#so NO cathartic floor time for me!!!!!! :P

[b-blushes]

😭 <- face of a person who's just realised they're out of both types of homemade pasta sauces in the freezer and who's gotta resign themself to spend the next two sundays making more because all the pre-made sauces at the supermarket they get delivery from contain ingredients they can't eat.

[bahablastplz]

Canvas: Hyunjin x Reader

Content: A late night with your boyfriend turns into something more as you both try something you had only talked about before; smut and fluff Warnings: p in v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, heavy heavy praise WC: 2500 Happy birthday Hyunjin <3

Hyunjin was painting again. 

As you roll out of bed in the middle of the night, this fact is apparent. The smell of paint wafts from the living room where he has his work space set up. A large tarp on the floor, a small easel propped up and a lamp set to illuminate his latest work. Paints lay haphazardly around him, a blend of colors and shades of hues mushed across the palette. The rest of the room was dimly lit, moonlight shimmering through the curtains and shining on your boyfriend’s face. God, he was breathtaking. One paintbrush is in his mouth and the other in his hand, gliding across the canvas. The sight makes you let out a breathy laugh. 

“Love?” He looks up at you now, watching your frame as you admire him from the wall. The lamp light reflects onto his dark-framed glasses when his gaze meets yours, and you smile at how the yellow and orange lights glow across his features. He smiles back. It’s a small gesture, and even though you’ve seen him smile hundreds of times the gesture warms your heart. 

You cross the room in your nightgown, the cold breeze from the air-conditioning causing you to curl into yourself slightly. Hyunjin beckons to the spot on the floor beside him and you take it eagerly, body curling around him and head resting on his lap. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask him. He has the habit of sneaking away in the night, so as to not wake you, and painting until the sun starts to creep through the windows. It’s cathartic for him, a way for him to get away from his thoughts that trouble him in the night. In moments like this you love to watch him, how his brows furrow in concentration and his lips get caught between his teeth. Hyunjin was the most in his element when he had a canvas in front of him. 

“Mm,” he confirms. He checks his hand to make sure no paint dirties it before he rests it on your hip, drawing soothing circles on top of your nightgown. Your head nuzzles deeper into him and you breathe in his scent, letting out a content hum. 

“Did I wake you?” He asks a moment later. His hand moves effortlessly across canvas, dappling acrylic paint across a vision of flowers that was already the picture of perfection to you–but would probably take him at least a few more hours to complete. He was a perfectionist like that; he could point out every absence of color, needed highlight or small imperfection of his work that was near imperceivable to you. 

“No, the bed was just cold. I wanted to see where you were,” you hum against his skin. Your words were true, of course; because you get so hot when you sleep next to your boyfriend, the house usually stays a bit chillier but you notice his absence sometimes when he leaves the bed late at night. He now wears a dark colored hoodie that swallows his features, meant for his comfort when lounging around the house like this. His pants are also meant for lounging, the gray sweatpants soft but covered in remnants of previous art projects known lovingly as his ‘painting pants.’ 

“Do you want me to warm you up?” You nod and crawl into his lap, nuzzling your face right into the crook of his neck. He lets out a breathy laugh underneath you, arms wrapping around your frame to bring you closer as he continues to work. After a few minutes your boyfriend leans closer to the canvas, examining a piece of his work that must have not looked right to him. This action shifts your position, however, your core now pressed right against his clothed length. You tense against him and your breath hitches slightly, and you know that he’s caught on to your arousal. 

“How much longer?” You whine against him. He lets out a laugh and uses his free hand to stroke your back, long fingers moving languidly across your spine. The action is meant to soothe you but has the opposite effect, sending an electrical shock down your body and causing you to let out a small breath. 

“Why, love? Are you feeling needy for me?” You nod almost embarrassingly fast. While you love watching Hyunjin paint and could for hours, you can’t help the want that settles deep in your gut that begs for his touch, his attention, and his desire to be released toward you. 

“I was hoping to paint for a while more,” he confesses. You try not to let your disappointment show, but you let out a moan as the man’s hand finds your hips, pushing you harder against him. The friction that meets your core has you feeling more desperate and you buck into him and he’s smiling, and it infuriates you to know he’s intentionally trying to work you up. He has always loved seeing you pliant, needy and desperate for him, and you were unfortunately already in that state somehow. “Do you want to sit on my cock baby?” Your head reels back to look at him with wide eyes. “You can sit on my cock while I paint but you have to be good and promise not to move, okay?” 

You had talked with him about cock-warming before but it was never something you had actually done. Now, it must be just past 3 a.m., and you were finally turning the hypothetical into reality–it felt unreal. You let out an affirmative sound and nod your head, and he’s maneuvering your bodies to get you set up. He repositions you so that you’re on your knees above him, slightly towering over him where he sits on the floor. He’s lifting his hips up and pushing his pants down just past his thighs, releasing his cock and pumping it one, two times. He’s hard already, and you watch him in awe as he works to pleasure himself in front of you. It’s just for a second, but enough for him to have your breath come to a stop, which is exactly what he was waiting for. 

His hands find place on your waist. He’s hitching your nightgown up above your hips, leaving you bare for him. It’s no secret that sometimes you sleep without underwear on, but he smirks at you and stares in a way that leaves you feeling utterly exposed despite him having seen you like this hundreds of times. His fingers come up to your core, rubbing it and gathering your wetness to spread it around your folds. You let out a moan at the action, thankful for the contact before he’s dragging you down and placing his cock at your entrance. 

He leans back on his hands and looks up at you, waiting for you to do the rest. And so you do, piercing yourself onto him and sliding down his length, inch by inch. Hyunjin was well-endowed, so to speak, so it was never an easy fit to take him but it felt pleasurable nonetheless. Finally he is fully inside you, and your breathing and each moan is completely synced with one another. A hand comes up to bring a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and the movement is so domestic and loving that it makes your heart pang in your chest. 

“Beautiful,” is all he says. 

He brings your nightgown back down so that it covers you up, remembering your recent complaint about being cold. Your head finds its place back on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck like it’s your home. 

And, he continues painting. 

You’re not sure why you’re surprised–that’s exactly what he said he was going to do. Your boyfriend has a lot of self-control and restraint that you did not, and it was especially evident when you were intimate. While you often become wrecked from the start, he would let his pleasure build up and would reel from the delayed gratification of it all. 

Your knees find the ground and before you can help yourself, you put your weight on them. You’re propping yourself up, sliding up his length about halfway, before crashing back down. Your clit drags deliciously across his abdomen in the process, causing you to let out a heavy sigh of pleasure. You rock against him only one more time before strong hands find your shoulders, pushing you down hard. You try to bounce up again and find that you’re unable, his grip keeping you in place so firmly that you cannot budge despite your attempts. 

“Don’t,” he scolds. His words are sharp, not laced with venom but to remind you of his earlier demands. 

At this angle, his hands pushing you down causes his cock to be seated deeper inside you than before and you let out an embarrassing squeak. You feel so full, and you tell him so. 

He has an idea; he grabs you and leans forward, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his torso. When he sits back down, you are now unable to give yourself the momentum needed to move your hips or rock against his length. You are fully seated on him and he is fully inside you, his arms wrapping around you and holding you flush against him as he continues his work. 

It’s silent, now, with the exception of your shallow and uneven breathing. You find yourself clenching against him over and over again, reeling in the sensation of him inside you. And it’s just that–you can really feel him like this, every ridge and vein, every pulse of him inside you, and it has you feeling lightheaded. 

“God, baby, you’re gushing around me,” he whispers into your hair. “Taking me so good.” His praise makes you smile and squeeze tighter around him and he groans. You feel smug to finally get him to lose his composure, but he starts spouting more praise that makes all thoughts vanish in an instant.

“So good for me, baby, you know that? Such a good pussy. You’re the love of my life, God, you were made just for me. You were made for me to love you, to hold you like this… So pretty for me. You’re all mine, meant to take my cock, yeah?” You whimper against him, the mixture of sweet nothings and sexual praise whispered to you making you feel dizzy. 

It’s several more minutes before you say something, finally coming to the conclusion that you would have to be the one to initiate it further, if he would even let you. 

“Please…” It’s all you can say at first. 

“What, love?” He teases. He knows exactly what you want. 

“Need you to move, please, Hyune… It’s too much. Need to cum,” You beg. You’re sure you sound pathetic but you can’t find it in you to care. If there’s anyone who’s not only willing but wanting to see you in your most pathetic and vulnerable states, it’s Hyunjin. 

“Poor thing, does it feel that good?” His voice asks with a small lilt in it. You’re sniffling now, embarrassed about the tears starting to spill down your cheeks but so overcome in pleasure and sensitivity; you can both feel it in the ways that you clench around him unabashedly. He brings his head back to see your face, to examine your tears. He’s seen you on the verge of tears a few times while having sex from being overwhelmed by pleasure, and though it always makes his heart tighten because he’s the one that’s doing that to you, he’s the one making you feel that good,  he knows it’s about time you’ve reached your limit. He wipes a stray tear away and you don’t even realize that he has dropped his paintbrush until he’s picking you up and bringing you over to the couch. 

He leans back, enraptured by you, and brings you in for a sweet but messy kiss. It’s open-mouthed and hot, and it feels like you’re breathing into him and filling up his lungs. Your tongues meet and you’re covered in spit, a mixture of yours and his, and suddenly his hands are on your hips and his feet are planted strongly on the ground. He doesn’t disconnect his mouth from yours as he thrusts up into you long and hard, but any coherence is long since gone and you’re not sure you’re even kissing back anymore, instead giving loud, high-pitched moans into his mouth. 

His hands move to the undersides of your thighs and he uses his strength to piston into you. In this way, you can only take what he gives but it’s more than enough, as he knows your body better than you do. 

“I’m close, love,” he confesses. He lets his head fall back onto the couch but his eyes never leave yours, drinking up your scrunched up face and open-mouthed pants. It’s no surprise that you’re both close to your arrival so soon, after sitting on him for so long your pleasure feels like it’s increased tenfold. 

“Me too,” you say, struggling to get the words out. You didn’t have to tell him, though. He could tell by the way you were starting to tighten around him. 

“Go ahead and touch your pretty clit for me, make yourself come.” You follow his command, hand snaking down to where your bodies meet. He was right, you were absolutely soaked, and you use this wetness to shakily circle around your clit. His thrusts get harder, deeper, the way they do right before he cums. Unsurprisingly, you beat him to it, clenching all over his length and throwing your head back as you release. 

He follows suit, thrusting into you a few more times before he finds his release, spilling deep inside of you. He holds you close, rutting into you now slowly and working you both through your intense orgasms. When he stills, you collapse into his arms and he holds you tight, embracing you and running a hand through your hair as he praises you. When he finally pulls you off of him you feel empty and this makes you whine. Hyunjin pulls up his sweatpants and carries you to your shared bathroom, placing you onto the sink as he runs the bath. It’s late, but you feel grimy and covered in sweat so the bath is more than welcomed. 

When you look into the mirror, you can’t help but laugh. Your nightgown is covered in paint at your hips and your waist. Though he had tried to be so careful, you suppose it was the risk that came with the reward. When Hyunjin sees the target of your laughter, he joins you and apologizes sheepishly, promising to buy you another. 

“It’s okay, this can just be my paint nightgown,” you joke. “I’ll wear it the next time we have sex while you’re painting.” He smiles at you affectionately, and when you finally get back to sleep it’s in his arms and your bed is warm again.

*** Masterlist Recs

[ninthcircleofprythian]

Make It Hurt

Eris Vanserra x You

Word Count : 2.9k

Summary : After a truly terrible day you come home only to be surprised by the one and only Eris Vanserra and he knows how to make it all better.

Warnings : full on smut, no plot, one singular use of y/n, some swearing, heavy praise kink, dirty talk, heavy use of pet names/honorifics, dom! Eris, dom/sub dynamics, bdsm themes, mention of safeword, impact play (spanking), temperature play, explicit sex described - fingering (f recieving), p in v

Author's Notes : This was whipped up quickly while taking a break from other fics, lightly edited so please forgive any mistakes.

Today was one of the most awful days you’ve had in a long time. You head straight into the shower after returning home, ready to wash the thoughts and emotions of this never ending day away. What you need is a good cry and a bottle of wine. 

As the water washes over you, you let loose the sobs that have been building in your chest all afternoon. After a few minutes of good hard crying, you feel numb. Your mind is spent, your body is tired and you can’t seem to will yourself into getting out of the shower.

From the other side of the curtain, you hear the telltale shuffling of someone entering the bathroom. Eris. He must have finally been able to sneak away from his father’s supervision long enough to see you. It’s been over a week since the last time.

He remains quiet, not announcing his presence. He thinks he is being stealthy and you haven’t heard him. Normally you are singing at the top of your lungs and wouldn’t hear him until it was too late. Suddenly Eris grabs hold of whatever magic heats your water and with his own fire manipulation he wills the temperature to searing.

On any other day the assault of heat raining down on you would have you skittering out of the spray and screaming at him with playful frustration. Today however it feels like just what you needed, even more cathartic than your earlier crying session.

The hot water scalds your skin and the sensation brings you to your knees on the shower floor with a shouting plea.

“Please!” 

In an instant the curtain is torn back. “Fuck. [y/n], are you alright?” Eris’ eyes are wild with worry as he drops his hold on his fire and the water returns to its usual temperature.

“I’m fine,” you sob. “I just need to get out of my head. I need to feel something - else.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He crouches down beside the tub, concern still lacing his features.

“No. Eris -” his name falls from your lips in a gasp. “Make it hurt, please”

The flames within his eyes flare back to life as if they’ve suddenly been fueled with gasoline. His face shifts into that sneering smile he normally reserves for his cruel prince facade as he rises  slowly back to standing.

“Since you said please princess.” The timbre of his voice drops into a sultry purr. “First, tell me your safeword.”

You answer without hesitation. “Inferno”

“Good girl.” With a flick of his wrist, he makes the water as hot as he knows you can handle.

It hits your bare back and you whimper from the shock of it before allowing it to settle into your bones. The sensation is delicious, everything you’ve been craving. With a soft groan, you unfold yourself from the hold you have on your folded knees. Leaning back you allow the water to glide over your front. The heat enveloping your breasts chases all your thoughts away. 

You begin moving on instinct alone, slipping your hands over the wetness of your body and cradling the heaviness of your breasts in your palms. With a pinch, you are at your nipples, rolling them between your fingers and pulling. 

Immediately, the water turns off and you whimper.

“Now, now princess, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Eris’ slithering voice snaps you back into the moment. “That will be your only warning.”

You drop your hands to your lap, steadying your breaths. 

“I said, that will be your only warning princess. Do you understand?”

The shiver of your transgression snakes down your spine. “Yes, my Lord.” 

“Good. Now, up.”

Eris holds out a towel and wraps you in it as you step over the side of the tub. The heat of his arms through the towel are nearly as good as the shower. You stand perfectly still as he towels you dry, only moving limbs as he directs you with a gentle tap of his long fingers. 

Dropping the towel, he heads for the door. You follow behind him silently. Once in the bedroom, he points at the space between the sofa and the fireplace it is placed in front of.

“On your knees, princess.”

Obediently, you take your position, settling your hands in your lap once again. Eris walks over and opens the closet, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his shirt sleeves past the elbow as he makes his selections. The sight of his strong pale arms flexing is almost enough to make you moan. 

Making his way back to the sofa, he settles himself on the cushions, spreading his legs wide. He leans forward, two choices dangling from his fingers. A leather flogger and a hard wooden paddle.

“Take your pick.” 

“The paddle please, my Lord.”

“Good choice my little blaze.” His smile that graces his face is purely predatory. He tosses the flogger over to the other side of the sofa and leans back patting his knee. “Straddle me, sweetheart.”

Rising from the floor you approach him, slipping one knee on either side of his hips and settling back onto his lap, hands resting on your thighs. Eris’ firm hands grip your hips and haul you closer so your lower belly is pressed to his taut stomach, the heat of his bulging front brushing against your core. A quiet sigh passes your lips at the thought of that heat all over your body. 

“I’ve waited all week to hear that little sigh of yours, princess.” His breath ghosts over your skin as he whispers against you, just below your breasts. Strands of his fiery hair brush against your taut nipples.

Eris’ hands glide smoothly from your hips to cradle your plump bottom. “Maybe we should warm you up a little first,” his mouth still pressed to your middle.

One large hand smacks loudly against your skin. The sting is instant and you let out a small cry of surprise.

Bringing his gaze to yours, his eyes narrow with a seductive grin. “Oh, now, we can do better than that, can't we little blaze?” 

“Yes, my Lord.” As you answer he grabs your wrists and brings your palms up to his shoulders.

“Let’s see how many you can take before you are begging to finish on my lap.”  The muscles in your core ripple at the thought as you feel your arousal slick through your folds and you stifle a moan in your throat.

His hand strikes your bottom again, on the opposite side this time. The sound that leaves you is no longer one of surprise but a plea.

Eris’ mouth now hovers over your breast, lips teasing but not touching, his heated breath causing your nipple to tighten further. His thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip. No thoughts, just desire. 

“That’s it, there’s my needy girl. Count for me, princess.”

“One.” Your voice comes out as a rasping whisper.

Eris chuckles softly against your ear as he reaches for the paddle now. “I believe that was two, sweetheart.” 

Before you can correct yourself, the paddle meets your skin with a raging sting.

“Three” you pant out.

Another strike quickly follows.  The intensity of the pain and the delicious burn of the hit has you leaning harder into his shoulders. Chills race down your spine, adding to that tightening sensation, your core clenching around nothing drives you mad.

“Four” you cry out, a tear escaping your eye. 

Hits five and six have you moaning sinfully and gasping for air. You feel Eris’ warm palm, heated with his fire magic, drag across what you are sure is your very red bottom. The added heat to the already sensitive skin has your nails digging into his shoulders with a groan.

His fingers stray from your hip to your core, dampness coating his fingers before he could even part your folds. He groans, sliding his fingers through your folds gathering more of your arousal. his hips pushing up against your thighs, the seam of his pants threatening to bust open.

“So wet for me princess.” His mouth now trailing whisper soft kisses along your shoulder. 

He continues to slide his fingers along the length of you, the anticipation of them entering you nearly driving you wild. You wiggle your hips a little and his hand freezes. You immediately know what you’ve done.

“Uh-uh. You know the rules sweetheart. Use your words,” he commands.

“Please Eris. My Lord. I need it.”

“Need what princess? My hand? Do you want to come all over my fingers?”

“Yes, please,” you whine.

“Tell me, little blaze. Let me hear you say it.”

“I need your fingers in my cunt. I want to come all over them.” Your voice shudders in quick pants. 

The groan Eris’ releases creates a wave of chills that leave your legs trembling. “I love hearing you ask to come. It sounds so sweet coming from that filthy mouth.” 

His praise has your core clenching on nothing, his fingertips resting right there at your entrance he could feel you fluttering in anticipation.

He hums as two fingers enter you. The stretch of your walls has you gasping as he strokes inside you. Your thighs start shaking even harder as that familiar tightness pulls at your belly. You arch your back as you push down against his hand, trying desperately to seat his fingers deeper. 

Before he can chastise you for moving again, you plead in a shuddering moan. “More. Please, my Lord. I need more.”

“That’s it princess. What a good girl.” The lust has his voice deepening sensually.

You feel a third finger at your entrance, Eris eases it in slowly as your walls accommodate it, then he pushes all three as far as they will go. His other hand finds your breast, pinching and pulling at your nipple. The noises you make are constant as his fingers are pumping in and out of you at a punishing pace. Bringing his lips to your shoulder again, he gently scrapes his teeth along your collarbone. His other hand drifts to your lower belly, applying gentle pressure against your womb.

“Let go for me sweetheart. Let me feel you come all over me.”

It only takes two more pounding strokes for you to burst. Pleasure radiates through your core as you squeeze a punishing grip to his shoulders, leaning your forehead against his. Your thighs are shaking so hard as you scream his name, that one knee slips off the cushion. The hand Eris had pressing your middle snaps out and grips you around your waist to keep you from sliding to the floor. His fingers keep pumping, not as hard but just as fast, as you come down from your climax. 

Eris removes his fingers from you as you slump against his shoulder, arms twining around his neck. Grabbing your thighs he pulls you further into his lap and settles you more comfortably. 

“You did so good, princess,” he says as he nuzzles against your neck, his hands sliding up your back in a gentle caress. 

“Mmm.” It’s the only sound you are capable of making. Every muscle in your body feels heavy and satiated. All you can focus on is the heat of Eris’s body pressed tightly against yours.

“You alright?” He whispers against the shell of your ear before placing a tenderly soft kiss at your temple. One hand slides up under your hair to the nape of your neck, fingers massaging at your scalp.

“Perfect,” you answer, gaining back use of your voice. You lift your head to peer into his clear amber eyes. Gone is the seductive smirk of being in control of your pleasure. In its place is the soft look of adoration. “And you?”

“Perfect,” he whispers as he cradles your face and rubs his nose against yours. The insistent mound of his desire is still pressing against you and you roll your hips against him.

A flash pulses through his eyes in question and you answer him with a kiss. Brushing your lips against his once, twice. Then opening up to flick your tongue against his before deepening into it. Your hands slide down his chest, barely grazing against his belt buckle before he swiftly adjusts his hold on you and hauls you towards the bed. 

“Not tonight,” he growls as he lowers you to the mattress. “I need to be inside you.”

You gasp as a bright flash of flame quickly dissipates and he stands before you completely bare, the heavy length of him hanging between his legs. Pushing yourself back towards the pillows, Eris climbs toward you, sliding one hand up your calf and over your thigh. 

“I’ve needed you all week,” he says, leaning down to kiss one hip. “Every waking thought.” He kisses the other hip. “Was of you.”

He plants the last kiss on your sternum between your breasts, one hand weighing your breast in his palm with a swipe of his thumb over your nipple. A lazy smile graces his face as he watches it pucker.

“That sounds very distracting,” you giggle as you slip both hands into his hair.

He places a soft kiss against your lips as he settles himself over top of you. His cock like a rod of molten metal pressed against your folds. 

He huffs out a little laugh at your breathy inhale. “You have no idea. I need you desperately.”

You shift slightly, allowing the hold your legs have on his hips to loosen and letting your thighs fall open beneath him. 

“I’m right here,” you whisper, caressing his cheek. “So take me.”

With a sinful groan, his mouth is at your ear nibbling your earlobe. He thrusts against you, his cock parting your folds and sliding through your arousal. With a shift of his hips and the help of his hand, he angles at your entrance. 

“Look at me, little blaze. I want to see your face as I fill you with my cock.”

Through heavy lidded eyes you meet his gaze. The wildfire burning within them sets your body alight and you sigh a heavy sigh as he pushes in just a fraction of himself.

“Careful princess, those noises you make do dangerous things to me.”

You smile as he continues to slowly push into you, making sure your next moan is directly next to his ear. Snapping his head back with a gleam in his eye, he watches your face intently as he seats himself fully in one single thrust. 

“Eris!” The cry leaves you unexpectedly as he rocks his hips against yours.

The sound of his restrained breathing against your neck is making your heart skip beats. The stinging stretch of your core begins to settle into pleasure and you swear you can feel every single inch of his heat radiating inside you.

“I’m trying to take it easy on you little blaze,” he pants out.

“Don’t.” Straining your hips, you push against him urging him to move. “Take what you need, Eris. Please.” 

The moaning want of your plea does him in. Rocking his hips once more against you, he pulls back fully. The loss of his heat and the emptiness has you digging your nails into the back of his arms. Before you can take another breath he slams into you and begins a steady pace. 

“You like when I take you, sweetheart?” With a swift movement, his arm dives under one of your thighs and brings it up pressing your knee toward your chest. His thrusting doesn’t skip a beat. “You like when I fuck you like this?”

You cry out a moan at the change of angle and the friction against your still sensitive bud. His cock drives deeper into you, hitting that perfect spot inside that causes your vision to dim around the edges. 

“Are you going to come again for me princess? Give me one more. I know you can.”

The tightening in your belly feels like a band stretched to its max and yet it keeps pulling and pulling and pulling. Your breathing is nothing but short pants now and the blackness in your vision begins to close in.

Sensing your overworked breathing, Eris slows his pace slightly, turning his forceful thrusts into a sliding drag. 

“Stay with me, little blaze. Keep breathing.” 

Your breaths slow enough to force the air into your lungs and the blackness recedes, but the band in your belly remains taut threatening to snap at any moment. 

“That’s it. Just like that.”

With your sense fully intact again, you grip his arms harder, nearly drawing blood on his biceps.

“Eris, I – I’m going —” 

“Come with me,” he commands. His own breathing skips into an erratic rhythm. “Come on my cock as I fill you up.”

You feel the fluttering pulse of your orgasm beginning and Eris groans your name against your temple. That’s all it takes to send you over the precipice. Your legs swing over his hips and your ankles lock over him as the crest of your pleasure crashes over you. Just a few thrusts more and Eris is following you over the edge. You swear you can feel every hot pulse of his release as he empties himself inside you, roaring your name like a chant. 

His languid body remains on top of you as your legs fall from his back, both of you relishing in the aftermath of your pleasure. Slowly, you bring a hand to his head, scrubbing your nails at his scalp.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“Perfect,” he mumbles into the side of your neck.

With a smile you think to yourself that maybe this day wasn’t so terrible after all.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: my tears and my beers and my candles

pairing: francisco morales/female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 3,515

chapters: 1/1

summary:

It’s been a bad week and you just need to have a good cry.

You didn’t expect Frankie Morales, best friend and your unrequited crush, to crash your pity party.

He’s got some interesting ways of making you feel better. Maybe it’s not so unrequited after all.

read on ao3 | masterlist

author’s note: my first foray into frankie morales! if you enjoyed this one, please consider leaving a comment or an unhinged series of tags if you reblog 💕

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual content (18+), mutual pining, friends to lovers, allusions to depression, crying, platonic cuddling (until it’s not), fingering, un protected p in v, mild breeding kink, praise kink, dirty talk, rough sex, choking. let me know if any are missing!

There’s something to be said about having a good cry. The release of too many emotions that have no other choice than to physically manifest, the exhaustion that inevitably comes after, the way your eyes ache and burn and your throat feels raw.

It’s all very cathartic.

At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself as you lay on the couch, a bottle of beer held loosely in your hand as the tears stream down your cheeks. There’s a bowl of popcorn on the floor and the TV screen flashes images of some action movie you’re not interested in. The only other light in the room is the flicker of a candle you lit, some fucked up way of making this feel more like self-care than self-sabotage.

There’s no one thing to blame for your little pity party. It’s just been a hell of a week. Between a call from your mom that ended in a heated argument and the constant bullshit at your bartending job, only to come home to a broken pipe and a shitty fucking landlord who won’t do anything about it until Monday because he doesn’t want to pay the premium weekend price, your emotions are at an all time high and you’re done trying to keep them bottled up.

Your phone keeps lighting up with texts on the coffee table but you can’t bring yourself to check it. You know it’s probably one of the guys.

The boys of Delta Force waltzed into the bar one Friday evening a year ago and you haven’t been able to shake them since. Not that you’d want to. Your life has definitely improved since their chaotic entrance.

Especially where Francisco Morales was involved.

With his stupid boyish charm and his stupid handsome face and his stupid kind smile. God. He drives you insane. He’s the quiet observer of the group of men, his keen brown eyes always assessing the room around him. The feel of them is like fire across your skin when he turns his attention to you.

The tears keep flowing at the thought of him, of how a year of close friendship has only made you crave the man more with no respite in sight. Sometimes you’ll wake up with his name on your lips and an ache in your core that your fingers can’t satisfy.

It’s pathetic, really. Perhaps that’s why you continue to cry.

Between the explosions on the screen and the muffled whimpering, you don’t hear the knocking at your door. Or the turn of the lock and quiet click of the door to your apartment opening.

“Querida?”

________

After waiting a few minutes for you to answer the door, he decides to use the key you had given him when he looked after your plants one weekend to let himself in.

No wonder you couldn’t hear him knocking. The TV is so loud it almost hurts Frankie’s ears, which is saying a lot given his time spent in gun ranges and helicopters and war zones.

“Querida?” He calls. When you don’t answer, he wanders further into your apartment.

He’s surprised to find you curled up on the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, eyes squeezed shut and shoulders shaking with your soft cries.

“Shit,” he murmurs, picking his hat up to run a hand through his hair. This would explain why you haven’t been answering his texts.

He sets his hat on the coffee table beside your phone and grabs the remote while he’s at it to turn the volume down, which finally gets your attention.

Your eyes pop open, bloodshot with tears still clinging to your lashes. “Fish?”

“Shh,” Frankie shushes, grabbing onto the back of the couch and climbing in carefully behind you.

“Wha—“

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around your waist. He presses his nose into your hair, breathing in your scent as you continue to shake against him. “You’re okay.”

It takes a moment for your cries to subside, but Frankie’s got all the time in the world where you’re concerned. The shaking of your shoulders turns into the rise and fall of deep, even breaths. The tension in your muscles eases and you relax back into the cradle of his body at your back.

Frankie lifts his head to peek at you over your shoulder. Your face has gone soft with sleep, eyelashes casting shadows on your cheeks and lips parted slightly. He brings a hand to your forehead to smooth your hair back, fingers lingering on the soft skin of your cheek.

His heart constricts in his chest. The same painfully tight feeling he gets anytime he so much as looks at you.

The first time he met you was after one of Benny’s fights. Having won, the younger man was feeling particularly obnoxious by the time they’d all made it to the bar for his celebration.

“Tequila shots!” Benny shouted, slamming his palm on the bar. “I’m buyin’!”

You raised an eyebrow at him, head tilted as you said, “You wanna try that again, buddy?”

“With lime?” Benny asked. You smirked.

Santi smacked Benny on the back of the head. “Cabrón. Forgive him. He’s been hit in the head too many times. Tequila shots, please.”

Frankie watched you line up the shot glasses with practiced ease. How you picked a top shelf bottle and shot a withering stare at Benny when he’d started to protest. You placed the shots in front of them, along with a plate of limes and two salt shakers. A shot glass remained with you.

“Cheers, boys,” you said, tossing back the extra shot before you wrapped your lips around a lime wedge.

Frankie remembers the way your eyes caught his as you sucked on the fruit. He also vividly remembers wanting to know what your lips would look like wrapped around his cock.

Your take-no-shit attitude worked for the group of army vets. They adopted the bar as their own and Frankie looked forward to seeing you after Benny’s fights.

Then fight nights turned into barbecues at Will’s house. Then movie nights at Santi’s. Or football at Frankie’s. And each time you burrowed yourself deeper and deeper into Frankie’s heart.

But Frankie valued your friendship above all else. He appreciated the way you would sit quietly beside him when he was feeling overwhelmed. How you would squeeze his hand when it got a little shaky. Or when you would tell him some stupid joke when he got too far into his own head.

It’s only right that he returns the favor.

________

The first thing you notice when you wake up is how dark your apartment is. The TV is off and your candle has burnt itself down in the glass, a struggling ember in a pool of wax.

You try to sit up, only to encounter an unfamiliar weight around your waist. When you look down, you can just make out a familiar tan arm nestled just beneath your breasts.

It’s then that you realize the overwhelming warmth at your back isn’t a blanket, it’s Frankie. He’s wedged himself between the couch and your body, his long frame curled around yours, his other arm stretched above his head and acting as his pillow.

You blink the sleep and the ache away from your eyes, but he’s still there. He’s asleep, quiet snores rumbling from his throat. You turn slowly in his arms to face him.

His eyes flutter open as you settle back against him, your movement having jostled him awake. His arm tightens on your waist.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice rough with sleep. You swallow nervously and as he assesses you, eyes roving your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Your eyes flick to his lips. “Not really.”

There’s a moment of stillness as he appears to consider your words. His hand on your back slides up, broad palm settling between your shoulder blades and pushing you slightly closer.

His eyes search yours for any sign of doubt. You lean your forehead to his, lips so close now you’re sharing the same breath.

“Frankie,” you murmur. You can feel the tiny shiver that wracks his body. Pressed this close, there’s nowhere to hide. “Please kiss me.”

His lips press to yours, slightly chapped but so warm. His hand leaves your back to grip your thigh, hitching your leg up over his hip to bring you closer. Your tongue traces his bottom lip, seeking entrance and having it granted with fervor.

Frankie groans, hips pressing against yours, as your tongue slides against his. You can feel him start to harden as your pussy drags against him, the sensation better each time.

The kiss is messy, your movements uncoordinated in your desperation. His hand traces over any inch of your body it can reach, from your thighs and ass to your waist and tits.

“Are you sure?” Frankie asks as he draws back for air. His brows are pinched together with worry and that just won’t do.

“I’m so fucking sure, Francisco.”

______

Never before has his name sounded as fucking good as it does falling from your lips tonight. He leans in to lick it from your mouth, swallowing the little moan he pulls from you.

He slides a hand between your bodies to cup your pussy, the heat of you palpable through your thin leggings. You tilt your head back with a sigh and Frankie takes the invitation to lick and kiss and bite up your neck.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you whine, fingers clenching into the fabric of his t-shirt. “Touch me.”

“Am touchin’,” he bites back. “You want more, pretty girl?”

You nod your head so fast he can’t help but chuckle. He works his fingers past the elastic of your leggings and panties, circling your clit with slow broad swipes.

“Christ, you’re so wet. All this just for me?” He dips a finger lower, barely breaching you. You react with a high pitched whine, hips flexing in his grip.

He slides a finger into your tight heat, groaning at the squeeze of you around the digit. He pumps it slowly, watching your face as he does. Your eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted on breathy little sighs.

He’s never seen a more gorgeous sight.

Frankie adds another finger, crooking them as he drags them out of you. His thumb continues to swirl around your clit and he dips his head to your neck to lick and suck and bite the perfect skin calling out to be marked as his.

“Come on, baby, ride my fingers, yeah? You wanna use ‘em?” He says, the flexing and rolling of your hips against his hand picking up speed.

“Please, Frankie, I wanna cum,” you whine. The flush in your cheeks is the prettiest color.

“Then come for me,” he all but begs.

He can feel it when you finally reach your peak. The fluttering of your cunt around his fingers, the desperate way your body tries to keep him drawn into your warmth. He’s never felt anything better.

Frankie withdraws his fingers and you grab his hand, sucking them into your mouth. He groans, hips flexing involuntarily.

“Baby, you can’t do shit like that,” he says, pulling his fingers from your mouth and wrapping his hand behind your neck to tug your lips to his.

“Will you fuck me now?” You ask between breaths. “Please? Want your cock so bad.”

“It’s all yours, sweetheart.”

_______

You roll off the couch with little grace, flopping heavily to the floor. Frankie’s deep laughter settles over you like a warm blanket, the sound abruptly cutting off when you’ve stood and ripped your sweatshirt over your head.

Your nipples tighten in the cool air of your apartment. You can barely see Frankie in the darkness but you can feel his eyes running over your body, hot like a brand. He shifts on the couch, sitting up with his legs splayed wide.

You hook your thumbs into your leggings, tugging them down your legs and leaving you standing in front of him in your black thong. His hand reaches for you, fingers digging into your hip to drag you between his legs.

“Hermosa,” he whispers reverently. He kisses your tummy, right above where the elastic of your panties. You can see the glimmer of his eyes in the dark as he looks up at you.

You wrap your hands over his, drawing them up your body until his thumbs graze the underside of your breast. You’re obsessed with the gentle way he holds you, knowing the power he has simmering beneath an unassuming surface.

The guys have shared a number of stories with you about their time serving during your year of friendship. Mostly the funnier ones, like the time Benny fly was busted on his pants and he had to run drills constantly picking them up from around his ankles. Or the time Santi got left behind on a mission because he got his dick wet and didn’t get up on time for the convoy.

But sometimes you would get the grittier stories. They’re spec ops, after all. They got called in when no other team would suffice. You know Frankie has killed men, scope locked on a target and the kickback of a rifle bruising his shoulder. The same hands gliding across your skin have wrapped around throats until their final breath eases from their lungs.

But as they trail over you, all you feel is your Frankie. The man who buys your favorite candy for movie nights and makes sure there’s a pack of your favorite turkey burgers at the cook outs.

He pinches a nipple, tugging gently as your back arches to the touch. His lips wrap around the other, tongue flicking over the hard peak. Your breath stutters, coming in harsh pants as he switches sides. Your fingers tangle in his messy brown curls, tugging lightly and making him groan.

You’re running out of patience. You tug your panties down your legs and kick them to the side, leaving yourself completely nude between Frankie’s legs.

“Pants off, Morales,” you demand. You notice the well loved cap he always wears on the table. You pick it up and settle it on your head, giving him a cheeky grin. “Shirt, too.”

Frankie pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it behind the couch. He undoes his fly with uncoordinated hands, lifting his hips from the cushions to pull them down, along with his boxers. His cock bobs against his stomach, hard and flushed and leaking at the tip. You climb into his lap, dragging your wet slit over the hot length of him.

“Fuck,” he growls. You feel that coiled strength in him in the way his fingertips press bruises into your hips as you grind against him. He digs a hand into your hair and uses the leverage to drag your lips to his, the kiss a messy meeting of lips and tongues and teeth that lights up every nerve ending. “You ready to take me? Ready for my cock?”

“So fucking ready,” you moan.

“Then take it, baby, come on,” he says, reaching down to hold his cock steady. You position yourself over the thick head, beginning a slow slide down his length, the stretch of him making you groan even with the prep his fingers afforded you. “That’s it, baby, good girl. Take your time, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here in your pretty pussy.”

Your cheeks heat with his words, the praise settling over you like a blanket, making everything soft and cloudy in your head. You finally settle against his lap, his cock buried so deep you have to catch your breath at the sensation.

Frankie’s hands smooth across your back soothingly as you adjust. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to the spot in his beard that never grows despite all his efforts. You let your lips trail down his neck, teeth nipping the soft skin as you flex your hips experimentally.

It’s just a little movement, but it’s enough to grind your sensitive clit against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. One of his broad palms holds the back of your head tenderly while the other grips your ass tightly, urging you to move again.

You start off with a slow grind, Frankie’s head dropping to the back of the couch with a moan as you build up to a rhythm that has you seeing stars and has a litany of filth falling from Frankie’s lips.

“God, just like that. Riding my cock like such a good fucking girl for me.”

“Look at you, making a mess in my lap. Prettiest girl, just a puddle for me, huh?”

“Your body was made for me, wasn’t it, princesa?”

Each one filthier than the last, your own responses reduced to slurred words and moans of appreciation. You’re bouncing on his lap with fervor now, so close to the edge that your muscles are painfully tight in anticipation of your release.

“Come for me. Please, baby? Wanna see you come on my cock, been dreaming of it forever,” Frankie moans as he leans forward, both arms wrapped around your back as he sinks his teeth into the plush skin of your breast.

That’s all it takes. Frankie asking so sweetly for you to come for him, like every fantasy you’ve had about the man only better. You keep still on his lap with him buried as deep as he can be, pussy pulsing rhythmically around him as your orgasm washes over you.

You collapse against his chest and his hips flex beneath you, working you through the aftershocks. When your breathing has returned to something closer to normal, he urges you off his lap and onto your knees on the cushions, your elbows propping you up on an arm rest.

You look back at the man over your shoulder as he keeps a knee on the couch but plants a foot on the ground for leverage before thrusting back inside of you, punching the air from your lungs as your sensitive walls accept his length once more.

“Do you know how many times you’ve teased me with this ass?” He asks, gripping one cheek roughly as he continues to thrust into you. “Those goddamn jeans you wear to work, where anyone can see you, hugging your ass so pretty I just wanted to rip ‘em off.”

“Frankie,” you moan, fingers curling against the upholstery. “Harder, please. Don’t hold back, I can take it.”

His fingers flex on your hips. “Are you sure, baby? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please,” you beg.

________

That tether of control Frankie’s been trying to keep snaps. He fists your hair roughly, tugging you up until your bowed back presses to his chest. He slips a hand around the base of your throat, holding you to him with the possessive grip as he thrusts his hips roughly against yours.

It’s not going to take him long to come, not when he’s got your pliant body at his mercy and your desperate moans by his ear. He grits his teeth, slamming into you with all the force he can muster, with all the power he wants as you just take it like you were made to.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groans. “Where—“

“Inside, inside, please,” you beg, reaching a hand back and digging your fingers into his ass as it flexes with his frenzied thrusts. “Want you to fill me up, mark me up, ruin me. Please, Frankie?”

His release hits him like a goddamn freight train and he comes with a shout, holding your hips tight to his as he finishes inside you, the wet heat of him slipping out as he thrusts shallowly inside of you as his orgasm subsides.

Frankie releases you gently, pulling out and helping you lay on your back, your head propped up near the armrest. He collapses on top of you, pillowing his head against your breasts and nuzzling the sweat slick skin.

You run your fingers through his hair, the two of you quiet as you catch your breath. Part of him is waiting for the fall out, waiting for your muscles to go tense beneath him with uncertainty.

But it doesn’t come. You just keep carding your fingers through his hair, nails scratching his scalp and the cadence of your heartbeat beneath his ear easing his worries.

“You feeling better?” He asks.

Your chest shakes with laughter beneath him. When he lifts his head to look at you, you flash him a bright smile.

“I don’t even remember what I was upset about anymore. I think you fucked the sadness right out of me,” you say with a giggle.

“Anything for you,” he replies easily.

Your eyes go all soft as your eyes search his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a beat of comfortable silence before you speak up again.

“Hey, Frankie?” You ask.

“Yes?”

“What do you know about plumbing?”

Frankie Morales tag list: @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @kirsteng42 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @cutesyscreenname @letsgroovetonighttt @str84pedro @brilliantopposite187 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @afterglowsb-tch13 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @dreamingofdaddydin

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[starstruckunknown-princess]

The Embers Never Fade - Black Rose Part 5

Summary: Rhysand and Niamh turn a spark into a flame.

Pairings: Rhysand x OC (Niamh, no physical description but AFAB parts are mentioned)

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUTTY SMUTTY SMUT MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! A hint of pining, use of mind powers for dirty talk, mention of past SA (not descriptive), fingering/handjob, mild choking, a little cumplay, begging, P in V sex (wrap it before you tap it, y’all), feelings talk, mentions of complex relationship dynamics. Plus Rhysand is a warning on his own.

Word Count: 3223

A/N: This is my first time posting smut that I’ve written, only my second time writing it so please be gentle! Rhys sure isn’t ;) 

All joking aside, since this is a new subject for me I appreciate feedback more than usual! Likes, Comments, Reblogs, Notes, anything! 

Title is from “Tonight, Tonight” by The Smashing Pumpkins, Banner made by me. 

Enjoy!! 

Part 3 | Part 4 | Masterlist

It didn’t take long for Niamh to crave Rhysand in all the ways she used to. Fifty years of absence, then nearly three months of avoiding him had indeed made her heart — among other parts — grow fonder. 

The High Lord certainly didn’t help matters. 

He was sweet. Thoughtful. When they were apart, he’d send her little missives written on scraps of paper about how boring his meetings were and how much he missed her. He brought her seeds for rare plants she could grow in her garden or greenhouse. He’d even suggested some changes she could make to her small home to make it habitable for him — turning the spare bedroom into a walk-in closet and replacing the tub with one large enough for two. 

And yet, he hadn’t made any moves to restore their physical relationship. He’d promised he would let her take the lead on that front, and she had to admire his restraint. He hadn’t so much as asked for a kiss on the cheek or to hold her hand while they were on their various dates. 

Together they’d spent an afternoon walking through the Rainbow, dipping into any little shops that caught their eye. He’d taken her to the botanical gardens and listened to her lecture him about the different species of plants they encountered. Her first family dinner back they had partnered for charades and wiped the floor with Mor and Cassian while Amren and Azriel had buried themselves in books. 

A few times she’d caught him with his hand hovering near her shoulder or the small of her back, but he’d pull the hand away and bury it in his hair or shove it into his pocket when she noticed. She could tell his patience was fraying.

Niamh’s own patience was wearing thin. 

Tonight he’d taken her out to dinner at her favorite restaurant along the Sidre. While walking home, their hands kept brushing against each other until she threaded her fingers in between his. She couldn’t miss the self-satisfied smirk on his handsome face as they approached her front door. 

“Well,” he said, “I’ve seen you home safe and sound. I suppose I should take my leave.”

He didn’t let go of her hand, instead raising their entwined fingers to place feather-light kisses along her knuckles. The way his violet eyes locked onto hers, radiating care and adoration and confidence, had broken her. 

He wouldn’t be leaving her. Not tonight. 

Using her free hand, Niamh grabbed the High Lord by the back of the neck and pressed their lips together, their entwined hands squished between their chests so she could feel both of their heartbeats. 

The kiss was cathartic, passionate, burning with pent-up hunger. He used his free hand to skate down her shoulders to her hips, pulling her against his body. He turned them, lips reacquainting themselves with each other, and pressed her against the front door of her house. 

Niamh groped for the doorknob, opening the door and stumbling backward into the foyer with a girlish giggle. Rhys caught her, a rich laugh emanating from deep in his chest. A second later he was pressing her back to him, his nose brushing along her neck, inhaling her scent and groaning. Distantly, she heard her front door slam shut and lock. 

“You smell incredible, Sweetrose,” he said, the deeper tone of his words making her shiver. His hands rested on her hips again, the feeling burning through her. Plush lips pressed themselves into the skin of her shoulder, trailing up her neck and finding the spot that made her melt. 

Niamh’s head fell back and she moaned, “Rhys…” 

“Mmm, I love it when you moan my name.” 

His reply made her arousal spike and she pulled out of his grasp, latching her mouth to his. Ravenous, she shoved her hands into his hair while he pulled the short sleeves of her dress down over her shoulders.

His lips parted from hers and attacked her neck and collarbones and the tops of her breasts, sucking hard and then soothing the skin with his tongue. Obviously he remembered how much she liked being marked up by him. 

She remembered a few things of her own as well.

“Fuck, Rhys,” she moaned, pulling on his hair just enough to make it hurt. Rhys growled and nipped the plush top of her breast, she gasped in pleasure. Before she could retaliate, his strong arms wrapped under her ass and lifted her so his face was buried between her breasts. Niamh squealed in surprise. 

“What are—”

“Bedroom,” was his only reply, slightly muffled by her tits. Niamh couldn’t help but giggle. Without moving his head, he blindly crossed through her living room and turned down the short hall that led to her bedroom. Depositing her on the bed, Rhys then hooked his hands under her knees and pulled her toward the edge. 

Niamh sat up and he knelt on the floor in front of her, large hands stroking down her thighs. When he looked up at her she felt the question around the hedges made of adamant in her mind — the ones she’d constructed against his demadi powers.

Are you sure? 

She nodded and lowered the walls — the sensations they shared with each other could be downright earth-shattering — leaning forward to press her forehead against his, eyes closed in the sheer bliss of being able to touch him again. 

I want you, Rhys, but only if you’re ready. 

She couldn’t help the flash of one of his frequent nightmares that appeared — of red hair, a piercing of blood red nails on his skin — then it was gone. Rhys’s hand gripped the back of her head and pressed his head harder against hers. Her eyes popped open, taking in his closed-eye expression and tracing his cheek with the tips of her fingers. 

As she opened her mouth to apologize her mind was flooded with memories of the moments like this they had shared before he was imprisoned — Rhys kissing his way down her body, Niamh doing the same to him, every imaginable position, her fingers tracing his tattoos, the way her brow scrunched as she came — on and on he sent her the endless memories until she was flat against her bed. Whether she’d fallen or he’d guided her down, she didn’t know, nor did she have time to ponder it because the second the memories stopped Rhys rose from the floor and tugged at the skirt of her dress. 

She propped herself on her elbows and took in her High Lord, standing tall and proud at the end of her mattress, his trademark smirk across his lips. The darkness of the night settled around him, along with the moonlight coming from the windows. He cut an imposing frame in the small room — she was glad he hadn’t unsheathed his wings lest he knock everything off her dresser and shelves. 

His hand tugged at her skirt again, the other working the top button of his own black shirt and Niamh got the message before he had a chance to plant the idea in her mind. 

I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

Now take off your clothes before I rip them off. 

Eager, High Lord? She teased into his mind and he tore the rest of his shirt off, growling low in his throat. 

“You have no idea,” he said, leaning onto the mattress and nipping at her neck. A rush of cold air encircled her entire body. When she looked down, her dress had turned into black mist and was drifting away from her body, now naked before Rhys. 

She only had a second to glare at him — You took too long — before his mouth was crashing against hers, his body leading her down onto the bed with his. Her core flooded with heat when his body slipped between her knees, his own arousal pressing against her inner thigh. She reached down and yanked at his belt; she needed him, now. 

“Eager, Princess?” he chuckled in her ear, teeth scraping along her earlobe. All she could do was nod, working his zipper and reaching into his pants to reveal his length. When her hand wrapped around his thick cock he groaned, a new wave of arousal making her nearly drip. 

“Fuck, Niamh,” he muttered as she squeezed and started pumping him in the way she remembered he loved. Rhys sat up on his knees, tracing his hands along her body and gazing down at her. His eyes were mere rings of violet around dilated pupils, blown out with lust. He looked down at her adoringly, watching her stroking his cock for a moment, then stroked a long line through her folds. She moaned loudly while his fingers worked at her aching sex, spreading her open for him. 

“You’re so wet,” he marveled, tilting his head to watch, “And I’ve barely touched you.” 

Her hips moved against his digits, seeking friction, and he obliged by slipping a finger in and crooking it, sending a jolt of pleasure ricocheting through her. A second finger joined quickly, slowly pumping in and out of her. She squeezed his fingers with every pass and his breath hitched.

Rhys’s head dropped back and exposed the long line from his throat down to his throbbing cock and Niamh couldn’t resist — she ran her free hand from the base of his cock over his chiseled stomach, between his stunning pecs with swirling tattoos, and let her hand rest at the base of his neck, squeezing lightly. 

Rhys gasped out a breath, then found her bundle of nerves and pressed, making her cry out. His free hand came to cup one of her breasts, then he bent and flicked his tongue across her sensitive nipple, all while his fingers still worked their magic inside her. She felt her climax approaching.

“Please, Rhys,” she begged. “I need you.”

Before she finished her sentence he shoved her hand off his purple-headed dick and lined himself up against her entrance. Raising the fingers that had been inside her a moment ago, he held eye contact with her as he licked them clean. She whimpered at the obscene sight and the feeling of him pressing insistently against her wet hole. 

He tore his eyes away from hers and looked down at where they were almost joined. Rhys loved watching his cock disappear into her.

So pretty for me, he said into her mind as he slid inside inch by inch, letting her adjust around him. Feel so fucking good. Fuck, I missed you. Not gonna last long…

Me neither, she replied, then out loud she breathed, “Fuck me, Rhys.” 

It started slow, allowing for each of them to find their long-lost rhythms, him dragging along her inner walls and her arching against him to drive him deeper, deeper, with every thrust. Once they found it, which didn’t take long, Rhys picked up his pace and it was all Niamh could do but cling to him, nails digging into the muscles of his back and heels pressing into his ass as she moved with him.

His thrusts were deep and brutal and fast, each one sparking waves of flame that tore through her as he hit the spot deep within her that made her see stars. Between the stars and the flame, she wailed with almost overwhelming pleasure. 

This was healing. 

This was homecoming.

This was reunion.

“‘M gonna cum, love,” he grunted, hand seeking out her clit again. “Cum for me, cum for me.” 

She clenched, their labored breathing and his dirty words throttling her toward release. His thumb circled her clit once, twice more, and she was thrown into ecstasy. 

Her thighs trembled and her throat went hoarse as he plunged into her again and again, his own pace faltering just as her orgasm was sputtering out. As his release coated her walls, he pressed their foreheads together again, sending her nothing but affection and love and gratitude before sliding out of her which made them both shudder. 

He lay back for a moment and they stared up at the canopy of her bed, criss-crossed by a climbing pothos plant. She looked over at him, his stunning profile in sharp relief against the moonlit window. Mother above, he was gorgeous. His eyes were closed, a satisfied smile curving his perfect lips. His ink-black hair was disheveled and a flush crept over his perfect cheekbones, hands resting on his stomach. Satisfaction rolled off of him, invading her own mind for a moment.

Was she satisfied? Sexually, yes, very much yes, but in other aspects? She didn’t know. Niamh didn’t know what came next for them or what this “pelvic reunion” — as he’d jokingly called it — meant for their relationship, or if it even meant anything at all. 

They were grown-ass High Fae, however, and the ambiguity between them was frustrating. Niamh couldn’t let herself fully trust his actions. Doubt consistently crept into any sweet moment they shared, like now as they reclined in post-coital bliss.

She shifted to lay on her side, facing away from him. He was quick to fill in the space behind her, wrapping one arm over her waist and the other under her head to act as a pillow. For a moment she allowed herself to savor his closeness, how his sculpted form felt pressed up against her naked back. 

If she’d learned anything from her sessions with Hypatia it was that it was always better to ask for what one needed. She needed to know. 

“What are we doing, Rhys?” 

“Cuddling,” He responded casually as he brushed light kisses along her bare shoulder. The hand of the arm under her head came up and played with a strand of her hair. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, Sweetrose?” 

“We slept together and you have a mate,” she whispered.

“Ah, that.” She felt him shrug against her back, “The bond hasn’t been accepted, she doesn’t even know what it is. And she still hates me. We have time, Niamh, trust me.”

Guilt welled within her.

“So…what?” Niamh nudged him away from her and got out of bed, yanking on the silk robe that was tossed over the back of her vanity chair. She tied it off with a sharp snap of fabric. “I’m just someone to fuck until Feyre realizes she’s your mate?” 

“It’s not like that,” he started, reaching over the space she had just occupied, beckoning her back into bed with him. “Come back to bed.”

“But it feels like that!” She noticed his fist clench in her sage-colored sheet at her words. “It’s all I can ever be to you now, a place holder while you-” 

He interrupted her this time, vaulting off the bed with impressive speed and gripping onto her upper arms. He hunched over to look her in the eye, intensity radiating from him in powerful waves. “You are not a place holder. I love you! I have loved you for hundreds of years, despite everything that should’ve kept us apart. You have always had my heart, my very soul, Niamh.” 

The adamant hedges around her mind were still down and he took advantage of that, sending her wave after wave of love. It swept through her mind and made it nearly impossible for her to remain rational. She clung to the life raft full of questions she had, arguments to be made. Slowly, she put her walls back up. 

“You speak of everything that should’ve kept us apart while ignoring the biggest thing that will for sure come between us.” Niamh pulled out of his grasp and put some space between them, “Even if she doesn’t know, even if she hasn’t accepted it, you’re mated, and I can’t see a way around that.” 

She turned around and wrapped her arms around herself, missing his presence even though he was mere steps away. 

Over the last few weeks she read more about mating bonds. Everything she read said basically the same thing; mating bonds were rare and sacred. No magic could break it, and denying one would most certainly drive one or both parties mad. Part of her wished that Rhys would move on and forget about her, focus his love on his mate so it would hurt less when they were torn apart by the bond. 

“Do you think if I could help how I felt about you that I would be here?” She heard him approach, felt the warmth of his bare body through the silk of her robe when he came to stand behind her, not touching her. “My parents were mates, equals, and they fucking hated each other. I seem to recall a certain Spring Court High Lord and his Lady who also weren’t too fond of one another?” 

He was right — she hated that he was right. A Mating Bond, however unbreakable, did not mean the mates would be happy together. Her own parents had given her a grim look at what an unhappy mating looked like; her father, an abusive rageful tyrant, and her mother, a shrinking violet too afraid of her husband’s wrath to defend her children against him. 

She turned and leaned her butt against her vanity, arms still crossed and looking up into his violet eyes that brimmed with concern and a touch of fear. 

“Don’t you love her?” Niamh asked, not sure which answer she preferred. He’d told her he loved his mate — Feyre, she remembered — when they’d reconciled over tea.

Slowly, Rhys nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “I do love her. I also love you, and like you said love isn’t finite,” he explained, closing the distance between them, tilting her chin up with a finger so she had to look him in the eye. “The Cauldron gave me a mate, yes, but thoughts of you, Niamh, got me through every damn day in that prison and most of the days since my return. I love you. I will never stop loving you, even if Feyre accepts the bond.” 

“I…I know. But this whole nebulous, complicated thing is difficult. Knowing that you’re going to have something permanent and special and I’ll be alone…it hurts.” 

He tilted his head like a confused puppy, “You don’t think we’re permanent?”

“Bonds are intense, powerful magic. Who’s to say that you won’t forget all about me once she accepts?” Niamh shrugged, annoyance with herself rising. Why couldn’t she just accept that Rhys loved her and be happy?

The answer was obvious. She would get hurt, and she’d rather have it be her fault than his. It was easier that way, cleaner. But she felt her desire to keep fighting against herself waning, her impulse to seize the moment with Rhys eclipsing it. 

Rhys reached out his hands to her, his sculpted muscles moving under his golden skin as he did. She unfolded her arms and put her hands in his. 

“I don’t know what will happen, Niamh, but I need you to believe that I will always come back to you. You will never lose me again, I swear. On my life, my position as High Lord, on fucking Velaris itself.”

His sincerity overwhelmed her. And finally — finally — she let herself believe him.

[writingforfishes]

Alright. Imma take this by paragraph (|P) again so I can make sure not to miss anything. (Aside: scrolling for reblogs is actually not that big of a deal and it doesn't bother me? Hot take?)

CW: I WROTE A LOT OF WORDS!

(And I'm pretty sure most of them weren't necessary. Enjoy!)

|P 1: Honestly, though? Fair. It was all about the floor action at the end, anyway. Ambiguously choreographed tickle-fight and then the hiccuping bit. Same.

|P 2: Completely understandable to block out the diet part. For me, I think it was important to make it realistic in the way that society tries to make us see ourselves (my generation for sure). That was why it was so important for me to have them immediately buffer against their decision on the honeymoon with the realization. They probably weren't even fully aware they were acting on the preconceived notions of societal expectation until they realized the results. In my mind anyway.

STILL |P 2: I have sort of saturated these stories with hurt/comfort. I think, for me, I'm working through something. Maybe the worth aspect. Maybe the ability to be there for someone aspect. But I think it's valid to want to see more emotional response from Atticus and have them have more of a story. It's much harder to either make up a story that's different from mine for them or channel my own story into emotions than making up from scratch a story for someone like Otto. Then again, Otto is as much me as Atticus in a lot of ways. They feel much more like two sides of me than two separate characters. That being said, what aspects were you specifically curious about when it comes to fleshing Atticus out more or giving them more than just a comforting role? (To borrow a phrase from most other kinks, "aftercare" is an aspect I jive with as well. That's what I akin the comfort Atty gives to Otto.)

ONE MORE |P 2: I have honestly not given their wedding much thought. I haven't given a possible ceremony for myself and other much thought, either. I don't think I ever have. But you raise a good point about queer joy and wanting to see more of it. I like the idea of them having had a wedding that matches their personalities and life journeys. I've just not decided on what that would look like, yet. Something to prepare for, obviously. Stay tuned for any possible plot bunny inspirations. |P 3: Pssh! Parents, amiright? :looks at mom's urn on the bookshelf: Pssh! This lady! (It's okay to joke about it. I put a tiny scarf on her urn. She's bitter I haven't put some of her in Ireland, yet.)

|P 4: Interesting thoughts about their kinks and their integration into their relationship as a whole. It's easy for me to see why it seems so incredibly important. I only write the hiccup times. But I THINK about all the other times, too. (Because it's a happy place for me to watch them be happy or supportive of each other.) But there is validity in finding someone who completes the needs of your arousal. I do think that's important. Though I, personally, could be very happy and content with someone who I never see in any sort of bedroom situation. |P4 CONTINUED: In some ways writing them is wish fulfillment. But in other ways Otto is an aspect of myself that I feel the need to accept. Otto represents the kink itself in this weird metaphor that is my brain. This doesn't (and shouldn't) take anything away from wanting a relationship like theirs, but it might explain better where I come from as my hurt/comfort stuff tends to literally be me being all cathartic and comforting myself for it. (Kinda weird thing to admit, might delete later.) I think at some point I said that Atticus had actually not seen Otto hiccup until they moved in together. (A number of months into their relationship? I can't recall.) I think Atticus' hiccup kink and Otto's acceptance and celebration and integration of that aspect of them into his own kink is extremely special. I also hold the belief, though, that a relationship doesn't have to be defined by bedroom activities, present or absent. But in their case, I guess there's some validity to the kink fic acting as a direct metaphor to how their relationship presents. What am I trying to say here? Not a damn clue. But I sure am saying it. (Also, I love how you see them because that's how I'd like to be seen, honestly.)

|P5: Yes, do take care of yourself, youngster! Do that eating well and do that study thing and be that...whatever you wanna be thing! /motivational speech. Thank you for always leaving me these thoughtful things on my weird kink shit and indulging my own overactive and detail-oriented mind on something that, in any other kink fic situation, would just be smexy time shallowness.

worm momenr number uhh..69

initially reading your scenario thing i was like eyyy laughing trigger that's meee and then i re-read it and ✨✨idea✨✨\

idk if this would constitute for a full fic but i think it could be expanded on a little or just like mused/theorized/(idk words)

so atticus has a very particular stance (guilt) about otto hiccupping because of them, i.e. giving himself a case to turn them on

if they were to do something that accidentally triggered otto's diaphragm (laughter, anything surprising, messing up water temp in like the shower or somethin, etc) would they feel the same? would they be teasing or like hurt/comfort or a secret third thing

cuz idt that's happened so far from what i remember abt the other fics lol. just like. prompt: atty does actually give otto the hiccups (accidentally)

Oooooooh. This is very interesting.

First thing I pictured is Atticus deciding in a manic moment of inspiration that it would be the perfect time for a tickle fight.

Otto's all like "You do not know who you're dealing with. I'm pretty much the tickle fight champion, buddy! Have you seen these arms and legs?"

Somehow Atticus' strategy of kicking like a dead bug as they attack his tummy with vigor is successful. But they stop when they feel and see Otto hiccuping as he begs them to stop for a minute so he can catch his breath. That was NOT the intention.

He's doing these big, fast, double-syllable hiccups as he tries to breathe in between them on the floor while Atty is covering their mouth.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay?!" they ask.

"Yeah HUPKA! yeah I-HMPKA! I'm okay. Just HUMPK'L!HULKMKA! just gimm-HU'MP! gimme a HU'UCK!HU'MPK sec!"

Atticus just lays down next to him on the floor and puts a hand on his stomach and rubs it as it jiggles relentlessly trying to ignore their arousal. When Otto catches his breath but it still hiccuping like crazy he shoots them a grin.

"You wanna HUPKAH! wanna do HUP'HUP! something?" Otto flirts.

"Dude, I just killed you?!" Atticus exclaims.

"Bet I can HUP'K!-I can k-HU'UCK!HUP'M!-kill y-OOP! back more HRP'UH!HMP'K!HIIILP!-uh." And he places Atticus' hand on his stomach with more intention.

Cue the CW: Arousal and CW: Acting on Arousal tags.

Cause I really do think Otto loves arousing his spouse. Like so much. And even though he wasn't expecting to get hiccups, he is all in on some smexy adjacent time with the significant other.

On the other hand, I did have a small story in my brain where Atticus accidentally hits on one of Otto's emotional triggers and he cries so hard he develops some deep and slightly painful hiccups that Atticus soothes away with head petting and chest massage while he's lying on their lap.

That one I think Atticus would feel guilty for triggering the emotional response and for the hiccups that followed.

Bit of a good/bad balance, I think.

[pndnj]

Cathartic- Yellow Metal Lyrics

Heres where I am with the lyrics, I referenced @25Goldenn on twitter for some of it that I couldn’t comprehend. 

*music*

0:23

Dark matter, like painted splatters, they fit better, the old saying, the way it goes, better the devil you do then you don’t know. I hit pedals and switch levers, my heart metal, I can't settle, im part trouble, they are not subtle. I fuck good so fuck cuddles, burst bubbles the thrist levels at new heights, i down doubles, and got baked til I felt high, my face puzzled, felt muddled, far strung and your floors woodent, the thought might but the fit wouldn’t. A fortnight

0:46 - 1:00

And I thought right, it’s all bark and no bite, I’m Tony Stark still embarking on a dream, took a bit of time to take darkness from the team. Seen what I saw. Heartless on the sleeve. Tried to burn my wings, so I put them in a piece on my chest , at peace no rest.

1:00-1:15

Flipped this on it’s head. Rip the script up now, flip it don’t pretend, slipping shit again, Fakers all around me, I’ve been living in pretense. Fake friends won’t make amends. There’s no need, these mean comments control the scenes. Attentionseekers, the spine is weakened

1:15-1:24

This family needs, what a family needs, and the planet bleeds, the damaged trees. It’s never leaving til we ascend so fuck the fence, and until they stop killing colour it’s fuck the feds.

1:22 - 1:44

You must be off it, I mean it, you know you ain’t never get with the judging and I used to dread growing my beard too long, never felt I belonged, but it's really long like a minute I ain’t looking to no mans for the limits, They’re feeling timid, I’m telling them who they mimic, why they don't look like a clinic …. Why they don't get no women, Still, we’re just fucking girls, Lost in the wrong world, Jurassic, now to this vermin

1:41-  1: 50

Kicking the game I’m serving, these losers are never learning, my fire is forever burning, adding it to my fuel, seems like I’m always focused on never becoming you, These locals that rob us feeling … was for a reason.

1:52-2:02

I’m seeing my new beginnings, watch out this loser’s winning, and no water is too deep to swim in Like I’m about to see a killing, I’m all the way that and living, flawless and feeling lawless, the prison now to the gimmicks, my vision is set to something,

2:03-:2:20

I’m watching you bitches plummet, no matches here for my cunning, you rappers are feeling done in, switching your genre, running and Running your jaw, stunting, pulling at straws, something  I think you’re a poor effort, deaf and tone deaf and I ain’t treat you separate. Living, I’m in my element, riding it like a … never lose me to fentanyl, scared when I take a benadryl. Keeping it green in general

2:20- 2:46

Think that you remain irrelevant. Look at yourself with reverence, hoping to always elevate. Celibate of these thoughts, killing themselves with sedatives. In comparison to eminem, you’re feeling feminine. Impolitically correct, still dropping on my dick. And I never gave a fuck about what they say abt my shit, I’ve been moving things in my mind like it’s this mountain dew Memories have made me wonder if one day I’m after you. What’s the purpose that you do, is what you're hoping that they learn, i’d like to say i’m done but it’s getting up on my nerves

2:46 -2:55

I’m looking at my life, saying what do I deserve. It’s hard to say I know when I’m walking through the dirt. Talking while you’re nothing I can see for what it’s worth. I’m tired of feeling hurt and I’ve tried enough but nothing works.

2:55-3:40

I’m racking up excuses while I’m slacking off on work. Chit chatting is the usual, talking to this clerk, i beg you don’t include me. I might write it on my shirt so everytime they see me, the oldest know to swerve. SWERVE Life is potent, bits of fucked shit… till they took notice weren’t  no hocus pocus, it was hard work that got me heard so i put in the graph like google maps but the whole earth

… around my door mat, taking over like the drones, rolling dirt up in miles like the water, and exploding like Annas hematoma. Don't need to see a slammer to know that I don't want to go man

I’m a showman. I’m just focused on the drama… like i’ve got my own insurance, show myself the pain, like i boxed it in the frame, if we’re about to talk greatness im great, the way you have to say my name like beyonce

“Say my name”

4:00-4:46

Just a bum with a cigarette, sun coming up, all my thoughts on the internet. Feeling deep, I’m just bored with the silhouette single sec,  get fucked up for the thrill of it . killer streak playing Pacman. Like I came from the Philippines vanilla bean still a thing for the thrill of scene,

Theres a beam, UFO, Leave it well alone  I aint moving, stood still on the peloton, telephone and its always on the dial tone,  it's been a while since i’ve smiled at a milestone, seen a big pile in my mind stone, me against the world on my Jack Jones, Like I’m John Jones, With pictures in the condo, far from John Doe, in the ___, like I'm Johnny Bravo, got pravado, with a small dick sitting in golados, feeling far gone, cuz that last hit was the good shit, was that stay lit

4:48-5:02

You can never take my shit come and get me. On the top floor,  cloud 9, fading, never bailing, felt amazing, inhaling, til my lungs two guns blazing. Overcome all the stunts that I pulled. A suit of just skin and then wool

5:02- 5:17

This life doesn’t give you no armour, a lot of myself can harm ya. I swear on what’s good, that I’m here till they take me. I pray that I’m wrinkled, at least over 80, and start moving like a ruler, ?damaged? Like a computer going fast, bars from the jeweler, bring the songs to the beach in hopes of finding tuna

5:18-5:36

…

5:36- 6:16

Grab a bat, lose my rag. Couple things got me mad, a couple people got me wrong and now I’m changing up the swag. Coming in and stealing it, I might take the whole bag. Feeling undefeated, I’m a beast with a reason, and imma lead the whole pack. Fearless like I’m Caesar, I’m just waiting for a chance to fill it up with diesel, and all I've been achieving is clocking miles in its region, moving like a legion.

Promise that I made to myself an allegiance. Do you still believe I’m a fool for ever leaving, staring at the ceiling, can never put a cap on achieving. I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving.

I’ve had about enough of being my own enemy, it’s time I grew up,  a long way from 17. Always went against the grain, struggles in my life. Got some things to say when I stand up on a mike.

6:16-6:32

I ain’t dropping this for fame, I need this time, like therapy, it’s just to keep me sane. The truth is on my medicine, can’t put that on your plate.

Speeding into everything, bout time I fixed the brakes. Don’t say I can’t communicate , you know I conversate with you in several different ways. And I know you know it’s references, looking at your face.

6:33- 6:53

Can’t justify mistakes, like every man that made them, seems I ain't  the one to blame. Lying to myself, only had so much to gain, so now I’m switching up the plate, see if that affects the place, im at on most days

I ain’t going with the usual so they looking at me strange. Confused, I can feel it all,  I’m here to make a change. It’s cold at 3am outside, I’m walking with the dog, thanking god that you don’t talk at all, my mind is switching off

6:54-7:12

Driving down to find myself, cuz I’ve been getting lost, lived this selfless life and found I can give a toss. Lessons that I’ve learned I’ve tried teaching to myself. What I’ve learnt from certain people is that they’re better than myself.

So I surround myself with real ones, and you feel the plastic melt. Like burning toy soldiers that used to go up on the shelf. Recycle the ideas, conveying on the belt

7:14-7:29

.. circus, always hurting the way we felt? Embarrassed that we dreamt of bigger things and letting go of notions till we feel them in cement

Tired of only hoping, we feel broken men. Cuz the gravity is weight and has kept us to the ground, see the only people speaking with favors in their mouths

7:46-7:58

Got killer rhymes… no fillers, like godzilla, eating clouds cuz my smokes thicker, throat licker, my dope sicker, bringing people their hope like im the pope slicker,  i hope you’re getting the point cuz i walk quicker

I thought my city was shit bcs I want bigger like my zipper couldn’t zip up fed up with the…my love is fickle.. Residual age has a primitive face

I see demise for your limited ways, Left it to simmer, simmer away…a fake glimmer in the haze

8:09-8:11

Feeling trapped this industry is a cage

8:34-8:50

Nobody’s speaking the truth, I’m offended by the State. Look at the state of the news, I’ve decided the argument, reciting my views, while they’ve been sat in their chairs, I’m feeling pressure to choose.

Standing here as one man, how can I do half when you’re half the person I am. If it wasn’t in your life, you didn’t choose it. It’s the funny thing about music. It’s the pain and beauty of it.

8:52-9:11

Don’t give a fuck what my suit is, it looks good so I wear it, better than the shoot that People’s wearing, changing the whole narrative for these basics and scarcity

Been facing the racists from back when i were a kiddie .born up in in 93’. been living in Bradford City..kicked me out of the schools, they had a problem with me hitting the kids that would call me p*** still sitting in the classroom chilling, and i'm angry now that I’m older I see they treat us different

9:12-9:25

got me thinking I’m the problem cuz they never dealt with those issues.

20 years later I’m still in the same boat, tryna treat me like my grandpa, say I came up off the boat. Came to tell you what I stand for, man I think you’re shit, a joke. How can I be civil, when they got me by the throat

9:25-9:35

Pushing my feelings down, you ain’t got it like them

‘Boy your skin is so light’, ok motherfucker take my name up on a flight. Try to convince immigration that your bloodline’s half white.

9:35-9:45

I don’t know how that’s acceptable, when life is more susceptible to perception, be the death of them. I’ve been looking at the sky saying where’s that day of reckoning, you had your prophets right when they say that you would speak to them.

9:45-9:55

I need justice in this life and I trust that it’s my fight, cuz when I’m writing it feels right to have them focused on the facts again. Focused on the rap again, hoping for the change, gunna put this on the map again

9:55-10:16

Writing in all caps again, the pain, it goes through me so I write the letter. All the shit that could have brought me but made me better.

I’m at home with a pain in my soul , yeh rap… cuz you know I was too real to contest it, my time was invested. Now I look at the industry, I see it infested, looking like kids who would write on nesquik.

10:17-10:29

My name ain’t on the list unless they label it ethnic.

I ain’t never gave a fuck about these jokers and jesters. Ain’t no answers for these things, so just save us the questions, man allowed of violence, cuz my silence is deafening, your opinion stinks, somebody get him a breath mint.

10:30- 10:42

Start to understand why they think that I’m threatening, I move in certain ways, couldn’t slow me with ketamine Now they all wanna hear me, got a table at letterman. Direction changed, like I changed up the lettering. Don’t believe the age ,bcs I move like a veteran.

10:42 - 10:47

Raised on the benefit for whose benefit, they’ll never learn shit, man, if the shoe fits.

…no words coming out when you open your mouth

And to be honest, it’s insulting, offensive to my wounds that have been salting. Tryna ask me questions that they know I never answer. I’d rather sit online and reply to the fan art

11:00-11:06

Fuck a sports car, coming through when i rapped

tell you what I like, farm life and the tractor

11:06- 11:17

Fake life, 'sup online, suck a fat one. You don’t wanna buy into that, none of that son. Sitting in the garden 98’ in the Datsun,  seen some hot summers but I still remember that sun.

*music*

11:51- 12:34

I make millions off of my pain, cause I know a few millions still living that way

Dealing with the hurt, they should know cause they don’t deserve it, it hit deep cause i hit the nerve. Only way that the sheep learn if the street firm, in my ways I don’t wanna change, everything just stay the same

Who you tryna convince you understand, cant maintain, let the lights dim some,  get the Chow Mein, flex, get the tape, right up at night

Why these men be nice to my face, be nice,  i ain’t tryna be a gangsta ruins my vibe

Rather be low-key and on my phone. Never need the trophy or the show piece

Never show peace in a North Face fleece. Show kids this like i wrote my flip

Cause the sign might fit till the start i’m sick

12:37-13:05

Now you see where I come from, the world don’t. Only achievement in this life is the Jordans. Committing petty crimes out of boredom, we can’t afford them. So I stole it, need a rolex

Go make sense, get yourself a job, It’s a poor man’s game tryna sit and pray to god, he ain’t sorting out your problems, gotta sort them out yourself

Used to tell us fables, now I’m writing them myself, Cause we raw like animals we all just need some help

Cathartic, I’m an artist, trying to put my heart in

Felt double crossed like Leo in Departed

13:05- 13:27

For the knowledge i’m not charging see I got it all free

But my hunger kept me starving like i’m feening for the feed

I just Need a reason to see me bleeding for my creed. Trick you with the words like I keep em up my sleeve. Picking where I fit, I see me sitting with the queen

I ain’t doing it unless you’re used to saying please

Let me flow a bit, before I sting 'em with the bees, They tryna kill us with disease

(Music)

13:34- 14:12

Why does it feel like they had the same notebook and the same four looks

Like the rain won't touch on their face, so sus when they lie don’t trust not a minor

Please no fuss, I just move through the game like must

Something in the way i adjust till i stick, Free falling like the ship, free fall till i bust

Remember 21 brother gave no fucks. Trying to project when they give them looks

In the projects, in the objects us

In my own way, never gave me love, shoulda never started this, broken hearted kid

Dried up the feeling till I stole the lid

Don’t wanna relish in the fame but I can’t resist

14:46-14:58

I like the way we feel, I like the way, I like the way

Ain’t no mistake, i am a being

I ain’t tryna be a leader, been selling out since Jesus

All my rhymes are for the readers, between the lines, like Father time, I fuck Mother Nature

14:58-15:40

That’s what they get, the connotations. Tell 'em I lived a life, and then I lived a life of adjacent? like its…. and played it patient.

Alone on my own spaceship, always tryna find greatness, still defying lines, but I’m fighting in my prime.

Shining light like Kylo while imma kill it all the time. Aging like I’m wine

Asian in my face, but still my race you can’t define. Focused on defiance, imma fight it while it’s life.

Started something sick and on my mind is what’s next, just became a dad so now I’m taking all the cheques. Better know I’m staying and paying like it’s debt. Imma get it done, if it’s taking all my breath, sweat, and down I ain’t messing around til I’m the best

Speaking in full sentences, shoulda thought about a strategy before you went at the stratosphere about this… rings around Saturn, this ain’t a battle, I’m sat, I’m here

15:40-16:22

Catch me doing magic, hired and sounding tragic I think you could use practice and until that you get the blacklist and pull like a … actress? Fooling them like a catfish, schooling like a legend, happy to be the reference, fusing like iridescence, leaving them all guessing, leaking out of my brain like a pipe I aint fixing, shining like a star you can see it from a distance

Aint many of me around p*** I’m just different Certain stages to this level aint here because fame is to the devil fuck a label, imma do this from the ghetto, clean up like Im Dettol

I’m the man to put a bet on, sight smart like a weapon,  this is my kind of setting, i write the world I’m sat in, while these others live on hype, i see them fight in how they type, the fruit is ripe for the taking, i think i might

16:22-16:57

Let me take you away from here, Let me take you away from here, Let me take you away from here

16:58- 17:47

Eccentric things are mentioned like a kid stuck in detention tryna escape im just spitting what is written on the next page, spitting image of my dad in his young days

Born sinner when i’m livid i say fucks sake

Don’t worry i’m too cunning with no plumbing, the waterworks, i sung something that resonates, i thought it first like giving birth to the parrot perch

They see me do it and they know it works

Don’t know what’s worse: the way that you live your life or the way that you write a verse

You’ll be nervous, you don’t deserve it we’ll scratch the surface ill leave a crater, lift the dirt up to find the hurting

Can’t know for certain nothing is guaranteed, tryna be a better person than the world deserves to see cuz i see a lot of sharks still swimming in the sea

Cease and arrest what’s the reason.. And these the kinda kids we bringing up next

Distorted reality, all they needed was family, too hard to face, to see what the damage is

17:47

*i don’t wanna be, i don’t wanna be, a part of this, no, i don’t wanna be, i don’t wanna be, a part of this, *

18:04-18:38

Sometimes they ask the questions too deep to form a sentence, to disform, is this the norm, is this the sentence i feel defenseless i played the setlist, and all my sweat blood and tears, forgot to mention feeling lost, going off into different sections i feel like love wrecked it

If it’s not a drug why am i waiting for the next fix, affected, i cant believe that you left this

I guess I leave for the best wish, moving on like im fine for the lectures

We see it all from spectrums, cuz if we’re falling down we can fall down together

Staircase to heaven, mirror down the middle like 11, resentment on one side it won’t settle

18:38- 19:14

Mind fried but taking sense, they aint got a sense of themselves in the rich ends

Need to spell it out for them.. Made for them so witness

I know you feel afflicted but you always love it with me while im laughing at you, ya think you’re laughing with me

I try to (i love you) but im grown so they don’t fit me, my body thrown from the new to this old city so Im sick of sitting on my own, feeling so shitty, i’ve been on roads where its cold and the snow hitting

Its okay to be yourself, sit and talking to myself

I’ve been walking for the longest, just need a little rest, know i ain’t the strongest, I can feel it in my chest, talking about my feelings and of me, they get the best

19:14-19:59

They aint leaving, seeing breathing in my breath

Till death do us part is just seeded in my heart, like a work of art

Never winning,im just scared

Cant begin from the start, do i play a part in the rhythm of the night

I guess i’m onto something cuz the dark is feeling right

Every cloud got a lining, put my own miles  in, like moralis, figured that they’re jealous, that they could just never tell us to change because the weather never made me question whether or not i’m not that level

Got rid of all the bullshit sitting in my way, most of them are full of shit i see it every day

I do hearing the same things that i do, maybe that shits hitting like haiku

How much do you pay for them to hype you

Recycle your flaws but they aint like new, leaving and conceded and full of diesel like engines that need a cleaning, the ending will be revealing. Even though we ain’t raising the facts, now we been facing.

20:01-20:52

The cactus with spikes, needing spaces. Different faces, the same story. A full body like straight body direct to your system.

Could never tell 'em we missed’ em. Not even with the thoughts, we gift them. Cuz they just take advantage, guess we are caught in a system.

My soul pouring out details of borrowed time, had enough of a fill, this is for sorrow time. I’m seeing visions of Heaven, I seen the severed line, between the gospel they speak and when theyre telling lies.

Remember telling a friend of mine, you’d sent of mine, identified like a 3rd eye. Got a habit of knowing now where the dirt lies. So benign. I ain’t sober after 9, so I fuck their minds. Why you flipping out, see another

Try to rep it from the city, fuck a chiller crew, repping for the nittys, trying to keep us down, raised on the social, don’t want to let us out of the system. Me, I insist we assist them, me alone putting shifts til I lift them

20:53-21:12

I know it’s hard, that’s why I like it, I’m fit to fight it, I’m from the North, I’m backing Tyson, it’s been decided, don’t see no light. They needing guiding, just redefining, realizing, I’m realigning, in full finance, they stay silenced.

Can’t be louder, I’m juiced up with no powder. I fix shit like a slick spanner. Gone green like Bruce Banner. So free Gaza on my banner

21:12-21:51

The real McCoy, I ain’t nothing to toy with, signifying peace like a Japanese Koi Fish. How did this happen, we’re moving backwards in our timeline, killing us with cyanide, Right up for the freedom 'til we transform like Ironhide

This is bout my feelings, the way that I move affects the fate that I’m sealing. Can’t say nothing, with that something being on the page, kept inside the pen like the bars that have been kept caged. See I always had a plan, since I was young, we had nothing man

Now it’s been a few years since I ain’t seen the fam, on foreign lands. Bout to climb Everest in the avalanche. Right into the riddles as soon as you were born. Never asking the question cuz it’s the norm. See I’m in a questionin’ session

21:52-22:03

Like the manner got a method to teaching a lesson, listen to MF Doom, he taught me like Ra’s Al Ghul. Felt like living in Gotham, the people were rotten. Still we play cartoons so it’s never forgotten.

22:03-22:15

Chilling at the top but we came from the bottom. Writing and jottin for them life by, spotting the difference

*Dreams, was growing out of me, sun promising that tomorrow it will rise, time playing games with my mind, I swear it will pass us by

Train goes on the tracks, smoke, I’m tired to hide my thoughts, so blinded in flames, Don’t know where we’re going, I have no way of knowing, only see what’s in my head

Can’t we wait a minute, so we can savour this, It’s on my brain again, these days, It on my brain again these days”

23:10-23:46

They’re hating on Palestine ways, The oh no Palace playing Prince on the Steinway, Sending out mind waves, stop them like crimewaves, Freedom fighter, Yellow Metal is my name

Like vipers, I see the sly ones, the snake that’s called Biden, none of them abiding what they might put in writing

We should be used to it by now, say whatever for the vote and then just choose another route, say they’d never kill another unless that brother’s skin is brown

I’m just telling you the facts, if you can’t take it, the truth naked, to bare bones and my thoughts lately, spitting politics.. Done ain’t it, Shit just gets me vexed, and now I’m sitting that I think of it

23:45-23:59

Feeling on the brink of it, whatever it is, Figure out some shit at least it feels that way

talk about my feelings and I don’t feel so strange, finding solace, that’s a promise, in Metropolis but being honest, can’t write a sonnet, without some pain

24:00-24:40

Can’t fade away, away so we can savour this, been on my brain again these days

Can't find a way to be so you can savour this, been on my brain these days

Singing the song for another, singing a song for another

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 6)

Previously...

they don't talk for quite a while after crossing the river into tennessee. lena needs some time to process this new information, and kara seems to sense this need. the blonde goes back to staring solely at the road ahead, occasionally tapping little rhythms on the steering wheel and humming little songs under her breath -- though she'll often stop herself, as if she thinks that lena needs complete and utter silence to sort her feelings out.

lena doesn't. she can appreciate the humming, even -- kara has a lovely voice and carries a tune well, and the distraction is a welcome one from the complete mess she's trying to unravel in her mind. it creates a soothing pace to the crops and occasional cows speeding last lena's window, almost lulls her to sleep despite her tangled lines of thought.

it's late afternoon and the sun is going low, low, low in the sky when kara finally says something.

"there's a motel a few miles ahead. we'll stop there for the night," she says, but then she quirks her head towards lena briefly, eyes hopeful. "if that's ok with you, i mean."

lena stops staring through the passenger window for a moment -- she's been looking at miles and miles of crops and farmland as far as the eye can see, and her eyes are beginning to glaze over.

"of course."

she studies kara’s expression, wondering why she’s suddenly giving her any sort of say at all on where they’re going. kara just looks ahead, maybe a little sheepishly. 

“ok, then.” 

the motel is… well, it’s a motel; it’s not any nicer than any of the other ones they’ve stayed at recently, but it’s also not any worse, either. they check into a single room -- kara rarely has lena out of her sight, minimizes those occasions as much as she possibly can -- but on the way there, the blonde spots a payphone, right by the corner of the building, and shoots lena a look. 

“do you mind if i…?” she doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t need to; she simply cocks her head towards the payphone expectantly. 

“go ahead,” lena says, trying to give her a heartfelt smile for… encouragement, maybe? she doesn’t know if she succeeds, but kara smiles back earnestly and turns on her heel to walk briskly to the phone, hand already reaching into the pocket of her jeans for another roll of coins. 

the keycard takes a few tries to unlock the door, but eventually the lock clicks and lena practically stumbles in, dropping her worn duffel on the floor, right there by the entrance, onto a rug with some questionable stains. she feels exhausted, mentally and physically drained to a degree she can’t recall ever experiencing before. 

it’s been hard, lately, to get her thoughts in order, but lena suspects that’s nothing to be too surprised about. she’s used to compartmentalizing--it’s one of her talents-- but right now the knowledge that alex danvers is the one hunting her fills her with dread. even if alex knows her sister is alive (she was the one to revive kara after all, according to kara herself), she still doesn’t know that kara is essentially harboring a fugitive. she still thinks lena is running out of her own volition. 

she still thinks lena meant to kill kara. 

that thought doesn’t mix well with the multitude of other worries swimming in her head, at the moment, doesn’t sit well in her chest and makes her stomach curl uncomfortably into knots. 

lena’s not so out of it that she misses kara’s fumbling with the lock, but she does almost miss the look of defeat in the blue gaze once kara finally gets the keycard to cooperate. 

kara sinks into one of the chairs by the little table in the corner, sighing audibly as her whole body seems to deflate. 

“no luck?” lena tries, and kara shakes her head in the negative. 

“nope,” she murmurs, popping the ‘p’ as she digs little shapes onto the cheap wood of the table with her nails. “nothing yet.” 

lena nods--she’s not sure what to say, here. she’s a little conflicted on how she should feel about kara finally getting in touch with alex--part of her wants answers, but a much bigger part of her is terrified of an agent danvers on the warpath. she knows alex would move heaven and earth for kara, no question about it, but with lena in the picture?

she’s not so certain what the reaction would be. she’s not sure she wants to find out. 

“are you hungry?” kara asks, breaking her grimmer trains of thought. “i grabbed a flyer for a pizza place nearby--looks like they do delivery. personally, i think we could use a break from the cup noodles.”

lena smiles a little. “i haven’t had so much instant ramen since college, i think.” 

kara laughs, and it sounds so...so free, unreserved, so alien to their current predicament, it’ almost easy for lena to join in, too. it’s not even a funny comment, not a particularly snarky observation, but for some reason they’re both having a small giggle fit and it feels good, cathartic even, to be sharing a laugh with kara again. 

“well,” kara quips, yanking the crumpled flyer out of her pocket and smoothing it over the tabletop, “i don’t think tey have that fancy kale monstrosity you liked to order at gino’s, but at least it’ll be better than instant ramen, right?” 

“right,” lena chuckles. “just… get me something with at least a vegetable in it, for the love of god.”

kara makes a face, but she’s still smiling as she reaches for the phone. “as you wish, as you wish,”  she says dramatically, muttering there’s no accounting for taste, really and tutting under her breath while she dials. 

lena smiles--wide and real, she can even feel her eyes crinkling at the corners--as she listens to kara rattle off their order (three large pepper--you know what, better make that four--four large pepperoni pies, wait, no, extra large, and then…) and, unbidden, her mind seems to get stuck on a different time, an entirely different reality, when she and kara would just… order pizza (though kara limited her order to two large pizzas back then), watch movies, and just talk about everything and nothing until the sun came up. 

lena misses that peace. 

kara seems to be in the same wavelength; she has a wistful look on her face once she hangs up, as if she’s reading lena’s mind, experiencing the same brand of nostalgia in the same moment. 

lena has to break it; it’s too painful to wallow in it. “kara? can I ask you a question?” 

“Hm?” kara hums distractedly, craning her neck to look at lena’s direction with a little smile. “just one?” 

“wel. no, not just one,” lena admits, trying to organize her thought again. there’s just so much she wants to ask, so much she needs to know, and she’s not sure where to start.

kara just waits, her gaze unwavering. 

“back in national city,” lena starts, picking a lane and sticking with it, so to speak. “ when you… when you died… when alex brought you back… who exactly brought me to you? it couldn’t have been alex, if she doesn’t know i’m with you.” 

kara looks pensive for a moment, steepling her fingers over her thigh. “what do you remember?” 

lena has struggled with precisely that for the past couple of weeks. the truth is, the time between watching supergirl drop like a rock from the skies and being shoved into the jeep with a kara that was very much alive is a complete blank.

“pretty much nothing after you fell,” lena answers honestly, and she looks to kara for an explanation for this significant gap in her memory, but finds nothing. “but then… someone took me from somewhere and suddenly… and there you were. who was that?” 

for some unfathomable reason, kara looks amused. “oh,”  she chuckles like she can’t help it. “that was nia.”

lena can feel her own eyes bugging out. “nia?? are you telling me nia nal put a bag over my head and basically kidnapped me?” 

kara snorts. “that’s exactly what i’m telling you.”  she turns serious, suddenly, and her lips tighten into a line for a moment. “alex prepared the jeep and a few supplies, but nia had a dream--a vision that she wouldn’t explain. she just told me to take you with me, and I wasn’t about to argue.” 

lena can’t lie to herself, she’s a little hurt, but definitely not surprised, that bringing her along had not been kara’s intention. she chooses not to dwell on it -- there’s already far too much to dwell on. “oh,”  she says instead, looking for words. “what happened between the time you were… recovering and the time we ran off? was i not…” lena stops, struggling to remember but drawing nothing more than a blank. “was i not arrested or something?” 

it occurs to lena that she has no idea how much time it took kara to recover, or what happened to her while alex nursed her sister back to life. she can’t explain how kara survived; she can’t explain what happened between her fall and their escape, she can’t explain how lex hasn’t found them yet. 

kara can only shrug her shoulders. “i don’t know. alex sent me to the jeep’s location the minute i was well enough to not need the sunlamps; when i got there, nia was already there with you. didn’t exactly have the time to argue--lex would definitely find out i was alive if i stayed in national city.” 

“ain’t that the truth,” lena quips bleakly. a thought occurs to her. “frankly, i’m surprised he doesn’t know. he owns the DEO in this reality.”

“thank rao for small miracles,” kara mutters. “we sure need them, the way things are going.”

another thought occurs to lena--she thinks back to the past few days, but more specifically, to mere minutes ago, when kara was gouging faint little marks on the wood of the table with her nails--something so trivial, something she used to do herself as a child, bored and anxious at boarding school-- and she realizes with sudden clarity that there’s a lot that she can’t explain--but one thing seems to stick out, glaringly.

“kara,” she says, trying to add up the days in her head and not liking what she comes up with at all. “it’s been at least two weeks, right?” 

kara nods, looking grim as if she knows exactly what lena is about to ask. “give or take, yeah.” 

lena’s question comes out as a statement, and at the exact same time someone knocks on their door, startling them both. 

“and you still don’t have your powers.”

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

<< Previous || Next >>

[vampiremourning]

more on katerina but this one is markedly Not Safe for workplaces. lmao.

i'm also thinking about kat & subspace lmao. nothing super specific mostly just about how happy & safe she would have to feel to get to that point & the sheer volume of Trust that would need to be built up but god. thinking about how absolutely vulnerable & trusting & adoring the look in her eyes would be has me Fucked Up i tell u ! she's got herself in a little self-imposed castle of touch starvation rn she would be unbelievably physically affectionate in that headspace. 

like one of her fave activities is literally just hanging out on the floor w her head in nines' lap just being physically close (and probably getting those good light scratches on her head ghgj you know the ones that give some people asmr lmao). she does not respond to degradation well At All lmfao but praise? whew boy. absolutely melts. i also think she would have like. idk what it’s called. claiming kink? marking kink? whatever the term for it being made clear who she ‘belongs’ to is. she needs to know that she’s wanted. 

also she cries. like, frequently ghgjhk but the Good Cathartic sort (9/10 times anyway when the stimuli doesnt trip over an actual trigger whoops). she’s had quite a few partners who didn’t treat her well--weren’t concerned with her wellbeing or what she wanted, or even if she wanted it in the first place. there’s some ptsd there for sure, and it shows up especially earlier on. a lot of 'oh god yes' and then a cold jerk back to reality & consciousness with 'don't touch me' as one does. she's p good now tho gfhgjh just enjoys tapping out mentally and being blissfully unaware of everything for a bit. 

so she needs to hear nines say that she’s doing good, that she’s being taken care of, needs him to be safe & solid and Present. loses her mind a bit if physical contact is accidentally broken. it’s about feeling like she can rely on someone to help her feel grounded. (i feel like he's lowkey relieved she's not prickly all the time and can actually become pretty pliant once you know the right buttons to push lmao)

though that said she might not react that sweetly to being teased in public but it's certainly gonna get A Reaction eyes emoji. whispers in the ear, 'accidental' touches, god yeah. she's actually lowkey embarrassed by how easy it is to get her worked up lmao but she's pretty good at keeping composure around people (externally gfhgj) 

 if the idea is presented enticingly enough she might even be swayed to use some sort of discreet remote controlled devices iykwim. (i think for that one it would have to absolutely not around people either of them knew gfhgjh no one wants to have the awareness of that being an elephant in the room. like i can’t see nines being down for that if they’re gonna be around the coterie because someone will notice and it Will become awkward.)

another thing that driver her absolutely fucking crazy is being pulled into some corner, kissed & felt up in a frenzy and then Stopping abruptly & having to act like nothing happened. rinse and repeat throughout the night for hours of build up and sweet torture & she’s practically in tears, in pieces and begging for it when they’re finally alone. 

[douxspider]

— 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. (3)

‘ARVIN RUSSELL x READER INSERT’

( spoilers for “the devil all the time” ) — Waking up at Reader's place, we finally get a glimpse at Arvin's POV. Though, while their relationship seems to be moving forward, it seems like the whole 'running away into the sunset' deal only happens in fiction.

+ this is the third part to peachy keen! (ao3 link)

warnings: angst, almost smutty but nothing explicit is written, mentions of murder, preston teagardin lmao, rated mature word count: 4,244 published: 9/24/20 ao3 link — part 1, 2

— — • — — 

When Arvin woke up leaned against you, he felt his face turn into a beet shade of red. Slowly parting from your leaning form on the couch, he rubbed his eye, unaware that he had an actual decent rest in such a cramped position. He hardly ever felt comfortable enough to sleep in his own bed. Usually, attempts at sleep were mostly met with staring at the ceiling blankly, recalling haunting memories on repeat in his head.

His thoughts were blank when he fell asleep. Arvin was met with nothing but the television’s staticy audio and the sound of your quiet breathing.

He looked over to take in your features— what amazing features, he thought— and found his hand carefully creeping to the side of your face to brush the knuckle of a finger near your ear, tucking a strand of hair behind it lovingly.

Arvin loved you.

He knew he shouldn’t— he knew he had no idea what love was— but within the few months spent together, Arvin knew he liked you too much to be calling it ‘liking’ and ‘platonic’.

That one stormy evening alongside memories of beating the hell out of Lenora’s bullies, blood and bruising splattering his knuckles like paint, he needed a place to clear his head. He needed a place that was quiet in every way shape and form. Arvin had been driving with a foggy haze before his eyes had locked onto McCann Boys. Arvin wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t anything, he just needed to sit somewhere other than a damn car where he could swerve into a building and die.

When he stepped in, the immediate smell of sweetness overloaded his senses, and he found himself hesitantly sitting down in a booth, wringing the cloth against his knuckles in a patterned fashion.

Then you approached.

And by God, had you been the prettiest sight to see. If it were on any other day, Arvin would’ve been sure to come up with better words than asking if he had to buy anything.

That’s not how you talk to a pretty face, his father would scold in his head, y’wanna smile at ‘er, and make her feel all sorts of butterflies. Y’gotta make her feel like the only girl in the world, son.

Arvin often had his father’s coaching in his head when it came to things like this. Though, it didn’t really make sense most of the time. His father didn’t live long enough to meet Arvin in his ‘girl phase’. This was more than a phase, he promised himself, looking at your resting form. And my, had the universe been so forgiving of him, making sunlight drawing from blinds rest on your features, highlighting your skin and making you look like a pure, unadulterated angel.

He wanted you.

Arvin bit his bottom lip. He wanted you so bad. He wanted to keep you forever. He wanted to take you away from this lowly place in Ohio and bring you somewhere nice, somewhere with beaches and sunshine, away from disgusting preachers, dried blood and judgmental eyes.

Realizing the first time you went to that church, Arvin could see the way that no-good priest looked at you. He knew what that man did to Lenora. He knew everything. Arvin got up from the couch, his fists turning stark white as he paced towards the apartment door, red building at the sides of his eyes. Arvin had to protect all the girls in town. He had to. For Lenora, for Y/N. He had to go and—

“Arvin?”

Hearing a voice that reminded him of bells, Arvin turned around, seeing you slowly rise up from the couch and looking over to make contact with him. “Where are you going?”

Your sleepy tone was so amiable. Your eyes were so dazed, blinking as you gave a small sniffle, scratching at your shoulder.

“I was…” Arvin trailed off before coming back towards you, kneeling in front of the couch and giving a smile as he took your hand. “I was gonna get you breakfast. As a thank you.” A lie, but it was fine. He was planning on watching the priest. Though, breakfast didn’t sound too bad. Time with you was worth more than anything else. You were all he had, next to his grandmother and uncle.

You smiled. He melted a little inside.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” you murmured as you clutched onto his hand. Your eyes were studious, flitting around his body, and he suddenly felt small. “Are you okay? I’m sorry about the sleeping stuff… if your neck was stiff, I mean, I’d feel bad—”

“Y/N,” Arvin spoke sternly, “that was the best sleep I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your eyes turned round, diluting slightly once they met the sunlight.

Arvin could hear his father’s berating tone in the back of his head. Say it. Be a man. He looked at the ground, holding onto your hand for dear life, uneasily balancing his weight on his knee. Though, Arvin couldn’t say anything. Nothing was coming out. There you were, waiting so patiently, being so patient with him, and he was at a lack for words.

Words wouldn’t fix this. Only action. Action would fix everything, Arvin knew this. He was taught this. He was always better physically expressing his thoughts and feelings than vocally or emotionally.

Releasing one of his hands from yours, he curved one underneath your palm and pulled your soft, untouched knuckles against his lips, giving a kiss. These knuckles have never hurt a soul. This being had never hurt anyone. Arvin would make sure it would stay that way.

He glanced upwards, his cap altering his view slightly, and he could make out the way your cheeks turned a different shade, inviting lips gaping slightly.

Smiling against your skin, Arvin moved his free hand to the top of yours and gazed at you. To his surprise, he watched as your thumb rolled circles against his own. You were smiling, and it was a smile to take in. Oh, it was.

“You’re sweet, Arvin,” you giggled so beautifully and he wanted to listen to his name coming out of your mouth on repeat, “...I kinda want donuts.”

Arvin couldn’t help but give a laugh under his breath at the change of moods. He stood up, continuously holding your hand as he refused to let it go, and said, “Let’s get donuts, then.”

—

He was angry. He was a pot boiling. Staring at Preston from afar, he watched from his car as the man interacted with a female shopowner who was fresh out of highschool. Arvin’s leg bounced within his vehicle, the sun setting, and he continued to survey.

Preston would interact with girls other than his wife. He would bring girls into his car and do unspeakable, unlawful things with them, then proceed to go back to the place he calls home and force himself onto his wife.

Arvin clutched onto the wheel.

While Preston was a horrible man who deserved the worst punishment from all graces of any lord, he found himself growing frustrated. Not even just about Lenora or all the sweet innocence the man took, Arvin found himself growing frustrated at his own damn self.

He would think about Y/N.

No, not doing such acts as those forcefully, imagining the same power dynamic, he would never. He meant it when he said he didn’t hurt girls. Arvin despised the man. He despised him and he wanted him gone. He wanted that man to suffer for what he did to his sister. Though, at points, he would drive up to your apartment and stare at the window that belonged to you. He would lick his chapped lips and his hand would shake as it reached the door handle. Then, Arvin would grow a clear sense of mind, he would receive clarity, and he would drive to the opposite side of town just to avoid even thinking about touching you in such a passionate way.

After a few days, Arvin decided.

He’d have to leave you behind.

He loved you, but he also loved Lenora, and Lenora deserved justice. Arvin could hear her voice already, pleading for him to let it go. To just let the man be. To leave. Do anything else. Settle down with you somewhere far, far away, start a life, start a family. Be free.

“I ain’t ever let anything go, ‘Nora.”

The priest was dead.

Arvin’s blood rushed through his veins as the sun set on the horizon, him zooming through the city streets, eagerly approaching your apartment.

God, it was a thrill. The adrenaline coursing through his veins after watching the damned predator fall onto the church floor bleeding from his wounds was cathartic. It made Arvin’s head whirl and turn dizzy. He had no moral thoughts, he was no longer moral, no longer a man that could be forgiven. Arvin felt the rage that built up within him for years be released with three gunshots, the guilt and agony of being alone and misjudged by any person left behind within the church.

Sitting in the car and hearing the blinker click at him, he turned it off once pulling into the lot. He took off his cap, carding his fingers through his hair, debating if he was really going to let you go.

Y/N offered a future he couldn’t take. It hurt more than anything.

Arvin glanced up at your patio, seeing you move from behind the window. You were only a silhouette. You were yet to be discovered by him in this manner, this new Arvin Russell. You wouldn’t recognize him, he thought, he wouldn’t recognize you.

It would be a completely different take on his life. He was no longer himself. Was he better, or worse? Was he a criminal, or a vigilante? Arvin didn’t know what to do. It hadn’t set in yet that he was no longer only capable of beating bullies shitless. He was so much more than that. He was more.

Arvin could do anything.

It was dark out. He finally found the courage to yank open the door handle and step out of his car. He didn’t bother to lock it, he had nothing to lose.

Entering the apartment’s doors, smelling various spices of cooking or hearing children laughing from very muffled walls, Arvin found himself stomping up the steps, his heart beating against his ribs uneasily.

Staring at the room, noticing that the others around were vacant, Arvin could just about do anything. No one would know.

He clenched his fists a few times before finally knocking on the door with his knuckles. It was like the first time you two had met, his very knuckles expressing his pain and anguish, and you read onto the signs of a lonely man seeking solace. Arvin was still bruised and broken; just not in any place where you could see it.

You opened the door, and your mouth opened before closing abruptly. Arvin knew he must’ve looked like he just killed someone. Well, he did, but you didn’t know about that.

Arvin wanted you. Though, he’d be careful, you were the one delicate thing in his life. He had to treat you with care. He had to treat you so gently this night, for it would be your last with him.

Taking a step inside, he moved his hand up and cupped your cheek, moving his thumb— once holding a gun used to kill— so that it wiped gingerly beneath your bottom lip. Your jaw fidgeted slightly as you were attempting to find words. Though, your hand didn’t disagree with his actions. Instead, it met the back of his palm, planted gently on top of his own hand that held your cheek.

Confident, Arvin moved in closer and pulled you towards him, meeting your lips with his. You made a soft noise in your throat and it set Arvin’s mind on fire. Flames danced between your faces, and he felt you eagerly kiss back, your arms snaking across his shoulders as he found himself kicking the door with the back of his heel to close it shut.

Your hands found themselves on the surface of his head and pushing off his cap to knot fingers in his hair. Arvin didn’t even care. His body was burning underneath your touch as he found himself pressing you against the nearest flat surface, which was your dining room table that held a vase with hand picked flowers resting inside and a sweet floral mat keeping it level. You were so adorable, he swooned in his head, you were so precious to him and oh so good. You’re so good.

Wife material, Arvin’s head was screaming, he wanted to steal you away and marry you. You were lifted onto the mahogany table, Arvin’s tongue swiping at your bottom lip. You were so good, submitting your mouth to him, letting him roam the inside and clutch onto your hips so tightly it could bruise. Feeling your soft, untouched, blessed hands clutch onto his belt line had him push his pelvis closer to yours.

“Arvin—” you attempted, but he wouldn’t let you. No, he wouldn’t let you worry. You didn’t need to worry about anything, not with him around. He was your protector, he would keep you safe, he wouldn’t let you die or leave. He wouldn’t let you be hurt by anyone. Thinking about keeping you close to him in his arms, just this close, making you sigh from pleasure as Arvin plastered kisses down your jaw and to your neck to test the waters of what made you quiver; it was enough to drive him insane.

He found his teeth scraping at your flesh and you gasped, arching your body upwards and he felt your hips grind against his middle. It made him give out a guttural growl of need.

“Arvin, wait— wait, honey, stop—”

Arvin didn’t want to. Though, he would, just for your sake. He lifted his head up to meet yours, and once you made eye contact with him, your expression changed from flustered to concerned. Nurturing. Your hand met his cheek, your thumb gently rubbing itself underneath his eye, and he moved a hand to hold your wrist and gently kiss your palm.

Your voice was so soft, so sweet, as if you raised it any further it would blow Arvin away. “What’s going on?”

He wanted to tell you everything. You were so kind, you were everything, you were the sun and stars and sky. Nuzzling into your hand, he murmured, “Nothin’...”

“It’s clearly something if you come into my apartment and start kissing me like this, Russell,” you spoke, his last name strong in your city accent. Your voice was so stern, so dead set on uncovering him, and Arvin gazed at you, still high from revenge and loving you.

He hesitated. Arvin pinched his lips together, licking them faintly, still tasting your lip scrub on them.

Your warm hands met his burning face, handling them so sweetly. “You don’t need to give me specifics,” you started, “...just give me something, Arvin, so I know you’re in your right mind.”

Your name made his eyes flutter shut, nudging his nose against yours. “Say m’name like that again, sweet girl…”

“Arvin.” Your tone was more of a warning. It pulled him back from the sea of desire.

Arvin sighed, mumbling, “I had a revelation, darlin’…” his thumb rolled circles into your wrist, “I had a good day… ‘m a free man, Y/N. I wanna share this with you.” He opened his eyes to see you gazing at him so sweetly. “Let me have this night with you, pretty girl. I wanna make you feel as good as me. I’m sober, I promise, ‘m just intoxicated by the thought of you.”

“Such a flirt,” you whispered against his lips, and he felt himself smirking.

“Only for you.”

Your beautiful, reflective eyes stared into his. Then, they shut, and you moved your head forward to slowly encapture his lips. Arvin was more than eager to requite this. Fervor filled his loins as he clutched your thigh once it was squeezing against his side.

“Sweet baby girl,” he whispered into your ear, “Can we move this to your bed?”

—

When Arvin woke up, he had never felt more exhausted. He was hit with a newfound clarity. There was a soft gray shade leaking from the windows, and he squinted at the clock from across the room— wiping the fogginess from his eyes— and took notice that it was in the early hours of five a.m. Arvin went to move, but was barricaded by something clinging to his side.

His eyes were round as saucers as he took a hold of your nude bodies entangled.

Flushed, he quickly whipped his head back ahead, staring at the ceiling.

The confidence he had last night was almost embarrassing. Though, he licked his teeth and looked back to you, his fingers carding through your hair. Your hair was so soft to the touch, so perfect for someone like you, never missing the latest trends.

Arvin gave a hum of contentment, taking in your features in the early morning. Last night was full of unbridled desire, a fervor that the both of you had been bottling up for who knows how long. Perhaps, since that rainy day in the bakery, there had been that weird spark that compelled you both to do this.

He buried his nose in your sweet scented hair, pressing his lips against your warm forehead, hearing you shuffle and murmur under your breath. You were still very much asleep.

Taking in your sleeping face for the last time, Arvin gave a pained smile. He didn’t want to leave you at all. He wanted to keep you forever— he wanted to wake up to this every day— but he couldn’t let you become an accomplice. Arvin had to protect you.

With that, he managed to sneak his way out of your koala arms and legs and get dressed in his old clothing. Reading over the letter he wrote yesterday, Arvin felt his heart break with each word. You didn’t deserve this. You deserved better than him— someone who could keep themselves together, who wasn’t so haunted by the past. You came to this city to escape yours, and he couldn’t drag you into his. He had to escape too. Some part of him knew you would understand that with time.

Arvin had stopped by a bakery quickly, ordering a lemon and poppyseed muffin with the most bittersweet feeling, coming back to your room to see you were still dead asleep.

He placed the muffin box down on the nightstand and folded the letter so that it stood up with your name on a proud display. Arvin’s hand wringed its way through his hair before he stared at his ragged blue cap for a moment, placing it alongside the muffin and letter.

Arvin leaned down to kiss you on the lips briefly, you giving a sleepy hum, pursuing your lips lazily before drifting unconscious again. He noticed that the sun was just rising.

The sunset brought a bit of hope. He watched you sleep for a bit, the purple turning into a golden on your features, before he made his exit.

—

Your body felt like jello. Giving a groan, your hands scavenged the sheets for the warm body that accompanied you that night, but you were left with a cold absence. Cracking your eyes open and grunting at the shine of the sun, the clock spoke nine a.m, and you were surprised Arvin was not with you.

You licked your lips and sat up. Stretching your spine, you noticed you were nude and blushed, pulling the sheets up your chest. “Arvin?” You called, noticing the lack of your friend— lover? Boyfriend? Friend with benefits?— and gave a long exhale. Luckily you had the day off, as convenient as that was.

Looking over, you noticed the hat, muffin box, and letter. Your name was in bold pencil, and you tilted your head curiously before leaning over and peering through the plastic cover. You smiled and saw the dark spots of poppyseeds on the treat. It was sentimental, and your heart nearly burst.

Gazing at the hat, you were inquiring if he just managed to leave it behind.

You decided to take the letter, opening it up and not preparing for what you’d read.

Y/N,

You’re probably wondering where I am right now. I am too. If you asked me right now, I wouldn’t be able to give you an answer.

I did something that can’t be forgiven. Maybe not by the Lord, definitely not by law, uncertain by you. I don’t want you to worry. I’m safe. I can’t come back. I can’t give you a number or address. I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know who I will be.

The world ain’t been kind. I know it ain’t been kind to you either. I don’t want to make things even worse for you, sweet girl. You’re everything I didn’t deserve. You said to me a long time ago that I deserve good, but I don’t. You are such a good girl, so much so I can’t have you. A part of me wants to be selfish and keep you. I know I can’t. I can’t do that to you.

You’re gonna hear about that preacher man. You’re gonna hear things about me, probably. I just want you to know I did it because I had to. You need to know that. I couldn’t be alive knowing Lenora wasn’t and he was. I’m sorry, baby.

I’m sorry for leaving you. I don’t want to. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be with me right now, pretty girl. I’d give everything just to see you every morning, every afternoon, every night. Ever since that day where you forgave me for the first time for my sins, smoking and drinking black coffee, I know what else I could fight for. I know what I could have just for myself. The sad part is, God is a sadist, and he won’t let me have you.

You asked me if I like Puppy Love, and I do. I’m listening to music for once as I write this, and I understand all the stuff they cry about on the radio. I know what it means to love. My heart ain’t ever been this broke before, sweetheart. 

I love you, Y/N.

As I said, we’ll be seeing each other again. Look out for postcards from my initials.

A.R.

When you finished, wet spots had been dotting the paper, and the last two initials were the final nail in the coffin. You let out a choked sob, leaning over to clutch onto the paper close to your chest. You collapsed onto the sheets, weeping, unable to comprehend. You kept asking why, why, why, even though it was right in front of you.

You flipped the page, noting the sweet lyrics on the back.

I cry each night, my tears are for you, my tears are all in vain, I hope, I hope and I pray, that maybe someday, you’ll be back in my arms once again.

Sniffling and wiping at your nose, you gave a few sobs, pressing your palm against your damp cheeks until they turned red.

You folded the paper and placed it back on your nightstand, curling in on yourself, clutching your sheets that still had Arvin’s presence lingering on them. Pressing them against your wet, hot face, you gave a few soft wheezes.

How could you tell Arvin you loved him, too? How could you write back to him? How could you sleep at night, not knowing he was okay? That there was no way you could tell him you’d wait forever for him?

You must’ve managed to doze off, as the sun was no longer as golden as before. The skies were a clear blue, and you managed to tug on tolerable clothes. Standing on your patio, you clutched the metal railings, staring down at the town with dismay. He was no longer here. This town no longer held that charming spark that you’d learn to love.

Walking back inside, you gazed at the letter, muffin, and hat. Leaning over, you grabbed the blue cap and rubbed your thumbs against the torn fabric, pressing the lid against your lips and kissing it. At least you had this— something you rarely saw him without. He gave you this, and your heart soared at the thought. Placing it on the top of your head, you took the lemon and poppyseed muffin and headed towards McCann Boys.

Marilyn perked at your presence, speaking, “Sweetpea, it’s not your workday.”

“I’m here as a guest,” you murmured, gazing at her, and Marilyn’s eyebrows rose at your expression. She gave a sorry nod at you, continuing to swipe down the counters.

You sat in the booth you and Arvin met at, and you took your seat, gazing at the ashtray emptily. Picking at the muffin, you fixed your cap to hide your face.

The radio near the coffee player began to sing. Your heart dropped, and you recalled the oh-so familiar lyrics.

...This is not a puppy love.

[azulsartdump]

Valentine’s Day was nice and fluffy, but it’s over now, so I’m ‘botta slap y’all with some of that overblot angst.

Marsella and Dietrich belong to the lovely @r0setarts 

Drip drop

Despite being filled to the brim with students, the dining hall at Night Raven College was dead silent. People stood frozen in their place, eyes trained on a small group of Diasomnia and Pomefiore students. The tension that hung in the air was thick and the oppressive atmosphere seemed to paralyze everyone in the vicinity. 

“What?” Azul’s voice was barely a whisper. Her eyes widened in fear as tears pricked at their corners. “How... How could you say something like that?”

“It’s the truth isn’t it?” Dietrich spat toward the dragonfly faery as he held Marsella protectively behind him. “There’s no way that Marsella would ever agree to any sort of relationship with that overgrown lizard unless a tricky faery like you duped her into it. You said it yourself! You’ve known her since she was a little girl. If anything, you practically handed her over to your prince on a platter.”

“That’s not true!” Marsella tried to rush forward past Dietrich. She wanted to hold Azul and tell her that everything was okay. That what Dietrich was saying was a complete lie and that she knew Azul would never try to take advantage of her like that.

“Do you hear that?” Dietrich caught Marsella’s arm and pulled her back. “She’s so brainwashed she doesn’t even realize what you’ve done to her!” 

“I... I didn’t mean to...” Azul’s legs gave out beneath her and she collapsed into a heap on the floor. “I never wanted to hur-”

“Well it’s too little too late to adopt that kind of attitude,” an almost sadistic grin spread across Dietrich’s face. To see a high and mighty faery overtaken with despair on their knees before him was cathartic. She probably deserved more than any punishment he could give her. “Besides, I guess we should have expected something like this from you.”

“Dietrich, that’s enough!” Marsella could feel rage bubbling up from within her. She tried to pull away from the older boy’s grip, but he held firm, only squeezing her arm even more tightly in response.

“Enough?” he allowed a bewildered chuckle to escape him. “But you’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you Marsella? ‘Azul’s such a bitch. She just toys around with guys and tosses them away when she’s bored of them.’ ‘She plays hard to get at first, but I heard she sleeps around a lot. Wouldn’t expect any less from a succubus.’ You’re not the only person whose feelings she’s kicked around for her own amusement! Stop being so naïve! She never had your best interests in mind!”

Plop

Dietrich’s smirk, however, was wiped clean off when he turned to finally face the girl he assumed he was protecting. He’d never seen such a pure hatred burn in Marsella’s eyes as she glared at him. She was still under that damned faery’s spell. He clicked his tongue as he began to pull Marsella out of the room. A private talk with her would surely help her sort out her feelings.

“NO!” a desperate cry stopped him in his tracks and he turned his head again to face the blue-haired woman. “P-Please... Please don’t t-take her...” Tears had started to openly fall from Azul’s eyes and onto the hardwood floor beneath her. 

“S-She’s precious to me... Please don’t... Don’t t-take her from me” A faint glow emitted from her fuchsia orbs as she looked towards him and Dietrich felt a sharp pain shoot through his chest.

Grief, remorse, and fear ran through his blood, but for some reason, Dietrich knew deep down these feelings weren’t his own. He remembered faintly a time where Nanami informed him of Azul’s unique magic. It was something along the lines of being able to share her emotions with others, but there was no way that the woman before him was feeling anything close to this, right?

“What... What did I do wrong?” Azul’s nails scraped against the wood planks as she dug her fingers into the floor. Tears continued to fall from her eyes as she kept her blurry gaze low. “All I wanted... was for her to be happy...”

Drip

“ I never wanted to hurt her... I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

Drop

“So why?!”

Splat Splash

Marsella’s eyes widened as she noticed small spatters of a dark viscous substance beginning to cover Azul. Panic began to consume her and she began to struggle even more to break from Dietrich’s grasp.

“Let go!” Marsella twisted her arms wildly in an attempt to loosen his grip. “I need to help her!”

“No, you can’t!” Dietrich began to pull her away again, sensing a large buildup of magic around the dragonfly faery. “She’s dangerous! I’ve told you fae are nothing but trouble for humans!”

Students began to cautiously back away from the scene before them. Some running out of the dining hall while others continued to stand frozen with fear. The twin tails that Azul wore her hair in began to float and contort into hand-like limbs and splashes of ink fell over her face in tear-like patterns as she lifted her gaze from the floor.

Her voice bounced off the walls of the dining hall, echoing as the ear-splitting sound seemed to resonate through the school.

“WHY DO YOU ALL HATE ME?”

[jaynovz]

1, 18

Darling Anon--

1: Is writing cathartic or stressful for you?

Ohohoooo that's a question huh?

Depending on the story, the night, the point in the draft, my mood, IRL stuff, it can really be either. Sometimes I just get a huge burst of motivation and all the words come pouring out almost like magic. I know exactly what needs to happen and how. Sometimes that persists for the whole draft, but usually I hit a sticky and difficult part mid-process. Then it's stressful to make myself sit down and just put some words down for better or for worse.

But in general, I am so happy to have written so much in the last couple of months. This is a new thing for me, being so prolific. Having Brinn as a writing partner is def the main reason. The collabing has encouraged me to try out all sorts of crazy things with concepts/drafts. I haven't written this much in literal years. THANK YOU HEAD ENABLER <3

Also, all the support from the Black Sails fandom is wonderful. Like, ppl care about and are excited for our projects! Like, wow! That's fucking amazing.

So yes in general it's cathartic, very good for my mental health. And even if it puts pressure on me at times, at the end of the day I feel better after writing. It's hard, but it's worthwhile. C:

18: Do you feel like your work gets enough recognition? What kind of feedback do you like to receive?

Dude like, imma be real with you. I'm fucking floored that it's gotten this much attention. I'm over the moon, thank y'all SO MUCH for giving a shit.

The best type of comments are the huge live-read ones imo, where ppl quote lines out that they loved and react. But that's a lot of work! So, the feedback I like to receive the most is like, in general what was effective/resonant? What's working, y'know.

But hey, a keysmash, shitton of emojis, or just an "OMG AMAZING" also make me feel very warm and fuzzy. I'm a slut for validation of all types :P

Thank you for the ask!!

[magpiemorality]

Seeking: Family, Foster Twins 8

You Only Have To Ask

Warnings: implied/referenced child abuse throughout this story. Lashing out, conflict, cursing for this chapter.

It's November in America, which can mean only one thing. Unfortunately the whole traditionally family holiday thing could end up being a tricky subject for two teenagers in foster care...

First | Previous | AO3

***

It felt like no time at all before it was Thanksgiving and the boys were off for break. Not the best timing to have such a family orientated holiday, but Patton was determined to make the best of it.

Making the best of it here meant; handling the whole thing as delicately and sensitively as possible, and mentally and emotionally preparing for the inevitable slip ups to come. They'd had a similar issue with Thomas all those years ago (who had called to say he was going to work over Thanksgiving at his college and come back for Christmas instead), and Patton winced when he thought back on it. At least this time he had Emile on standby if things took a real turn for the worse, a whole heap more experience, and a better understanding of what the actual underlying issues were for both twins.

But the best weapon he had at his disposal was the two boys themselves. It would be harder to misstep if they'd chosen the route, after all.

"Hey, so Thanksgiving is in a few days, and I wanted to know your guys' thoughts on things. Can we have a house meeting?" He asked them, finding them both hanging out in front of Netflix that rainy afternoon.

"Sure," Remus agreed easily, hopping up from the cushion. "Here or somewhere else?"

"Here is fine," the adult smiled, ruffling Remus's hair. "Sit yourself back down kiddo, no harm in being comfortable."

Roman seemed less convinced, as always, but now that Remus was asserting himself more and more he seemed to have lost a lot of his momentum in his instinctive fight against Patton. He didn't move, but did tap the remote to pause the show they had on and turned his head vaguely towards the other couch that Patton fell onto. Little victories…

Options. "Right! So I did things a certain way before you guys got here, but I'm not stuck on tradition or anything, if there's a better way you want to celebrate. If you even feel like celebrating at all?"

In the quiet Remus shifted, thinking hard if the frown on his face was anything to go by. Roman inspected his fingernails and turned his phone round a few times, glancing at his brother first. It was interesting, if a little worrying, to see the reversal of roles from how they'd been when he'd first met them both. Something to mention to Emile perhaps, when they broached the family therapy session subject.

Eventually Remus cleared his throat. "Um, can we take some time to think about it? I have a lot of thoughts and I want to make sure they're all sorted out first."

"Why don't you just say you want a nice happy family Thanksgiving?" Roman mumbled. "We all know you do."

"Maybe I don't, you don't know that!"

"I think I do."

"Well you're wrong! I want- I don't know what I want yet. And that's okay too, isn't it Patton?"

Hurdle number one. Okay, take on this obstacle without overthinking it, Patton, c'mon. "That's right. It's better to take some time than to react instinctively and regret saying something later. Sometimes you need to but-"

"Oh stop with the fucking psycho-babble!" Roman hissed, jumping up and running off. His feet thundered up the stairs and his door banged loudly when he got to his room, and Patton took a moment to re-examine the hurdle. Maybe it was a little more like an iceberg in a water obstacle, mostly hidden below the surface…

"He's always so mad!" Remus whispered, looking at the door his brother had vanished from with big eyes and a scrunched nose. "I don't know why but I think- do you think he hates me now?" He asked, and Patton just had to slide down to the cushion on the floor and offer his arms so the teenager could hide his sniffles in a hug.

"No, kiddo," Patton soothed him gently. "I think there's a lot going on and he's finding the easiest way to let it out. Mostly we do that when we're scared, and I don't know for sure, but there's a lot Roman could be scared of right now, don't you think?"

Remus shrugged.

"Whatever it is it's not something you've done, alright? You keep thinking about your ideas for now and I should go talk to Roman. I think maybe he might need a hug too and I'd like to offer."

"But shouldn't I be the one to do that?"

Patton cupped the back of his curly head, full to the brim with tender fondness. "Oh kiddo, that's real good of you. You're all kindness inside aren't you? But let me look after Roman for a bit now, and maybe you can offer him a hug too, in a little bit? I bet he'd appreciate you thinking of him."

"Okay," Remus agrees, letting go and sitting in Roman's spot on the couch.

"Okay."

The knocking went unanswered for a while. Patton tried a couple of times before he resorted to talking through the door, much as he disliked having to. Boundaries were one thing, but just allowing Roman to feel like he had all of the control in the situation could be as damaging as the opposite. And really it wasn't so much that he needed to be controlled as parented. Structure and guidance at Roman's age was invaluable, and now he'd decided to stop his sports as well there would be a loss of sorely needed routine that Patton was just hoping would transfer over to his performance club instead.

"Roman?" He called at last, softly. "I'm going to come inside so we can talk, alright?"

After giving Roman a moment to gather himself Patton pushed the door open and walked in, closing it again behind himself. "Hey Roman," he greeted the boy sat on the bed. He had his knees hugged up tight to his chest and he was glaring at the bedspread. "So. That was kind of a lot you put out downstairs. You wanna-"

"Oh cut the crap, Patton, I was being a brat. Why can't you just come out and say it?" Roman snapped.

"Because that's not helpful wording. And you're a teenager with trauma, Roman, I'm not gonna lie and say everything is okay, you could certainly hold the cursing a bit, but some outbursts are kinda inevitable."

"I said mean things."

"Yes. And why did you do that?" Patton wondered, sitting at the desk chair in the room. "Was it because you wanted something to happen?"

"No I-" the teenager faltered, before renewing his scowl. "It's none of your business."

"Well, that's sort of not true. I'm your foster parent now, Roman. You are my business, and when you're hurting it's my job to try and help you out."

"Well, I'm so sorry you got stuck with that."

Patton sighed. "Can I come sit with you for a sec, kiddo?" He asked, rubbing his hands over his knees. Roman rolled his eyes and shrugged in the same movement, shifting over very slightly and curling up even tighter somehow, looking as small as Patton had ever seen him.

"Dunno why you're even asking. It's your house," he muttered, and the adult took a moment to regroup.

"So, I think we've got a little mixed up somewhere," Patton began after a moment, perching on the edge of the bed beside Roman. "Because I'm not 'stuck' with you. I chose to take you and your brother because I wanted to help, and I wanted to help you boys. And that goes for both of you. I know we don't necessarily have the same friendship that Remus and I do, but that's okay. I'm not judging you differently for it, alright? I'm really not, but-"

"Kinda feels like you are."

"... Do you really feel that way?" Patton asked softly, a little horrified that the thought had even crossed Roman's mind.

"Well, yeah! I mean, you never try and hug me, or ask me to help in the kitchen, or touch my hair, or like, call me kiddo or have stupid midnight chats with me. You're just all over Remus and his stupid need to please! You're probably fucking him up even more, you know?! He won't even talk to me anymore, he just worships you, and that's not fair! You can't steal him! It's not fair!"

"Oh Roman, gosh. We'll," he cleared his throat quickly. "We'll go through some of that in a moment but right now I do want to hug you, real bad. Can I?"

Roman just nodded, and folded like a house of cards when Patton wrapped his arms around him, toppling over into his lap. He was clearly crying but Patton tried to allow him the dignity of not fussing too much. Except maybe, that's where he'd been going wrong so far?

"There, it's okay, you cry it out baby, alright?" He murmured, stroking Roman's hair slowly. It only made him sob all the heavier, and Patton closed his eyes and prayed it was cathartic and not traumatic. He waited until the boy in his lap had mellowed to sniffles and lying limp, before helping him sit up again, and reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand to start helping him clean his face up. "Oh sweetheart. Everything that I do with Remus, that's on the cards for you too, okay? Anything we have, it's not that he's earned it or I like him more, he just asks. All you gotta do is ask, and I'm so sorry you didn't know that before. I'm really sorry I didn't make it clear and you felt like you were being treated different.

I know you've got boundaries and I wanna respect them, because that's important too, so you gotta communicate with me if you want something to change, alright baby? I won't judge, I won't be upset or annoyed or disappointed if you want to change that, and I won't take a yes to a hug today to mean you'll want one tomorrow, you understand? These are your boundaries. I won't cross them, but you can step over and back whenever you like. That's what they're there for."

Roman gazed at him with his cheeks all blotchy and Patton fought not to well up in empathy. "I think it's best if we all start seeing Dr P. for some group stuff sooner rather than later, don't you? Help give you guys some of the words or tools you can use for times like these?" Patton suggested, brushing away a stray eyelash dislodged onto Roman's cheek by the tears. "Cause there's a few things you just said that I really want to make sure I don't do. Like taking Remus from you, that's not my goal, y'hear? But I also won't deny him what he needs when he asks for it, and you guys will have to figure that part out between yourselves. Can you try and do that?"

The head in his hands nodded slowly, and when he moved to pull away Roman stopped him, shyly giving him a blink and holding onto his wrists. Patton waited, silently willing Roman to find the words, cheering him on with a little encouraging smile until the teenager managed to croak out a quiet request for him not to go just yet.

"Of course, Roman. You want a hug again, or something else?"

"Can you just, sit here and keep doing this?" Roman asked, and oh boy could Patton oblige. The swelling of his heart in his chest powered every muscle in his body with pride and joy, and it was all he could do to just nod and keep gently brushing his thumbs over Roman's cheeks as the boy breathed and closed his eyes, giving in to the need for comfort.

They would come back to the Thanksgiving question later on, and decide that maybe choosing a movie or video game and having a fun night in could work for all three of them, picking their favourite snacks. They ended up playing hours of a hard-fought Smash Bros tournament that Patton spectacularly lost but thoroughly enjoyed, especially when Roman outlandishly cheated by leaning across him to sabotage Remus's controller, turning a slightly shy grin his way when the adult just laughed at the audacity. The twins camped out in the living room together that night too, and when Patton finished in the bathroom later on and made the walk back to his bedroom, he could hear soft whispers and giggles from down the stairs, and smiled in relief.

A better Thanksgiving he couldn't have asked for, as the first of many to come.

--

Next

[championofsanghelios]

Personal AU Story - “Home”

A little story from my Sidlink archives. Again this one is set in an AU. There will be some TL:DR and notes at the end, so scroll down if you wanna understand what's going on here.

This was written by me, remember...so expect the usual errors, typos and word bugs (bzz.)

|HOME|

It was one of those rare moments where Link could be at peace. He couldn't actively recall the last time he'd been able to relax and let loose, which said a great deal for his lifestyle. Having the entirety of Time itself under ones charge tended to be a little taxing on occasion.

Whenever he had moments like this he'd come back here, to the Zora's Domain, a place he called home, a place he truly felt safe enough in to relax. Somewhere he could just be himself, no Inheritor, no grandeur, no nothing. One of his favorite things to do upon returning and catching up with everyone there was to take a swim in the thermal baths in the guards barracks. These pools were unique in that their inflow systems directly connected to the Domain's heat springs, sourced from Mount Lanayru, a network of channels that ran across the entire region, heated by the very molten innards of Solae itself.

This allowed for the installment of a vent regulator system, a small valve on the end of the pool which allow whoever was using it to adjust the heat levels from freezing cold to considerably hot. Link's personal preference was cold initially, with the gradual increase of temperature as he swam, relinquishing himself of any pent-up energy that remained in his bones.

By the end of it, he was usually exhausted to enough to retire to his room and collapse into his bed, which after the recent period away from it all, was a prospect he found too tempting to pass up on.

However as he's preparing to haul himself out of the waters and dry off, he's interrupted by the sound of the barracks door in the other room opening up. He doesn't bat an eye-lid to this, it was probably one of the Guards returning from their assigned post, or a shift-change in progress...usual business.

Which means it's no surprise...that he's surprised...when a familiar voice calls to him from the rooms entrance. So startles him does it that he lets out a near squeal, leaping up from where he is sitting and clambering to fetch the Master Sword which is laying among his personal effects.

All it takes is one glance however to realize who it is and that he really shouldn't be afraid at all. Sidon filled the opening in the door, wearing his full royal regalia, minus his crown, which according to him was "a dreadful thing, all spiky and weighted." It also had a habit of giving him headaches, something which in Zora was more pronounced and extreme than in their Hylian counterparts...something about their brains being wired differently

The King let's out a hearty laugh at the look he receives, which is one of both relief and irritation. "That has to be the best one I've heard come out of you yet."

Pushing himself away from the door frame, he walks over to him, taking in his form and scent with a deep breath through his gills. "I see you've taken a liking to this place..."

"I like the thermal regulation." Link says, placing the Master Sword down next to his armor, which had been dumped rather hap-hazard on the floor near the wall. "Loosens up the limbs...and the core."

His hand runs over his abdomen as he speaks, something that Sidon can't help but observe as well. "You've gotten thinner."

"I've always been thin." Link sighs, looking down at himself. The only thing he was wearing were his shorts, those old, but very durable shorts that clung to him tightly. "Part of the problem with having your processes time-locked is that it's difficult to put on any real weight...or bulk up or anything like that."

He looks up at the King, pointing at him. "I sometimes wish I could have muscular structure like you do...but it's far from the realms of possibility."

"Then just remove the time-lock." Sidon says, stepping closer to him, his large hand coming to rest on his arm, it left arm, it was a subconscious movement, they'd not seen each other in quite some time...it had been a couple of months for him, but Usurper knows how long it had been for Link.

He never showed any signs of age, or wear...even if it was blatantly obvious. Link was able to integrate right back into the world like he was gone. At first this was a confusing and at times infuriating quirk about their relationship...particularly for Sidon who needed him around, despite always insisting that he could come and go as he pleased...so long as he stayed alive. It was a mutual agreement.

Link would head out for a while, do his job as the Inheritor, then return to the Domain for a few weeks and just...be himself. No worries, No stresses, No nothing. It was an arrangement that, so far, worked and Sidon looked forwards to their time together increasingly each time.

Link also needed Sidon too. Life as a Time traveler was a hectic and at times hard existence. So the option of coming back to something stable, and normal was a real help. Sidon didn't know it, but Link looked forwards to these moments just as much as he did, if not more...they restored normalcy to his life and added contrast. Nothing was more relieving and cathartic than saving all of creation for the billionth time only to head home and crawl into the arms of his King, his worrisome, adorkable fish husband. It was what he lived to do.

Which is precisely why after a moments silence, the Inheritor closes the gap between them and practically jumps into his arms, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him as best he can, despite their size difference.

"Oh I've missed you..." Link says into his chest, he would have fallen asleep here if he wanted too, but he needed to get his stuff over to his room before he did that. "...you have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this."

"Me too." Sidon beams, holding onto him as if he would drop to the ground when he let go. "It's been a quiet old place without you around...most boring."

"I think I might stick around a little longer this time." Link glances up at him. "And I really mean it...I-...well I need a break."

"Give it 2 weeks, you'll be practically clawing at the walls." Sidon shakes his head with a chuckle. "Stay as long as you wish, husband...it's your choice."

SOME TIME LATER

"...and that's not discounting the Lynel ambush we had in the forests of the Central Plains." Prince Akau says with a sigh, taking a drink from his goblet. "If it hadn't been for Emmet and his quick thinking, we'd all be dead."

"You boys took on 3 Lynel?" Link raises an eyebrow across the dinner-table, currently the middle of eating a bowl of something he couldn't pronounce the name of properly, only that it was amazing and he could eat it forever. He glances at Sidon who is at the head of the table, listening intently and nursing a full belly of steamed salmon. "Seriously?"

"Yes, he has the scars on his chest to show for it." the King nods. "He left a boy and came back a man."

"Says you." Akau snorts, placing his goblet down and sitting forwards. "I still don't believe there could have been an Oktoroc that big..."

"One of these days I'll have your father take you back to that day and show you in person." Sidon let's out a quiet belch, covering his mouth with his left hand as to hide it some. "You wouldn't be so incredulous then would you?"

"We've already been back there twice." Link shakes his head. "It's unlikely I could even find us a good vantage point."

"It's amazing." Sidon can't help but smile at his current thought. "I was fighting that thing to the death, completely oblivious that my future husband and myself were watching from a distance and loving every second of it...twice might I add."

He looks at Link fondly. "To think it was you...of all the people I met."

"Ghirahim once told me that people who are destined or fated to meet, shall." Link finishes the contents of his bowl, dropping the silver spoon into it and sitting back on his chair. "I guess you could call it a matter of fate, huh?"

"The best kind of fate there is..." Sidon says, his eyes flitting over him for a second. "I can't imagine knowing you and not falling in love with you."

"I once visited a timeline where you were never born..." Link shrugs. "It was just Mipha and your Father...it just felt off, really off."

"I hope to one day travel time." Akau says across from him. "I wonder what it's like."

"It's great." Link smiles, genuinely, warmly. "It's so...wonderful and exciting..."

His smile fades however as the reality hits him. "...but it's also a terrible burden...a responsibility that if abused, could spell disaster for everyone and everything that has ever lived."

"Will I be your Inheritor?" Akau asks next, something that seems to grab the attention of the King who looked like he was about to doze off. "Will I claim that blade when you are gone?"

"I don't know..." Link shakes his head, he was being truthful when he said that. There was no way of telling who would come after him. If it would be Akau, or anyone. It wasn't his place to know. "The Sword doesn't have the final say anymore thanks to 'Dorf...I guess we'll see when I die."

"That's unlikely to happen anytime soon." Sidon shuffles on his chair.

"You never know." Link looks his way. "I could die tomorrow."

"No." Sidon shakes his head quickly. "You're not going to die before me..."

"Me too." Akau adds. "It's unlikely I'll ever see that Sword in my hand..."

"Really?" Link suddenly stands up, walking across the room to the door, which he'd left the Sword of Time sitting by, along with the Master Sword. He picks it up in it's scabbard and paces over to where he's sitting.

Turning it in his hands, he holds it out for him to take. "Let's see if it would accept you then."

"Seriously?" Akau glances at the blade, then to the King who nods his head encouragingly. Taking the scabbard from Link he places his hand around the hilt and pulls the blade out fast. It was light in his hand and seemed to resonate with his touch. "Whoa...it's lighter than it looks."

"No." Link shakes his head. "It's not light at all...it's just light for you."

"For me?" Akau looks along the length of the blade. He'd seen his Father using it before, creating portals that led to Usurper knows where, and he'd always wondered how it worked, how it charged up and what use it had outside of time-travel. "What do you mean?"

"It sees you as an ally." Link explains, gesturing to blade. "It recognizes my blood within you...and it accepts you as one of it's wielders. Just like it does Sidon, Ganondorf, Zelda...and others."

"But not it's Master...right?" Sidon asks, a knowing smile on his face. "It doesn't recognize anyone as it's Master but-"

Akau gasps as Link raises his hand, the Sword of Time flies out of his hand and he catches it by the hilt mid-way. "Good Goddess above."

"No." Link does the same with the scabbard, to Akau's increasing wonder and amusement. He slots the blade back into it's scabbard before tossing it over his shoulder onto his back. "That title is reserved for I, and I alone."

It had been too long since Link felt like this. Since he could just let go and come apart without any feeling of guilt or burden. Many of the people he'd met in his travels had commented about his inability to relax, or indulge in himself, in his own desires and needs...and they had a point...he really did find it hard, namely because he believed his job came first. He was their protector, their guardian, their servant. What he wanted and needed wasn't important when time and history itself was at stake...

...this was one of the many reasons why he looked so much forward to coming home, to spending time at the Domain with his family and his friends. He had a chance to stop playing the role of the hero, the role of the ancient traveler who stopped horrible events from claiming everything, and just be...Link.

Sidon was one of his biggest comforts. He'd always been like this, from the moment they met on that bridge so long ago to right now in this very moment. Gentle, Tender...and oh so soft.

Despite popular belief about Zora scales, Sidon wasn't nearly as tough and "sharp" as many would claim him to be. If anything he was much softer, smoother, and oh so warm. Sure he was "a fish" but he was warm-blooded, and that made snuggling such a delight.

It was a strange juxtaposition. Often it felt to Link like he was holding onto the world and everything in it, hugging it close and keeping everyone who inhabited it comforted and reassured. Telling them it would be okay, even when he wasn't sure if it would be...telling them that time moved on and losses, though not forgotten, got easier and wounds healed.

But here he was, in the worlds arms. Sidon was one of the most important things in his life, he was his world...and there weren't enough words in the common vernacular to describe just how much he adored him. He often got misty eyed just thinking about how much he cherished him, and felt cherished in return whenever he came home.

Sidon was like a love-sponge. He'd soak up all of his affection and pent-up need and become all water-logged and dredged. Only to need one squeeze, or in Link's case a cuddle, for everything to come flooding back out, but ten-fold.

He wasn't aware of what brought them together, but whatever it was, be it fate, divine intervention, coincidence or just luck, something Link rarely believed in, there was no denying that Sidon was the best thing that ever happened to him. He found a companion in him, a friend, a confidant, a lover and later...a husband and King in...he was perfect.

"...I like this." Sidon says after a long silence. "I love these moments. You and me, and the stars."

He says this as he looks out of the Kings suite onto the mountain landscapes that encompass the entire Domain. In his previous room, now Akau's, he hadn't been able to see the skies, but up here in what was originally his Father's suite, everything could be seen.

Link was laying atop him, mainly across his chest, with his head resting in the crook of his neck. This is often how their nights of reunion and love-making ended, with the two of them just laying in the water...sleeping off their exhaustion.

At some point Link would be moved, as almost every time he would awaken the next morning, he'd be in the bed just across the room. Sidon always took care of him, and preferred to tuck him where he would be warm, rather than let him catch a chill in the pool. Not that he could given just how warm they were right now.

"You said you were going to stay a little longer this time..." Sidon comments, reaching up, his large hand running through the Inheritor's hair. "Is there any particular reason why?"

"No..." Link replies, or moreover drones into his neck. He turns his head slightly opening his eyes and looking out over the balconies ahead at the starry sky above the mountains. "I just think I should stick around longer..."

"You think?" Sidon asks next, his hand slipping down to his back.

"Sometimes you just need to stop running, you know?" Link says, taking in a deep breath which turns to a yawn half-way. "...I think now would be a good time for that...I want to do it...I...I need to do it."

"It would be nice to have you back...as I've said." the King smiles at the thought, with Link around more he'd be able to involve him more in the day to day running of the Domain. "But you don't have to be bound here. It's your choice."

"No..." Link shifts a little, looking up at him. "I mean it. I want to stick around some more. Spend time with you, Akau and...everyone else."

"Okay..." Sidon's smile widens to a grin. "I'd like that, Link."

"Yeah..." Link lowers his head, kissing him on the neck. "...me too."

...

TL:DR

LINK WANTS TO TAKE A BREAK FROM BEING INHERITOR TO SPEND MORE TIME WITH HIS FAMILY BACK AT THE DOMAIN. SIDON IS VERY HAPPY ABOUT THIS, AKAU TOO.

NOTES AND OTHER STUFF

This story takes place some centuries after the birth of Prince Akau, Sidon and Link's Son, who has now, much like his Father before him, embraced and taken on the role of Crown Prince.

In this story, Sidon has been King of Zorana for a while, and he and Link are married. This takes place after a major incident in my personal story-arc called "the Resurrection". (Perhaps I'll explain later, for now just know that time has passed and things are slightly different now.)

The Sword of Time, I've mentioned this before. But to give you a basic run down of it. It's a blade that was once weilded by the Hero of Time. When Link became his Inheritor, he was given the blade, along with the responsibilities of keeping the timelines of Solae safe and protected.

Solae is the name of the world that the events of the Legend of Zelda take place on. This not an official canon, just one I made up for my own world. It gives a name to the place they inhabit, and opens the way for other worlds and such.

(Side Note: I have a map of the entire land-mass of Solae, including the Kingdoms of Hyrule, Termina, Ardenfall and others. I'll see about posting it at a later date.)

Link and Sidon HAVE DEFINITELY traveled through time in the past. I like to think they have done this several times, namely for romantic purposes.

Akau MAY or MAY NOT be Link's successor as the Inheritor of Time. It all depends on where the story goes. I've not actually written that far yet.

There's a mention of the Sword Demon Ghirahim in there at one point. He plays a key-part in my AU versions of the Linked Universe characters. (Again, I'll get to that another time.)

[gazebobullshit]

tell me when 

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier ( reddie )  rating: teen ( for language )  word count:  2284 summary:  Richie and Eddie spend a night in, Eddie asks some important questions. gift for: Christine ( ladystvrk ) for the @it-fandom-exchange ao3 link: here

“Alright, alright Trashmouth!” Eddie’s hands are up, half empty beer dangling from his right. “If you were so sure, then when did you know?”

Richie snorted, his own beer nestled in his lap. “Are you seriously asking me when I realized I had a crush on you?”

“Yeah, well-” Eddie opened his arms out in a challenge, face flushed from the drinks he’s already had that night. “You keep saying since we were kids and I’m calling bullshit.”

Richie can’t help but laugh at that, elbow resting on his knee and body leaning forward to support his chin on his open palm. “I know. Hard to believe that I, Derry’s number one pussy slayer, was in fact very gay for one Mr. Edward Kaspbrak.”

“Please. The closest you’ve been to a naked woman is Bev in her underwear.”

“Ouch Eds.” He pointed with his free hand, “I mean you’re not wrong, but- ouch.”

“C’mon. I’m serious.” Eddie straightened his legs out on the floor, enough to bump his socked foot against Richie’s knee. “When did you know? And be real with me Tozier, no jokes.”

“Fuck. If I’d have known we’d be playing twenty questions tonight I’d have vetoed the booze.” He straightened, hands pressing against his face, pushing his glasses up into his hairline. He could feel Eddie tapping at his knee with impatience and he grumbled low in his throat as a response. Hands dropping enough to let his glasses slide ( somewhat ) back into place. Just enough for him to glare at Eddie over the tops of his fingers. “Give me a goddamn minute. We only got these memories back like four months ago.”

“Bullshit. You’re fucking stalling.”

“So what the fuck if I am? It’s embarrassing.”

“Please Rich. I want to knoooow.”

Richie might have found it amusing, even borderline adorable,  that tipsy Eddie got whiny. His cheeks flushed as he took another sip of his drink, shooting Richie a look that’d put the puppies in those adoption commercials to shame.He looked so comfortable, and far more at ease than Richie thinks he’s ever seen him, even back when they were kids.

“Okay. Okay. Just- don’t fucking laugh at me.”

“Absolutely no promises, but continue.”

That earned Eddie a middle finger, which got Richie double the response back.

Richie settled back against his couch, head tilting up towards the ceiling. He knew of course, how far back the crush went. Maybe not the exact date and time when he’d realized it, but he did know a vague enough answer.

“Well, there’s that summer.” And sure, saying it like that’s kind of vague, but they all know what ‘that summer’ usually refers to. Sweet summer of ‘89 with its clown bullshit. “I was kind of ignoring it until then.”

“The crush or the-”

“Both.” Richie shrugged, nail scraping at the label on his beer. “Figured if I just never shut up about how much tail I was getting on the reg’ people wouldn’t notice, you know? Or I dunno, fake it till you make it, I guess.” He flinched, letting his head fall forward again but keeping his eyes squarely off of Eddie’s face. “It took Bowers being an asshole and the clown chasing me through Bassey as that fuck ugly lumberjack for me to think, ‘Hey dickhead. Maybe this is a thing.’”

“So, what? When we were thirteen? That tracks I guess. You were extra annoying that year.” Richie might not have been looking at him, but he could hear the expression on Eddie’s face. That frown of consideration that made the wrinkle between his brows more prominent. “Still not seeing the whole crush on me thing.”

“Eh, I’m getting there.” He exhaled, shifting where he sat, lifting his beer to take another big sip. When the bottle was back in his lap he let his gaze drift, spacing out somewhere in the general area above Eddie’s head. This memory, unlike some of his others, was crystal clear and distinct. The very first one to hit him when he’d walked into the Jade and set eyes on Eddie for the first time. It was almost...too much to look at. The colors are too vibrant, the feel of the wood assaults the nerves at the end of his fingertips. He got a splinter that day and he can feel it now, like it’s been digging itself under his fingernail for the past twenty-seven years. It takes him a minute to wade through all of that to find his words again. “Remember the Kissing Bridge?”

“Of course. Isn’t that where Bowers got Ben the day we met him.”

Richie winces, and nods. “Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ on that, “Well, I didn’t go there to carve up new kids like Thanksgiving turkeys. Call me old-fashioned but I kind of prefered the original purpose.”

“Oh God. Don’t tell me. You fucking didn’t.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Oh my God Rich.” Eddie snorted, “What the fuck.”

Richie finally let his gaze drop to Eddie’s face only to find Eddie trying to muffle his laughter with the palms of his hands.

“Hey! I told you this was fucking embarassing!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think- Jesus Christ Richie, the Kissing Bridge? Are you serious? You can’t be fucking serious.”

“Fuck you.” He pointed a finger at Eddie, wagging it in the air between them. He’s trying to be serious but the grin on his face and the laughter in his voice is giving him away. “I thought it was fucking romantic, and it wasn’t like I was about to confess my undying love for your hyperactive ass.”

“You’ve gotta be bullshitting me. There’s no fucking way. Nope. I don’t believe it.” Eddie’s head is shaking, and he’s leaning back on his hands. “You know I’m not about to step foot in that town again to check.”

“Hah, but that’s where you’re mistaken. You don’t have to do shit. I took a picture.”

“Bullshit.”

“Get ready to eat your words Kaspbrak.” Despite himself he was grinning as he shifted to pull his phone from his back pocket. Thumbing quickly to clear the screen of the avalanche of twitter notifications and angry messages from his manager. Pulling up his camera roll he pulled up the snapshot he’d taken of the Kissing Bridge just before he’d left town, his old carving done up fresh and standing stark against the wood. “Read it and weep, bitch.”

Tipsy Eddie did not have the sort of hand eye coordination necessary to catch a phone but Richie tossed it anyway. Then laughed as the other man fumbled not to drop it before it flopped face down on his lap. Once he could actually look at his screen, Richie watched as his eyebrows did some complicated gymnastics routine on the upper part of his face, mouth turning down in a frown.

“I can’t believe you’re serious.” He squinted, fingers moving to expand the picture, before he glanced back up. “This shit looks too fresh to be from 1989.”

“Recarved it.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He brought his beer back up to his lips, drinking the last of what was left in one quick gulp. Tongue dragging out  to lick his lips before continuing. “You almost died-”

“But I didn’t.”

“Right, but you didn’t.” He shrugged, “I don’t know, it just felt cathartic. I thought maybe if I carved it again I could just leave all those feelings there. Put them to rest.”  He gestured between them vaguely, “I didn’t think- I mean, I had every intention of keeping it to myself for the rest of forever.” He never once thought he’d be here, with Eddie. That talking about all this shit would be so easy, embarrassing sure, but easy nonetheless. Because Eddie knew and Eddie was here, and despite everything Richie woke up with the man of his dreams half tucked under his side.

Eddie was back to staring at the picture, only this time his face was all pinched in thought. “So that’s when you knew? When we were thirteen.”

Richie moved, stretching to put his bottle on the coffee table, before settling back in his spot. “That’s when I accepted it. Realizing it was a lot more fucking embarrassing.”

Eddie looked skeptical. “More embarrassing than carving our initials on Derry’s horny make-out spot?”

“Remember the day we met?”

“No! Richie- Richie we were six years old! No fucking way.”

“I told you this shit was embarrassing!”

“You were not in fucking love with me when we were six.”

“Hey! You’re the one holding my phone. Go ahead, dial my mom, ask her! I swear on Ben’s perfect abs I told her I’d marry you the second she picked me up from daycare.”

“I’m not- Richie it’s like 3 in the fucking morning where they are. No.”

“Then you gotta take my word for it.” He lifted his hands, palms up towards the ceiling. “Your mom dropped you off and you looked so mad about it. I thought you were one of those kids who bursts out crying the second their parents left them alone, but nope! You were just pissed because everything was a mess.” He laughed, and this memory- this memory wasn’t like the other one. It was faded and delicate. When Richie picked it up he felt like he had to be careful or he’d risk tearing it apart, like an old piece of film. Bits and pieces shone through well enough, the things that he’d always liked about Eddie since the start. His loud, fast voice, and animated hand gestures. The way his fanny pack looked too big and cumbersome, especially back then when he was nothing but tiny hips and twiggy legs.

The way he’d looked at Richie like he found everything he did physically repulsive, and yet didn’t pull away. Instead he’d clambered all over him, manhandled him into obedience so he could apply brightly colored bandages to the scrapes and bruises on Richie’s knees. All while yelling about cooties and calling him a dummy.

He expected to hear Eddie laughing, but when he looked up, he was looking at Richie’s phone, thumb pressed lightly to the screen.

“Eds? Spaghetti?”

“Don’t call me that.” Absent and automatic, without bothering to look up.

“Which one?”

“Both, dipshit.” One eyebrow arching up as their gazes finally met for a moment, before Eddie was taking his beer and downing the last of it in a series of furious gulps.  

Exhaling, he set the empty bottle down next to Richie’s, and held  the phone out. Not like he was handing it back, but so that Richie could see the screen. The picture had been shifted, zoomed in a little off to the side to show a different part of the screen. Another carving, faded with time but still visible.

R, with a heart around it.

“Eddie…”

“For the record. It was that summer for me too.” When their eyes met over the phone Eddie’s were intense and focused. No signs of the alcohol in his system, though he was breathing a little harder. “You told me to look at you. You kept telling me to look at you instead.”

They both swallowed, not really wanting to relive that moment, but finding it bursting through their defenses unbidden anyway. For Eddie it was the way the clown’s hand had felt on his face, the pain of his broken arm, and the smell of rancid breath washing over him. For Richie it was hearing Eddie scream, seeing the clown standing over him with drool dripping from IT’s jaws.

Then it was just the two of them. Richie’s hands on Eddie’s face, his voice yelling at him to look away. Just like it was the two of them right now, only instead of chaos and children screaming, the world was quiet, like it was holding its breath.

“I can’t believe you gave me shit. You’re just as big a sap as I am.” Richie’s voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.

Eddie just smiled, pushing up onto his knees so he could close the distance between them. Dropping Richie’s phone in his lap, before lifting that same hand to tilt up Richie’s chin. “You’d probably think I was body snatched if I didn’t give you shit, admit it.”

“Touche.”

Eddie’s head lowered, Richie could taste the beer on his breath and it made him feel drunker than any of the alcohol he’d had that night. Light-headed and wanting. Head tilting to the side to accommodate the kiss he felt like he’d die without.

“One more question.”

“Jesus Christ, Kaspbrak. You’re going to kill me.” He groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch. This close he could feel Eddie’s laughter like the rumble of a distant thunderstorm vibrating the air between their bodies.

“Do you still love me?”

Richie’s head snaps back up slightly, one eyebrow trying valiantly to reach his hairline. His hands had settled on Eddie’s waist, but now he let them slip down the rough fabric of his jeans. Giving him a brief pat on the ass, before he hooked the back of his thighs and guided Eddie into his lap. “Eddie my love, that is the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s not an ans-”

Richie can only hope that the kiss they share, just like every kiss that came before and all the ones he prays are still to come, will be answer enough. When they pull apart it’s with Eddie’s hands cradling his face, and a dopey smile slowly spreading across Richie’s features. “I love you Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Eddie beams, actually beams, and Richie feels his heart stutter. “I love you too Richie Tozier.”

“Sap.”

“Oh fuck off, Trashmouth.”

[filmfanatic82]

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 12

“My lover's got humour

She's the giggle at a funeral

Knows everybody's disapproval

I should've worshipped her sooner

If the heavens ever did speak

She's the last true mouthpiece

Every Sunday's getting more bleak

A fresh poison each week”

-- Take Me to Church, Hozier

__________

“Pen…? Pen? Are you in…” Hope trails off as she opens the door to Penelope’s dorm room and spots Penelope. The raven-haired girl lays on her barren mattress amongst the wreckage of her room passed out with a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels lying nearby. Under her head is the tattered yellow sweater, balled up into a make-shift pillow.

Hope lets out a sigh and in three long strides makes her way across the debris towards the mattress.

“Penelope Park,” Hope says as she reaches down and gives Penelope a firm shake on the shoulders. 

“Go away,” Penelope mumbles. She rolls away from Hope to face the wall and readjusts her grip on the sweater.

“What happened?”

“I fucked up.”

“Yeah. We’ve already been over that part.” Hope takes a seat down on the mattress. Her fingers trace over the frayed edges of the yellow sweater making a mental note of it. “Taking it that you found Lizzie?”

“She found me,” Penelope responds with a weighted sigh.

“And she had the sweater?”

“Oh… She had the sweater alright. She not only had it, but she also confronted me with it and then went and showed it to Josie.”

“Shit.”

“Yup,” Penelope says. She buries her head even further into the confines of the sweater, desperate to derive whatever traces of comfort she can from the now tainted object. 

“And how did Josie react?”

“How do you think she reacted?” Penelope cringes as soon as the sarcastic remark leaves her mouth. Hope is the last person on the face of the earth she means to lash out at but at the moment it’s all she can manage to do to combat the impending tidal wave of hopelessness from crashing down upon her. 

A silence settles between the two of them for a moment or two as Hope lies down next to Penelope on the mattress and stares up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Then--

“Okay… So what do we do next?”

Penelope rolls back over to face Hope unable to hide her sheer shock at the question. “What’d you mean next? There is no next. It’s over. Josie doesn’t want to be within fifty feet of me, let alone go on some impromptu road trip to New Orleans. And there’s no time. The attack is gonna happen in less than 36 hours from now… There’s nothing else to be done. I’ve failed. History is going to repeat itself.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I’m calling bullshit on your ‘there’s nothing else to be done’ Park.”

“It’s the truth,” Penelope huffs out in exasperation. 

“No, it’s you giving up,” Hope fires back without missing a beat. “And I’m not accepting it… Not this time. So I’m gonna ask you again… What’s our next move?” 

“I dunno.” Penelope exhales and joins Hope in staring up at the ceiling. She snakes her hands behind her head and as she does, her fingers catch on something sharp buried deep within the fabric. Curious, Penelope sits up and starts to rummage through the balled-up sweater.  

“What’s up?” Hope asks, picking up on Penelope’s behavior. 

“I think I felt--” Penelope trails off as she produces a folded up piece of paper from one of the pockets.

“A note? Who’s it from?” Hope sits up as well and leans over Penelope’s shoulder with sudden interest.

“Not sure.” Penelope carefully unfolds the paper and reveals a handwritten message. 

Dear Park,

I know you don’t need to be reminded of this, but just in case, remember that when all else fails, there’s always the truth. 

Love,

Mikaelson

Penelope stares at the note, silently re-reading the message to herself as her fingers trace over each and every word. 

Of course, only Hope-- Penelope’s Hope-- would find a way to reach her regardless of the circumstances. And just when she needs it the most too.  

“I give good advice,” Hope says bringing an instant smile to Penelope’s face. 

“Yeah…” Penelope folds back up the note. “You do.” 

“And I’m right, you know. About the truth. It’s always an option.”

“But--”

“But nothing, Park. What’s the worst that could happen by telling Josie the truth… The full truth? You said it yourself. That timeline doesn’t’ exist anymore. Or at least not fully. So what’s the harm in filling Josie in on everything?”

Penelope sinks her teeth into her bottom lip as she mulls over the mere idea of laying every last detail of the past six years out on the table for Josie. 

It’s not that the thought hadn’t crossed her mind before. No. It was a common conversation topic between herself and Caroline whenever they would go down the rabbit hole of possible options beyond reversing the curse itself. But the truth-- the unabridged truth-- came with infinite risks. Some worse than others, but all risks nonetheless. And most, having something to do with Josie’s mental state. 

“There are risks with revealing that kind of level of personal knowledge-- even if it’s hypothetical-- on someone,” Penelope replies and Hope gives a defiant smirk in return.  

“You think Josie can’t handle the truth?” 

Penelope shrugs. “Possibly. Or… It could taint any future decisions that she will make… Or slowly drive her into insanity.” 

“Or… It could be a way to get through to her?”  

“Or it could be the way to get through to her,” Penelope mimicks Hope’s words with another sigh and a slight eye roll. She knows that the Tribrid could be right, but still-- 

Penelope’s fingers start to move towards her neck, but before she can make contact with the smooth skin, Hope grabs hold of her hand and stops her. 

“Nope. Not happening. Not on my watch,” Hope says pushing Penelope’s hand back down. 

“What?”

“We’re breaking you of that habit.”

“Hope, I--”

“No, Penelope. No more nervous tic… It’s not going to happen again, okay?” 

“You don’t know that…” Penelope swallows down the dry lump of emotions bubbling up within the back of her throat. 

“You’re right. I don’t,” Hope responds. She then leans into Penelope’s shoulder giving her a loving nudge. “But now that I know, I’m sure as hell gonna do everything in my power to prevent it from happening again.”

“Nice motivational speech, Furball.” Penelope nudges Hope back and the two exchange a smile.

“Eh… I try.” Hope then rises to her feet and starts to rummage around the nearby debris. 

“What are you looking for?” Penelope asks.

“This.” Hope surfaces with an old leather-bound journal. She tosses it down in front of Penelope onto the mattress.

“A partially used journal?” Penelope replies with a quirk of her brow. 

“No, Smartass. Watch.” Hope mutters an indecipherable phrase under her breath and points her fingers at the journal. It ignites in a brief warm amber glow before returning to its original state. “Now it’s a blank journal. And roughly from the size of it, it looks like it could hold six years worth of memories.”

“I can’t write out six years’ worth of memories… Do you know how long that would take?” 

“Not if you use a ditatum charm.” 

Penelope mulls over Hope’s response for a moment or two. 

Hope’s right. All Penelope would have to use is a ditatum charm on a pen coupled with a memoro spell on herself and she could have every last page of that journal filled out within the next four to five hours. 

But, still…

Even if she did choose to open a vein and let every last detail-- even the most horrendous ones-- pour out of her and onto the page, would  Josie actually take the time to read it? And more importantly… Would she even believe it?

“Okay… What’s the hesitation now?”

“No. I just--”

“Just what? Got a better plan?”

Penelope shakes her head with a sigh of defeat. “No, I don’t.”

Hope grabs a nearby pen off of the floor and then plops herself back down next to Penelope on the mattress. “Here.” 

“Now?”

Hope shrugs. “Why not? You said it yourself… Time is of the essence.”

Penelope takes the pen from Hope as a hint of a smile emerges upon her lips. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Hope replies matching Penelope smile with a smirk of her own. “And besides, how else am I gonna find out what on earth compelled me to get my nipples pierced.”

“Oh…  It’s a great story,” Penelope laughs.

“Good. Then get going, Park.” Hope gives a nod towards the journal for extra measure. “Cause I’m dying to read it.” 

__________ 

It had been five hours, thirty-eight minutes, and fifteen seconds since Penelope had first put pen to paper and began the arduous task of recounting the last six years worth of memories that had led her to this very moment in time. 

And, true to her word, Hope had stayed by her side through every single second of it. At first, wide awake and then somewhere in between the third and fourth hour passed out to the world on the other end of the mattress. 

At first, it had been painful. Like the reopening of old, partially healed wounds. But as Penelope had found her rhythm, the words flowed easier and easier, until all that was left was a dull ache for a life that no longer existed.  

In some ways it was cathartic. Reliving the last six years, memory by memory. Replaying every decision… every conversation… every last moment of heartache and utter desperation. And in other ways, it served as a sobering reminder that Penelope was no stranger to having her back up against a wall. 

No. 

She had survived the impossible time and time again. Even when every last card was stacked against her.

Penelope had survived. 

And she would survive this as well… Regardless of the outcome. 

Penelope finishes off the last sentence with a flourish of the pen and then lets out a much-needed sigh. Her eyes wander over to Hope as a warm smile stretches across her face. 

Somewhere over the course of the last two hours, the older girl has managed to curl herself up into a tight ball, with her legs tucked into her chest and her auburn hair spayed over her like a protective blanket. She couldn’t mimic a sleeping wolf pup more if even she tried. 

“Such a furball,” Penelope says to herself with a shake of her head. She reaches back behind her, grabs hold of her comforter, and then gently places it over Hope, trying her best not to wake her up in the process. And as she does, she can’t help but think back to one of her last conversations with the other version of Hope, back on the rooftop of their apartment. 

It’s still me.

One simple truth, that at the time, had felt like a bit of lip service. Something that Hope only said in order to ensure that Penelope went along with the game plan. 

But now…

Now, looking at Hope fast asleep beside her, Penelope realizes that those words were anything but lip service. 

They were yet another nugget of wisdom planted by the Tribrid in hopes that Penelope would be able to recall at just the right moment of need.  

Deep down inside, Hope is still Hope. Regardless of the timeline nor knowledge of what could potentially happen next.

And if Hope is still Hope then Josie… 

“Is still Josie,” Penelope finishes her thoughts out loud, unable to hold the words back. She smiles again as a sudden wave of reassurance washes over her. 

Yes, there may be a sizable risk handing over six years’ worth of memories in a single journal, but then again, it’s Josie Saltzman… And Josie, more than anyone else that Penelope has ever met, thrives on knowledge. Actionable knowledge to be more precise. 

Penelope runs her hands through her short messy locks and then, with one last look down at Hope, scopes up the journal and heads out of her dorm room.

__________

“Go away, Satan,” Lizzie says before she has even fully opened her dorm room door. 

“Wait--” Penelope juts her hand out, stopping Lizzie from slamming the door in her face. “I just need a minute. I swear… Please, Liz.”

“Don’t call me that,” Lizzie growls. She pushes harder against the door only causing Penelope to match her effort with the same stubborn-fueled brute force. It’s a stalemate and neither one of them is planning on backing down anytime soon.

Penelope lets out a frustrated sigh and then locks eyes with Lizzie. “Look. I’m not calling you Liz cause I want to mess with you… Okay, maybe I was at first, but… It’s not like that. In my timeline, you go by Liz. Or at least used to.”

“Used to?” Lizzie quirks her brow in slight confusion. 

“Here.” Penelope hands over the journal to Lizzie. “It’s meant for Josie, but you should read it as well. It explains everything. The sweater… Why I’ve been acting so strange… Even why I call you Liz. It’s all in there. All six years worth.” 

“Six years?”

“Yeah. Six years,” Penelope replies never once taking her eyes off of Lizzie. 

“That means… You’re from the future?” Lizzie’s voice goes a little higher than usual on the last word as if it’s too far-fetched of a possibility to even say, let alone believe.

“Not exactly… More like a potential future… Or what could’ve been a potential future. It’s kinda hard to explain.” 

The look of utter confusion only deepens on Lizzie’s face. Penelope watches as her icy blue eyes ping-pong back and forth between the journal and Penelope, desperate for some sort of clarity. 

“I… I don’t…” Lizzie trails off as her eyes wander back down upon the journal. 

“I know,” Penelope replies with an understanding nod. “I don’t expect you to understand… At least not fully until you read that.” 

Lizzie continues to stare at the journal in her hands, not even acknowledging Penelope’s words and Penelope knows that she’s more than said enough. No further explanation is needed. On some level or another Lizzie gets it. 

And if Lizzie gets it…

Then Josie will too.

“Just promise me you’ll make sure that Josie reads it… Okay?” Lizzie gives a slight nod still fixated on the journal and Penelope lets out a much-needed sigh of relief. 

It isn’t quite as reassuring as handing the journal directly over to Josie herself. No. But it’s the next best thing. If anyone is going to make sure that Josie stops everything and reads it cover to cover, it will be Lizzie. 

Penelope releases the door and then starts to walk away when-- 

“Can I ask you something?”

The simple question compounded by the raw vulnerability in Lizzie’s voice, causing Penelope to freeze in her tracks. She slowly turns around and once again locks eyes with the blonde siphoner as a smirk slides across her face. “You’re about to ask me about Mikaelson, aren’t you?”

“What?” Lizzie replies as her eyes instantly double in size from the sheer shock. 

“Mikaelson. You want to know if the two of you end up getting together?”

“I… It’s not… I just…” Lizzie fumbles through her words as her cheeks flush with a noticeable reddish hue.

And Penelope can’t help but let a laugh slip out. “Breathe, Blondie. It’s okay. Mikaelson literally asked me the same exact question just a few hours ago.”

Lizzie starts to fidget with the journal, flipping it back and forth from hand and hand. “She did?”

“Oh yeah. Furball totally did.”

“Furball?”

“Long story but yeah it’s my nickname for Hope… It’ll make much more sense when you get a little beyond the halfway point in that thing.” Penelope punctuates her comment by motioning towards the journal. “Right after our stint in Berlin.” 

“Right… Berlin,” Lizzie responds, still sounding utterly lost. 

“Listen, I’m going to tell you the same thing that I told Mikaelson when she asked. If you had had the chance in my timeline then you guys would’ve been together in a heartbeat. But you both waited too long… So don’t make that same mistake. If you want to be with her, then be with her,” Penelope says. She tries to push forward a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and Lizzie picks up on it. 

“Thanks, Satan.” 

“For what?”

“Honesty. Surprisingly enough, it’s a good look on you.”

“Well, as I told your sister, I’m all about turning over a new leaf these days,” Penelope responds. “I’m serious. Make sure she reads that. As soon as possible, okay?”

Lizzie nods, wrapping her hands a little bit tighter around the journal. “Okay.” 

With that, Penelope turns around again and takes off down the hallway unsure of where to go next. 

There’s nothing left for her to do but to wait.