#that kind of experience is enough for a girl to put her foot down and declare: that's enough. i can't do this no more :-)

[thebirdandhersong]

sometimes (very often) I just sit there like ?????????

[woso-dreamzzz]

Power

Katie McCabe x Reader

Summary: You and Katie both know who really holds the power

It was always funny to see the two of you together, going back as far as your childhood.

Katie had always been the more tomboyish of the pair of you, always up to wrestle with the older kids or go careening down the hill on her bike. You were slower in comparison, taking your time and amusing yourself by playing clapping games or making daisy chains.

You shouldn't have worked as well as you did but it must have been fate.

When Katie moved to England, you came with her. There was never any debate about it. Wherever she went, you went.

Football was her passion and you were happy to go along for the ride. She'd found a home at Arsenal and you were more than happy to tag along.

You worked at the local florist, surrounded by flowers everyday. You had beehives at the back of the garden. Your backyard was picture perfect and you grew your own fruits and vegetables.

No one expected someone like you to be engaged to someone like Katie.

"Mate," Leah said as she relaxed back in her seat," Your girl's a dream. I mean, what can't she do?"

Katie tilted her head back so she could peer into the kitchen where you were sectioning out the cake you'd made earlier.

It wasn't often that you two hosted bonding nights but, when you did, everyone came along. Your Pa was a chef so you'd picked up a few things along the way.

Your meals were the stuff of legend between the Arsenal team, with the experience being passed down from older teammates to younger ones as they all sat waiting for the invitation.

"Nothing," Katie replied as you momentarily got distracted by rearranging the bouquet that lived on the windowsill.

"You hit the jackpot," Jen said," I mean, I don't know how you control yourself. If I had a girl like that to come home to everyday, I'd never leave the bed."

"Hey!" Katie said, shoving her friend," She's my fiancée! Not yours!"

Jen laughed, tipping her head back. "I'm just saying! Come on, Katie, you can't say that you've never considered just skipping practice."

Katie winked. "I never said that. I just said to stop fantasising about my girl!"

"So you would stay in bed with her all the time?" Leah teased.

Katie smirked. "You know I would but you know," She shrugged," One of us has to be the breadwinner." She flexed jokingly. "I make enough that she could be my pretty housewife if she really wanted to."

"Real macho, McCabe," Leah said," You're forgetting we once saw you drop a weight on your foot. You're not that smooth."

"I think y/n would disagree with you there." Katie winked. "I'm super smooth. It's why she fell in love with me."

"She fell in love with you because you seduced her, I reckon. All this power is going to your head. Occasional Arsenal captain, Ireland captain and now you're saying you're the man of the house."

"I'm absolutely saying that." Katie flexed again. "I mean, check out these muscles."

"Alright," Jen laughed," Put those guns away before you take someone's eye out."

Admittedly, Katie knew she was talking like she was some kind of hormonal uni boy but she couldn't help herself. She was completely relaxed here, in her own home with her teammates scattered around and you serving everyone cake. She was definitely bigging herself up here but she didn't want to lose face in front of her friends, especially as you breezed back into the room with pre-sliced cake and a pile of plates.

"I hope you're all able to eat this," You said," I know you're meant to be on diets but, surely, you can cheat for the day."

Katie grinned, drunk on the feeling of puffed up pride at everyone's compliments about you. She stood and rested her hand a little too low on your ass to be decent in public.

"Course we can, babe," She said, emboldened by the way you didn't say anything as she squeezed lightly," Everyone loves your baking."

You sent her an unreadable look but allowed her touching, helping everyone get a slice before settling on her lap in the loveseat.

Katie smirked at Jen and Leah, who were sending her similar cocky looks, and she finally moved her hand from your ass to rest splayed out on your hip, dragging you ever closer.

You fed Katie bites of your own slice automatically as she sat manspread on the loveseat, still talking amongst her teammates.

When there was a lull in the conversation, you brought your lips to her ear.

"Vey macho, Katie," You said, watching her throat bob in horror when she realised that you had heard everything," A real man of the house."

"Babe," She murmured back, eyes darting back and forth between everyone to make sure none of them were looking," I-"

"I'm not going to say anything," You said, shutting her up by pressing another forkful of cake into her mouth," I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of all of the new signings."

"Babe," She said again, shifting a bit uncomfortably as you put more food into her mouth.

"Shh," You said softly," Don't talk just yet." You leaned a bit closer, putting the plate down on your lap so you had a hand free to push Katie's hand to grip your hip harder. "You have your fun showing off for your friends. You do whatever you want but let me make this clear. If you have to be reminded who's really in charge here then I will make sure to remind you. Understand?"

"I understand."

"Good." You smiled and drew away, picking up the plate and nudging Katie's lips with a cake filled fork again. "Open up, baby. I spent a lot of time on this. Make sure to eat your fill."

[riordanness]

seven — [p.jackson]

pairing: percy jackson x reader

wordcount: 1.5K

warnings: reader is a swiftie, i know nothing about teenage party games

“Silena, I really don’t want to,” I whine slightly, laying back against the wall on my bunk bed.

My older half sister raises an eyebrow at me. “Girl, I’ve known you for five years now and you’ve never stepped foot in a single party. College parties are part of the experience! You have to at least attend one. And this one is the best one you could pick to come to—it’s mine.”

I roll my eyes. “But there’s… people there.” Like him.

“Yeah?” So he might be there.

“I don’t like people.” Mostly him.

Silena rubs her palm over her face in an annoyed way. “Just come. This one time. Please.”

“Okay,” I groan. “But only because it’s gonna be in our house anyway.” So hopefully he’s smart enough to stay away.

“Great.” Yeah, right.

I regretted it almost immediately. It was being held in our dorm house, downstairs from my bedroom. I wished I was back up there.

Someone offers me a drink, and I politely decline. Not because I don’t drink, but because I don’t trust anyone here to not have done something to it.

Then, I hear Silena yelling for everyone to get their asses to the living room, so I head in there.

People are sitting in a big circle, more and more kids adding to the line.

“What’s going on?” a younger guy asks me, but I shrug. Probably some party game that I've never heard of.

Another girl steps over and says, “Seven minutes in heaven.”

“What’s that?” I ask, frowning.

“You get locked in a closet with someone for seven minutes,” the girl explains. I think her name was Drew, but I might be wrong. “And you get to do anything you want.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively.

“Ah,” I comment.

“Okay everyone!” Silena claps her hands and flashes a perfect smile. “Who’s ready for a game!”

There’s an eruption of cheers, and I reluctantly decide to sit down in the circle. I mean, chances are I won’t get picked, right? There are dozens of other teenagers here, and…

My thoughts come to a staggered pause as my eyes fall on the one person I never wanted to see again. Especially not here, not now. He’s sitting right across from me in the circle, but he doesn’t even notice me, laughing with a taller blond guy wth glasses as he chugs something out of a red plastic cup. His sea green eyes sparkle with humour, unfortunately still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a navy hoodie and jeans, a fairly lame outfit for a party. Like come on, even I dressed up a little. (I put on a shirt on with my jeans instead of a sweater).

Silena places a empty soda bottle in the middle of the circle. “Okay,” she says loudly. “I’m going to spin this, and whoever it lands on gets to go in the closet!” Her voice bubbles with excitement, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Who the hell came up with this game, anyway?

Silena’s red nails click against the bottle as she sends it spinning. The room goes quiet, all eyes on the plastic. It slows, slows, slows… and stops.

My heart is pounding in my ears, and my mouth has gone dry. The bottle cap is pointing straight at me. Slowly, I glance up at the person on the other side of the bottle. And it’s him. Of course it’s him.

Silena looks both pleased and worried. “Our winners are Y/n and Percy Jackson!”

A smattering of applause and cheers follows her announcement, and she waves us both up. “Come, come. Follow me, guys.”

I force myself to my feet, focusing my eyes on Silena and Silena only, refusing to even glance at Percy, even when he falls into step beside me.

We are led to the closet right in the corner of the big living room, a little while away from most of the party, but still the same room, kind of. Silena opens the door. It’s been clearly cleaned out recently, probably for the sole purpose of playing this game.

“In you pop,” Silena says giddily. “Have fun!”

I climb in, and Percy follows. Then the door is closed, and locked, and an eruption of giggles sounds from the party-goers.

I lean against the wall, crossing my arms.

“Hey,” Percy says awkwardly. “Hey, I’m—“

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand.

“What?” He frowns. “Playing the game like I’m supposed to?”

“No, I mean here at the party. The one you knew was at my house.”

His eyes clear with understanding. “Oh.”

I raise my eyebrows.

Percy sighs. “I wanted to see you. I wanted to apologise to you.”

I scoff a little. “A bit too late, don’t you think?”

“You don’t understand—“

“No, I understand. I understand just fine. You didn’t want me, okay. You didn’t want me to be your girlfriend anymore, fine. But you should have said something. Not just—ghost me online. That was lame, Percy. Really, really lame.” My voice trembles ever so slightly, and I have to swallow hard to keep it even.

“I know.” He runs a hand through his unruly dark hair. “Believe me, I know.”

“So why’d you do it?” I ask. “Were you cheating on me?”

He looks taken aback. “What?! Gods, no. Y/n, I would never do that.”

I soften a little bit. “Okay. Good. Then what was the reason?”

“I just—I couldn’t handle it. My mom is going through a divorce right now, and I was swamped with schoolwork—and you know how I am with school, I suck—and I caved. I didn’t want to disappoint you in our relationship, so I just… I don’t know.” He sighs heavily, running his hand through his hair again. “Look, it was stupid, okay? I know that. It was cruel and hurtful and completely unnecessary. I should have communicated with you, actually told you what I was going through. I’m sorry. That was really immature of me.”

I am quiet, studying him in the dim lightning. It’s too dark to completely make out his features, so I can only see his faint outline.

“Can you forgive me?” Percy asks softly.

I don’t want to. My better judgement tells me no. But at the same time, I know Percy. He wouldn’t lie about something like this. He’s being sincere.

I let out a sigh. “Okay. Sure.”

Percy looks so relieved he almost falls over. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really.” I have to bite back my laugh.

There’s a heartbeat or two of silence, and then Percy talks again. “You know that Taylor Swift song you like from that album you like?”

I make an amused face. “That’s really unspecific. I like all her songs from all her albums.”

“Well—yeah, okay. My bad. I mean that one that goes…” He puts on a stupid falsetto voice while he tries to sing (FYI, he can’t sing for shit). “All of the silence and waiting, pining and anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you, ah ah ah—“

I cut off his ‘Ah’s’. They sound like drowning fish. “You mean Dress?”

Percy nods. “Yeah; that one.”

“Okay. What about it, exactly?”

“That’s exactly what I feel like right now.”

I don’t know whether I should be impressed that he knows that song well enough to remember those lyrics specifically when he relates to them, or whether I should be worried that he listens to Dress, of all songs.

“You do, huh? Why is that?”

“Because we still have almost four minutes. And I’ve missed your kisses more than anything.”

I can’t ignore the butterflies I feel at his words. They overweigh the feeling of apprehension at taking him back. I smile. “What’s keeping you, then?”

Percy grins wide, and doesn’t waste another second. He moves forward, his hand pulling me by my waist closer to him, the other hand gripping my chin gently between his fingers, so my face is tilted up to look at him.

“You sure this is okay?” he checks.

I nod. “Positive. I’ll get properly mad at you later.”

Percy laughs under his breath. “Good that.”

And without another word, he moves down and kisses me. It gives me the exact same feeling it always used to, like I had wings. His mouth still tastes of sea salt and Coke, and it moves against mine like we’d never missed a single day.

My fingers instinctively move to the loose waves of dark hair at the base of his head, intertwining themselves there, holding him close to me.

His grip on my waist tightens, like his entire body needs me closer, which I’m not entirely sure is even possible. He’s kissing me like I am air and he is drowning. Like I am his lifeline, his anchor.

When we finally pull apart, it is only for seconds, before Percy is pulling me in again.

Then there is a crack of brightness in our dark little bubble, and a familiar girl’s voice is squealing. “Oh, my. Gods! It worked!”

[catt-leya]

wicked || rick grimes x negan x fem!reader

Me: I've never written anything like this before...soooo it's a little experiment 💗

summary: negan has a crush on your boyfriend, so you decide to spice your sex life up...

warnings: claiming, dirty talk, sharing a girl, hints of male x male (nothing specific just some simping over rick) and my usual smutty stuff

As you've been doing for several weeks now, you wander around Alexandria with your lunch in your bowl, heading for a very specific building.

It has become a kind of routine that you actually wouldn't want to miss.

The sun warms your bare shoulders and your eyes roam over the place you call home.

A lot has changed since you first set foot behind the height walls.

So much.

And yet it feels like you've been here forever.

The people transporting crops to trade with other groups, the beautiful fields of flowers, and the couple kissing in the warmth of the sun.

Sighing contentedly, you continue on your way and descend the stairs to a cell.

Using the key you took from your house, you unlock the door and call out, "Hi there, I'm back," into the room.

There is a small window that barely lets in enough light to see the room as a whole, but it also makes it much cooler, and you step into the room to close the door behind you.

Immediately your eyes fall on the chair that's in the exact same spot you left it yesterday and your free hand slides over the grate on your right before you sit down on the chair facing the grate and a deep voice reaches your ear, "Shit, sweetie, I thought you weren't coming to see me today."

Grinning, you pull your legs up onto the seat and reach for the spoon in the bowl, "Did you miss me?"

In fact, you were actually scheduled to run errands outside today, but it was rescheduled on short notice and so now you can come visit him after all.

In the shadows of the cell, he slides closer to you, "Fuck yeah."

You laugh softly and he is now so close to the bars of the cell that you can make out his face.

Who would have thought you would get along so well with Negan?

You'd even say you were friends.

As you hear footsteps outside, your eyes dart nervously to the door and you hear your counterpart laugh harshly, "Ohho, is my little girl afraid that the big bad wolf is going to come get her and punish her for talking to someone else?"

Snorting, you roll your eyes and growl, "Not true at all."

Negan's eyes flash dangerously, "He doesn't want you to come visit me, right? After all, he barely comes down to see me himself."

The look he gives you makes you raise your eyebrows.

You've noticed it before, and every time you talk about Rick.

"You think about Rick a lot, huh?" you try to put it across teasingly, but when he flinches and growls, "You're just thinking about him. Especially since he's your lover."

He's got a point.

Rick is your boyfriend, but still, Negan seems to have a weird sort of obsession with Rick, and you bite your lower lip, "You sure we're not similar there?"

It's a little banter between friends and before Negan can say anything back, the door is yanked open and Rick comes marching in, "Love? You're down here again."

His body shields most of the light coming through the door and you have to blink a few times to get used to the new lighting conditions, "Yeah. Need me?"

Briefly, Rick's gaze darts to Negan's cell before he sighs, "I'd like to fix the railing behind our house and I could use your help."

Smiling, you stand up and set your bowl down on the chair before walking over to your boyfriend and giving him a quick kiss.

Rick's hands gently slide onto your butt and you turn to Negan to say goodbye, that's when you see the look he's giving you.

At first you think it's jealous of Rick that he can just touch your butt like that, but as you're about to tease him about it, you realize you're completely wrong.

He's staring at Rick.

Not because he's jealous of him.

No, he's jealous of you.

Shit, now you get it.

It makes sense.

Every time he asked about Rick.

Every time he sought Rick's proximity during the war.

Every ambiguous line was meant to be taken seriously.

Negan has a crush on Rick and the only thing that slips past your lips is, "Shit, we're actually alike. At least we have the same taste."

Immediately Negan jerks his head around and stares at you almost pleadingly as Rick asks harshly, "What are you talking about, love?"

Your eyes are glued to Negan and you can't suppress a wide grin at all, which only makes the man in the cell more panicked.

Negan doesn't want Rick to know.

He definitely doesn't want him to.

So you raise an eyebrow and murmur sugary-sweet, "We like the same kind of books."

You can literally see the tension drain from Negan's shoulders and he leans back.

In the end, he's kind of a friend of yours, and it's not your place to tell Rick that Negan has a crush on him.

Gently, Rick pulls you toward the exit, "Come on."

But you break away from him and as you reach for your bowl, you give Negan a quick wink before following Rick out.

In fact, maybe you should be upset that Negan has a crush on your boyfriend, but somehow you think it's cute and maybe you feel a little sorry for Negan because Rick just doesn't like him that way. He still just barely tolerates him.

The next day, you practically sprint to Negan's cell and when he sees you sigh, "Sweetie, don't ask."

Grinning, you stop, "I'm not asking you. I'm stating."

You lean against the bars, "You have a crush on my boyfriend."

Your grin widens even more, "Do you want to fuck him, or do you want him to fuck you?"

You tease him further, "I could describe to you what it's like to be taken by him."

Silently, the man in the cell stares at you and you tease further, "You know, Rick is not a gentle man. He can be caring, but never really gentle."

Negan's gaze is anything but impassive and you purr, "He's always beating himself into me. God, he fills me up so well. He's so heavy and hard inside me, I can hardly form another thought."

"Stop it," his voice is rough and a first response to your words.

Your gaze darts over him and you see his half-hard cock showing in his pants, "Does it turn you on?"

Negan avoids your gaze and murmurs again, "Stop it."

An idea comes to you.

It's whacky, but why wouldn't it work?

You bite your lower lip, "You want Rick to touch you? I could make it work."

Immediately Negan jerks his head up at you and the small hope in his gaze, makes you smile broadly again, "He won't jerk you off, but he'll talk to you and you'll be able to feel his hands on your body if you want him to."

So far, he hasn't confirmed with a word that he wants Rick.

Until now.

"How are you going to make that work. Rick's not into guys, or at least not into me, sweetie," he looks up at you and you let your hands slide over the bars, "You're fucking me."

Negan chokes on his own spit, "What?"

"Are you able to get hard so you can fuck me? Rick would be there the whole time. You can look at him, but you have to be able to stay hard inside me," the idea picks up steam in your head and Negan repeats, "Fuck, what are you talking about?"

Your gaze slides back to his crotch, "Rick always wanted to let another man fuck me while he watched. We just never got around to it. If you can fuck me, then I can get Rick to let you out of the cell for it."

He looks at you dumbly.

He stares at you.

You don't think he's going to answer anymore.

Then he says, "Yes."

A single word that changes so much and gets you hot right away.

Negan is a handsome man and with Rick's instructions, it's going to be a brilliant fuck.

"I'll get Rick," with those words you turn and leave Negan's cell.

As you open the proposal to Rick, the first thing he mumbles is, "Negan?"

You nod, "Yes. Why not? I'd feel better if it wasn't necessarily a friend here from Alexandria."

It's a bit of a lie, maybe, because you'd do it yourself with Daryl as long as Rick was around and he liked getting you laid, too.

Rick's beautiful blue eyes glisten in the light of the sun and his eyes slide over your body, "Don't let him cum inside you."

You nod and he grabs your chin, "He's not touching you and he's just fucking you. That's all. No kissing and not a word from him."

If only Rick knew that Negan wants to touch and kiss him and not you.

So you nod and he pulls you up on your toes to kiss you hard.

Even when Rick lets another man fuck you, he always makes it clear that you belong to him and no one else.

The fact is, you already know that no one will be able to fuck you like that. 

Rick is one of a kind and he knows it.

With Rick in tow, you re-enter the anteroom of Negan's cell and immediately he looks up. Negan's eyes dart from you to Rick and back to you again, staying glued on you even as Rick walks to his cell door and unlocks it.

Negan doesn't budge and now stares at Rick, who asks surprisingly calmly, "You want to fuck her?"

You know full well he doesn't care much about your pussy, but as you expect, he nods and Rick takes a step back to give him enough room to squeeze past him.

With no cell between you, Negan stands in front of you at his full height and looks back at Rick.

Very close, your boyfriend stands in front of Negan and looks up at him.

Negan is taller than Rick. 

Not by much, but enough that Rick has to turn his pretty blue eyes up a bit.

If you looked up that way, it would come across as submissive, but that's not the case with Rick at all.

The size difference doesn't matter at all because Rick radiates pure superiority.

Tensely, you look back and forth between the two men as Rick says again in that creepily calm tone of voice, "You don't touch her or speak a word to her and don’t even think about cumming inside of her. You just fuck her, understand?"

Again, Negan nods and Rick stops in front of him for a few more seconds, stabbing him with his gaze.

He's probably wondering why the usually articulate Negan is suddenly so unnaturally quiet and submissive.

Also, how would Rick know that it's the chance of a lifetime for Negan to finally have at least a part of Rick.

Then Rick nods too and turns to you, "Are you okay with this?"

Your heart is pounding to your throat, but you respond with, "Yes, Rick."

Without another word, he turns his back on both of you and walks to the small table in the corner of the room.

In that small moment when Rick turns his attention away from you, you look at Negan to read what he might be thinking.

But as you turn your eyes to him, you realize how idiotic the attempt is, because he's staring so openly at Rick that you briefly wonder how it could be that you never noticed it until now, and especially how it could be that Rick, hasn't noticed it until now.

The scraping of the table legs being dragged across the floor focuses your attention on the man with the blue eyes.

He pulls the table into the center of the room and then comes back toward you, pulling you against his chest.

His familiar warmth passes over to you and he leans in to kiss you softly on your slightly parted lips.

Rick always feels so good.

So incredibly good.

As he slowly but firmly leads you to the edge of the table and you whimper softly into the loving kiss as he lifts you by your hips onto the edge.

Immediately you open your legs for him and like the well-rehearsed team that you are, he gets between them and presses his crotch against yours.

Negan is forgotten for a brief moment, but then you get an idea.

In the end, you want him to like it, so you break away from Rick, breathing heavily, and reach for his belt.

Confused, he looks at you, "What are you doing?"

Under your lashes, you dare a shy glance at Negan, who stares at your hands as you undo Rick's belt, "May I?"

Now Rick looks even more confused, "Are you asking me if you can jerk me off?"

Lasciviously you look up at him, "Yes?"

A harsh laugh slips from his throat, "Love, you can jerk me off whenever you want and you know it."

Slowly, you undo the button of his pants and pull them down enough for you to pull his hardening cock out of his pants.

At the first contact with your hand, Rick flinches and braces himself next to you on the table.

With skillful movements, you run your hand along his cock and, breathing heavily, he presses his face against your neck, giving us the opportunity to look unhindered at Negan.

As you have already expected, his hard-on stands out in his pants and his eyes are literally glued to your hand.

Restlessly Negan steps from one leg to the other and when he finally looks you in the eye, Rick moans softly and you tell Negan to come a little closer.

Quietly Negan takes a small step toward you and Rick and still with his face buried against your neck Rick growls, "Oh fuck."

His thick cock twitches in your hand and he pushes his hips harder against you, but you let go, whereupon he jerks his head up.

His curls fly in every conceivable direction at the movement, and as he looks at you accusingly, you realize he's completely forgotten that Negan is still there, too, and your pussy is so fucking wet you desperately need a cock inside you.

Rick is generally a man who always cares more about your pleasure and satisfaction than his own, but right now his head seems to have completely shut off.

He stares at you like he's surprised to see you before shaking his head and muttering, "You're right. Sorry."

He slides his hands over your bare legs, which are not covered by your shorts, and you automatically spread your legs even wider for him, but he steps back, "Negan?"

Rick's accent is much wider than usual with arousal and as he pulls his pants up over his hard cock, Negan moves even closer.

Your boyfriend doesn't even bother to close his pants as he looks to the man in the background, "Come here."

You look to Negan as Rick grabs your neck and steps completely out of your legs and past the table to your right, pushing you back against the table in this way.

The surprised sound catches in your throat as he squeezes a little tighter, watching Negan move to stand in his place between your legs.

Your eyes dart back and forth from the man behind you and in front of you, and suddenly you feel hot.

In Rick's eyes you can see that he's going to go through with it, and up until this point you didn't really believe it was going to happen.

But as Rick walks past you again on the other side and sets your legs up to pull your pants off along with your panties, you know that Negan is going to fuck you and Rick is going to stand there and watch him do it.

Rick's warm palm slides over your bare hip and you feel so exposed you try to squeeze your legs together, but Rick reads your body faster and grabs your knees.

Gripping the edge of the table with your sweaty hands, you don't resist as Rick steps behind you again and leans forward a bit to pull your knees toward him and press them against your chest.

Wide open you lie in front of the two men and as a slight breeze passes through the room you feel how wet you are already, even though hardly anything has happened.

You can imagine what the two men see just in front of them and how your pussy must glisten for them.

Because Rick has to bend so far forward, your nose is pressed against his chest when you try to look up, so you have no choice but to look between your wide spread legs at Negan, seeing Rick's beard in the corner of your eye.

Rick prepares you for Negan and then looks at him, "Go. Fuck my girlfriend. Her pussy is wet enough."

He talks like you're just a piece of meat to him and unfortunately for you, it turns you on and you start squirming in his grip.

"Take your fucking pants off and stuff her cunt," Rick's voice is low and Negan stands there completely frozen.

It's weird to see Negan like this, and as Negan moves even closer to you, you know why he's being so weird.

If he's screwing you, then he's forced to stand practically nose to nose with Rick.

There would be inches separating them.

You can feel both men on your body and it makes you way too weak.

Especially when Negan reaches into his pants and pulls his hard cock out of his pants.

Roughly, you groan at the sight and your pussy pulses around the yawning emptiness inside you.

Negan's cock is thick and rock hard.

You realize he's not hard because of you, but somehow it turns you on even more that Rick is turning him on and he's going to sink his cock inside you anyway.

As agreed, without saying a word or touching you, he puts his cock to your pussy and you whimper Rick's name.

"Shhh, I know love. Let him in," Rick's grip tightens as Negan pushes his tip inside you and you rebel with a moan.

Negan's eyes are dark and a rough growl comes from his throat.

He may want Rick, but your pussy must feel heavenly to him.

So good that he thrusts into you to the hilt and you moan hoarsely.

Sluggishly, you disengage your hands from the edge of the table and reach into Rick's shirt instead.

His scent fills your nose as Negan thrusts into you again and a soft "fuck" slips across his lips.

When Rick is probably sure you're going to stay down, he lets go of you and tugs your hands off his shirt, "Let go, love."

Groaning, you let go and tear your eyes open as he walks around you to stand next to Negan.

Immediately, he jerks his head around and you feel his cock twitch violently inside you as Rick puts a hand on his shoulder and whispers, "Harder."

You'd give a lot to know what Negan is thinking about at this moment.

Just as Rick has demanded of him, his thrusts become harder and more impatient.

He even slips in rhythm as Rick disappears behind him for a moment, only to reappear on the other side next to him and goes to your face again.

Slowly, he leans over you and places his lips on yours parted by moans, "You're doing good, love. So, so good."

Negan moans, "Oh shit" As Rick looks him in the eye while he kisses you and lets your hand move between your legs.

The thought that it's someone else's hand stroking your clit than the cock that's inside you makes you arch your back and because Rick's hand is way too close to Negan's cock, you both cum at the same time.

At the last second he pulls his cock out of you and his hot cum spurts onto your stomach.

It just rolls over you and you and Negan cum because of one and the same man.

Frantically you grab Rick's crotch with your head still somewhere else and howl, "Let me suck."

You barely catch Rick pressing his tip between your lips and you start sucking.

You suck as hard as you can while Negan's trembling body leans against yours and his cock rests heavily on your belly.

Hoarsely, Rick just keeps bringing out how beautiful you are and how good you are to him.

He approves every stroke of your lazy tongue and as he comes in your mouth you swallow it all, down to the last drop.

Rick's cum down your throat and Negan's spread across your belly.

It's so fucking wicked and yet you miss Negan's body as again he staggers and takes a few steps back.

Gratefully, you look at your boyfriend and he tilts his head, "I know why you wanted Negan."

You hear Negan take a frantic breath, but Rick's eyes are only on you as he mutters, "Don't think I don't notice when someone drives themselves to orgasm because of me."

Only now does he look at Negan, "And today, two people came because of me."

Taglist: @hail-yourselves @bean-is-reading @chanlvr2 @criminalwalkingsupernatural @sunshinevirus @toxic-ink @kingtwhiddleston @bloodycherry22 @vane28282 @bamslover @revesephemeres @emo-potato-virgil @mrsashleybarnes18-blog @starsaroundmyscxrss @starkstiless @easystreet07 @darylsonlylove @your-shifting-gurl @strnqer @dreamtofus @lincolnswidow@rickswh0r3 @iluvdixon @sinsandsweetness @beekassyy@blazeemma @littlelovingideas @eternalrose81 @stickyfaceinternet

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Haircut

Alex Blake x autistic!fem!reader Warnings: some innuendo, implied smut, gender presentation struggles, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.6k

Summary: You get a dramatic new haircut, and you're scared of what your girlfriend will think of it.

You sat awkwardly in the chair, tapping your foot, as the barber observed your hair from behind.

“All of it?!” they asked, raising their eyebrows at you. “You’re sure?”

You nodded quickly. “Every time I say I want it cut short, I end up with like a short bob or some other girly cut. I keep telling them I want it short, like a boy’s, but… that’s never what I end up with.”

The barber nodded. “I feel you. So…” They moved forward to frame your head. “I’m gonna take it in pretty tight on the sides and back with clippers, but I’m gonna leave you some length on top so you can fluff it up with product or style it up front like bangs, that kind of thing. Sound good?”

“Definitely,” you confirmed, smiling quickly. “That sounds great.”

You took a deep breath and looked in the mirror as they draped the cape over you and clipped it at the back of your neck. You heard the clippers buzz to life and met the barber’s eyes in the mirror.

“Ready?” they asked, holding them just an inch from your head.

“Do it.”

And that was it. Years of long hair, gone. You felt both giddy and terrified. On the one hand, you felt more and more yourself watching the hair come off your head. But on the other hand, it was a big change in your appearance. What would Alex think?

She always told you she didn’t care what you did with your hair but, well, you’d never done this. And then an awful thought struck you: did people play with short hair? You hated the feeling of your hair against the back of your neck, hated it getting caught, getting in the way, but you loved the feeling of Alex playing with your hair. Loved it when she’d run her hands through it and scratch her fingernails against your scalp. It was enough to put you to sleep some nights.

The barber touched up the lines of your sideburns and the fade at the back of your head, trimming the top so it laid just perfectly over your head. You’d never been to a barber shop before, but you’d been so frustrated by the girlishness of the salons, you finally caved and found a queer-friendly barber shop here in DC. You’d had high hopes that someone at a barber shop would listen to what you really wanted with your hair, not just what they thought you should want. And from the looks of things, your hopes were being validated.

“The cut comes with a hot towel shave, if you want,” the barber said as they finished up.

“Oh, uh…” you stumbled. “I mean, I don’t have a beard.”

“For the back of your head and neck?” the barber clarified, smiling a little.

You blushed, embarrassed not to understand the lingo of the barber shop.

“Um, yeah, sure,” you said, bobbing your head. “That’d be great.”

You wished you could bottle up the experience–the refreshing warmth of the towel, the cool brush of cream, the way the back of your head felt perfect afterward. And you did bottle it up in your mind to tell Alex. You wanted her to know how great the hot towel shave was, how much girls were missing out on.

When the barber spun you around in your chair, when you could finally run your hands over the soft, shaved down at the back and sides of your head, you smiled wide, holding your hands at your side so you wouldn’t stim too obviously.

You beamed. “It’s perfect! Thank you so much!”

You tipped the barber generously and made another appointment; apparently with hair this short, you needed to get it cut every month.

Now to wait for Alex. You didn’t know why you were so nervous. You loved Alex and she loved you. You tried to put yourself in her shoes. If Alex cut all her hair off, would you still love her? The answer was of course but also… you didn’t know that Alex would seem like herself without her long hair. It seemed like a part of her. You’d support if she wanted to cut it, of course, but it might take some getting used to. Maybe your hair would take Alex some time to get used to as well. If that was the worst thing that happened, you supposed you could live with it.

You’d been living with Alex for a little over two months now and, for the most part, had loved it. But you weren’t used to sharing your space or so much of your time. You loved having Alex around, of course you did, but it was hard learning not to be performative with her. With most people, even Alex to a certain extent, you felt like you were performing personhood, like if you said the right things and acted the right way, people would like you. You’d lowered your guard enough around Alex to know that she liked the not-so-palatable parts of you, as well, but it had taken a long time for you to let your walls down.

For the first few weeks you’d exhausted yourself trying to make conversation all the time, trying to behave the way you did on a date 24/7. Until finally Alex had put down her book one evening, taken your face in her hands, and said, “Darling girl, I am happy to hear whatever you have to say, but if you don’t want to say anything, your presence is just as sweet as your voice.”

You’d curled up at her side and read and not said a word except “I love you” for the next several hours. It wasn’t that your voice had completely turned off in the relationship, rather that Alex had given you the freedom to use it naturally, which was better for both of you.

So when you heard the door open and shut that evening, your voice snuck down into your chest and you could tell, just from the feel of it, the weight, it was going to be hard to get it back out again tonight. You were just so used to making yourself palatable and you knew that, for a girl, hair like this wasn’t palatable. So much of the way you dressed, the way you acted, the way you were wasn’t palatable to most people. Alex accepted so much of you… what if this was a step too far?

You pulled your sweatshirt hood over your head, hoping to hide what you’d changed for just a few more minutes.

“Hi, my darling girl,” Alex said, stretching as she put her go-bag down and kicked off her shoes. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes, even as your heart surged to see her, to have her back home. Your hands shook by your sides, and you knew it was irrational how terrified you were, but you couldn’t help it.

“Quiet day today?” she asked, sitting next to you on the couch. “You usually have so much to say when I get back from a trip.”

When you didn’t answer, didn’t even look at her, she frowned, starting to worry. She gently took your face in her hands and turned it toward her, eyebrows shooting up when she felt the short hairs at the side of your head.

“Hey,” she said softly. “What’s this?”

Alex slowly pulled the hood off your head and ran her hands along the shaved sides and back of your head. Her eyes were wide, and you couldn’t quite read them.

“You really cut your hair,” she observed, her fingers against your scalp feeling just as nice as they always did.

Your voice felt almost rusted as you forced it out, quiet and hoarse. “Do you like it?” You were scared to hear the answer.

Alex smiled, letting her fingers roam through your hair before grasping the sides of your head and kissing you, running her thumbs through your short, fuzzy sideburns.

“Sweet girl, I love it. It suits you so well.” She turned your head this way and that, as if to get a better look. “You look beautiful.” She pursed her lips, bending a little so you finally had to meet her eyes. “You look like you.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you?” you whispered.

“No, darling,” she reassured you. “I don’t just say things. You know that.”

This time, you kissed her, though not very successfully–you couldn’t stop smiling.

When you pulled away, she grabbed your collar. “No, no, hang on!” she exclaimed. “I need a proper make-out. I want to run my hands through your hair some more. The texture is intoxicating.”

And you were happy to oblige, even happier to oblige given that Alex truly couldn’t keep her hands out of your hair, tracing patterns into the shaved down as your lips roamed her mouth, her neck, as you pushed her gently into the couch, your hands under her shirt against the soft, warm skin of her abdomen.

“Hey,” she protested, giggling, as your hands made their way to her chest. She brushed your bangs out of your face, looking at you with so much love you wondered how you ever could have doubted her. “Why don’t you take me to bed, darling?”

And you didn’t even need your voice for Alex to understand you, for her to see how much you loved her, how much it meant to you that she loved you for you. You clambered to your feet and held out your hand to help her up, pulling her to your side and kissing the bottom of her chin. And as you led her to the bedroom, there were no words needed.

[luveline]

Hi! Could you please write a daddy-daughter day with Roan and Eddie? Like Eddie and Roan listening to Eddie's music, going to Wayne's, and just doing cute things like when Reader went out with her friends please?

hi sweetheart yes I can, I loved this idea, tyty! dad!eddie x fem!reader, 3k (cw reader is tipsy at the end)

"Okie-smokie," you say, standing at the door with two options. "Ro, pink or silver?" 

You show Roan your earrings. Eddie crams his foot into his sneaker and ties the laces, listening as Roan deliberates your two choices. "I think you should wear the pink ones because you have pink gems on your bracelet." 

He can hear your smile. "I think so too. Thank you, lovely girl." 

"Roan, you have your shoes on still?" Eddie asks, toeing into his second shoe. He stands tall when he's done and brushes down his jeans. "Coat?" 

"I don't know where my coat is," she says. 

"I'll get it," you say. "It's in our room." 

"Okay. You have your purse?" Eddie asks. 

You laugh as you run up the stairs. "Stop doing your dad checklist! We have everything." 

Roan waits by the door in what Eddie believes to be her nicest outfit ever. He's been experimenting with elaborate hairstyles, and this one takes the cake. 

He'd woken her up early for a shower and washed her hair, some tactile bonding to start what's looking to be a great day. She'd nearly fallen back asleep, and again when he was drying it with the cold diffuser. After that he sectioned it and pulled two triangular sections from the front backward, and with the help of four rubber bands and a little bit of hair mousse, he secured it out of her face, curled and pretty. 

She's wearing a short-sleeved white t-shirt under stiff black dungarees with black sneakers. You suggested white sneakers, but Eddie joked that he wouldn't make her look too perfect (her white sneakers are full of mud from when they went looking for frogs last weekend, and he hasn't told you yet). 

"Hey, can you get her, uh, her blue jacket? The navy one? I think her vinyl coat will be too uncomfortable with the short sleeves." 

You appear on the top step already holding it. "I'm psychic." 

Once Roan has been helped into her coat and Eddie's made sure you both have money and water, he locks the door to your (his) house with his key. It took him a long time to start calling it his house. Not that he ever thought you'd shoot him out of it. So far, there hasn't been a day since you got together where he worried it wouldn't last. 

And here the kissing begins. 

You might pretend otherwise, but Eddie knows you're jealous of today. Not in a cruel way, the envy isn't eating you alive or anything, but he knows you wishes you could come, and he also knows you know that's not how these kinds of days work. If you're with them, Eddie would have to share his attention. Alone with Roan, he can pour it all in. You're not so codependent as to resent that, and you're happy for them. But again, you're jealous. 

"Why did I make plans?" you ask him, your hands bunched in his t-shirt. 

"Because you'll have fun," he says, dipping his head down to kiss you. 

You smile and lift one shoulder. "I will. You have fun too, okay?" You bend at the waist to kiss Roan's cheek. After a moment, you kiss the other. "My big girl, you look so grown up today, we should've taken more photos." 

"I think ten was enough," Roan says.

"It wasn't," you and Eddie say at the same time. You sigh morosely, though it's not entirely genuine. 

"Okay, I love you both. Say hi to Uncle Wayne for me." 

"We love you," Eddie says. You pout and get in your car. You've parked behind him, so they stand waving at you as you leave. "She loves you so much," Eddie says to Roan. 

Roan shrugs her shoulders, pleased and trying to be humble about it. "Dad," she grumbles. 

He puts Roan in her car seat and they drive to Uncle Wayne's for lunch. It's not far, but it's enough to listen to Roan's tape, featuring her current favourite song, a nonsensical rock song called 'She Don't Use Jelly' by The Flaming Lips. It's not Eddie's taste but it's worth it just to listen to Roan shouting along to the song, her building excitement before she gets to sing, "He uses maaaa-gazines!" 

After that is Sheryl Crow. Eddie wants to switch the tape to something harder but Roan's already singing, and it's so funny to hear her sing 'All I Wanna Do' that he can't make himself change it. He rolls down the windows so she can feel the wind on her face and she dances in her seat, tripping over the words with gusto. 

Sheryl Crow is all your influence. As soon as the song ends he pops the tape and drives the car at a crawl. He's had Roan's favourite, and then yours, but now it's time for real music. He isn't raising no prep. 

Roan is more than used to rock music. She loves it most of the time, though her taste complicates as she ages. Eddie puts on a tape you made him painstakingly at Christmastime full of ripped live performances, the sort of music you can't find on CD yet. The very first song is 'Sad But True', Metallica live from Mexico, '93. Roan bobs her head up and down with the beat. Eddie literally could not be more proud, better when she pulls out her air guitar and challenges him on who's best. 

After almost crashing the car into the picnic bench on Wayne's front yard, Eddie pulls Roan out, and grins as she races up the steps to the door. She doesn't knock —Wayne's home is Eddie's home is her home. 

"Uncle Wayne!" she bellows. 

The smell of sausages and fried onions is inescapable. Eddie loves Wayne, and he loves his extra special hotdogs, but he can already sense the mess Roan's about to make. Ketchup stains have defeated half her wardrobe over the years. 

Wayne's turning from the stove with a huge grin. He wipes his hands on a rag and chucks it at the counter, bending down with his arms opening to catch Roan as she sprints at him. 

"Oh," he groans, "Hi, Roanie. Where have you been? I told your dad eleven thirty, and it's almost twelve." 

"We had to help Y/N find her nice pants," she says, wrapping her arms around Wayne's neck. 

Wayne gives her a grandfatherly squeeze, adoring but nonchalant. 

"We didn't have to help," Eddie says, "but she made breakfast, so it would've been mean to not help." 

"Still sounds like dad's fault," Wayne says. "Yeah?" 

"Yes," Roan says, turning in Wayne's arms to beam at her betrayed father. 

Wayne kisses her head and puts her down. He asks how you are, to which Eddie can answer honestly. You're good, and you're very happy lately making wedding arrangements even though you don't know what you're doing for lots of it. Roan is still torn on whether she wants to be the best man or the maid of honour. You'd been winning, until Eddie told her she could still wear a dress as best man. 

The hotdogs are ready for eating straight away. Unlike Eddie, Wayne is prepared for Roan's mess. He pins a bib around her that he's had since she was two with a rabbit on the front. It should've been trashed a while ago, but in a show of quiet love, Wayne scrubs it spotless every single time she wears it. The white background is still a bright white. 

They eat hot dogs and talk about nothing. Wayne and Eddie see each other every single day, but Wayne and Roan definitely don't. Now that she's getting older, there's been talks of consistent sleepovers. Eddie doesn't want Wayne to spend all week in work and then have her on the weekend because, while she is an absolute delight, Roan is also hard work, and especially on Fridays when she's tired. But Wayne wants to have her, and Roan loves him more than anything, so sooner or later Eddie's going to have to say yes. 

He won't lie, he could use the break. But not tonight. 

"Dad," Roan says, fried onions and bread falling down her front and back onto her plate.

"Yes, my rude girl?" 

She licks her lips. Wayne tilts her head back to wipe her mouth clean with a paper towel. "Thank you, Uncle Wayne. Dad, can we get a movie tonight?" 

"Yeah, babe, we can get a movie, but I thought you wanted to go to the Hawk?" 

"There's no space for talking in the Hawk." 

"And you want to talk to me," he summarises. 

"Duh. Wayne, can I have more smustard, please?" she asks through chews. 

Wayne meets Eddie's eyes as he squirts mustard on her hotdog. It's a look Eddie didn't know he wanted to see until Wayne started giving it, a mixture of she's funny and you're raising a good one, kid. 

Eddie cleans up the hotdog mess before Wayne can stop him and they dawdle, not wanting to leave but with things to do. They're ten minutes late for their manicure appointments. 

The Hawkins manicurists are slightly judgemental middle-aged women who love Roan. They've seen her a couple of times, once when Eddie had been on a few dates with you but was far from your boyfriend, and Roan wanted, "Pretty nails, like Y/N," after she'd seen your painted nails for a wedding, and then a couple of times after with you, but it's been a while since he was here, and the new young nail technician surprises Eddie. 

"Hi," she says, smiling at Roan, "I know you, don't I? You and your mom came in a couple of weeks ago. How did your gems last?" 

"They came off when we went waterfall walking," Roan says, sounding exuberantly pleased by this. 

"Wow, waterfall walking, that sounds fun!"

"Yes!" 

Eddie grabs Roan under the armpits to help her into the tall chair. "It was fun until her wellies split. She had cold feet." 

"Oh no. What do we want today, miss adventurer? The same as last time, or are we trying something new?" 

Roan looks up at Eddie. He takes a seat beside her, her coat in his lap. "Whatever you want, Ro. No, um, extensions though." 

"No, I wouldn't suggest it," says the nail tech. "Maybe I can show you some pictures and you can see if you like something? I can do whatever you want me to." 

Roan ends up asking for nails that look like the ocean. The nail technician is an artist, creating a beautiful illusion of real water on her nails, and colourful sea creatures on the nails big enough to accommodate them. 

"Are you bringing your wife back soon?" the nail tech asks, covering Roan's skin with her hand as her nails cure under a UV lamp. 

"She's not married, yet," Roan says. 

"She's my fiancé," Eddie says mildly. He kind of liked wife better. "And she doesn't let me spoil her often, so probably not." 

"She couldn't stop talking about you," the nail tech says. "And you," —she nods at Roan— "I was kind of jealous. I'm still jealous. I hope my baby comes out as pretty as you." 

"You're having a baby?" Roan asks, gasping, almost knocking over the UV lamp. 

"I am! Yeah, I am, she's not coming anytime soon though. But by Christmas I'll have her." The nail tech brings a buffing file to Roan's pinky finger and sands against the edge gently. "She better be as nice as you, miss adventurer." 

"I think Ro might be one of a kind," Eddie says. 

Roan smiles at him as though he's hung the moon. 

They visit the video store after the nail salon, hand in hand. Roan is more than ecstatic at the aquarium on her nails, and it's making her sweet. She walks as close to Eddie as she can without stepping on his shoes, and doesn't let go for anything. Or, almost anything. 

"Steve!" she shouts when she sees him, Harrington himself bent over the kids aisle arranging movies. 

"Oh, no," he groans. Roan runs full pelt at him and he pretends to almost fall over. Roan laughs and tugs him back up, and he says thank you with a short hug. "Hi, Roan." He looks up to see Eddie, and glares with a mock disdain. "You. Where's my spirit level?" 

"Your–" Eddie's lips part, and then snap shut. "My bad, Stevie. I still have it, I swear."

"Well give it back, I want to mount my new TV on the wall and I can't because you never answer the phone." 

"I do," Eddie protests. 

"No, you don't, I think I've spoken more to Y/N since you moved in with her than I've spoken to you. Which, actually, I prefer her. And I want you to invite her to my housewarming party next week." 

"Am I invited, too?" Roan asks. 

Steve smiles at her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Of course you are. Robin's going to bring Mr. Stink too." 

Mr. Stink is Robin's big fat tabby cat. Roan loves him so much she cries every time she has to say goodbye to him.

Eddie and Steve hug and only pat each other on the back once, which is progress. Having guessed why they're there, Steve pulls them into the backroom to show her all the new kids movies, and lets Roan pick as many as she wants to put on his account. Despite his hug and his party invitation, Of course you're invited too, Steve glares at Eddie fiercely from across the checkout counter. "Do not bring them back late, Munson. You cost me six dollars, last time." 

"And I tried to give it back to you," Eddie says, the bag of movies hanging from his elbow, Roan the other. 

"Don't insult me. Bye, my favourite Munson, make sure you bring me a nice drawing for my new fridge," Steve says. He speaks much more kindly to Roan than he does Eddie, but Eddie doesn't think for a moment that Steve doesn't like him. They've just always been like this. 

"Okay! Tell Robin I miss her, please, and Mr. Stinky." 

"Anything for you. Bye, bye," he calls. 

Eddie waves at him and they stroll out of the video store like kings, Eddie with all their movies and Roan with one of the huge bags of ready popped popcorn. She's walking on sunshine with every step, nearly skipping by the time they reach the car. 

He doesn't understand it. Eddie's just Eddie. He doesn't get it, but he has a moment when he's strapping her back into her third car seat, knowing one day she's gonna be so tall they can get away with a booster seat. One day she won't need a car seat at all. He just loves her so much he can’t handle it. 

"Show me those nails again, babe," he says. 

She pulls her wrist up, her fingers hanging down, and says, "Lookit." 

He loves her. She learned it from you. You'd done it as a joke, Roan does it because it makes her feel cool. 

"Gorgeous." He pulls her hands into his. "What else do you want to do today?" 

She shrugs. Eddie strokes down a crop of windblown baby hairs with a licked thumb, waiting for her to decide, but she must get distracted. She reaches out to do the same to him, moving his hair behind his ear. 

"That's for me," she says, looking at the little 'R' behind his ear. 

"Yeah, that's for you. I was going to get your full name, but I couldn't take the pain," he lies. 

Her nose wrinkles in amusement. "Then how did you get the big ones on your arms?" 

"I was less of a crybaby when I had those ones." 

"You're not a crybaby, dad," Roan says, giggling.

He pouts and sniffles at her. "You really mean that?" he asks tearfully. 

Roan pushes his shoulder lightly. 

"Did you decide what you want to do?" 

She nods vehemently. When she tells him what she wants, Eddie really could burst into tears. 

You're a little tiny bit tipsy when you come home that night. You try not to show it, but Eddie knows you better than he knows the back of his own hand, and as soon as you sit down he's taking big sniffs of you to make sure you know you've been found out. 

"Stop, you're like a puppy," you grumble fondly. "Wait, where's my Ro?" 

"Bathroom. Come here, let me take your shoes off." 

You lift a tired foot into his lap. "I had, uh, a margarita. And a cosmo, too. It was happy hour!" 

"Sweetheart, I couldn't care less what hour it was as long as you had fun." 

You preen, your face swinging into his shoulder. One of your earrings jabs his bicep. "Did you have a good day with Roan?" 

"We had a great day." He struggles to get your shoe off as you slide down his arm. "Maybe my favourite day with her I've ever had that wasn't with you." 

"Really? I'm so happy. Oh, wow, what? Nice nails, handsome." 

You pull his hands into your lap. They're painted in a uniform black, but there's a clownfish painted on his thumbnail. "They're super goth," you say. 

"You think so?" 

"The clownfish is a choice. Can I get one too?" 

Eddie kisses your flushed cheek. "Yeah, babe. The nail tech tried to get me to have a seahorse–" 

"Bit on the nose." 

"Exactly," he laughs. "Exactly. But our day was awesome. She was such an angel, and she must've made everyone smile everywhere we went, she–" Eddie sits up, speaking with pride in every word. "We went to Wayne's, and the nail salon, and the video store because she said the movies aren't good for talking and she wanted to talk to me, and I asked her if she wanted to do anything else, and she said," —Eddie squeezes your thigh— "she'd do anything as long as we could have a hug." 

"She has you in the palm of her hand," you laugh, looking up at him with eyes nearly closed. 

Roan skips into the room, hands dripping water, and catapults herself over the armrest back into Eddie's lap. Without asking, she dries her hands on his t-shirt. 

"Hello, princess," you say. 

Roan drags the half-eaten bag of popcorn over to your side. "Hi. I saved you some." 

You take a handful of popcorn and promptly spill it down the front of your shirt. Roan helps you by picking them off of you and eating them, cramming her mouth until her cheeks have chipmunked. 

"Don't do that, you'll choke," Eddie says.

"I won't," she says, little bits of popcorn spraying him. 

"Ro," he laughs, his hand held over her mouth, laughing so hard it wobbles her in his lap. 

[xoxoxkisses]

Slowly losing you

Muichiro x fem!Reader

warnings: angst

muichiro’s pov

————————————————————————

We had been friends for years. Y/n was a sweet girl. She was perfect in every way. She was kind, beautiful, smart, and so much more. In all honesty, I fell in love with her.

Everything ended April 8, 2004. ————————————————————————

“Y/n! We need to go, it’s starting to storm!” Thunder cracked in the sky as I said that. She looked at me, not with worry, but with amusement. She smiled at me as I smiled back at her. She stood up quickly and ran as she called out, “Last one home is a rotten egg!” She began running as I quickly got up and chased after her.

Unfortunately we didn’t beat the rain, but that was fine. We were having fun chasing each other back home. As we reached the hydrangea bushes, the rain was flowing down the steps. I was in front of her now. “Y/n, we have to be careful going up the steps, ok?” She nodded, and I ran up the steps carefully.

She was behind me, the two of us were laughing together. We knew we would both be catching a cold tomorrow, but that was fine.

I reached the top of the steps as I turned to watch her. Just as I did, she slipped. I couldn’t get to her fast enough. Her foot slipped from under her and she crashed down onto the steps. Her head hit the edge of a step as she began to slip down. I ran down the steps not caring if I was careful or not and I picked her up.

“Holy crap Y/n! Are you okay?!” She looked at me confused, until suddenly she began laughing. “I’m fine Mui.” I scanned her with worried eyes before she put her hand on my shoulder, assuring me she was okay.

We didn’t chase each other after that. We walked home slowly. We reached her house first, as we walked in her mom saw us. “Oh my- kids you need some new clothes!” Her mom ran into the spare room to grab me some clothes and back into Y/n’s room to grab her clothes.

I changed first, I came out of the spare bedroom and sat in the living room with Y/n’s mom. I loved her mom, she was a very kind woman. We sat in silence waiting for Y/n before I remembered Y/n’s fall. “Um, while we were coming home, Y/n fell on some steps and hit her head.” Her mom turned to me with a shocked face. “Oh goodness! I’ll keep an eye on her, thank you for telling me.” I nodded as Y/n came out of her room. She looked sort of disoriented, but other than that she looked fine.

Her mom let me stay the night. And as I predicted, the next day me and Y/n were sick. ————————————————————————

At first it started as a mild migraine. Then it exceeded to a migraine that wouldn’t go away. Y/n stopped coming to school. She couldn’t handle the bright lights or the noises anymore. She stayed in her dark room with earplugs in her ears to stop the noise. No one knew what was going on. It didn’t take till Y/n began to experience seizures that we realized something was wrong.

Her parents took her to the hospital after the first one. And we learned she developed a head injury.

Unfortunately, we all took action too late. Just a week after being admitted to the hospital, Y/n died in her sleep. We were all devastated, her parents lost a daughter, and I..well I lost a best friend and someone I loved.

April 8, 2004, 4:23AM. Her time, and date of death.

Her funeral was held just 2 weeks after her death. I walked up to her casket and she looked ethereal. She was just as beautiful as the day I met her. Y/n was just 13 when she died, I was 14. ————————————————————————

I never met anyone like Y/n. I’m married now, and my wife reminds me of Y/n, but they’re both still so different. I also have a little girl, and I named her after Y/n.

I still miss her after 10 years. I visit her grave on holidays and her birthday. Her parents adopted a cat a year after her death. Y/n loved cats but couldn’t have one since she was allergic. The world changed after Y/n’s death. The steps she slipped on were remodeled so it was nearly impossible to slip, even when it rained.

I miss Y/n more and more every day because I know she should still be by my side. I blame myself for that day, if only I didn’t run up the stairs first maybe she wouldn’t have been influenced to do so, and maybe if I took the other route home she would’ve been ok.

I still have a long time till I see her again, and I can’t wait. ————————————————————————

[forwhump]

a/n; some belated robin backstory 🥲 for doughnut, who I promised this to months ago & then FORGOT IM SO SORRY IM JUST AN AIRHEAD I WASNT INTENTIONALLY BEING A DOUCHE I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING (I remembered out of nowhere within like ten minutes of finding out liam died so that’s why it took even longer)(I loved 1d 💔)(& bleach finally animated my WORST CHARACTER DEATH so I’ve had a really hard week)(if I was still 13 I’d be institutionalized)

word count: 4k (I only feel like I need to add a word count when these are especially long so idk why everything I’ve posted recently has been especially long that’s my bad 😔)

tw/cw: kidnapping, captivity, implied rape/noncon, drug use, misgendering, transphobia, dehumanization, medical torture, lobotomies, mentions of the military, passing threats of violence against pregnant women, implied human experiments

When Robin’s a kid, just a couple weeks after his dad dies, his mom brings home a new baby. A girl.

She’s really little but she shrieks at a pitch so loud and so shrill that sometimes it gives him headaches. Other times, it puts him in such a bad mood he has to rip all the sheets off his bed or all the posters down from his walls. She doesn’t really do anything but scream or sleep and still, his mother dotes on her, treats her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

Robin doesn’t get it. He doesn’t even really like her. He’d wanted a brother, anyway.

The baby’s first word is mama, which Robin doesn’t think is all that impressive. Her second word, however, is Rob, and he doesn’t know until he gets home from school and she squeals so loudly it makes his ears ring, clapping her little hands together.

“Rob!” She squeals. “Rob!”

“She’s been waiting all day for you,” his mother says with a smile.

He drops his backpack so he can pick her up, and she squeals again as she clings to him. “Rob!”

He doesn’t even try not to cry because he doesn’t realize he’s started crying until his mother wipes away his tears. After, of course, she takes a picture that she later has framed. A picture that he takes down and hides.

When Robin’s old enough, care of the farm falls pretty solely on his shoulders. He’d been expecting it — man of the house, all that. His sister’s very much a girl, all blonde and giggly, pink and frills, and their mother gets her into pageants when she’s still really small and pageantry comes with a pretty intense base level of maintenance. When mom washes her hair, it’s a whole day event. It’s kind of absurd.

When she first starts trying to follow him out onto the farm, he thinks it’s just to bother him. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s chosen to do something for the sake of being annoying. She asks, then she begs, then she just puts on her boots and tries to follow. When he ends up locking her in the basement to keep her inside, she tries tantrums, then she stomps to their mother and pouts.

“Take your sister with you,” she chastises.

Robin groans loudly. “She’s just gonna get in the way!”

She stomps a small foot and cries, “I can help!”

“No, you can’t!” Robin tells her. “You’re just a baby! And you’re scared of the horses!”

“You can’t tell me what I can’t do!” She shrieks. “I can help!”

“You can’t help!”

“Stop screaming,” their mother says, “both of you.”

“I can help, mama,” she whines.

“She’ll break a nail and throw a fit,” Robin groans.

“I don’t care!”

“You’d better care,” Mom says. “Be careful.”

She brightens, immediately done crying. “So I can go?”

“No,” Robin says, and her face falls again.

“I can help,” she whines. “Let me show you!”

“Let her show you,” Mom says.

Robin groans the whole way out. She skips beside him.

He eats his words, in the end. Even if it’s just to prove Robin wrong, she ends up being a big help. Not with the horses, not at all, but with almost everything else.

Turns out it’s because her motives aren’t to prove Robin wrong at all — she just wanted to get out to the cows. As soon as she’s finished, once Robin’s back is turned, he’s saying something like, “I can’t believe you weren’t totally useless,” and he looks back around and she’s gone, out to pasture. He finds her frolicking with the cows, laughing delightedly.

It’s like that for a few months. She follows him out, helps with actual farm work as quickly as she can, then disappears out to pasture to hang out with the cows. For the rest of their lives there together, in their childhood home, their jobs change; she tends to her cows, and Robin does everything else. It isn’t exactly fair, but Robin had grown up fully expecting to have to do all of it himself.

They settle into their routine, and they stick to it for years.

As soon as Robin’s eighteen, he enlists. He doesn’t hesitate. He’d always known he was going to.

His mom knows. She’s proud of him. He doesn’t tell his sister, because she won’t be.

When she finds out, she throws every plate in the house at him. Breaks every one.

The moon hangs low above the farm, casting everything in watery silver light. She sits on the fence in her boots and a pageant dress, this one so white and sparkly it kind of glows in the moonlight and it makes her look, frankly, like a ghost. She’d taken the pins out of her hair and it looks spectral, a cloud around her.

They’ve been passing a series of increasingly potent celebratory joints back and forth — she’d won a world title tonight, something that warranted a series of increasingly potent celebratory joints back and forth — and her ghost is really starting to crack him up.

“You’re being a dick,” she says, but she’s giggling helplessly. “I look so beautiful.”

“I can’t even look at you,” Robin says, and he isn’t lying, turned away as he laughs. “It’s making me mourn.”

She laughs so loudly she almost falls backwards off the fence, and that sets Robin off again.

He leaves next week. Six days exactly, the day after his very last high school exam. He hasn’t told her yet, and he doesn’t want to, especially not now, but he’s running out of time. He can’t leave without saying something, anything, but he’s tempted.

It’s almost like she’s read his mind. “Can I talk to you about something?” She asks carefully, and something in her tone makes Robin’s shoulders tense.

“If you’re pregnant you’re getting thrown down the stairs, girl,” he says. She snorts. “Mom’s gonna be pissed.”

“I’m not pregnant,” she says.

“I’m leaving on Friday,” Robin responds. He doesn’t mean to.

Uncomfortably quick, her face goes blank. “What?”

“Fuck,” Robin says. “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

“What do you mean, you leave next week?” She asks slowly.

Robin looks away, out at her cows. “I fly out,” he says, “after exams.”

“Fly where?” She asks, now completely flat.

He doesn’t look at her, but he tries to smile. “My first tour.”

She doesn’t say anything for such a long time that he finally turns again, he looks at her.

She swings, and her fist gets him hard between the eyes. She doesn’t say another word to him as she leaves, and she doesn’t say goodbye to him before he goes. After that, he didn’t really expect her to.

War is hell.

Men are monsters.

The first time Robin gets to come home, it’s so good to be home. It’s the most unbelievably light thing he’s ever experienced, like taking his first, clean breath. He almost starts to understand the military appeal; the comedown after is the high.

When he gets home, his sister is trying not to be weird around him but she is, very blatantly. He thinks it’s because of how they left things; he’s wrong.

“Can we talk?” She asks, and there’s something so severe in her face that he thinks she’s probably cutting contact with him. It’s kind of a low blow. It stings.

He sits across from her, anyway. Waits.

For a long time, she doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t lift her head.

“Okay, what’s going on?” He asks finally. “Are you okay?”

She exhales loudly, but her voice is so small he can barely hear her when she says, “yes.”

“Then what’s up?” He probes. “What’s going on? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No,” she says into her hands, “I’m not always pregnant,” and takes another deep breath. Robin waits. He gives her the time she needs, watches the way her shoulders move as she takes deep breaths, watches the way her hands tremble, hiding her face. Robin keeps his voice level and his hands steady and he waits, but he’s waiting for the worst. He isn’t sure exactly what he’s expecting, but he’s expecting it to be bad. He isn’t expecting, “I’m trans, Rob.”

She still doesn’t look at him. She still doesn’t lift her head. Robin says, “what?”

“I’m trans,” she tells her hands.

“Trans what?” Robin asks, and she does lift her head, then.

“What?” She says, like she can’t tell if he’s serious. “Gender?”

“What?” Robin repeats.

“Oh my god,” she says. “I’m a boy, Robin.”

“What?” He says, because he still doesn’t get it. Then, “oh.”

“Yeah,” she says, and — well, he says, actually. He says it, and he drops his head again, covering his face with his hands and the sheet of his hair. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“What?” Robin repeats. He’s gotten himself stuck in a weird loop. He’s thinking faster and a lot more than he usually does. “What’s — why are you sorry?”

“I don’t know,” she says. He says. He’ll get better at that. He’s an adaptable guy.

“Gonna have to stop overthinking,” Robin tells him. “Guys don’t do that.”

His back stiffens. He doesn’t lift his head. “What?”

“It’s why we sleep better,” he explains.

Reluctantly, he lifts his head. He’s always had a deceptively sweet face, kind of doe eyed, but when he looks at Robin he looks so scared, genuinely scared, that it kind of hurts Robin’s feelings. “Rob,” he croaks.

“Can’t doubt yourself like that,” Robin tells him, trying to shrug off the tension, and when he still can’t quite meet his eye Robin stretches a foot out across the carpet to kick him in the ankle. “Guys don’t do that.”

He barely looks at him from beneath his eyelashes, but he looks at him, and that’s progress. “This isn’t a joke,” he says.

“I know,” Robin agrees.

“I’m serious,” he says. “I’m seriously coming out to you right now.”

“I know,” Robin agrees again.

She covers her face again, and — he covers his face again, and it isn’t until Robin really looks that he realizes his shoulders are shaking. That he realizes — “do you have a…name? A new one?”

He hesitates for a long time before finally pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. With a sniffle, he says, “Wren, I think.”

“Wren,” Robin considers. He looks across their mother’s favourite gaudy rug at Wren, tries it on for size. “It suits you,” he decides, and Wren chokes out a sound that’s obviously a sob but that he had tried hard enough to hide that Robin lets it go. “All the names in the world, though,” he says. “You still picked a bird.”

He sniffles again. “We still had to match.”

Robin feels that really low in his chest, a lot warmer than he would’ve expected. “I’ve always wanted a brother,” he says.

When he finally comes home for good, none of the colours are as bright as he remembers them being.

Wren had moved out while he’d been away, and the house is a lot bigger than he remembers it being. It’s too quiet. He can hear too much when it’s quiet.

Wren comes to stay for a few nights, to welcome Robin home, and he brings his girlfriend with him, introduces her. Julie. She’d probably be very beautiful if Robin’s type were outrageously scary people.

All tattoos, everywhere, and piercings studded with diamonds that catch the light whenever she moves. Her hair is like ink and all her tattoos are thick, black, and she looks a lot like Wren’s opposite in a way that’s endearing for a long time. He likes Julie in the beginning; she’s cordial to him.

She’s less cordial over time, slowly but surely. Then comes a time she’s rude, that she’ll snatch Wren’s phone out of his hands to tell Robin to get fucked on the other end. Once, Wren shows up in the middle of the night to post his bail and take him home. He spends that night, then the next few on their couch, and Julie doesn’t say a word to him once. Doesn’t even look at him.

It comes to a head at his mom’s house. He’s there because Wren is supposed to be there, but he never even gets to see him; he only sees his bitch girlfriend, sneering down the doorstep at him.

“I don’t think you like me very much,” he accuses.

“I don’t,” she says.

“Oh.” He already lnew she didn’t, so he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. That she’s so fuckin’ blunt about it, maybe. “Fuck you, too.”

“You’re a loser,” she tells him, and folds her arms. Robin’s quite a bit bigger than she is, but it doesn’t feel like it then. She’s an imposing little thing. “What’s there to like?”

“Okay,” he says tightly, “you suck, and —“

“You’re a cancer,” she says, “and I want you to leave Wren alone.”

That one hits Robin like a punch in the chest. He almost takes a step back, then pivots, because who the fuck does she think she is? Why should Robin cower? “Fuck you,” he says again. She just raises her eyebrows, smirks, and it’s so smug that it actually makes Robin hot all over. “Fuck you. He’s my brother.”

“Yeah?” She asks, and he doesn’t like her fuckin’ tone. “Because, from where I’m standing, it really seems like that didn’t matter to you all that much until Wren started making a lot of money.”

It makes all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You have no idea —“

“Did he tell you we had to move?” She asks.

He’s still fuming and it crackles in his ears. “What?”

“Do you remember his apartment?” Julie says. “How excited he was? How much he loved it? But we had to move,” she tells him, “because we couldn’t keep up with it anymore, because such a substantial chunk of your brother’s income goes to funding his junkie brother’s crack habit.”

He tenses his jaw so tightly his teeth click. “You’re a bitch.”

“I’m not kidding,” she says, “and I’m telling you as gently as I think you deserve. You’re ruining his life. Leave him alone.”

Robin tries.

Really, he tries. He does what’s best for everyone and clears out his mother’s purse before making a home for himself in the gutter. He sleeps in the street and sits in the sun during the day, usually high. High if he can help it, anyway.

He sustains it for as long as it takes Wren to find him. He isn’t quite sure how long that is. He thinks he might have lost a lot of time.

Wren looks different. This Wren still has his Wren’s hair, his Wren’s abnormally large eyes. He’s still a pretty boy, but he’s a pretty boy, right? His jaw is a bit more defined. He’s got more angles, sharper angles, less softness and curve. He wouldn’t look out of place in an eighties hair band. How long has Robin been gone? How long has he been sleeping?

“You look good,” he says.

“You look like shit,” Wren tells him blandly.

“Yeah,” Robin agrees, scratching his neck. He accidentally opens a sore he didn’t know was there and scratches a little harder. “Where’s Julie?”

“Left me,” Wren answers.

“Oh,” Robin says, and stops scratching. “Why?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Why do you think?”

He flinches. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Well, y’know,” he says, scratching his forearm, “there’s other fish in the sea.”

Wren’s face falls. Sighing, he looks away, half hidden by his hair. Robin has half a mind to wonder if that’s why he hasn’t cut it. “I can’t do this shit with you anymore,” he says.

“What shit?” Robin says.

“All of this,” he says, but he turns back to reach out towards Robin and forcefully pry his hands away from the sides of his face. “And stop fuckin’ pickin’ your face.”

Contrarily, Robin’s skin doesn’t stop itching so he doesn’t stop scratching.

Wren doesn’t stop taking care of him, either.

For a while, Robin has a really good thing going, honestly, and there’s something comforting about being at home again with his mom and his brother. He doesn’t notice, for a long time, how much it eats away at Wren, because it eats away at him so slowly. He gets quieter.

Five months after Wren decides he’s done taking care of him — and takes care of him, still — Robin clears all of the big bills out of his wallet before he wanders out onto the farm to grovel and ask to borrow a measly fifty bucks. He never quite makes it that far.

The cows are out, so it isn’t hard to track Wren down, but Robin never quite makes it over to him. He’s sitting in the grass, back against a fence post. Daisy has her head in his lap, and he’s got a hand between her ears, but it’s still. He’s staring off into nothing. It looks like he might be crying.

And that makes Robin so dreadfully uncomfortable he turns right back around and goes inside. Because that’s probably a little bit his fault, right?

He doesn’t leave then, but he notices it more. Wren stares off into space a lot. Cries when he doesn’t think anybody else is around. Never mentions to Robin all the money that vanished from his wallet.

Robin leaves a week later.

It takes Wren three months, this time, to track him down.

Robin’s been sleeping on the floor of an abandoned apartment building, and it’s kind of surreal, waking up to Wren, cross legged on the floor with him. It’s a relief to see him. “Can I b-borrow a c-couple bucks?”

The way Wren looks at him makes him miserable. He tells Wren it’s their mother, it’s the way mom looks at him, and it is, to a degree. His mother still looks at him like she’s proud of him, her son the soldier, her son the patriot, but the way Wren looks at him is worse. Wren’s disappointed in him, and that could almost make him throw up.

He’s trying to get Robin to come home, to get clean, and Robin’s trying to get some money out of him. He’s having a hard time focusing, he’s shivering, but not with cold, with a sort of fever that makes his skin crawl too tightly over his restless bones. When the door explodes open, Robin registers it a second after it’s already happened. The soldiers he doesn’t even see until they’ve already swarmed the room, covered every exit, pulled Robin to his knees by his arms and his hair. They knock his blanket loose, and he shivers until one of them grabs Wren by his braided hair, wrenches his head back, points his gun.

Not everything comes into focus, but it tries. This is really happening and this is really bad.

Their captain is a big guy that looks more like the Hollywood movie version of a soldier than a soldier. He has an arrogance to him that puts Robin on edge, that he’s only ever seen in very dangerous, very powerful men. The way he looks at Wren makes Robin sick.

When he knocks Wren unconscious, it’s with a wet cloth and a gloved hand over his mouth.

Robin begs. He hasn’t been above begging for a long time. The way the captain is looking at Wren — he’s seen what happens to people who get looked at like that.

And this is Robin’s fault.

This is all his fault.

It makes him think of Julie. He can’t remember the last time he saw her, or even the last time he really thought about her, but he thinks of her now. You’re ruining his life, she’d told him once.

She was right.

For a long time, he’d been ruining. Now, it’s in ruins at his feet. And it’s all Robin’s fault.

They try to make him watch, but he struggles and vomits himself into unconsciousness.

They take him to a weird, grey place tens of minutes below ground. They give him weird, grey clothes and they throw him into a weird, grey prison.

Wren isn’t there.

He meets Hal, and he meets June, and he begs them, too. They have to know something, anything. Maybe they heard one of the soldiers say something, even in passing.

They look at him like he’s crazy. They don’t even believe him.

Robin spends his first week in his weird, grey prison completely hysterical. Then a couple of men, dressed almost liked orderlies but masked, all in black, come to haul him away, kicking and screaming. They drag him through this weird, grey hellscape to a surgical room from a nightmare, entirely black. They strap him down to a black surgical table. The surgeons that hover around him wear black masks and caps and gloves.

One of them takes a long, black needle. He holds it up, into Robin’s field of vision, before he turns the point into the inner corner of his eye. “This will probably hurt,” he explains, “but you won’t think to complain.”

“What the fuck?” Robin shouts. He thrashes, but he’s restrained to that table so tightly he can’t turn his face away, not even an inch. “What the fuck! Get the fuck away from me!”

“This will make your development easier,” another says. He speaks with the slow, flat voice of an old movie mad scientist and Robin’s heart physically aches in his chest. Never, not once in his life, has he been so scared it’s made his heart ache. “It’s in your best interest.”

“Get the fuck away from me!” Robin screams.

But he’s still. He tries to thrash, to turn away, and he can’t. He can only watch that needle close in on his eye, and scream as it pierces it.

He screams until he can’t.

[ginger-pup]

Cw, brat, Denial, slight puppy (pet name)

A little fantasy/mix of past experiences with my dom, I wrote at about midnight due to horny boredom. Enjoy I guess~

Sometimes I just want to brat so bad, stamping my foot and whining from across the room whilst in some half-assed argument with my dom. The frustration and attitude flow through my body as I respond with sharper remarks and ruder sentences, practically watching his face for any indication of an oncoming punishment. I want to huff one last time, pushing him over the edge. I want to feel the fear sink into my stomach as he practically closes the space between us in a matter of seconds. I want to tense, waiting for something to happen. But no punishment comes.

Instead, his hand finds its way into my cheek, cupping gently. His face, ever so close to mine now, teases my lips against his own. A gentle kiss, not exactly what I was expecting, but something I'd never complain about either way. Anger never really seems to find itself in his heart; his fuse is quite long (long enough to put up with my constant bullshit on a day-to-day basis).

A kiss again, more firm. Another, and Another. Pressing up against one another, his hands electrifying my hips with gentle caresses of his fingertips. Whining into his mouth, I can't help but melt against him. His arms hold me ever so close to his tall frame, pulling me into his lap as he sits down on the bed close by.

For a while, I'm lost in the pleasure. Lost in the intimacy, lost in his teasing touches, lost as his gentle cups turn into firm gropes. It doesn't take long for him to be on top of me, laying my now nude form down on his bed. A heavy contrast sits between us, the dominant clothed and casual, playing with his toy, whilst his submissive squirms and whines at his touch, her whole world is controlled by the grazing of his fingertips. It feels so good, he feels so good. Shuddering in pleasure, I can't help but nod and agree to his sweet words as they cloud around my mind.

"Aw, sweet thing, my girl is all worked up, huh?"

"That attitude went away quickly, didn't it?"

"Such a cute toy; you think I'm going to let you finish?"

A whine escapes my mouth at his last sentence and not the pleasured kind. Attitude returning but in a very different light, I can't help but quietly plead for him to let me. But we both know what that sentence means, and the brat inside me begins to hate how well he can toy with me. He would never raise a hand to me, aside from the occasional slap or rare spank. But controlling my pleasure? Well, he never really is entirely fair to me, even when I behave. A night of denial sounds like hell, moaning mid-complaint as his thumb toys with my sensitive tip, I can't help but feel a self-righteous annoyance well up inside me. His tongue meets my nipple, one hand silencing my increased begging whilst the other works away relentlessly at my clit.

He can always tell when I'm close, my body shifting as I press my clit against his grip and my whines muffled by his drool-covered fingers. I can't help but let out one final little plea, a couple of tears trailing down my cheek as he scoops me close. My aching clit now humping into thin air, his arms wrapped around me.

"shhh baby, it's okay; you can last another night for me, okay?"

"I know, I know, puppy, but you're just not allowed to cum tonight."

"This is why you behave sweetie"

Soon the tears are wiped away, and my drippy mess has been cleaned up with the gentlest dabbing of paper towels. A square of chocolate melts in my mouth as he holds me too close to him, the covers warming my still-nude frame. Gentle words of affirmation and care are passed between us both, shaky thank you's making their way out of my lips. We lay there for a long while, with the occasional shimmy around for a sip of water. Sometimes, I just want to behave, be held by him and be treated like his personal princess.

Sometimes I want to brat. Sometimes I need to be reminded how good it is to be his good girl, even if it aches.

[aloysiavirgata]

Scully comes out to Mulder as bisexual he responds by also coming out as bisexual

They’re kicked back in Adirondacks by the fire circle, the logs popping and sparking when the flames lick dried sap. The air is just crisp enough to make the heat cozy. Scully brought home cider donuts from the farm stand along her commute, which they wash down with a pitcher of sangria. A cinnamon-sugar crust coats her lips.

It’s been two minutes since he asked her and she hasn’t answered.

“So?” he prods, nudging her foot with his. “It’s been long enough all the sin’s gone out of it, Dana Katherine. Fess up, did you experiment some in college? I’ll absolve you if you did.”

He puts the lewdest possible edge on “experiment” so that she can’t in good faith make a quip about organic chemistry or the effects of acetylcholine on Rana pipiens.

Scully flops her head back against the heavy wooden chair; who cares at this point? The meanest nuns are dead. “Yeah,” she says. “I did.”

She turns to him for a reaction

His eyebrows are up, but he looks genuinely interested rather than smirking. “Oh? Do tell.”

She stares up at the rising column of smoke, tracks it to Polaris. Tracks it decades back. “This girl, Elizabeth. Roommate’s boyfriend’s sister. We…um. We all went out to a bar one night while she was visiting.”

Scully leans into the memory. Calgon and ski sweaters and Aqua Net. Layered bangs, Jordache jeans. Liz’s rum and Coke.

Liz’s hazel eyes, Liz’s blue mascara.

“Anyway. We all had a lot to drink and Claire - that was my roommate - Claire and Elizabeth’s brother were making out in his Cutlass Ciera.”

Liz’s mouth like a taut August plum, the taste of her frosted Revlon lips…

“There was this couch in the back of the bar, some coffee tables, you know the feeling. Anyway, Liz pulled me over. We’d been dancing some, Fleetwood Mac I think, and she kissed me. I was shocked, good Catholic girl that I was. But I was three shots in, and it was college, you know? We settled on the couch, kind of drunk I guess….”

She swallows hard, looks at Mulder. “Is this weird? It seems kind of weird.”

He shakes his head, eyes bright in the flames. “Go on.”

“We were kissing, mostly. She touched my breasts through my shirt, slipped her hands down my jeans but not my underwear. It was pretty innocent, I don’t know. I didn’t see her again after that but it definitely changed my perspective some. I began noticing if I found a woman attractive. Got at least a bit more comfortable with the idea, anyway. Stopped telling myself I just liked her hair or her outfit.”

She hears his breathing thicken. Just a little, but it’s there.

“And never after?” he asks.

Scully wonders what else he isn’t asking her. Wonders what it must be like to be young now. She shakes her head, takes a pull of sangria. Chews a chunk of macerated pineapple.

“No,” she says. “I came close a couple of times, but no.”

She wishes she had a cigarette or a joint. Something to do with her hands and her mouth even after so many years. And even after so many years she doesn’t tell him about what she thought of Esther Nairn, about whether she wanted to kill Diana or be Diana or fuck Diana.

They watch the fire for a time. Hear it crackle, gaze into a vast and endless sky. There are old gods there, older than hers. She knows that now. She embraces it.

“What about you?” Scully asks. “All those posh Eton boys at Oxford, surely one struck your fancy.”

She doesn’t really expect anything of it, but she asks to make him confirm or deny. To deflect. It’s how she’s been trained. And she’s endlessly intrigued by his formative years, her well-bred, prep-school lover. They’d practically invented sodomy, hadn’t they?

Mulder makes a soft, throaty noise. Grabs a donut and takes a huge bite.

She turns to him. “Oh my god,” she says. “Did you sleep with Alex Krycek?” Where had THAT come from?

He coughs donut crumbs everywhere. “Scully!”

She clamps on to it. “Did you?”

His turn for the sangria now, blushing. Blushing! Fox Mulder, did you really? she thinks, oddly turned on.

Mulder clears his throat. “He kissed me, but no. He kissed me twice, actually. But no, I didn’t…” he trails off, shaking his head.

“Did you like it?” she asks, her voice sex and sandpaper. Arousing herself further, Jesus.

“Yes,” he says. Holds her stare. Runs his tongue over the lips she’s kissed so many times. That Alex Krycek and Diana Fowley had kissed. The sting is gone, only the fascination left.

All the sin’s gone out of it, he’d said. Yes, it had. Over fifty, of course it had.

“But it wasn’t your first time.” A little breathless, that.

“No.” Licks his lips again. “You guessed right, Agent Scullly, brava. This guy, at uni…we. We didn’t sleep together, but we’d. You know. Touch.”

Agent Scully.

The father of her child looks unimaginably shy. “Ourselves. Each other.”

She knows about Phoebe, all the details. She knows about the cemetery and the gothic drama and the kind of sex that feels like a revelation instead of a mind game.

He knows about Daniel. She sees the child she was then, has long since forgiven the silly girl.

But this is different and, in her mind, sweet. Two boys, lonely, away from home. She hopes they were comforted. Happy.

“Did you…keep up with him?”

Mulder shakes his head, mouth a little swollen in the primal orange glow. “It only lasted a term before he graduated. Never spoke after that. Phoebe, you know. Other women.”

“Alex.”

He grins at her. “You have to admit he was awfully pretty, especially for a complete piece of shit.”

Scully laughs. “That he was.”

She reaches for his fingers in the dark.

In the light.

[ofstoriesandstardust]

what was i made for?

note: i wrote this piece after seeing the Barbie movie in july and got so enraged by what happened at the golden globes that i just had to finish this. i don't know if anyone will read this but i just wanted to post it. Rebel is my most special girl. (@cottagecori unknowingly came up the ending to this fic)

same mistakes

word count: 1.5k

You squeeze Liam’s shoulder, passing him the ticket. “And what do you say if anyone asks why you’re in there without an adult?” 

“Your stomach was bothering you, so you went to the bathroom.” 

“And?” 

“Then I text you to come back to the theater.” 

“Correct. And?”

“Um…” 

“Not a word of this to your dads, do you understand me?” 

He nods eagerly. 

You hum, letting him go. “Have fun, kid.” 

Liam’s grin is wide as he bounds into the theater across the hall as you sigh. 

Liam had only been with Jake and Javy for about four months now, and already knew exactly how to play you to get what he wanted. 

You weren’t exactly sure who had put their foot down about Liam seeing Oppenheimer, but regardless, Liam’s dads had said no, leaving the boy disappointed. Apparently, his best friend Carter had an older sister who had snuck their whole friend group into Oppenheimer the week before while Liam had been in Savannah with his dads. 

So, when you had suggested seeing a movie today to keep Liam occupied, he’d had a look on his face you just knew you wouldn’t be able to say no to. 

You turn, walking into the theater with your popcorn, sitting down in your chair. 

You glance around the theater as the previews roll, the costumes and bright pink of the people in the room standing out as you snack. 

You’re a little underdressed, it seems. 

-

“The Barbie movie did more for me in two hours than two years of therapy.”

April’s words played in your head as you watched the movie, seemingly doubtful this movie could needle you so much. 

You doubted you’d even cry.

-

Take my hands, close your eyes, now feel. 

The first tear startled you as it slide down your face, not even realizing it was going to happen until your throat closed in on you. 

You got up from the theater as the tears came in succession, warm against your face as you pushed out the doors, out past the concessions stand and into the fresh air of Grossmont Shopping Center, sitting down next to the fountain across from the Cold Stone. 

A little boy stared at you as you broke down in tears, not even really sure why you were crying. 

April had gotten it all right when she said that the movie dually captured the reality of what it was like to be a woman while also the beauty of it too - and you hadn’t anticipated it cutting so deep. 

It was so hard to sit there and watch that montage, to feel the love that emanated from those clips. The way America Ferrieria looked at her character’s daughter with so much love it made your chest physically ache. 

It wasn’t often your Mom’s absence popped up like this, when you had wished so badly to know what it was like to experience a mother’s love. 

Your Dad’s love was enough for you and that was all that mattered to you. 

But sometimes you craved having someone to teach you how to do your make-up, someone to gossip with over a glass of wine, someone to guide you when you didn’t know where else to go. 

The closest you’d ever gotten to a strong maternal figure was Carole, and she was long gone by now. 

God, all you wanted right now was to say to give her one last hug. 

To say thank you for all the unconditional love she had offered you so freely when it came at a cost from everyone else. 

-

Bradley snickers as he rolls over in bed. “Now that it’s just the two of us: did you sneak Liam into Oppenheimer today? Your secret’s safe with me.” 

You glance up at him from where you’re looking at the photo album. “What?” 

He pauses, clearly seeing something on your face as he begins to frown. “Everything okay? You’ve been kind of quiet this evening.” 

You shrug, looking down at the photo album in your hands. He moves, shifting to sit next to you. 

“I miss her.” You say quietly. “I miss her so much B.” You say with a shake of your head, as you feel your throat close up again. “God, I- I wish so badly she was here to tell me what I’m supposed to do now, to help me figure out who I’m supposed to be.” You snap the album shut, sliding it away from you as you tilt your head back, trying to blink away the tears. “God- and I’m- I’m always fucking crying and I never ever mean to and I-” 

Bradley’s hand glides up your thigh to sit on your waist, tugging you towards him. “Honey, what- where is this even- what are you talking about?” 

You sniff, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I went to go see the Barbie movie today while Liam saw Oppenheimer – don’t give me that look, he was not hiding it well at all – and it just made me- it just made me miss your Mom.” You admit quietly. 

Bradley’s next breath is heavy and shaky as he tightens his grip on you. “I miss her too, you know. Every day.” 

“I wish she was here to tell me what to do now that I don’t know who I am.” The words come out soft as you shrug, looking down at where your fingers intertwine with Bradley’s. “Your Mom - she always had the best advice. And she always knew just what to do next, even when I never saw a way forward. She was so kind- and- and witty and clever. And I- I don’t feel like I am even half of that.” 

“Baby-” 

“And I thought I had my whole life and my identity. I was a Navy pilot, following in the footsteps of the people who raised her and I thought I knew who I was supposed to be and what I was meant to do and even if I wasn’t happy, it was- I don’t know- I’m just- I’m so lost Bradley.” Another tear trickles down your face. “I thought I was Rebel but maybe I’m not her anymore. But without her, I don’t know if I know who I am.” 

It’s silent for a minute, the tears drying out on your face as Bradley sits there with you. 

“I will never be as good as my Mom.” Bradley whispers. “Probably- never half of what she was. But I- I know what she would say if she were here.” 

“Yeah?” You sniffle. 

“You are the most incredible woman I have ever known. You may not see it, but Rebel is only a small part of you. You are the most badass, confident, funny, caring, intelligent woman I've ever known. You are selfless and you care so deeply about all of your friends that they become your family. What you do for work - that isn’t who you are. You’re so much more than that.” 

“But she was who I was for so long - can I ever be anything more?”

“You already are.” He whispers. The tears start again as he looks at you with an almost proud smile. “I’ve been meaning to bring it up to you for a while, thinking about what you might like to do next. You know, one of the reasons I fell in love with you was because of how much you care for others. And I know- I know what the Navy did to you is never going to go away and I am glad you left it behind, especially because those things- they’re ingrained into the culture of that place. But what if- what if there was a way for you to help others? You always say how there wasn’t anybody to help you, but what if you were there to help the girls still in it?”

-

“I’m literally a Ken doll and you didn't even ask me to match with you!” 

Liam’s hiding his giggles behind his fist as Jake stares in horror at Javy’s Halloween costume. 

“Jake-” You say, unable to stop the giggle that escaped at your friend’s reaction to the Halloween costumes you and Javy had picked out after seeing the Barbie movie together back in August. 

The blond turns on you. “I am literally Ryan Gosling Ken and yet you guys are going as Ncuti Ken and Emma Barbie?!” 

“Don’t even bother, Bagman. I already tried and she said that if I dared to bleach my hair like Ryan’s, she’d divorce me.” Bradley pauses next to Jake. “And I kind of think she’s serious. I’m not sure. I’m not in the business of, what did Liam call it? Fucking around and finding out? So couple costumes are out.” 

You give a playful half-shrug. “I mean, the two of you could go as your own pair of Kens. It doesn’t have to be Barbie and Ken. It can just be- the Kens.”

“Bob can be Alan.” Javy supplies, nudging you. “We could do a whole group costume. You can still be Kenough, Jake.” 

Bradley lets out a barking laugh that he ends up coughing down at the glare Jake sends his way. Liam ambles over to you, clinging on to the side of your arm. “I’m sensing a this is my mojo dojo casa house! moment is about to come out.”

[rosehippiefield]

Could you maybe tell something about one of your ocs? I am really interested :33

Okay so I've written little fanfic about her. Just in case I'll write its starting and ending points

Start

Mission The Blood Woods were dark and scary, full of dangers lurking at each corner. Especially at night, when all horror was amplified by hideous monsters waking up and hunting their prey. Even leaves were colored in scarlet, deterring any foolish travelers that would make mistake coming there. Not many dared to set a foot in those lands, even if the situation called for it.

But in this case, there was no choice. A path through this horrid forest led to wounded people that would otherwise die in span of few days, with no other way to reach them. Somebody had to heal them. Somebody had to carry necessary medicine. Even if this someone is a young frail girl.

Steloryna walked briskly through the woods, trying to not pay attention to shimmering red. She had to concentrate on saving victims. She couldn’t let her doubts overcome her again. She can be useful! She can save at least someone! She couldn’t stay aside if it meant other people had to risk their lives.

A drop of scarlet liquid on blond hair when she recklessly run under bizarre weeping willow trees. A thorn, plunged in tiny shoulder when making a way through the bushes. Steloryna continued. She had a potion to stop pain, but someone needed it a lot more. It was bearable enough. A smile appeared on her face with thought that her friends didn’t experience this.

Suddenly, a screeching noise rang through dreaded forest. Girl looked in the direction of the sound and everything became clear: a monster has found her. She was given a tiny knife and one grenade emitting deadly gas. Against a beast three time her size. With her physical strength, she wouldn’t be able to throw grenade at hideous creature either. But that wasn’t what worried her.

Steloryna tilted her head to the side and opened her palms in an offer of peace. Creature, with no visible eyes to tell the reaction, lunged forward instead. Girl jumped to the left, just in time to dodge a deadly attack, and sighed at the prospect of the inevitable battle.

Putting her hands together and chanting a spell, Steloryna was ready for the fight. Her clothes began to change with more flower motives appearing on her skirt, shirt and head. A chamomile. Thin vines crawled from the surface, tightening around monster’s limbs. Torn to shreds in a second. White gas filled the air, full of sleep-inducing agents. Blown away with mighty roar. With no other way, our heroine decided to flee.

Where? The only way is up, or the beast will catch up in a moment. With help of same vines Steloryna lifted herself to the top of a tree. A tall, stout oak tree. The beast made attempts to break it, of course, but to no avail. Breathing heavily, it rammed again and again against sturdy trunk. At last it stopped, but still refused to wander away. Steloryna had to use her sleeping spell again, which exhausted her. At least she can move on.

Climbing down, the girl looked at the creature, now harmless and defenseless. When it wakes up, it can seriously harm someone. Maybe kill… Steloryna furrowed her eyebrows. She could not use that knife. A creature before her was alive. Why was it so dangerous to people? Maybe just to protect itself? Even if not, she chose to go away.

Soon, she would miraculously save people she risked her life for. Soon, she would be called angel for her selflessness. Soon, her friends would berate her for not using even a bit of healing potion on herself. Soon, she would return to that forest to try to understand it and its habitants. It’s her duty no one gets hurt after all.

End

So I wanted to try to show some of her traits in this fanfic, but the general idea is that this girl is too selfless and kind. Also many things change depending on the univirse and my mood. And memory, I've forgotten many of my ideas about her.

She's named Steloryna (or Sterorine maybe, it doen't matter too much), she's 19, she has interest in flowers and medicine. If it's magical universe, she's able to transform with power of a certain flower, but for that she has to know a lot about it and grow at least one flower of its kind.

She also can feel pain more sharply (in my universe every feeling is amplified, so it's possible to win with power of friendship/bromance/family, but negative feelings also have stronger influence. Like having a headache when your loved one sits in the exam lol). So she has keen sense of suffering and if she doesn't deal with it she feels almost same pain. It's kind of selfish to want to help because she wants to put herself at ease too. Selfish in the most selfless way.

There'a also her backstory where some dear people sacrificed themself for her sake, and she couldn't move on for a long time and thought that being useful is the only way to justify her survival. She even had suicidal thoughts, but fortunately didn't go through with it. But she developped interest in extreme sports like racing. When it doesn't harm anyone, of course.

There are some other themes like people percieving her like a divine angel and not a tired person with her own flaws. Or her having interest in faith because that's where she finds forgiveness for herself. Her kindness to others also brings her to liking herself a bit more.

So that's that! I still have many contradictory ideas about Stellie because I want her to be wise and calm while also often foolishly self sacrificial. Maybe one day I'll do something with her

[spasmsofthought]

still waters (scott forrester x f!reader)

Hi!! FBI International is one of my favorite shows and Scott Forrester has intrigued me from the start. I know this is a small fandom, but it's a show that brings me great joy. Something about episode 3x6 just really hit me and I ending up writing this. Please like, comment, & reblog! Enjoy!! xoxo

+++

"If this doesn't get better fast," You mutter just over your breath. "I'm going to end up punching someone."

There's not enough volume to your statement for Detective Novak to overhear, but it slips out just loud enough that Scott perks up and turns his gaze towards you as he walks by you on his way down the hallway. You barely succeed in covering the dark look you were about to throw the Czech officer.

He raises his eyebrows, "Do I need to send you out on a walk too?" His hand points in the direction Vo just went out of the local precinct, following his orders to cool off.

You can't help it. It's not as if you can shut your feelings off and just be analytical about this. Cameron may be running point on this case because of her own experience in helping assault survivors and her newly, and rightly earned, seniority on the Fly Team, but you have just as much stake in this developing case as her. There's a reason Scott made sure you were here with him and Vo and not with Raines or Garretson.

Detective Novak chooses to make her exit silently as she passes around you and Scott.

You breathe out a heavy exhale and hold his gaze for a moment, "No."

You lean back for support as cross your arms and bend one of your legs to put your foot against the wall and stare at the green paint across from you. Disassociating is better than letting tears cloud your vision. Anything is better than getting sucked into that black hole again.

Scott steps into your space instead of retreating, forcing you to place your foot on the ground and straighten your posture. He takes another step forward until there is very little space between the two of you.

"I know that you lead with your heart," His voice is just barely over a whisper and brushing against your cheeks. His focus on you is intense and all-consuming. "But right now, I need your head in this too."

"There's a reason I never completed my J.D.," You begin. His gaze doesn't waver. Scott is dialed in on you. You remember what your mother used to say to you as a girl, Still waters run deep, darling. You haven't even begun to reach the bottom of him yet. "I went with law enforcement because I know how easy it is for a girl like Ali to get lost in the red tape. I'm less frustrated with the fact that rape and assault laws are criminally behind here and more frustrated with the fact that I come from a country that doesn't hold the moral high ground. Change a few details and circumstances, and we're in the States on the same 'ole merry-go-round with the same kind of ending."

You take a breath. There's a moment of silence as Scott looks at you, somehow knowing that you aren't finished.

"And as much as you empathize, as much as you apply your knowledge from working cases like these for years, you will never 100% understand what it will mean for Ali when you go in there and tell her that her only two options are to either be arraigned for assault and kicked out of a country before she receives the justice she is owed or take down a social media post that is her only viable option for recourse right now."

You squeeze your eyes shut and bring your palms against your face for a moment. You feel Scott lean in. You push the tears back, but they linger just slightly.

When you open your eyes, his face is just centimeters away, "I get that this is our only move right now, but we're supposed to be pushing for better options now. We're supposed to be breaking ground, not just calling out the breaks in the pavement and watching someone else trip over them."

One of Scott's hands lightly brushes over your hair, trailing around your ear and then landing on your shoulder for a second. "I know."

He reaches down to squeeze your hand, "I know."

You breathe the same air for a solitary moment before you both know you need to move onto your responsibilities.

"I'll call Andre and Megan and update them." You nod at him, moving to step away, but he holds you against him for one heartbeat, two. Your breath catches.

"We'll talk next steps after I discuss with Ali."

"Okay."

"Okay," Scott says. His thumb brushes against the fabric of your trousers resting on your waist before he steps back and makes his way down the hallway to Ali's cell.

You give yourself a moment to breathe.

[sailtomarina]

A Winter Ball for Two

Draco x Hermione | @hp-yuletide-bliss Day 9: Winter ball | WC 2050 | Rating: T

She was enchanting.

Draco could at least admit that.

He might find his tongue tied up in knots, or find sudden, intense interest in the cracks of the castle walls wherever she drew near, but he could not deny that Hermione Granger looked like a winter fairy dressed and glowing as she was in the flickering light of the hundreds of candles floating above their heads.

The Great Hall was decked from corner to corner with its usual Christmas icing, but additional care had been taken to make the event feel extra special in light of the school’s inaugural Winter Ball, to be held annually after their Eighth and final year. The students had truly pulled out all of the stops with their eagerness to bring joy back to the haunted halls of their youth.

Granger spearheaded those efforts as Head Girl, delegating tasks to Professors, Prefects, and volunteers alike. Draco might have been spared if not for his best mate being her counterpart as Head Boy. Theo refused to let Draco hide himself away in his dorm room, or, on the rare occasion, the library. He’d found himself dragged to the Heads’ private rooms and pressured into providing any valuable input the sole child of Narcissa Malfoy could give. He’d grown up in the lap of luxury, after all. Organizing and attending balls were as natural to Draco as riding a broomstick.

He’d expected to be left alone with Theo in the common room, for Granger to avoid him like the plague that he was. He’d seen how others couldn’t help but stare at his arm, as if willing his mark to burn through the sleeve. 

She hadn’t done that.

Granger sat in with them most nights, curling up in an armchair, her armchair as Draco started to see it, cushioned by squishy pillows and swimming in a blanket large enough for a Quidditch team. She started plying them with treats and hot beverages, even going so far as to remember their likes and dislikes and supplying accordingly.

Knowing what she did of his family and home, and bearing the weights of their past, Granger was surprisingly curious about his experiences. She asked him about his family traditions, his most memorable gifts. His experiences growing up in the Malfoy household were much gentler than Theo’s, whose sole comfort had been his mother, one lost after her untimely death.

They, in turn, learned about her and, by default, Muggle traditions.

“I’m telling you, Granger, Father Christmas has to be a wizard. I mean, how could he not be? Fireplaces? Flying reindeer? Time manipulation?”

Theo had taken the opportunity to steal the witch’s chair when she’d gone for a tea refill, and she’d been forced to join Draco on the sofa to address his theory.

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd how entrenched he is in Muggle tradition? It makes me wonder just what kind of man he was–was he simply a philanthropist who wanted to bring joy to all children, Muggle and Magical, rich and poor, no matter their nationality or beliefs, or did he have some other underlying agenda?”

They’d gone on to argue over whether or not one wore pajamas to open Christmas presents–the only way Draco would ever concede would be if she showed up in crimson lingerie, otherwise clothing appropriate for pictures and visitors it was–as well as their expected courses at the dinner table. They both agreed Yorkshire pudding and redcurrant jelly were requirements, but Draco had put his foot down at her insistence that roast beef could be anywhere near the level of a perfectly prepared turkey.

“Why not both?” Theo mused.

“Shut it, Theo,” Draco snapped, “I don’t want to hear that from a wizard who eats his weight in sausage rolls every Christmas.”

Theo had merely winked, sending Granger into a fit of giggles.

“Oh, yes, Theo does love his sausages,” she managed to get out, before dissolving once more into laughter. Draco refused to acknowledge how cute he found the snorts that peppered her glee.

And now, here he was, lurking behind one of the many towering fir trees lining the Great Hall and attempting to blend into the foliage.

It hadn’t been difficult to avoid notice. Very few students, or even teachers, paid him much attention other than to glare or mutter insults. The sooner he could leave, the better. He wanted to be here as much as others did, which meant not at all.

“Why don’t you ask her to dance?”

Of course, Potter would find him.

Draco turned to face his long-time rival, taking in his relaxed stance, the bulkier form he’d built in his time since those days as Undesirable No. 1. Adulthood looked good on Potter.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” He ignored the question, choosing to redirect instead.

Bright green eyes flashed, and Draco couldn’t help but feel like he’d been easily read. Then, in a curious show of nerves, Potter bit his lip and looked off into the crowd.

“I couldn’t resist.”

Draco traced the line of sight. He saw Granger dancing with Theo, her head thrown back in a laugh, the graceful line of her neck bare and delicate. He searched for the expected fiery red hair of the Weaslette, only to find her far off to the right and decidedly not the target of Potter’s desire. So, who was he looking at?

A horrifying thought tickled the back of his mind.

Was he looking at Granger?

“Why don’t you ask her to dance?” he found himself asking the same question he’d dodged earlier. 

Had they found love during their lost year, despite Weasley’s presence? Had Draco stumbled across some sort of love triangle? Granger had never indicated her attachment to anyone, but Draco had assumed the obvious. How could anyone not fall for her in close proximity like they’d been?

“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?” One thick, black brow rose in consideration as Potter stared straight at him, his arms now crossed over his chest. 

“What do you mean?” Draco was confused. Defeat the purpose of what? 

He nearly let his younger self sneer out an insult at the way those eyes rolled into Potter’s head.

“How can I spend any time with Theo if I’m dancing with Hermione?”

Wait, what?

Potter and…Theo? 

“No offense, but how? And when?” Draco asked, nearly sputtering in disbelief.

“Well, I’d have thought the intricacies of gay sex would lie outside of your particular interests, but if you really want–” He broke off with a laugh at Draco’s choked gasp. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. You make it so easy sometimes, Malfoy.”

“I do not,” he muttered. He hated that Theo and Granger both said the exact same thing.

“I’d heard about how he helped last year here at the castle from Neville, the way he was there for the younger kids no matter their house or blood status. That couldn’t have been easy for someone with his background.”

That knowledge had surprised Draco, as well. He hadn’t been around last year, either, but it didn’t take long for Theo’s actions to make themselves known throughout their mutual circles. Theo’s father had been…less than pleased, but that hadn’t stopped his mate from doing whatever he could to help. Theo was a better man than Draco, by far.

“So when Hermione brought him around, I already had a good impression. After meeting him, though?” Potter’s face softened, his expression wistful as he glanced back towards the dance floor. “How could I not fall for him?”

Not only was he the Chosen One, the damn Savior of the Wizarding World, but he was every bit the sort of person Draco would have wanted for his closest friend. He was brave and, Draco could admit it now, kind.

One song ended, then another began, slower, sweeter. Draco summoned up every bit of courage he could find. There wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“Let’s go, Potter.”

Again with the arched brow. Then, a crooked smile, one Draco couldn’t help but reciprocate.

Within moments, he stood before her, sweat building at the nape of his neck. He resisted the urge to wipe his hands against his robes. She turned at his approach, her partner now also facing away towards Potter.

“Malfoy? Is there something wrong?”

Sweet Salazar.

Her skin was flushed in the heat of her movements, tiny curls spilling out of her updo and framing her face in a way that had him yearning to brush them back, to lean in and breathe in deep. Her chest rose and fell heavily, chestnut irises pierced through with flecks of gold staring up at him in question.

“Would you do me the honor of this dance?”

Curiosity melded into pleasure, her lips spreading wide to show off her perfect smile. He wanted to make her smile like that everyday.

“It would be my pleasure.”

She placed her hand in his, and he smoothly moved it up to his shoulder, stepping in close to sweep her up into his arms. It didn’t matter what song played, or whether or not she knew the steps–as far as he was concerned, there was nobody else but them. Hermione seemed just as caught in the moment as he, her face upturned and rosy lips parted as she traced his features like she meant to memorize the moment for the future. He knew he would.

She floated weightlessly in his embrace, her steps following him without hesitation. A raise of his arm and a spin had him admiring the silver-white twirl of her skirt around her slender legs. It didn’t matter what she wore, however. He still would have thought her just as enchanting were she in her favorite joggers, her mane tied up in a wand as it often was.

“You look beautiful.”

She blushed at the praise, eyes darting away for a split second like she couldn’t believe him.

“So do you.” Her head jerked back and eyes widened comically, and she hastened to correct herself. “I mean, you look handsome. Your robes, they bring out your eyes.”

He found it impressive that she could blush even deeper, and couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “I don’t mind ‘beautiful’, but you’re free to compliment me however you’d like.”

The hand that was resting on his shoulder came up to thwack him lightly on the back of the head.

“Ow!”

“That’s for teasing me,” she said with a scowl, but he could tell she didn’t really mean it. 

“As long as you don’t punch me in the nose again.” Could that have been the moment that she really caught his attention? Not her blood status, nor her annoying academic superiority, but her swift right hook?

Her head tilted one way, then the other. “I don’t think I will. I quite like your nose how it is.”

Well, in that case.

He brought his face down closer to her own, and she squeaked at the sudden nearness of him. 

Fucking adorable.

“Hermione?”

She stared unblinkingly back at him, as caught by the sound of her name on his lips as she was by his proximity. “Yes?” she whispered, so softly it was only his eyes on her lips that read the word.

“Would you let me take you out this weekend?”

“Out?” she echoed, still barely audible.

“Out. You. Me. A date.”

“A date?”

Had he broken her? She looked lost, like she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming. Maybe he’d read her all wrong, and the perceived closeness of the past weeks was nothing but his imagination. Perhaps his request blindsided her, coming from someone she only saw as a friend of a friend, or, worse, someone she barely tolerated.

The possibilities roared through his head and his movement slowed, no longer hearing the music. He wanted to leave. He should have left earlier, before Potter and his bloody bravery.

“I’m going to–”

“Yes.”

Strings and woodwinds roared back to full volume, laughter from the other dancers surrounding them as he returned to the ball. To Hermione. She looked up at him now, serious, expectant.

“Yes?”

Hope unfurled like the spreading warmth of a crackling fire as her lips turned upward and creases formed at the corners of her eyes.

“Yes.”

Cross-posted to Tumblr and AO3

Well, this certainly went a tad deeper than I had intended. I wasn’t planning on doing much backstory on their relationship, but couldn’t help myself with Theo in the mix. He’s such a darling, and I loved inserting a bit of him and Harry into the background.

[timptoe]

What Bards Sing About

Welp, the Dragon Age: Absolution brainrot set in and this fell out of me. So enjoy some absolute fluff about my new favorite Dragon Age pairing: four times Lacklon notices Roland and blames it on his legs. Read it on Ao3.

----

His legs are too long.

Lacklon grumbles to himself as he clambers over the fallen log in the middle of the path. Already this job is too much trouble. This is not gonna be the type of job that gets you mentioned in a verse in a bard’s epic tale. That’s reserved for the Lords of Fortune who find exceptional treasure, or battle dastardly villains, or defeat hordes of hideous monsters. They write songs about jobs that have the right balance of danger and beauty and—most of all—success. 

But this job’s just a right piece of nugshit.

Start with the fact that they’re being led by an elf who clearly doesn’t want to be here. Definitely a good choice, giving the girl who wants out the job of finding a way in. Not to mention, she’s obviously a runaway slave who’s gonna turn tail and book it as soon as it really hits her where they’re going. Excellent first move. Dumbasses.

Then you’ve got the two mages. On the one hand, you’ve got the qunari—super popular in Tevinter, so definitely not gonna be a problem there. Definitely gonna be easy to stay out of sight with a seven foot tall horned woman who specializes in making explosions. Definitely. And on the other hand, you’ve got the nice one.

Nice people always have a hidden agenda.

Not to mention the two Orlesians. Ugh, Orlesians. So concerned about which fork to use at dinner they can’t see that everyone at dinner’s an asshole. Take Fairbanks. Too easy-going to be the guy who’s funding this, so of course he’s not, he’s representing the fucking Inquisition. Because that’s not a mountain’s worth of pressure right there. The best patrons, in Lacklon’s experience, are the anonymous ones who stay home and stay out of his way. How’s he gonna do his thing with the goddamn keeper of the coin who reports to the Herald of fucking Andraste breathing down his neck? Plus—and he can’t emphasize this enough—Fairbanks is the one who put the runaway slave at the front of the line. Nugshit for brains. And as for Roland…

Well. Roland’s legs are too long.

Said warrior takes this moment to turn around, eyebrow arched and an easygoing grin playing across his lips. The sunlight through the leaves of the forest dapples his dark skin in golden light, reminiscent of the shine on his buckler and breastplate. The purple of his doublet complements his emerald-green eyes perfectly, and the crows-feet at the corners of his eyes give hint to that echoing, honey-accented laugh.

“All right back there?”

Lacklon blinks. When did he stop walking?

He grimaces and pushes past Roland, ignoring the heat on his cheeks, muttering, “Everything about this is a mistake.” Roland just grins and hums.

Anyway, his legs are too long.

—

His legs are so long.

Lacklon rolls to the side as Roland’s blade hits the space he’d just occupied. He plants the end of his axe in the ground, using the momentum from his roll and the leverage from his weapon to spring back to his feet. He swings the haft of the axe up just in time to block Roland’s next slice.

It’s not that the Orlesian is faster than him. Lacklon’s pretty damn fast—you have to be, to be a Lord of Fortune. Well, a good one at least. Never know what kind of traps or guards or monsters’ teeth you’re going to have to speed past to get that sweet, sweet loot. And Lacklon’s really good at what he does. Not good enough yet to get in one of the songs yet, but good enough to still be alive. No, it’s not that Roland is faster than him.

It’s that he can cover the distance Lacklon moves in half the time because his legs are so damn long.

Lacklon shoves Roland backward, giving him space to rear back with his axe and come down in a great cleave aimed at Roland’s pauldron. Or rather, where his pauldron had been, except he’s pivoted on those long goddamn legs in a beautiful circle to bring his buckler up, smashing Lacklon’s axe to the side and pointing the tip of his sword at Lacklon’s throat.

Lacklon wastes no time, carrying the momentum from his parried axe around in a circle to knock the sword away, giving him the perfect opening to headbutt Roland in the stomach. Roland dances backwards, grinning before pivoting his weight on those long legs to spring back forward. They lock weapons briefly.

And then Roland fucking winks at him.

Locklon’s eyes narrow as his heart races—from the exertion of the sparring session, sure—and he spits out, “If you’re trying to distract me, it won’t work.”

Ancestors’ tits, that man’s eyes are piercing.

“Besides,” he grunts, pushing the taller man’s sword back, “your girlfriend’s still gotta find a way into the palace.”

For the first time since they met, he sees a look other than of charming joy or beautiful determination cross Roland’s face. It’s hard to name, exactly. Surprise? Befuddlement? Whatever it is, it parts his full lips in a—

Nevermind, it only lasts a second anyway. Long enough for Lacklon to push him completely off his axe. Long enough for Roland to recompose his features, his eyebrow shooting up and those lips twisting into the most cocky grin Lacklon’s ever seen. He says, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

He strides on those long legs back across the courtyard to get a drink of water, as Lacklon wonders what the look on his own face says.

Probably just oh.

—

His legs are very long.

That’s the immediate thought that Lacklon’s brain spits out. Maybe it’s because he’s tired from fighting so many damn zombies. Maybe it’s the toothy grin on Roland’s face that’s taken his damn breath away. Maybe it’s the headrush from being suddenly bent backward over Roland’s knee in a perfect dip that even the most ardent dance instructor would probably call “a bit much.”

Because that’s where Lacklon is at the moment. Swept off his goddamn feet like the belle of the fucking ball over Roland’s perfect leg and Ancestors burn in their tombs if he doesn’t love it just a little bit.

Whatever the reason, all his poor addled brain can focus on during this frozen moment in time is that, in order for Roland’s beautiful face to be just the right height above his own, for Roland’s strong arms to be wrapped around his body in just the right way to support his weight, for Roland’s knee to be nestled in the small of his back just so, then Roland’s legs must be very long.

His second thought is, This is the kind of thing bards write songs about.

The warrior leans down ever-so-slightly, one hand adjusting its position behind Lacklon’s back. Lacklon’s breath quickens as Roland’s eyebrow arches, matching his mischievous grin. His weathered skin stretches around the look of impish glee, at odds with their dire situation but perfectly suited for his features. It’s beautiful.

He’s beautiful.

“Rolls,” Lacklon says breathlessly as his brain whirls, his axe forgotten at his side, “w-what are you doing?” Never in his whole goddamn life has he ever stuttered like that, but he can’t find it within him to care.

Because he never wants to stop looking at Roland’s face.

Roland’s grin stretches wider as he responds in that honey-soaked accent, “Improvising.”

Before Lacklon can parse the meaning of that word, Roland scoops Lacklon around his body, his knee pushing up and his arms twisting in one fluid motion as he stands Lacklon up and rips the bag of grenades off of Lacklon’s hip and throws the whole goddamn bag of grenades at the zombie horde.

Lacklon looks on in horror, yelling “No!” while the bag sails through the air. Roland pulls him in the opposite direction, the whole hallway going up in a multicolored conflagration of light and fire and smoke. The force of it pushes the two of them into the air, and Lacklon lands on his back, Roland on top of him. Protecting him.

It lasts for a heartbeat. It lasts for forever.

All too soon, Roland rolls off of him. And immediately collapses into laughter. Lacklon takes half a moment to just lay on his back, his heart pounding in his ears. This is the weirdest fucking job.

He sits up, watching Roland continue to giggle into his hand. Lacklon grasps at what to do, what to say. Thank you for saving me. Or, I love the way you laugh. Or, your legs are very long.

What comes out of his mouth is, “You had to use the whole damn bag?”

Eh. This is why other people write the songs.

—

His legs are nicely long.

Okay, fine. Ancestors’ beards but Roland is a damn good looking man. For a human. From Orlais. 

Okay, for any species from anywhere whatever. 

Lacklon knew from the beginning this job was gonna be too much trouble. And guess what? He was right. There’s a mad magister and an animated corpse and a fucking dragon just on the other side of that wall, with his friend in their clutches. But as he looks at tall-dark-and-handsome over there, he thinks, Maybe trouble isn’t so bad.

Because if he’s gonna be in trouble, Roland’s the guy he wants to be in it with.

Start with the fact that he’s a damn good fighter. Not a lot of people in the guild can keep up with Lacklon swing for swing—hell, not a lot of people outside the guild can keep up with him—but Roland definitely can and then some. Fairbanks wanted them to be in synch and they more than delivered. Lacklon’s never fought side-by-side with someone who knows exactly where he’ll be before he gets there, who can take out the shambling corpse on his blind side while he focuses on the four in front of him, who fights like he knows how to dance. 

He’s a damn good planner, too. Even now, with Miriam in the maw of hell and the three of them out of options, Roland’s somehow come up with an actual plan to rescue her. A plan that might even work, that fully utilizes all of their skills, including the seven foot tall horned woman who specializes in making explosions. 

And he’s fucking beautiful on top of everything else. The way his lips, even now in the middle of planning for an impossible rescue, carry the hint of a smile on them. The way his ‘locs cascade over his shoulders, framing his face like a portrait in a museum. The way his eyes sparkle like gems in a vault just waiting to be discovered. The way his legs—his very nice, very long legs—tuck underneath him as he sits on the ground. Lacklon has never seen anyone who carries themselves with Roland’s particular combination of grace and elegance and kick-ass confidence. 

Fuck it. He’s gonna do it. Don’t think about it just do it.

Roland’s in the middle of capping off the plan by telling Qwydion, “Just make sure you wait for my signal, and—“ when Lacklon pulls him down into a rough kiss.

It’s quick, fast like Locklan’s fast. He doesn’t waste time, just pulls Roland’s full lips into his and oh Ancestors it’s amazing. Maybe a little stilted. Roland clearly wasn’t expecting it, so he’s a little stiff. But still, worth it.

He lets Roland’s neck go and leans back. Okay. Okay, that was good. Great, time to move on, now he can ju—

Roland grins and swoops back in. This time, there’s no stiffness. He melts into Lacklon’s lips, bringing one gloved hand up to cup Lacklon’s cheek. His caress feels like protection and strength and the strumming of a lute at the beginning of a song.

He tastes like sunshine.

Lacklon kisses him back, tentatively. This isn’t his first kiss, not by a long shot, but something about this is…new. Exceptional. The right balance of danger and beauty and success. 

Wonderful.

All too soon, Roland pulls back, smiling. Lacklon starts to get lost in that smile before he spies Qwydion out of the corner of his eye. She looks absolutely gobsmacked, and he realizes that he just kissed his friend while a fucking dragon is waiting outside. Suddenly embarrassed, he huffs and says, “What?” When she just continues to stare, he mutters, “This is the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard. We’re all gonna die here so…” He turns on his heel, walking away.

Behind him, he hears Roland in his honey-dripped voice say, “About damn time.”

Lacklon grins. Not bad for the first verse of his own epic song.

[chilling-seavey]

Now we have determined that Alex and Lily are the favourites and godparents. What are the relationships between the children and the other drivers? If you got any hc, I would love to hear it!! 🤍🤍

Ahh, this is the way to my heart, anon!! I'll share my thoughts but any of yall can feel free to chime in with your own ideas and opinions on this! :)

Yes, Lilex must be the godparents and they're definitely around so much that the Russell kids are just so familiar with them so it's easy for them to recall them as their 'favourites'. But ofc they'll also be just as familiar with any other names on the grid...especially those closer to George!!

My ramblings and thoughts are under the cut

I feel like baby boy Russell is a lot like Oscar in his demeanor...at least in the little bit that we have explored his character thus far. Calm, collected, expressive. I can see the lil guy being so at ease with Oscar right off the bat, just matching each other's energy. Oscar feels so easy to be around and he's so gentle and patient with kids...he'd make him giggle so much too. Dare I say baby boy Russell develops a little crush on Oscar's Lily? Ripe age of 7 just completely heart eyes every time they're around...holding George's hand through the paddock and yet still almost tripping over his feet because his eyes are just GLUED to the pretty lady in the pink sweater.

Leo is probably the reason that baby boy Russell was drawn to Charles in the first place. I definitely see it like the kid is barely able to walk, its one of his first times in the paddock, and suddenly he's running because there's a puppy (and then for the rest of the weekend its "Dada, puppy?" until George has to carry the kid over to Ferrari and let his son pet the dog again to make him shush). But as time passes, I can see baby boy Russell confiding in Charles a lot and appreciating his guidance almost like a second god-father in a way. (And when Pierre is around with them, he definitely doesn't teach the impressionable and clueless boy how to swear in French)

I can't help but see baby girl Russell being so totally obsessed with Lando. He's such a character and so much fun and yet so kind that's its hard not to like him. She's like 4 years old and just enamored by him and wanting to follow him around everywhere and wanting to wear his McLaren merch (much to the horror of George—"where did we go wrong?!") and ofc Lando would eat that up. He'd be just as smitten with the sweet girl. Little girl would 100% ask him to be her boyfriend and Lando would rub that in George's face for the rest of time. I know that Lando and George are already good friends but I somehow see the kids bringing them even closer? Especially likely that Lando would get along well with reader. Like to the point where George comes home from the gym and Lando's on his couch with his feet up and his kids under each arm watching TV like he lives there.

Honestly, I see baby girl Russell just as obsessed with Max too. As we know, Max has some experience with little girls and we can see how good he is with them so I feel like even if he wasn't even trying it would just come naturally to him that baby girl Russell gravitates to him. I see him even being a little soft for the kiddos, suddenly offering to babysit without being asked once or twice [because who can say no to baby girl Russell's pout and big blue eyes?]. And I feel like once the kids are a little older and if they take an interest in karting, he'd want to offer some help and George would have to put his foot down once Max shows up to one too many of the races with one too many annoying suggestions.

And although Daniel is no longer on the grid, I think George is close enough to him at least somewhat that he's not a stranger to the kids. Except he was only allowed to babysit once because he gave the kids far too much sugar and then couldn't get them to sleep until George and reader came home to find the kids overtired and crashing hard from a sugar high at like midnight.

And with Ollie starting to be more present around the grid, I think he would be another person to take to the kids. I can see one of them just scurrying over to him in the paddock and silently just taking his hand to walk alongside him :')