laying and watches something flicker in her visible eye at the sight of the bag. 

“Your dad—“ Vi says holding it up, “said it was your moms.”

Caitlyn offers an almost mischievous curve of her lips and Vi looks down to see the bag is full of that fancy tissue paper stores up here use. Caitlyn taps the side of the bed and Vi walks over. Of all the injuries, the jaw might be the worst for Caitlyn. Vi looks over at the pad as she scribbles what the wires won’t allow her to say. 

Sorry. Didn’t think you’d take it otherwise. 

Vi shakes her head at the apology. Only Caitlyn would feel the need to apologize for something like this. She nods and Vi moves away the paper. Inside are a ton of small boxes. She’s quickly learning nothing in Piltover just comes in its natural state. Especially not stuff you buy. Caitlyn is looking hopeful so Vi tries to smile and tips one of the boxes into her hand. She has a feeling she knows what it is. The candle scolding was kind of a give-away. She braces the black box against her casted arm and slips her thumb under the top flap. There’s a sticker on the bottom of a pinkish red that makes Vi’s heart skip even though it shouldn’t. The world ended. This seems so irrelevant. But her fingers in the cast itch as she tips the container over and the silvery tube spills out. It’s heavy with a band of gold denoting the seam. When she pushes with her thumb, it slides up to reveal a bullet of color. 

One of us needs two eyes.

Vi laughs. The sound strange after all the grief in this room. But it’s the first joke she’s seen on the pages and when she looks back, Caitlyn actually looks pleased. She nudges the bag closer and even though Vi wants to say one is enough. That she doesn’t even need one, she doesn’t want to do anything to take away the pleased look on Caitlyn’s face. Caitlyn motions for the bag and extracts a black case that expands like magic. There are hooks for a mirror, but someone has thought to tuck it away. She opens box after box until the bag is full of them and the case is full of tubes and compacts. Vi wonders if there are any cosmetics left in Piltover, but she’s learned there is always more up here. These are hers. It’s a dizzying array of colors, ones that exist in paintings. Not ones you cobble together out of whatever pigments you can find. The feeling in her chest is strange as she looks at them. Not bad, but not one she’s used to. 

“Thanks, Cupcake,” she says touching the tubes. She goes to close the case but Caitlyn stops her. Strokes her thumb across Vi’s knuckle and looks at the case, “later,” Vi promises. 

Caitlyn gives her a look that needs no words and with more strength than Vi thought she had, she tugs the case towards her hip. Vi watches as she flips it open. Her fingers move towards the mirror and Vi darts forward. They’e not there yet. Caitlyn’s not there yet. But she’ll put herself through it to help Vi. And Vi can’t stand the thought. She tries for something confident as she looks back at the endless array of tubes. 

“Come on, Cupcake, you think we had mirrors in Stillwater?” She says, “I could do this blindfolded.”

Caitlyn gives her a half exasperated look as Vi looks between a forgiving nude and a deep berry. Opting for the latter she thumbs the tube open and glides the color along her lips. She’s known she could do it blindfolded, but there’s still something satisfying about running her thumb under her lip and it coming away clean.

“What do you think?” She asks. 

Beautiful.

The word stings but Vi lets it. The lipstick feels nice against her lips. Better than anything she’s come up with. Definitely better than the greasepaint she was using in the pits. Her lips feel softer than they have in a long time. It’s strange to think that in the life ahead of her, they can be soft and colored whenever she wants. Without her having to barter or decide what she’s willing to sacrifice for a bit of comfort and autonomy. It’s just there. She doesn’t know how to voice that in a way that doesn’t make her sound insane. Or, worse, would make Caitlyn try to push herself to help Vi feel better. It’s a good feeling. Jus not one she’s used to. But Caitlyn is Caitlyn, so Vi is only mildly surprised when a tissue is handed to her and the notepad comes into view. 

Another?

“Oh I see,” Vi says, “you just want a preview for when we’re both better.”

Caitlyn flashes the thumbs down that means no but Vi ignores the insidious voice that says she’s being honest. Vi waves her away and Caitlyn frowns. Vi gets it, she has no idea how any of this will work when they’re more whole. It should be the last thing either of them are thinking about. But she wants to figure that out with Caitlyn. She wants to figure out a lot of things with her. Maybe it’s not fair to put that on her, on their bond, but in her worst moments when she can’t hug Caitlyn it’s the only bright spot that keeps her going. Caitlyn still looks a bit perturbed but it’s in that fond way she seems to reserve for Vi. So Vi finds the darkest color she can and draws it across her lips. Caitlyn swallows but her eye focuses only on the dark bruise of Vi’s lips. 

“Too oil slick?” Vi offers. 

It takes Caitlyn a moment to respond.

Thumbs down. 

No.

Caitlyn taps on the paper. 

Beautiful.

“You can’t say that with every one,” Vi says, “then you’re just being—“

Hot

Vi swallows the word nice as Caitlyn holds the pad up. She’s not as pale as she was, but the flush of color on her cheekbones still makes something warm start in Vi’s belly. Fortunately the smart little case has several pockets in the lid. Vi takes the tube and tucks it into one of them. By the end of the night it’s joined by a nude rose color and a berry tone. Caitlyn falls asleep with a faint smile on her lips as Vi looks down at the case in her hands. It’s hard to wrap her head around it. There’s a dark part of her that points out the frivolousness of the products. How the money could be better spent elsewhere. How no lipstick was going to remove the cast from her arm or bring back anything she had lost. But the rest of her feels something much closer to happiness. Something like when she woke up wrapped in Caitlyn’s embrace before they both fell apart. When she kissed her and Caitlyn kissed back. This was orchestrated by her, but there’s something profoundly selfish in the tubes laid out in front of her. 

They are just for her. 

Even though it’s late, Vi finds herself rifling through for one of the longer sticks. She eases the cap off and drags it across her eyes. She uses the edge of a finger to find the places she wants the pigment to go and then drags it along her waterline. That part is always the easiest. She figured it out first, taught by another prisoner who showed her how to make sure things were clean enough. The pigments now glide smoothly along her flesh, so smoothly she nearly jams the point into the side of her nose. She drags the line across the other with more care. The usual stinging is lessened by the quality of what she’s been given. But it makes her feel better when she presses her eyes shut and feels the slight tack as the lines come together. 

Before she can overthink, her fingers flip open one of the compacts. 

It’s an odd thing to be excited by your own face. To be excited you recognize your own face. She feels impossibly different, but she knows the features that look back at her. More importantly she sees the choice on her face. She’s chosen what to put on her eyes. What color to make her lips. That was the advice of the other prisoner who showed her the matches. The world would take most of your choices, but if you could choose what you put on your face it was a good day. This feels like the start of one. Somehow it feels easier to crawl up to the pillows and lay down next to Caitlyn. There’s a pillow between them to help Caitlyn sleep straight, but her hand usually drapes on it. An invitation Vi hasn’t known how to respond to. This time she picks up Caitlyn’s hand and brings it to her lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

When she wakes, Caitlyn is smiling at the back of her hand in a way that sends a warm feeling though Vi’s core. She keeps her breathing even and closes her eyes as Caitlyn very carefully puts her hand back on top of hers. When she truly wakes up, it’s time for bandages changes, liquified breakfasts and all the things that keep them going. Well, mostly keep Caitlyn going. After the latest bandage change Caitlyn goes distant, like usual. But unlike usual, Vi has an idea of how to reach her. She fiddles with the darker tube before swiping it across her lips, picking up Caitlyn’s hand and pressing them to it. It shocks Caitlyn out of her stupor as Vi considers the lip print. Caitlyn stares at her, eyes wide. Vi rifles though the case and picks a different tube. She paints her lips and then presses them to the base of Caitlyn’s thumb. Caitlyn swallows tightly as their gazes lock. Vi nods towards the notepad and Caitlyn gives the barest shake of her head. So Vi picks up another tube and this time kisses her fingertips, brushing something pink and sweet to them. 

By the time she’s done she has no idea what color her lips might be, but Caitlyn’s hand is covered in color. Everything except red. She can guess there’s enough red in Caitlyn’s head when she looks at her hand. So Vi kisses every other color there instead. When she lets Caitlyn’s hand go, Caitlyn brings it against her chest and cradles it close. There’s no scribbled note, but there doesn’t need to be. The soft look on Caitlyn’s face tells Vi everything she needs. And for the first time in a while, Vi feels like she can hear it. 

So she keeps it up. 

Sometimes just the one. 

Sometimes the whole rainbow. 

But there is always a print somewhere on Caitlyn’s hand. It seems to make things better in a way Vi can’t quite explain. But it’s working, so she doesn’t care about anything else. Even though it’s the longest few weeks, it’s still hard to wrap her head around helping Caitlyn into a paper bonnet so her jaw can be freed. They can’t jostle anything else so they want her to be out. She looks at Vi who smiles encouragingly and presses a kiss to her knuckles. Caitlyn pulls her hand to her chest and nods, relaxing as they take her away. Vi sits with her after. Her face is still puffy, but when she shifts her head and her lips part, Vi can see her tongue move. 

“Hey,” she whispers, coaxing Caitlyn back into the waking world. Caitlyn looks at her hazily and smiles.

“Beautiful,” she whispers, sleepily raising her hand to inspect her clean skin. A soft thing she would hate to call a pout comes across her lips, “Vi?”

She has to be gentle as fuck, but Vi leans over and finally gets to brush their lips together. Caitlyn inhales softly into the kiss, her hand steadying Vi’s cheek. When she pulls back, she touches her fingertips to her lip and smiles at the pigment that clings to them. 

“I was hoping you’d do that,” she murmurs but still holds up her knuckles. 

Vi is only too happy to press a kiss there as well.

[autisticalastor]

we'll build our own family, one day at a time

(Part 1/2)

Pairing: Charlie/Alastor

Rating: G

Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Pregnancy, Autistic Alastor (always relevant lmao)

A/N: First fic of 2025! This one goes out to all the pregnancy tests i took last year that came out negative. One day, it will be my turn. There's gonna be a second chapter to this later! Going through the rest of Charlie's pregnancy and her having the baby <3 Title is from From The Ground Up by Dan + Shay!

Today is rapidly becoming the worst day of Charlie's life. Other than Extermination Day, of course, but that's an outlier that doesn’t really count right now. Not when it's not even eight in the morning and everything is already awful somehow.

For starters, she woke up nauseated. And as much as she'd like to curl into Alastor and sleep it off while he dotes on her… He was already gone to start breakfast well before she even woke up. And it's not like she can get away with shirking her responsibilities anyways. She decides to chalk it up to stress from both running the hotel and planning their upcoming wedding and just do her best to ignore it, but it's far from her only problem today.

She stands now in front of her wardrobe, wondering why all of her clothes are seeming so much tighter recently. She's struggling with the buttons on one of her usual tops, but it just isn't going to stay shut. Not without an obvious gap where the buttons are barely managing not to pop off. Even her bras aren't really fitting properly today, and she's really hoping it doesn't mean she's going to need new ones, because she doesn't even know where to begin with bra shopping right now

She sighs in frustration, seeing she clearly isn't going to make her usual button-down and blazer combination work today. Has she really put on that much weight? Sure, she's been eating a little more recently — she's chalked that up to stress, too — but she didn’t think it was that bad. Sure enough, though, as she moves to stand in front of the mirror, she turns and finds a small bump protruding from her stomach. She rests a hand against it, frowning.

She's feeling an odd mix of stressed and disproportionately upset that has her on the verge of tears already, and she idly wonders if maybe her period is coming up. Surely that's why she seems like such a mess today. She stares at her reflection, as if looking long enough might change what she sees into something she can cope with right now.

Keep Reading

[hopefulidiocy]

Writers block..? SAME! I’ve had this idea for WEEKS and just never write it lol.

So imagine there’s this like legend of The Great Targaryen (reader) who lived before Rhanerya and them and she was called The Great Targaryen because she commanded like 4 dragons instead of one. (kinda like Daenerys)

So maybe she was like so powerful or whatnot a witch (idk if they rly had those back then but like, there’s dragons so bare with me lol) cast her to sleep, saying she’ll only awake in 100 years OR SOMETHING IDK YET.

But anyways, team black realizes that if they want to win they’ll need her or something so they go looking.

The find her asleep in a cave off the coast somewhere and somehow she wakes up (haven’t rly gotten there yet) and they’re all like woahhhh but she has no dragons?

They get to the top of the cliff and she kinda just faces out towards the ocean and stands there, everyone is confused. She raises her arms like A GODDESS and BOOM flying out of the ocean is DRAGONS!!!

Idk it’s a really weird concept but I had a dream like that and that’s where this came from lol.

Watcha think???

The Dragon Tamer

House of the Dragon x OC!Female!Character

Warnings: mentions of child loss, death, destruction and disease.

Characters that are my own: Efflestead the Warrior, Alina the Dragon Tamer/Demon Queen, Jocelyn the Great

A/N: I have never written something like this before and I looooved doing it <3 part two?

MINORS DNI 18+

🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉

🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉

Many tales graced the darkened walls of Westeros. They flew, invisibly, through the air as folk songs or poems; they were words, spoken from generation to generation. Efflestead’s siege on the North, battling it to great victory until all that was left was rubble and dirt and dead bodies. He was celebrated, a day commemorated to him and how he savagely killed thousands of innocents for being in his war path to the Iron Throne. He was crowned on the 10th of the Third Month, creating catastrophe and violence in his stead. But no one remembers that part. They don’t remember how he killed his way to the top, tortured those who dared to whisper in the corners of every house, how he employed spies who could’ve well been your father or brother and they would let loose their secrets and you’d be on the Wall within the hour. Most people remember him as Efflestead the Warrior King, a family man with fifteen children of his own, all just as ghastly as he was, a man of great honour - being with his wife for more than 40 years, but everyone forgot he had mistresses and often beat his wife to the point she lost more than five children. No, people forget the bad parts because they want a story they can be proud of. Efflestead’s children went on to become monarchs, Heiron being the first and rather boring King, contracting Green Fever before the Winter. Jocelyn became Queen after he died, she was a beauty, to all accounts of people who knew her but, of course, when she was murdered in the comfort of her own bed; her own brother, Aegon, was the one who distributed horrific lies and propaganda. She was a witch and bewitched a plague amongst the Smallfolk with her sixth finger and long, hanging nose that drooped over her upper lip. No one remembers that she was kind and generous to the Smallfolk, no one remembers that she cared for the health of her people and sought to change all of it.

History and myth are not kind to those who actually do good, they would rather remember those with an intriguing story that they can pick apart and leave out the bad bits.

There was one though, no recollection in any chronicle of history, no written records, just a song. Sung in the streets of the Red Keep.

A dragon descended upon the River;

His claws long and his mind clever;

A woman with eyes so black;

Came onto the shore with a crack;

She said, “Who hath come to fight?”;

When one man stepped forth, she cackled to the night;

“Is that all you have?” And so she unleashed her fury onto the innocence;

Letting them have her anguish and misguidance;

Four wild beasts arose from the dark;

Fire, blood and fury from their violent arc;

She tried, as she must, to fight with her life;

But the Smallfolk were full of strife;

They killed her with one switch of a blade;

And off her head rolled in the shade;

They rejoiced and called out;

“At last, the Demon Queen is dead! And so she will be forever at rest!”

Of course, the Smallfolk only knew the lines to a wretched song that kids would learn as they grew up in the parks and the bakeries. They would be told the Demon Queen will have you for supper! If they forbade any law. But, of course, the Demon Queen was more than a ruthless woman. First of all, she had a name… Alina Targaryen. Born to the bastard grandson of Efflestead. She was known to be a beauty, long white hair always in a braided crown, dresses that puffed around her and always glided along with her. She was kind, generous and full of wit. Many men wanted to have a slice of her, but she never allowed it, she kept herself neat and tidy for any man that would marry her.

She never did marry.

Instead found her love elsewhere. With multicoloured eggs that she grew with affection and suddenly… she was the most powerful woman in Westeros.

Being so powerful, she became a target. A target for war, for assassination, for love and temptation. But she hid out in the caves, away from human life and settled with her dragons. The song got one thing right, she did tame four dragons, she loyally loved each dragon.

Fate is a funny thing. It is what’s meant for you, even if it’s not what you want. Alina didn’t want to sleep for one hundred years, she was completely oblivious to it until the day came when the waves crashed harshly against the cave, the dragons looked at her with perplexity and so, being the brave soul she was, she opted to explore on foot. The grey waves curled up into the sky with every crash against the rock, she clung to the edge as she watched spurts of water form a woman, no eyes and no mouth, just a plain black face with wispy hair like a witch. Alone and cold, the witch whispered under her breath that sent Alina into a sleep, never to be heard from again. Until Westeros went to shit.

Around the Queens’ table at Dragonstone, Daemon sat with his elbows propped up, chewing onto his fingernails as Rhaenyra stood, stoic and strangely calm whilst Rhaeyna spoke of the dangerous plans the Greens have for Dragonstone.

“He will surely arrive with Vhagar, even with the three dragons we have cannot take her on. We all know that.” She said, sitting straight. Daemon looked up at her worried face before switching to Rhaenyra’s face, she was deep in thought, Jace behind her, pacing up and down.

“Jace, stop. I can’t think right now.” Daemon ordered, but Jace didn’t stop. He rarely answered to his step father, he was deep in thought like the rest of the room. A hanging shadow was hanging over Dragonstone with Aemond’s threat to burn it to the ground. The Blacks may have the Dragon Queen but the Gods themselves couldn’t defend Dragonstone against Vhagar.

“You know…” Jace trailed off, Daemon looked at him disinterested. Rhaenyra turned her head slightly towards him, as he thought of his next words.

“What is it, Jace?” Rhaenyra spoke, slightly impatient.

“Alina Targaryen.” He said. Everyone exchanged glances, some confused, some surprised. They hadn’t heard that name in ages and perhaps some people had never heard it before.

“She’s been dead for 130 years.” Daemon said, matter of fact.

There had been a grumbling amongst the smallfolk, something was occurring and no one had the answer and it was something bigger than Aemond and Vhagar. The grumbling was like something was rising, coming alive and word on the street was Alina was planning to come back to slay all the sinners. She had not yet made an appearance.

“The prophecy. There was a prophecy.” Jace pointed out even though he couldn’t remember the full details of said prophecy.

“Yes. They said Alina was to die amongst her dragons, safe within the caves in the North, to protect the eggs of the future but if she was to come alive we would have to gain dragon fire.” Rhaenyra said impatiently, crossing her arms and not looking at her son. “It could never work, Jace.”

Later that night, Jace awoke in his bed from a fitful dream of Vhagar tearing his home to shreds and he knew he had to do something about it. The prophecy of Alina Targaryen was difficult but it was not impossible. Many people at the time did not own dragons or their dragons weren’t used for warfare, just simple fun, so of course the prophecy would be hard. He wrapped a warm robe around his body, keeping the cold chill at bay, thinking over his plans as his bare feet slapped against the stone flooring. His mind was on Alina, the beautiful blonde that was etched into law scriptures, there had even been an execution method in her style for those less fortunate: partially burned by dragon fire and then strangled over several days. It was a gruesome way to end and many people had been subjected to it.

Vermax was asleep when Jace entered the Dragon Pit, he watched him for a while before whistling to awaken him. Vermax was always grumpy when he woke up but actively being woke up was a whole new level of grumpy so Jace was in for a long, long night. In High Velarian, he told Vermax of the old prophecy, of the High and Mighty Alina Targaryen who could help them from being torn into pieces.

Deep within the breathing caves, Alina was still, flat on her back on a spacious rock table; her hands clasped at her stomach, still in her riding gear; her peach coloured mouth relaxed into a soft line; her halo hair scattered around her like a wave as Jace began commanding Vermax’s fire, miles away from the caves. The walls began to move, shaking ever so slightly at every will Jace gave to his dragon and with that push, Alina began to rouse. Not awaking properly, her eyes hadn’t opened but her toes squeezed against her leather sandals as Vermax breathed his hot rage into a vat of iron; quickly, Jace covered the top, burning himself but keeping the fire closed within the jar. He could’ve sworn Vermax rolled his eyes when he thanked him and ran off.

Rhaenyra hardly slept. It wasn’t uncommon. There was much to think about. She was sat at her desk, rifling through some parchments when her eldest son came battling through the door; evidently struggling with his barrel.

“What in the Seven Gods have you got there?” Rhaenyra asked, standing up.

“It’s a vat of fire, Lady Mother. For the prophecy.” He was so unfit.

“The prophecy won’t work, Jace. Don’t be a fool and fall for it. Alina was killed by a Sea Devil. It is in the history books.” She batted her hand away and sat down, not wishing to listen to him.

“Mother, when I was commanding Vermax, it felt like something awoke within me. I could feel this cold chill run right through me, I’m telling you, I don’t think this prophecy is fake.”

“You felt the cold chill because it’s midnight and it’s cold and you’re wearing nothing. Go to bed. I don’t want to hear about it anymore.” Defeated, Jace dragged his vat of fire back to his room.

Defeated by his mother he may be. But something happened and it was unmistakable. So when day broke, he climbed onto the back of Vermax and rode off into the North.

The cave was located amongst a rocky terrain, hidden behind a jagged rock that had dried blood, possibly Alina’s, coated over the tips. The waves crashed against the rocks as Vermax flew onto the hanging cliff, denying to put himself and his rider in danger on the rocks. Jace sighed, noticing the jagged rock, his vat of fire on his back as he slowly, incredibly slowly, bum shuffled down onto a flat rock just to the side of the cave, trying to find a different way to enter but the gap between the rocks was too small, even though he was a particularly skinny young man, he could not fit between them. So he had to go around, the wind whipped around his hair, flowing it into all directions as he clutched onto the sharp edge of the jagged rock, cutting diagonally across his palm as he hauled himself onto a small foot cove when his toes fit perfectly. The waves crashed against him, throwing him into the rock at full speed, cutting the side of his face. He groaned into the cup of his hand, trying to keep his composure as the pain seared through him. Once the waves had ceased for just a moment, adrenaline shot through him and he jumped from the foot cove onto the flat surface at the entrance of the cave.

There was a few spots of water, deep enough to drown in, due to the land shifting over the century she had been dead. At first it was dark, he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face but slowly a light was forming in front of him. Two fawn columns created an archway where a beam of yellow light flooded onto a flat rock, washing over the body of a still woman who was wiggling her toes and small groans escaping her pursed mouth.

“Alina.” He whispered, running towards the rock and finding a beautiful woman, forever twenty three in front of him. The Great Dragon Tamer. Alina Targaryen. He opened the vat ever so slowly, wondering what would happen if the fire was to consume her surroundings, whether she would come to life again. The fire cascaded up and above, touching stalactites and flowing over, somehow it did not touch Alina or Jace and he watched as the Dragon Tamer twitched her eyes. He knelt down beside her, watching her intently as her pale grey eyes opened and took in the fire above her.

The prophecy had worked. The second Alina saw Jace, she shot to her feet, her hand on the sword attached to her leather belt.

“Who are you?” She asked, her voice rough after a century of non speaking.

“I’m Jace… Jace Velarion.” He stumbled across his words, straightening to his feet. Her face was thunderous, her lips straight and almost snarling as she took him in.

“You work at sea.” She spat. “Have you come to kill me once and for all, Jace Velarion?” She unsheathed her sword, the glinting point at his face.

“No, it’s not like that.” He cleared his throat. “I am the son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. I have come to ask for help.” Her sword lowered ever so gently as she inquired him with her eyes, narrowing them and looking him up and down.

“A Targaryen Queen? You must be a bastard. Where’s your white hair?” She was vaguely amused by this. In normal circumstances, Jace would not be able to control his anger and although he could feel it bubbling, he didn’t want to say anything; this moment couldn’t be ruined.

“We are under threat. It’s complicated but Queen Rhaenyra is technically Queen of Dragonstone but she is the rightful Queen of Westeros, in the Red Keep. But her younger half brother plotted against her, the Hightowers, and now he is on the throne and there’s a threat Vhagar and his bastard rider will detonate us all. We need you.”

“The Hightowers.” She spat, tucking her sword back into her sheath. “I’ve always hated them.” She slapped her thighs, she was incredibly masculine, and drove herself to the entrance of the cave. Jace watched in awe as she screamed in Old Valyrian, something he couldn’t understand himself and saw four dragons rise from the rocks. They had been disguised for 130 years as these jagged rocks, the ones that Jace cut himself on, they roared and they were ten times bigger than Vermax. The wind blew in at a high speed when Alina turned around, a mischievous glint in her eye and the first smile he had seen.

“Are you ready, Prince Jace?”

[spencerreidsplaything]

Tw: bodily fluids, noncon, masturbation (m), I can't think of more but spencer is disgusting (and I love it <3)

Bittersweet popsicles

Spencer felt like the biggest pervert but he couldn't help it. He saw her lick these milky popsicles for too long, imagined them to be his cock but he knew that he would never be that lucky. Still, he had to do something about it and despite his 187 IQ, this was the best thing he could come up with.

Hed seen her making those popsicles „feels good knowing exactly what‘S in therr“ shed said. Spencer felt bad, knew she loved having that type of control over her body. He couldn't help himself though.

So he did what he'd wanted to do for far too long.

He thought about her in that pretty bikini; light pink, covered with cherries. The wire of her top pushing her tits up deliciously and the panties leaving little to the imagination.

Spencer couldn't help himself.

Standing in her kitchen as everyone was enjoying themselves in the community pool part of her apartment complex. His wrist moved in fast, uncontrolled movements as he jerked himself over the silicone form, only her on his mind. Her sweet giggles and the way her wet hair glid over her face to her chest. Oh her chest. Spencer felt like she walked this earth just to tease him, just to test his... That had never wavered before. He imagined how her breasts would look when she was on top of him. Her rhythmic movements pleasuring him. Finally giving him what hes been longing for.

Spencer came with a suppressed moan. He felt guilty about letting her… when he himself was so Pecualiar about germs.

He couldn't help himself though. So he did the only thing his perverted brain deemed acceptable: He blended the ice cream mixture perfectly, just as he knew that she loved it. When it was done he filled it into the cum-filled molds.

Just as he was done she entered the kitchen. “Hey Spence what are you doing? We miss you out there.”

He jumped “Oh uh just making you new popsicles… I saw you were out” “That's so sweet Spencer.” She smiled at him gratefully, not knowing what substance her little treat comprised.

A/n: This is my first (Spence) fic. I'm not usually a writer but this whole account resulted from being drunk and horny (lmao). Critique and tips are greatly appreciated but please be nice :)

[inkbirdie]

no longer you analysis/interpretations

After seeing Jorge's overview of No Longer You and what he intended the lyrics to refer to, I thought I'd share my interpretations of what Tiresias sees! (Long post, so I out them under the cut). Be sure to watch his video, it was very eye-opening for me.

First of all, I saw everything Tiresias said as something that could be in the past pr future (I see past and future running free). I also didn't see it as chronological since Tiresias is not explicitly showing Odysseus the progression of his story since he is not helping him get home. However, I really like that it is chronological, this whole song is very well written, it's definitely in my top three favorite songs of the entire musical.

'I see a song of past romance'

The reason why I never thought Tiresias' predictions were chronological was because I thought this referred to Would You Fall In Love With Me Again! I still think this applies, but it is also a song of future romance.

Before NLY:

⁃ Odysseus refers to his love for Penelope many times (Just A Man is the best example)

After NLY:

⁃ Calypso expresses her feelings for Odysseus, though she likely still has feelings for him in the moment (Not Sorry For Loving You)

⁃ Jorge's intention (more literal): the siren in Suffering is actually singing about Odysseus' romance with Penelope. This line is difficult because Epic is obviously a musical, and the only time we know a character is canonically singing is in Suffering.

'I see the sacrifice of man'

This line could refer to many things! It could be the things that Odysseus or someone else (who is not a god) sacrifices. It could also be the instances where human lives are literally sacrificed. Here are some of the sacrifices made in Epic:

Before NLY:

⁃ Odysseus sacrifices the life of the infant to protect his family (Just A Man)

⁃ Odysseus sacrifices his connection with Athena to do what he believes is right, but also because of his pride (My Goodbye)

After NLY:

⁃ Jorge's intention: Odysseus sacrifices six men to Scylla (Scylla)

⁃ Eurylochus sacrifices the chance for him and the crew to go home (and sacrifices a cow. rip cow) (Mutiny)

⁃ Odysseus sacrifices the life of his crew for a chance to go home (Thunder Bringer)

⁃ Odysseus sacrifices his morals and belief in goodness to get home (Monster, 600 Strike)

⁃ Odysseus sacrifices his way home to defeat Poseidon (Six Hundred Strike)

'I see portrayals of betrayal'

There are a ton of betrayals in Epic, both done by and to Odysseus!

Before NLY

⁃ Odysseus betrays his morals/goodness by killing the infant (Just A Man)

⁃ Athena betrays Odysseus by abandoning him (My Goodbye)

⁃ Eurylochus mistrusts Odysseus (Luck Runs Out)

⁃ Eurylochus betrays Odysseus by opening the wind bag (Keep Your Friends Close)

After NLY:

⁃ Odysseus betrays his morals and Polites by becoming the monster and decidedly not having open arms (Monster, Different Beast)

⁃ Odysseus betrays his crew by sacrificing them (Scylla)

⁃ Jorge's intention: Eurylochus and the gang betray Odysseus by mutinying

⁃ Odysseus double betrays his crew by sacrificing them (Thunder Bringer)

⁃ Up to interpretation: either Odysseus' mind or loved ones (Polites, Eurylachus, his mom) betray him by allowing him to nearly commit suicide (Love in Paradise)

'A brother's final stand'

There are a few possibilities for this. I think the best interpretations involve Eurylochus, because he is by Odysseus' side the longest and is literally his brother-in-law in the Odyssey.

Before NLY:

⁃ Polites' death against Polyphemus (Survive)

⁃ 551 men (6 died during Survive, Elpenor dies offscreen during the Circe saga to make 558 during The Underworld) die at Poseidon's hand (Ruthlessness)

After NLY:

⁃ 6 more men die when Odysseus sacrifices them to Scylla (Scylla)

⁃ Jorge's interpretation (and mine): Eurylochus and the remaining crew try to take Odysseus down with them when he chooses for them to die (Thunder Bringer)

'I see you on the brink of death'

I always thought this went with the following line and didn't think about what it could mean on its own! Here are some times Odysseus almost dies:

Before NLY:

⁃ Up until he opens the wind bag and escapes Poseidon (Ruthlessness)

After NLY:

⁃ Before he chooses if he or his crew will die (though I don't think he ever would've chosen himself to die) (Thunder Bringer)

⁃ Jorge's intention: When he stands on the edge of a cliff and nearly follows the ghosts of his loved ones to his death (Love in Paradise)

⁃ My interpretation: When Odysseus is underwater (after taking his final breath) (Get In The Water)

'I see you draw your final breath'

This really only has one interpretation: when Odysseus 'dies' and fully becomes the monster to get home (Six Hundred Strike). Tiresias sees 'you' or the Odysseus in front of him, draw his final breath. Tiresias cannot help Odysseus get home because he doesn't get to make it home, the monster does. Tiresias refers to the other Odysseus only as 'a man,' reflecting the idea that some of the greatest monsters are human (which we see more of in the Ithaca Saga). Tiresias' other predictions really only apply to what we see in the Ithaca Saga, so I won't be analyzing those for now. The only saga I didn't find any connections to was the Circe Saga. The closest I can think of is Eurylochus still not telling Odysseus about the wind bag in Puppeteer. I feel that saga is generally disconnected from some of the themes in Epic, particularly because the only person who dies is Elpenor (of his own drunken accord and offscreen) and Circe is the last obstacle he spares (aside from Charybdis) but this is not a mistake (Odysseus makes good decisions throughout the saga, which is also important for introducing Hermes and getting the gang to the underworld. Circe as a character isn't very important thematically imo and her songs aren't referenced in any other song except Love in Paradise). Let me know if you see any connections to Circe and her songs! Also if you had any more interpretations different from mine.

[before-it-felt-like-a-sin]

Good Luck, Babe!

Pairing: Jackie x Fem! Reader 3k words

Summary: she was yours, but to everyone else she was Jeff's.

Warnings: internalized homophobia, cheating (kind of?). Sort of fluffy with a ton of angst and an angsty ending

I used so many lines or quotes from Good Luck, Babe! in this, so enjoy.

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It was times like these you loved the most. Time spent in your bedroom, getting ready for parties together. Just you and Jackie. There was no pressure for perfection, no Jeff or Shauna to take Jackie's attention from you. Your definition of paradise.

You sat on your bed, watching as Jackie tried on outfit after outfit in front of you, trying to decide what to wear. You'd said some variation of "that looks good" to all of them, but Jackie still wasn't satisfied. She had to look perfect.

Not that you ever thought she didn't.

"What about this one?" She looked up at you, hazel eyes wide and questioning. 'This one' was a denim miniskirt and long sleeved baby blue top that showed just a hint of stomach.

"I like that a lot. You look good in blue."

Jackie sighs, like you've personally affronted her by not falling to your knees and proclaiming her beauty. You're about to succumb to stooping that low, just to get her to finally choose an outfit. Before you can, she nods and plops down at your vanity to finish up her hair.

"You could be a little more enthusiastic, you know." Jackie pouts up at you, brush midway through her hair.

It takes a lot for you to not roll your eyes. It's not that you don't care, but after outfit number five you always tend to get a little bored.

"Jax, you know you look good in everything." Standing up from your bed, you walk up behind her; staring at her face in the mirror. It's the truth. You think she looks stunning in everything.

Jackie, in turn, rolls her eyes at you in the vanity mirror, clearly exasperated with you. Before she can say anything, though, you tilt her head towards you and press a kiss to her lips. She, as expected, goes bright red at the action, and you can't help but laugh. No matter how many times you've kissed her, she always reacts the same way.

"I'm in the middle of something." She's pouting now, and lightly swats at your arm in what appears to be retaliation.

You want to say 'so I can't kiss my girlfriend anymore?', but you're not sure if that would land. Technically, she wasn't your girlfriend. Which totally didn't bother you. At all. It also totally didn't bother you that she was still dating Jeff. Kind of. It's complicated.

So, instead of continuing to pester her, you sit back on the edge of your bed, watching her as she continued to get ready. It doesn't take long before she's looking down at you impatiently, like somehow you were the one making her wait.

"I'm ready."

"I see that," you reply, standing up from your position on the bed, wrapping your arm around Jackie's waist before pressing a kiss to her cheek. She flushes yet again, and you wonder if she'll ever get used to your affection. Even behind closed doors, she's scared of people seeing you. It's fine. It's cool. Didn't bother you at all.

Soon, she's dragging you towards your car, all energy and life. So Jackie you can barely stand it. If it were up to you, the two of you wouldn't even be going to this stupid party. You'd be sat up in your bedroom, watching another shitty romcom. Unfortunately for you, Jackie decided she needed to make an appearance. Popular girl bullshit, you presumed, but what Jackie wanted, Jackie got. Especially when it came to you.

So, begrudgingly, you found yourself driving to Lottie's party, Jackie chattering to you excitedly from the passenger seat. You tried to enjoy it while it lasted, knowing she'd pretend you barely exist as soon as you walk in the door.

Part of you wanted to call it off, break up with her and make her figure her shit out. But then she'd look at you the way she is now, like you're the only person in the world who matters, and all thoughts of a breakup leave your mind.

The short rest of the drive is spent like that, Jackie talking and you listening. It's nice. Peaceful, even. The way the two of you can just be. No expectations, just each other. At least in the confines of your car.

About ten minutes later, you've pulled up to Lottie's house- no, mansion, and you steel yourself to brave the partygoers. Steel yourself to watch Jackie and Jeff be all over each other, even though Jackie always promises you that she won't be. It'll probably be even worse tonight, after Natalie decided to insinuate that the two of you were a couple a couple of days ago. Jackie swore up and down that the two of you were nothing, but somehow Nat knew the truth. And that scared Jackie, so you knew that tonight she was going to drown herself in Jeff, surround herself with boy, something you knew you could never give her.

As you step inside, Jackie beelines to the drinks, leaving you in the foyer of Lottie's massive home. Great.

You weren't totally sure if Shauna had shown up yet, and you knew that none of your other friends would be there. So, you set off to find something to occupy your time. You could find Jackie, but watching her with Jeff sounds like your nightmare, so that idea's out the window.

Instead, you decide to see if Shauna was at the party already. If nothing else, it gave you something to do. You wander around the party for a bit, saying hi to people you know, having a few short conversations with them. It's not exactly your idea of a good time, but it's better than standing up against the wall by yourself.

Half an hour later, you finally spot Shauna and breathe a sigh of relief. Thank god. You walk over to her, grateful to finally have someone to talk to.

"Where's Jackie?" are the first words out of her mouth, and you have to refrain from rolling your eyes.

"I'm not totally sure. I saw her with Jeff a little bit ago, but haven't since."

"She ditched you pretty fast." Shauna gives you a look, and you shrug. You knew Shauna had some idea of what was going on with you and Jackie, but she didn't know everything. And for Jackie's sake, you were going to keep it that way.

Not that Shauna would care, not really. And Jackie knew that. The issue was that if anyone, even Shauna, knew her secret, Jackie wouldn't be able to lie to herself anymore.

So, your mouth remained firmly shut. No one, absolutely no one, really knew what you and Jackie were. Maybe you were a fool for living in the closet for her. Yet you didn't want to lose her. There wasn't a way for you to win this.

"Let's go find her." Shauna's words snap you out of your thoughts, and you nod, following as she makes her way through the bodies of your classmates. At least with Shauna there, you had someone to talk to when Jeff and Jackie got to be too much.

It didn't take long to find Jackie, and as expected, she was tangled up with Jeff. When she saw you, she didn't move away from him, but she did shoot you a smile. At least she was acknowledging your existence. That was a win.

Jackie began to talk to Shauna, something about the game that weekend. You weren't really listening, too distracted by the way Jeff's arms wrapped around Jackie, trapping her close to him. She has to feel suffocated like that, someone she doesn't really want keeping her so close.

You realize, after a moment, that you're staring. It's then that you snap out of it, not wanting to look jealous. Even though you definitely were.

The group of you stayed like that for the rest of the party, occasionally someone leaving to get a drink, or one of the other girls from the soccer team stopping to talk. The only thing you found yourself doing, though, was staring at Jackie. You so badly wanted to pull her away, drive her home, and have her undivided attention. For now, though, you were stuck at this stupid party, your not-girlfriend cuddled up with a guy right in front of your face. This was hell.

Eventually, though, you did get to leave. Jackie untangled herself from Jeff, but not before he could give her a kiss. You clenched your fists at your sides, resisting the urge to to throttle Jeff. Not that you'd get very far, but it's the principle of the thing.

You make your way back to your car, Jackie chattering to you as you went.

'You'll be at the game tomorrow, right?" she asks as you slide into the driver's seat.

"Yeah, of course." Tentatively, you reach across the console, silently asking her to hold your hand. She accepts, and you smile. She still wanted you. Even if she didn't act like it in public, she still wanted you.

This time, the ride is a bit quieter, Jackie not talking much. You rub your thumb across the skin of her hand, and she squeezes yours in return.

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

The next morning, you're sitting on the bleachers, watching Jackie play. You note the lack of Jeff in the stands, and wonder if Jackie told him not to come, or he just didn't want to. Either way, you were happy.

You watch as the Yellowjackets score goal after goal, cheering obnoxiously every time Jackie scores. Of course, you can't be too focused on her, but it's hard not to be. The way she plays is just so mesmerizing, and she looks like she just belongs on the field.

The game is mostly uneventful, the Yellowjackets crushing the other team like usual. You move to your car to wait as Jackie talks to Coach, then Shauna. Finally, fifteen minutes later, Jackie bounds up to you. She's smiling like crazy, and her bangs are sticking to her forehead from sweat. You've never wanted to kiss her so badly.

You roll down the window so that you're able to hold a conversation with her.

"We won."

"Yes, I know. I was there."

She rolls her eyes, bouncing around to the other side of the car and getting inside.

"You could pretend to be excited," she huffs, giving you a look.

"Did you not hear me cheering for you?"

She laughs, and you're glad her sour mood was just for show.

"Do you wanna grab lunch?" she asks, looking at you with pleading eyes. Even if you were going to say no, which you weren't, you couldn't have resisted that face.

"Yeah, you have any ideas?" You had to focus intently on not grinning like a lovestruck fool, but it was difficult considering Jackie had just asked you out on a date. Kind of. It was still complicated.

"There's that cute little coffee shop that Shauna's obsessed with. I've been a couple of times, the food was honestly pretty good. We could go there?" She glanced at you, waiting for your response.

You shrug, giving a small nod. "Yeah, that sound's good."

Jackie smiles, and quickly glances around the parking lot and adjacent soccer field. When she sees that you're the only people left there, she leans over and presses a kiss to your cheek. She's blushing, as always, but seems a bit more confident this time. It warms your heart, and you wonder if maybe, just maybe, she's coming to terms with the fact that she's a lesbian.

She settles back into the passenger seat and starts to animatedly describe each of the plays from the game. You're not paying much attention to what she's saying, more focused on her voice and her scent from the seat next to yours. You'd never admit it, but you loved the way she was after a game. A little bit imperfect. A lot more Jackie. You sort of wished she was like that all the time.

"-although, I swear to god, if Natalie shows up late to another practice, I'm going to lose my mind. We're on track to make it to states, maybe even nationals. Yet Nat thinks she can just skip because she's screwing some college guy." Jackie chatters on about team dynamics and who she wishes was more invested in making it to nationals, while you half listen.

"How has she not gotten benched, if she's consistently late or missing?" you inquire, briefly turning to Jackie before focusing back on the road.

"I don't fucking know, honestly. Probably because she's still a decent player, even if she ditches practice. It's just so annoying." She sounds slightly exasperated, and you squeeze her knee for a bit of comfort.

"I'm sure she'll come back around soon. She's never been known to keep a fuck buddy around for long," you remark, citing what the rumor mill had told you about Natalie Scatorccio. You didn't know the girl that well, but she seemed nice. Even if Jackie often had complaints.

Jackie shrugs. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Doesn't make it any less annoying now, though."

You nod in agreement, and Jackie goes back to talking. This time, though, she's debating a color scheme for her and Shauna's future Rutgers dorm. You weigh in when she asks, telling her your preferences, or giving her examples of colors Shauna might like. By the time you get to the coffee shop, she still hasn't decided on a theme. The topic, however, is changed once you order your lunch and sit down at a table by the windows.

It's nice, being with her like this. It feels like a real date, like you're not hiding that you're together from everyone you know. Or, well, like you're actually together in the first place. Not something in-between where there's no label, no saying 'we're girlfriends', not even to each other.

You shove those thoughts out of your mind, focusing on what's in front of you. How Jackie's sitting across from you, smiling, laughing, talking about anything and everything. Treating you like you're the most important person alive.

Lunch continues like that, like a real date, and you find yourself falling harder for her than you thought possible. The way she got so excited about things she's passionate about. The way she talks with her hands. The way she hits her foot against yours under the table when she thinks you're not paying attention.

Eventually, though, when you'd been at the coffee shop for a couple of hours, and both of you were finished with your meals, you did have to leave. Jackie had plans with Shauna, and you had to work on an essay for English class.

You dropped Jackie off at her house, and she smiled back at you while walking to the front door. The way she looked at you made your heart absolutely melt, and for a moment, nothing but her mattered.

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`Jeff was climbing out her window.

Jeff fucking Sadecki was climbing out of Jackie Taylor's window, and you were supposed to be okay with that.

Why wouldn't you be, right? Why wouldn't you be okay with that? It's not like Jackie was your girlfriend or anything.

The thing was, you understood that she wanted the protection of Jeff in public. Why she felt the need to stay in the closet. You understood. You never wanted to make her uncomfortable, or to push her to do things she wasn't ready for.

What you didn't understand, though, is why Jeff was inside her house. With Jackie. And you didn't know about it.

How long had it been happening? How long had she been seeing Jeff without you knowing?

You were suddenly furious, angrier than you had ever thought possible. She was so self absorbed, so stuck in her own shit, that she didn't even think about how this would affect you.

Waiting until Jeff's car disappears down the street, you get out and walk to the door of the Taylor home. Knocking on the door, you wait for a response, silently hoping Jackie's parent's aren't home. You don't want them to bear witness to what's about to happen. You may be pissed at Jackie, but you still loved her, and didn't want her parents finding out about what had been going on between the two of you.

When a few minutes later Jackie opens the door, the first words out of your mouth are "Are your parents home?"

"No. Are you okay?"

Instead of answering, you push past her, storming up to her bedroom. She follows, completely confused, still asking questions.

"Are you sleeping with him?" You finally ask, turning around to face her. Jackie's face goes completely white, all the blood rushing from it. That's all you need to confirm your suspicions.

"What the fuck, Jackie. You didn't even have the fucking decency to tell me? You were just what? Going to fuck him, be his fucking girlfriend, when we both know full fucking well that you don't like boys? Jesus Christ."

You pause for a moment, but before Jackie can get a word in, you're back to your angered ranting.

"One day, when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night, you're going to put your head in your hands and realize you're nothing more than his wife. And when you think about me, all those years ago? You're going to hate to say it, but I fucking told you so. Good fucking luck, babe." Without waiting for a response, you push past her again, stomping down the stairs, outside, and back into your car.

Before she can catch up to you, if she was even trying to, you pulled out into the street and drove away. It's not until your halfway home that you're crying, realizing what just happened. You can barely see the road through your tears, and faintly, you realize that the mixtape she made for you is playing through the speakers of your car. You can't bring yourself to turn it off.

[storiesfromafan]

When He's Gone

A/N: first night of house sitting and doggo watching, which means I could finish part two to this. But I am going to make this a 3 parter, as it just felt right to end it where i did 😅

I will also have a poll at the end of this part, feel free to vote.

Warning/s: angst, sadness, maybe you'll cry, possible spelling/grammer mistakes, briefly revised

Tag list: @charmingballoon @strayrockette

Word got back to you, a few days after that night, that Benny had taken off that night. Betty had told you over coffee how Benny had stormed back into the bar, dark mood hanging over him. She said how Johnny had been the one to approach him at the bar – chugging down a beer as Johnny reached his side.

“Ya alright kid?” Johnny asked, concern written on his face.

Finally removing the bottle from his lips, and practically slamming it on the bar, Benny looked at the wall across from him. His face set in a hard scowl. “She ended it...and I gave it to her".

Johnny – looking to Cal, who’d stepped up to Benny's other side – had a confused yet worried look upon his face. Not sure what Benny meant. “Ah, ya gave it to her?” He questioned wanting clarification.

The man at focus nodded his head. “Yeah. She wanted it to be over, so I gave it to her...told her we were over then...”

Both Johnny and Cal sighed, though they knew Benny would never lay a hand on a woman. But his current mood, and words, gave a different opinion. Placing his hand on his shoulder, Johnny stared at Benny's face. Waiting for the man to look to him. And after downing the last of his beer he finally looked to the older Vandal.

“What happened?” Johnny asked calmly, needing the whole story.

So Benny told him what happened. How you took off out of the bar, how he followed you and called out what was wrong. You declaring you were done. Standing in the middle of the road airing out your issues at the hand of the women hanging around the bar, and him. He told you everything you’d said or done wrong, yet never mentioned or admitted to his involvement. How he shut down or let that voice in his head win. Benny would never voice how he was half to blame, never taking ownership of his part that played in your breakup.

“Sounds like she had a good reason to be mad" stated Johnny, gaze hard and righteous.

Benny turned to look at the empty beer bottle, knowing the man was right, that you were right. Yet Benny couldn’t admit it. If he did, he would have to agree with a lot you said. Such as how he put the club and his bike over you. Even though he tried to keep it all balanced.

“What do you love more; her or ya bike?” The older Vandal asked.

Benny kept his gaze on the bottle, mind thinking over the question. And yet he couldn’t answer it. How could he pick which one he loved more? Both were different in their own way, but both brought him such joy and happiness. Sure, his bike couldn’t mouth off to him but would play up. While you, you were full of opinions and ideas, but also cared for him like no one else ever had.

When Cal spoke up, along with a few others, saying how stupid it was to flip out and breakup because you’d said it. How walking away from that fine ass – which was meant to be a light hearted jest – was the biggest mistake. Or how you’d find another man quick smart. It all triggered something in Benny, anger and hurt.

Without a word, he shrugged off Johnny's hand before heading for the front door. He could hear Johnny going off at the men that spoke. But Benny didn’t care. He’d gotten some harsh criticism and truths. He was done. He needed to get away, clear his head and hopefully his heart. Which was aching. Getting on his bike, Benny didn’t waste time starting up the engine and  pulling away from the curb, riding through town and off into the night, and wherever the road would take him.

You sat back in your seat at the small kitchen table, lit cigarette in hand which was resting on the table top. Betty sat across from you, watching you closely to gauge your reaction to the story she just told you. Lifting your hand you took the last drag of the cigarette, holding it for as long as you could before releasing the smoke. You then stubbed it out in the ashtray.

“I see...” was all you could say.

You weren’t surprised he’d taken off. It’s what he did best. Running from his problems rather than working through them. It’s like putting a band aid on a broken arm. Him running away just showed how immature, or scared, Benny was. Eventually he’ll blow back into town and act like nothing happened. And that’s fine. He could do that. You don’t care, you won’t be sitting around waiting for him. If he will even come crawling back to you.

“Well it’s going to be quiet around Grand and Division for a while then" you stated, like it was fact.

Betty looked concerned, “you ain’t worried about him?”

You sighed. “Sure, I’ll always worry about him...but he made his choice. He gave up. And sure, I instigated the breakup...but he put the final nail in the coffin, so to say".

She nodded, moving to take another sip of her coffee.

“Once he’s mind is made up, that’s it...” you muttered. “So I won’t mope around. It’s not worth it...”

You left it at that. No more to say on the matter that is Benny Cross. That chapter of your life had come to an end. The next, new chapter was all about you and whatever you do with yourself. Time to pick yourself up and dust yourself off. But there were times you would find yourself crying, mainly at night, over him. Even though you didn’t want to, nor did he deserve your tears. During the day and around people, you put on a strong front, that you almost believed.

The first month of Benny’s absence was hard. You noted it as the withdrawal stage. Missing and wanting him because he wasn’t there. Various Vandal's came to check in on you, though you felt more like they were sniffing around. Trying to find out if Benny had reached out to you, but mainly testing the waters for themselves. See if you were desperate that you’d give them the time of day. And they were mistaken, you’d never go for another Vandal.

At the end of the first month Johnny paid you a visit. He was checking in on you, making sure you were doing alright and if you needed anything. You were nice – even if you shouldn’t be – Johnny wasn’t the one to do all this, it was Benny. You got him a beer, while you had tea, and sat at your kitchen table, which reminded you of when Betty had been there. Both of them were a like, and it warmed your broken heart.

Eventually he dropped the bomb he’d had word on Benny, he was fine and just moving around. It was a relief for you, hearing your ex was alive. The older man told you Benny would be back in time, and it would all work out. But would it? Did you want that?

“I don’t think I want it to work out...I can’t keep doing this, Johnny" you admitted looking him in the eyes. “I can’t be the back-up...”

Johnny tried to reason with you, but you’d made your mind up. Once he had finished his beer, and this conversation wasn’t going his way, he said he had to get going. Politely you walked him to the front door, even watching and waving as he rode off on his bike. That was that. You’d finally put your foot down. And Johnny knew that.

The second month since Benny left, you finally felt more yourself, freer even. You had been focusing on work at the diner. Still getting those passing through town that would flirt with you, and you’d continue to turn them down. Only this time not adding you had a boyfriend. One particular truck driver – a man a few years older than you and easy on the eyes – tried his luck, and when you just said thank you, but not interested, he noted your lack of words.

“No sorry, I got a boyfriend?” He asked, rather surprised.

You flinched, which didn’t go unnoticed. “Nope, no boyfriend...” you muttered moving around the counter.

“Huh. That’s surprisin” he stated playing with his coffee cup. “What happened? If ya don’t mind me askin'?”

Without going into detail, you gave him the summed-up version. Giving the short version hurt less, as it didn’t bring up every issue you and Benny had. And the man was nice, understanding and ended it by saying Benny hadn’t deserved you. That you would find someone to love you completely. Against your better judgement, you believed his words. Even if part of you didn’t want someone else to love you, or for yourself to love another.

Your love with Benny was one of a kind. It was good, yet bad and messy. With its ups and downs. It was wild. It was passion. It was unlike anything you’d experienced. As was Benny. You had admired him from a far, not wanting to get close or involved with him. But that man wouldn’t have that, chasing you until you gave in. And you had been so happy to. Let go and go with the flow.

Yet, it was that love that hurt when you both would fight. Or when he’d take off for weeks. Left to cry and hurt, heart aching because of how you loved that man. But was it like that for him? Hurting from how you’d both fired up and left it? Did he over think it all, and try to pinpoint where it went wrong? Probably not, that wasn’t Benny's style.

A few weeks into month three of no Benny, a few friends of yours – ones that don’t run in the Vandal circle – finally talked you into going with them to the movies. You weren’t in the mood for their girl time, as it was more superficial and of no substance, or really going out. But somehow, they talked you into it.

So Friday night, after your shift, you got home and had a shower. From there you did your hair and light make up, you had to put some effort into your appearance with these women. They were all about looks. You went with a simple (colour) swing dress, that had a rounded collar, sleeveless and a matching belt to accentuate the waist.

Sitting at your vanity you put in some earrings and then your necklace. Which you only noticed, as it lay against the fabric of your dress, was the locket that Benny had gotten you. Staring at the locket, you allowed your finger tips to graze the metal. Part of you told you to take it off, put it away and leave it in the past. Yet, you couldn’t. The locket was something special, something Benny had given you on your birthday, after you had seen it when window shopping one time. That man might have only glanced it, but remembered it completely. And you told yourself, you felt better having a part of him with you.

Not thinking about it again, you got up, put on some shoes and grabbed your bag. Once outside the door, you drove to the movie theatre. Only then were you privy to the fact this three girls movie night was actually a triple date, a blind one for you. Being left out of the loop ticked you off, and eventually you voiced that before going into the movie, when the men went to get drinks and snacks.

“Calm down (Y/N), will you!” Fussed Sally.

You huffed. “All I’m saying is that I would have liked to have known this was a triple date!”

“Honestly, if she had told you the truth, would you have came?” Questioned Ann.

You stood there for a moment silent, knowing you wouldn’t have agreed to it. “No...”

Both women shared a look. “Exactly. That’s why I didn’t tell you" Sally stated softly. “You need to go out, date even. It’s over with him, he’s gone".

You detested how they didn’t say Benny's name, never had as they didn’t like him or think him good enough for you. But also, you were glad they didn’t say it now, or else you might have gotten upset. You knew they had a point. You had to go out and live your life. You had just wanted to do it with the Vandal by your side.

The conversation died then as the men returned. Both your friends linked arms with their dates, while you chose to walk awkwardly beside the guy you were paired with. He was nice, not pushy or a jerk. He was quiet sweet. Making small talk and just being friendly in a genuine way. The movie was alright, but not something you would have seen if it wasn’t for Sally and Ann. After the movie both women and their dates left, leaving you with Andrew. He was kind enough to walk you to your car.

“I hope your night wasn’t a waste" he started, “I mean – you had a good time, even if it’s not what you expected!” He sighed flustered. “I-it’s just, I know you didn’t know about me...when I thought you did. I’m sorry you got roped into this date. But I hope it wasn’t too bad...”

For the first time in months you softly smiled, a small chuckle coming from your chest. Sure, he tripped over his words but he was sincere. Andrew was a nice, good guy. Sweet to being chatty, like friends hanging out, while your friends and their dates got cosy and kissed. He respected you, were another men wouldn’t have been.

“Thank you” you thanked softly. “Though I was blind sided, I had a good time" – Andrew visually relaxed and beamed a relieved smile – “you are a sweet man. I’m just not ready to date...I hope you understand".

He nodded slowly, a sad look shining in his eyes. “It’s alright. I do understand, though am a little sad. But I can take away that you had a good evening, at least".

You reach over and held his hand. “I did, you are a wonderful man".

Fate is a cruel mistress, always ruining your life at the worst time. And this was another one. That was the moment a roar of an approaching engine bounced along the street. And with its ever increasing volume, the familiar bike and rider came into view. Benny rode by, not seeming to notice your car or you at first. But those stormy blues finally zeroed in on you both. You could imagine what would be going through that pretty head of his. Not to mention the possible anger.

You’re not his girl anymore... came that little voice in the back of your head, you broke up...

Once Benny rode on, not even looking back or turning around, that told you everything. He was done, actually done. It was all over between you both, possibly never to get back together. That ache in your chest returned, and with it the want to cry. Quickly you said your goodbyes before getting into your car, and heading home. Not giving Andrew much room to speak before you were gone.

You felt the familiar warmth and sting to your eyes, but held them back for now. Driving towards your house you had hoped to see Benny and his bike out the front of your house, or in your drive way. But turning into the drive way there was nothing. Parking the car and turning it off, the first couple of tears escaped. Sitting in the driver seat you were frozen, sad to not see him here.

After a few minutes you managed to get out of the car, not very gracefully, and headed towards your front door. With every step a tear fell from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. When you were finally inside, door closed and locked, you slide to a sitting position, back against the door as you freely cried. Ugly crying and barely able to breath properly. Even with the anger and the fight being justified, but you loved and missed Benny. And the hole in your chest confirmed that.

A/N: thought I'd give you all a say in how part three goes 😊