#these are my stream of consciousness thoughts this morning

[frownyalfred]

So what's "your" Batlantern/ what interpretation do you gravitate towards?

(Like, how do they get together, how do they learn each others identities, how many kids does Bruce already have when they get together, how long until they tell the League, stuff like that.

Also just physically how do they look, who's taller, etc.)

I love a Hal who's cocky but trying to hide emotional depth, and a Bruce who's forced to fumble with romance because his normal charisma is failing him in the face of a colleague/friend who knows him better than he should.

I love it when they're friends, and then maybe fwbs, and then eventually something serious. I don't love when Hal figures out Bruce's identity first, since I think they'd either 1) both know the other's identity eventually or 2) Bruce would absolutely know Hal's first, no matter what happens between them. He's too paranoid, in my mind.

I love subverting Batlantern with Superbat tropes, so I'm going to say I think they're roughly the same height, enough that they can sometimes swap clothes, but Bruce is definitely carrying a bit more muscle than Hal (their jobs make it this way, Batlantern in retirement are probably about the same physique)

I don't think they'd ever tell the League unless they had to. Hal, because he's a private person, and Bruce because there's no professional reason for them to know (other than next of kin documents or something like that if one of them died).

[shewassharpasthenameofneedles]

I'm not one to be petty about music. I like cosmo@bousou-p's earlier works. I just think their modern works simply are worse because they're not meant to be songs for listening, but the Next Big Hardest Rhythm Game Track. literally lamest way of selling out

[reveriesofawriter]

I was 19 and stupid (what 19 year old isn't?) and when I was lost, you felt like a safe place to sink my anchor. it wasn't until years later that I realized that was a lot of weight to ask you to carry.

[barkingangelbaby]

sometimes i forget how much I enjoy listening to music n dancing.. finished my podcast @ work today so spent the last few hours jamming out while doing some prints (for a v picky client.. ugh), now I'm home alone n have been listening through my headphones for the last hour n just full of joy bouncing around my living room (putting of small chores.. oops). but anyway!!! I'll go days or weeks without listening to music n whenever I come back to it I remember how incredible it can be.

sidenote I wanted to play games w L tonight bc I'm home alone but they're busy :( booooo.. maybe I'll see if N's cousins are free to hangout.. also need to figure out dinner for myself which is my least favorite thing to do lol

[heirofnight]

meddling

azriel x reader drabble

word count: 2k - longest drabble ever, i'm so sorry

summary: reader just escaped a horrific past that has left her closed off and in need of isolation. she takes up residence at the house of wind, finding solace in the private library. she's content to keep to herself, but a meddling house and a stray little shadow have other plans.

a/n: i wrote this very quickly, this is more like a stream of consciousness than a well-planned piece of writing lol. also my first time posting so pls be kind 😭 i just felt like writing and then ... this happened. ok enjoy!

azriel was a silent, watchful protector of yours when you initially arrived at the night court. studying you, observing you from afar. you spend most of your time on the third level of the house of wind - shy and in need of isolation. your past was something you were desperate to forget. but, even after your relocation to velaris, your mind was murky. you'd tried sorting through thoughts and emotions that you'd pushed deep down in order to survive, but it all felt akin to wading through waist-deep mud in heavy, laced-up boots. you'd found solace in the private library on the third floor, only doors down from your own chambers. many mornings you awoke, dressed, and shuffled to the warm library that was lit with beams of light from dawn's glow. you'd curl into your favorite chair that overlooked velaris and the glistening sidra far down below, taking in a centering breath. it felt like muscle memory, and the house had learned of your routine. a warm teacup waited for you, right beside your well-loved armchair. your tea was the perfect temperature: the house had learned that too. and every morning, a sly, stray tendril of shadow wove its way through the half-opened library doors. it noted your presence, your general state of well-being, before darting away playfully to relay this information back to its master. yes, rhys had asked azriel to watch over you, but even az knew that this level of attentiveness was overkill - even for him. you'd peek up at the tiny shadow each morning, expecting it now. at first, shortly after arriving at the house, you'd blink up at it - not having the mental energy to delve into its motive. now, a couple of months later, you'd felt more settled. more relaxed. and you almost considered this lone shadow to be a sweet little companion, the only being that dared approach you this frequently. you'd give it a soft grin each morning, and it would swirl happily, lazily, before departing as quickly as it came.

you were always cold. try as you might, you often only felt true, comfortable warmth when bundled beneath the layered blankets that adorned your oversized bed. you knew you shared this hallway with azriel, but rarely ever saw him. you'd hear him arrive late at night every now and then - assuming that he'd just returned from some sort of mission. what you didn't know, however, was that azriel had tried his hardest to silence the thump of his boots against the stone floor every single time he approached the arched door of your room. before, when he only shared this hallway with cassian, he'd make noise on purpose upon arriving home. his own way of letting his brother know that he was home and safe, without having to strike up any sort of conversation. he was drained after most missions, had enough of speaking. but with you occupying the room next to his own now, he wouldn't dare disturb your well-deserved, peaceful slumber. az assumed with the past you'd endured, that you'd trained yourself to sleep light. not a sound, don't fuck this up, he'd think to himself, willing his shadows to silence his footsteps entirely. even with the suppressed steps, he still tightened every single muscle. stepping so slowly, he knew he must look ridiculous. if cassian ever saw this, saw him, he would never live it down. on several occasions, your heavy wooden door had unlatched on its own during the night, leaving just enough of a space between the frame and the door that azriel could see the beige drapes that fluttered lightly against your windows through it. your sweet shadow companion would leave az's silent side to dart through the crack, and return just as quickly to whisper cold, shivering against his master's ear. to deter the draft from chilling your bones any further, azriel would reach a scarred hand out to the doorknob, closing it as silently as possible - making sure to pull until he heard the slight click of the latch.

you'd often opted to eat your meals either in the library or in your room - the house setting out a plate and silverware for you wherever you'd decided to spend your time that evening. you didn't allow yourself to wonder what the members of rhysand's family must have thought of you - a secluded, timid female that went out of her way to avoid the members of a family that had tried so hard to give her a home, a place to heal. you'd always quickly push those thoughts to the back of your mind, wanting to focus on taking care of yourself, and not others for once.

tonight, you'd chosen the library. you'd recently begun a trio of books that you'd found on one of the overflowing shelves, and you were unable to put them down once you'd started. you didn't notice the time, didn't notice the mid-afternoon sun become dusk, making the sidra glow like wildfire. you did, however, notice the grumble of your stomach once it became evening. the light of day was gone - the library now filled with the warm glow of faelights, dim candles sitting in golden candelabras, and a crackling fire within the hearth across from you. you frowned to yourself, noticing now that the house hadn't placed dinner on the mahogany coffee table that sat in front of the fire. you glanced around, the thought of verbally speaking to the house itself feeling a bit silly. you briefly told yourself that asking the house may offend it - that was even more laughable. could you offend a house? while silently mulling over these questions, that sly, sleek little tendril of shadow slowly approached you from the door of the library. it curled and twisted its way to you, stopping at your right hand to weave its way around your wrist. you looked down at it curiously - it had never touched you before, had never gotten this close. you'd deduced at this point that it was one of az's shadows - figured that it was just curious about the new presence in the house. however, it began to twirl, trying its best to get your attention. "yes?," you whispered aloud. speaking of silly interactions, you thought briefly. it weaved through your fingers, as if it were trying to hold your hand, before darting towards the door and stopping in the doorway. it was waiting for you; wanted you to follow. you cocked a curious eyebrow, slowly closing your book to set it on the table before you. gathering your linen dress in your hands, you stood, hesitantly walking towards it. "where are we going, little one?," you whispered towards it. the shadow responded immediately by darting down the hall and to the left, towards the stairs. you quickened your steps to catch up to it, only to find it waiting on the landing of the staircase for you. once you spotted it, it darted away again, down one level. peering over the railing, you noticed it twirling towards the doorway of the dining hall. family dinner was taking place, and judging by the various muffled voices and laughter you were able to hear from the staircase, everyone was present.

you tiptoed quietly down the stairs, which you realized was probably pointless. you were sure at least one of them had already picked up on your approaching scent by now. the patient shadow still waited by the door for you, swirling and twirling happily. inviting you inside to dine with its master and his family. you took a deep breath, watching as the shadow darted back to azriel's shoulder, whispering something against the shell of his ear. immediately, az's head snapped towards the doorway, meeting your own nervous gaze before you had the chance to escape without being noticed. his presence felt grounding - it had since the first time you met him. he didn't speak much, but neither did you. he felt familiar, safe, and you wondered briefly if it was due to the affection you'd grown towards his shadow that checked on you dutifully since your arrival - an act that you assumed was azriel's doing.

your hands were clasped in front of you as you nervously played with your fingers. you surveyed the room, taking everything in: the relaxed family, the spread of delicious food on the table. azriel continued to watch you with a calm, yet indiscernible expression on his face. the corner of his lips turned up just slightly, trying to convey that it was okay, you could come in. rhysand noticed you next - he followed azriel's distracted gaze to the threshold of the door, finding your small frame standing there. "well, look who it is," rhys drawled politely, loud enough to quiet the rest of the family sitting around the table. everyone's gaze found you at once, and you swallowed thickly. your eyes darted back to azriel's in a silent plead, his hazel eyes feeling like a lifeline. az nodded once, gaze soft and kind. "why don't you sit down and join us? we were hoping you would," rhys stated sincerely, gesturing a sweeping hand out over the spread of food. “help yourself, y/n. if you don’t see something you’d like, the house will prepare a more suitable meal," he smiled warmly. as if on cue, a goblet of wine, plates, and silverware appeared in front of an empty chair - courtesy of said house itself. you smiled softly, at the high lord, at the house's display of affection towards you. "thank you," you spoke warmly, perhaps the first time most of them had ever heard you speak at all.

the empty seat that was now prepared for you was right next to azriel, and you slowly made your way towards it. you felt the prying gaze of everyone at the massive dinner table, and silence still encompassed the room. your eyes flitted around nervously, and azriel tracked the movement immediately. he cleared his throat once, a silent, stoic glare tossed to his family. they got the hint, and all fell back into comfortable conversation amongst each other - attention no longer all on you. you took your place next to him, staring down at your empty plate. your hands fell into your lap, your fingers fiddling together once more. azriel watched you from his peripheral, not wanting you to feel balked at.

he leaned over finally, speaking so only you could hear, "would you like to try the potatoes?", his tone was warm and soft - comforting. you darted your gaze over to him, only meeting his eyes for a moment. he was much more intimidating up close, and you were far too shy.

"they're my personal favorite," he continued on, the corners of his mouth curled upward. you let out a small breath of a laugh, playing with a stray thread on your gown. "yes, please," you whispered to him, eyes raking over the large elaborate plates and dishes set in the middle of the table, searching for the potatoes he spoke of. before you could reach towards the gold serving spoon that sat within the buttery dish, his hand had already grasped it, bringing a heaping serving right over to your plate.

"i've got it," he spoke softly, dishing your meal. you nodded once, cheeks heating at the action. it continued this way, azriel asking if you'd like to try each entrée and side, one by one. he'd offer his own personal opinions on each one, and you'd both laughed at the way he'd described the asparagus - "absolutely abysmal," he'd report, nose scrunching dramatically.

after your plate was adequately filled, az went back to his own food. you began to poke at yours. "thank you," you whispered over to him after a moment. he glanced over at you and replied with a friendly smile, and over his shoulder appeared a small tendril of a shadow - your meddling little companion that had also apparently conspired to bring you closer to its master. it twirled your way happily, looping through your fingers and up your arm. you laughed softly, meeting azriel's sparkling hazel eyes. he smiled fondly at his shadow, "i'm sorry, sometimes it feels like they have a mind of their own," he paused for a moment, watching the smoky tendril weave through your hair. "they like you," he whispered, meeting your eyes with a grin.

"don't apologize," you replied softly. "i like them too. i think they knew i needed company," you said pointedly, not dropping his gaze for the first time all evening. he nodded in understanding, plopping another bread roll onto your plate.

"well, welcome to the family, y/n," his words were soft, but the weight you felt in your chest was overwhelming. warmth, true warmth, spread through your limbs, snuffing out the chill that had left you constantly shivering.

[astarioffsimpmain]

Astarion Headcanons

Because Astarion consumes nearly every braincell I own, here's some headcanons on how Stari finds comfort in your boobs. 

~

Warnings: Nudity; mentions of trauma; nightmares; unintentional puncture wounds

He loves to use them as his pillows; your bedroll is never your own again after Astarion discovers that you don't mind welcoming him in during the night when he's feeling exceptionally lonely and vulnerable. Not that you mind, what with how he nuzzles his face between your breasts, breathing in your familiar scent and wrapping his arms tightly around your middle. You melt a little inside when the vampire spawn fully relaxes into you after a few deep breaths, and you start running your fingers through his silver curls, always surprised at how downy they are, despite how much they'd been through. A contented shudder goes through his body and he sighs into your skin, his breath the only thing that runs hot about him, sending a shiver through you as well. You can't help but let the corners of your mouth curl upwards and your eyes fall closed at the sensations encircling you. Being entangled in him is just as comforting to you as it is to him, and you know that if you didn't have to arise the next morning in order to continue your journey, you'd be fully satisfied with not knowing where you ended and he began for as long as he allowed. 

He uses them as stress balls (and you cannot convince me otherwise); you've awoken in the middle of the night with a yelp of pain in your chest. There's several seconds of panic before you realize that the source of the pain is Astarion's sharp fingernails digging into your ample breast. He's still asleep, but he's writhing, his brow furrowed and eyes clamped shut. 'Nightmare,' you think to yourself as you gently try to pry his five tiny daggers from your flesh. But he must have felt safety slipping away in his sleep, for his grip only tightened and you had to bite the inside of your mouth as his nails punctured your skin and tiny streams of blood appeared around your areola. "Stari," you mutter, your fingers finding his hair and massaging his scalp gently as you crane your neck down to kiss his damp forehead. The pain is bringing tears to your eyes, but you know trying to toss him off is no good: his grip is like iron on you. So you shush him quietly and tenderly run your warm palms along every bit of skin you can reach, trying to soothe his subconscious horrors from your helpless place beside him. Eventually his hold on you went slack, and you were able to pull his nails from your skin, shuddering in pain as each jagged edge flayed your skin on its way out. 'We're going to have to discuss nail trimmers' you thought humorlessly as you wiped the blood away with your tunic that lay close by. "Mmm, love?" His sleepy voice froze you in your movements, head turning to find him blinking slowly, prying his eyelids open as he returned to consciousness. He reaches for you, hardly even awake enough to know where he is, but still the first thing he wants is you. You can't deny him, so you reach back for him, pulling his face to your bosom and planting kisses in his curls. But he stiffens, and you cringe, realizing that he must have smelled your blood. "Darling, did I-?" He whispers, ghosting his thumb over the clotting nail marks. "You were having a nightmare, my love." You murmur between kisses to the crown of his head, the tips of his ears, his forehead, nose, and cheeks. He tries to pull away, ashamed of hurting you, but you hold him fast, your arms circling his shaking shoulders as you pull him back to you. "I knew what I was signing up for, my darling." You thumb the skin of his shoulders where you hold him and he releases a soft sob into the valley of your breasts. "I hurt you. The one person who's never hurt me." He wails. "My dear heart, I will suffer that and much more to see you smile again. You will never suffer alone again." Gently, you tilt his chin up and wipe the tear streaks from his beautiful face. "I love you," You whisper to him. "I love all of you." Another whimper left his lips and he nodded, burying his head in the crook of your neck and wrapping his arms around you. 'One day,' you thought. 'One day he won't have to hurt like this anymore, and I'll be there to see him smile again.'

Fin

[themultifanshipper]

sooo.. i've had this scenario stuck in my head today... in the morning after your wedding night with carlos you both wake up needy bc you were too tired after partying all night... just imagine his raspy voice in the morning telling you to be good for him 😫 i'm a whore for (soft)dom!carlos i need help

You and Carlos met exactly 5 years ago, and you decided to set your wedding date on your 5th year anniversary.

The best man, Lando, along with Carlos's sisters had graciously taken care of everything, and had organized the craziest party you had ever witnessed in your life.

Warnings: smut, softdom Carlos, fluff, daddy kink, marriage kink? Is that a thing?, mention of partying and alcohol induced debauchery.

The first thing you thought when you regained consciousness was ‘Why can't I move?’

Try as you might, your entire body felt like fucking lead.

The next thing your brain supplied was ‘It's too hot in here’ which wasn't particularly helpful, but important to note none the less.

And then finally, ‘Oh my god I got married yesterday!’

Despite your body not at all responding to your brain, you could hear the not so soft snoring of your new husband next to you.

You could also feel his arm draped across your back, along with the itchy feeling of the material of your wedding dress wrapped and tangled in your legs.

It took you a few minutes to regain the feeling in your limbs and you finally opened your eyes.

Thank god you'd had the forethought to close the blinds so the room was still mostly in darkness, save for the warm glow of sunlight streaming through a few small cracks.

Your mind was foggy with the amount of alcohol that was still swirling around your bloodstream, but the heat was stifling and you needed out of the dress now.

You wriggled your fingers and got to work trying to undo it but it was no use with how you had to reach around your back, so you huffed in frustration.

You tried to roll over but failed miserably, stiff muscles protesting at the movement.

Carlos stirred next to you and you turned your head to look at him.

He wasn't in a much better state than you, groaning at the stiffness of his own body as he also tried and failed to roll over.

“Carlos” you tried to say but it came out slurred.

Your mouth was dry and still vaguely tasted of whatever strong stuff you'd probably chugged only a few hours prior.

“Whaah?” he slurred back.

What a fucking pair you two made.

You giggled at his cute face squished into the pillows.

“Carlos… I need you to help me get this dress off”

He chuckled and extended an arm across the space between you to start unclasping it expertly.

“Did I make you all hot and bothered cariño, or wre you thinking about someone else?” he smirked, and you had no idea what that was supposed to mean but his voice was deep and gravelly and you swore his pupils grew in size.

You always thought his voice was hot, but his morning voice was something else entirely, and you'd be lying if it didn't make you hot for an entirely different reason.

The dress came off completely and you groaned at the feeling of cool air on your skin.

“You know…” Carlos said, biting his lip with a mischievous look in his eyes. “We did not consume the marriage”

You burst into a fit of sleepy giggles.

“Consummate, Carlos. Not consume”

He chuckled and wriggled closer to you, so that your noses were touching.

“Same thing” he kissed you and you smiled into it, biting his lip playfully.

“You're my husband, now” you whispered when you parted for breath.

His hand came up to cup your throat gently, not pressing, just one of the little possessive habits Carlos had.

“Turn around” he growled.

You maneuvered your bodies so that he was spooning you, and he quickly undid the slacks he was still wearing from the night before.

Both of you must have fallen into bed exhausted after the wild night you'd spent dancing and downing drinks.

Now that you thought about it, you couldn't remember much after the 4th round of shots Lando made everyone take, but you were sure that was only the beginning of the madness that had probably occurred.

You couldn't dwell on it though, because Carlos was rubbing his tip along your folds and nudging your clit with every stroke.

You sighed dreamily in anticipation, waiting for him to push into you.

“Already so wet my love, you ready to take your husband's cock for the first time?”

He pushed the tip in and you gasped, it was so much already.

It obviously wasn't the first time you'd had sex, but it still felt different now somehow.

He was thick, and when he finally bottomed out, you whined at the intense stretch.

He lifted your leg and hooked it over his hip, changing the angle drastically.

He wrapped a hand around your throat, deep voice rumbling in his chest that was pressed against your back.

“Are you going to be a good girl and take my cock?” he purred.

“Yes” you whined.

“Yes, what?” he asked, cockiness dripping from his voice.

“Yes, daddy”

His hand tightened around your throat and he growled.

“Good girl”

And with that he slammed into you, knocking the air out of you as your cunt clenched around him almost painfully tight.

He grunted and rolled over you so that his weight was pressing you into the mattress.

“Relax, mi amor. You're such a good girl, always taking me so well.”

You whimpered, the fuzziness in your head was only getting worse as his fat cock split you open and you couldn't do anything but lay there helplessly and take it.

Soon the slight pain turned Into pleasure and the noises spilling from your lips sent Carlos into a frenzy, hips slapping against yours relentlessly.

You felt your orgasm creep up on you slowly as he panted and growled into your ear, and every time your walls fluttered around him he let out a punched out groan and his rhythm faltered, taking instead to long hard strokes that grinded into the deepest parts of you.

You were right on the edge, dangling over the precipice when Carlos spoke softly.

“Come for me, my wife”

You tightened around him as you came hard. Your high was as much mental as it was physical. You were Carlos' wife, you realised, the fantasy had finally become a reality. The two of you had never been so close, bodies intertwined as his hand came up to hold yours, both of your gold bands glinting in the sunlight.

Carlos bit into the flesh of your shoulder as he reached his own high, filling you up with his cum and claiming you as his own as his hips bucked involuntarily.

As you both came down, neither of you was able to move, feeling the exhaustion and the ache overtaking your bodies once again.

What on earth had you done last night? You couldn’t remember anything past 1 -ish. You'd have to wait until the photographer released her photo albums.

Carlos chuckled suddenly, making your body rock with the movement, and you asked him what was so funny.

“Nothing, I'm just remembering last night and why I had to drag you to bed” he teased, but you had no idea what he was talking about.

You said as much and his chuckles turned into full on wheezing.

“You… you don't remember what you did on top of the bar? Oh my god I cannot wait for the photos”

You sobered up remarkably quickly at that.

“What the fuck did I do Carlos?”

He snorted and dug his face into your neck and mumbled.

“You were so drunk… you got Charles and George up on the bar with you and started stripping for them. Like… grinding on them and unbuttoning their shirts and putting your hands on their-“

“Oh my god” you whimpered.

Forget waiting for the photos, you needed to prepare the boys' PR teams for the absolute shitstorm that was about to hit the Formula 1 world…

[lushaletta]

the lamb and her wolf / tom riddle

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

content: muggleborn!reader, tom is goin a lil mad

summary: have you fallen into the dark lord’s trap, or has he fallen into yours?

a/n: i wrote this at 4 in the morning so enjoy this stream of consciousness grumpy x sunshine esque tom riddle fanfiction or something.

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .��⁺⁎˚ ˚���⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

Tom is in a frenzy of sorts, he’s concluded.

Perhaps it is the sleepless nights and stressful days that cloud his weeks that are causing the weird feeling in his chest. Insomnia-induced hysteria.

There’s a flurry of thoughts swirling around his head recently. All with a common theme; you. The space in his brain that he typically reserved for Ancient Runes or Arithmancy was now composed of you, you, and only you.

It makes him sick to his stomach.

He’s unfocused. And he can’t be, because he’s supposed to be working on the secret that Salazar Slytherin hid in the deep crevices of Hogwarts some years ago.

His fingers tap on the book that he can’t seem to pay attention to as he tries to make sense of this. The disgusting, awful, pleasant fondness he feels for you. For a Muggleborn girl no less.

The only solution to his problem is to kill you. It wouldn’t be hard, he thinks. You’re small and meek and all too trusting of him. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

You are a symbol of everything he despises. Joy. Innocence. You are of the same kind as his worthless father. So why is it that he can’t bring himself to end you? To end your time together? He’s done it before. He’s done it plenty of times and without a second thought.

“Tom!” your horrible, beautiful voice cheers, snapping him out of his thoughts. Oh, great, he thinks. You plague his mind and now you bedevil his reality.

“Hello,” he says after a beat.

You ignore his bothered expression and smile. “I’ve brought snacks! You do like mince pie, don’t you?” He nods weakly. “Good, because my mam’s had some sent. She’s trying out a new recipe. Secret ingredient or something like that. I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet, with your inane study habits, I mean, do you ever have breaks?” You ramble on and he listens with fascination. How could you be talking to him so casually? So endearingly?

You’re far from done. “It doesn’t matter, though. You’ll have a break now. Go on, put your book away, would you?” He does as told. He’s not sure why. You take a seat at his table, fumbling with the paper bag you’ve brought. “Aha! Mince pie! One for each of us. Tell me if you like it, I’ll have Mam send some more. She’d be delighted.”

It’s at this point, where he’s chewing on warm minced pie and watching you do the same, nodding contentedly, that he wonders which life decisions he’d made led up to this. He’s the Dark Lord. A name that the world will soon fear. If all goes to plan, you’ll be reading in terror of all the vile things he’s done in the paper. You’ll be afraid of him, and he can’t help dread it. He dreads the thought of your heartbroken eyes as you realise what a wicked person you’d extended your kindness to.

It’s the frenzy again. What is he even thinking? He dreaded nothing. He looked at his plans with excitement.

“Tom? Hellooo,” you say, singsongingly. He didn’t even realise you’d been speaking. He glances up at you and imagines what you’d think of him once the truth comes out.

“Yes?”

“What do you think? About the pie, I mean.”

He clears his throat, fingers gripping the armrest of his seat. “Good. It’s good.” That draws another pretty smile out of you and he really hates the way it made him feel. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Also, Tommy,” He quirks his brow. The nickname was a slip of the tongue. You’d never used it and it made you nervous, but he didn’t seem to mind so much. “Are you busy later? I need some help with Transfiguration.”

He’s always busy. Well, he should be. He’s been slacking recently, too preoccupied with your freshly baked desserts and strawberry-smelling hair.

“I could make time for that,” he says decidedly.

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

You’re immediately on your feet, giddy like how he’d imagine a child to be upon receiving candy. “Thank you! Oh, you’re a lifesaver, truly!” you say, and suddenly a kiss is planted on his cheek.

A full stop. His world pauses and spins on its axis. Your lips felt good. Bad.

What an evil, evil wolf he was.

[alchemistc]

Catie's Big Ass bucktommy fic rec (Part One)

So I'm not gonna lie, I have most of these fics priv. bookmarked because I HAVEN'T COMMENTED ON THEM YET AND I FEEL REALLY GUILTY ABOUT THAT. But more than one anon has asked for this and it tickles me pink that y'all like my writing enough to trust in my recs. So. Please, please, be better than I am and make sure to kudos and comment if you enjoy any of these works.

(Guys, there are SO MANY amazing writers in this fandom. So many truly breathtaking fics already. I got two hours into this and realized I was going to need to split this into parts because I have too many things to say about each of these and I want to do them all justice.)

Writers you can trust in:

@rcmclachlan /ao3 : I will sing RC's praises to the moon and back. There is something about the way RC injects humor into the tiniest of lines that makes me want to scream into a pillow until I pass out. You will see more than one of RC's fics in this list.

@kirkaut /ao3: kirkaut is the reason I jumped on this bandwagon. The unhinged spiral into LFJr obsession and the prevalence of well thought out meta and incredibly hot fic drew me in. If you are not following kirkaut, change that now.

@26-cats-in-a-trenchcoat / catfud_ohplease on ao3: Devastating prose. The ability to turn a theme on a dime and STAB YOU IN THE HEART with it. Mac owns my whole soul when it comes to really scratching that itch behind my eyelids for thematic imagery and really creative ideas for fic that aren't just run-of-the-mill smut/angst/fluff.

@devirnis / ao3: Ali only has one bucktommy fic up on ao3 but it is devine and I love it. Ali is also the only writer who has tempted me into reading buddie. This is not an indictment on buddie fandom or buddie fic writers in general, I just tend to be a one ship kinda gal and I don't really dive into fic for a ship I don't vibe with. Ali's writing has made me reconsider this position.

@beefcakekinard / thingbe on ao3: The domesticity. Literally just reread one of Rose's fics this morning and HAD to comment on it again because it made me want to fling myself to Jupiter.

(This is not a comprehensive list, but I just realized how many fics I have already bookmarked for bucktommy and I'm already under a readmore.)

Fics that make my brain go brrrr:

only fools rush in - somnum365 ( @firehose118)

Tommy lets Buck set the pace. Buck is ready for something.

Super hot and all about checking in. I've got a thing for discovering sex with a partner starting out with frottage and this delivers. The characterizations are so great.

Colin Firth Thinks You're Hot - IDontGoHereEither (@herrmannhalsteadproduction)

Buck is late for a special date night with Tommy, but he still stops to help a stranger stuck on the side of the road. Luckily, that stranger is about to help HIM.

Cute as fuck with a super fun guest star. Who doesn't want Mr. Darcy to think your boyfriend is hot?

sad girl poetic thursday night - screamlet

Date night menu: pasta primavera and emotional unpacking.

There's something about the pacing of this that sent me into a tailspin. The stream of consciousness that actually bleeds from the dialogue into the action and vice versa. Hng.

I Was Only Falling In Love - Princessfbi (@princessfbi)

Tommy in crisis mode.

There's a moment in this fic where Eddie has to pull Tommy back from the precipice of something and it lives entirely rent free in my head, forever and ever amen. The firefam taking care of Buck by taking care of Tommy.

let me count the ways - ashesandhalefire

Buck and Tommy in the aftermath of a good evening are chattier than they probably reasonably should be

There is something about this fic that feels like the witching hour is upon you, like you could live in this little pocket world Buck and Tommy have created for themselves forever. The dialogue is fantastic, and the way they communicate with each other is just *chefs kiss*

let's make it cinematic - kirkaut

Tommy helps Buck deal with some of his impotent rage in the face of the Gerrard of it all.

Listen, I do not have a praise kink. This kinda makes me wish I did.

"[...]Everything is.” He circles a finger around in the air. “It’s very spinny.” - this line of dialogue came for my fucking throat.

Sick with it - Mellow_Yellow

what if in an alternate universe babyslut Buck joined the 118 when Tommy was still in his closeted asshole era and they had a torrid affair??

The way this is a little fucked up. The way the characterizations aren't exactly familiar because they haven't aged into what we know them as in current canon. The way you can see in every broken line and every stutter step that Tommy is falling for Evan and has No Fucking Idea what to do with that. Ugh. Best Met Earlier AU I've ever read.

He blinked as Tommy walked by, eyes sliding closed again before he left. He felt a light touch on the top of his head but figured he was imagining it. He couldn’t think of anyone at the 118 who would touch him that carefully. - just absolutely fucking end me they're so good/bad for each other

A Full Body Workout - Persiflager

Tommy and Buck spend a day trying to distract Eddie from the *gestures vaguely* all of it.

The way this is so quiet in the way it shows you how Tommy and Buck care for each other. The way they are down bad but still so hyperaware of the pace they've set, the things they've talked about. The way they take care of their friend here. I'm obsessed with the tone of this one. Also, as a general theme, nothing draws me in more than well thought out dialogue, and this one has some fucking GREAT dialogue.

Your love is better than ice cream - Cecily_v, liminalmemories

An alternative meet-cute, where-in Tommy doesn’t know the 118 and decides Buck is worth it anyway. Buck is confused but figures some things out.

There is so much I love about this AU. How they meet. How their relationship progresses. How it feels glacially slow in comparison to the canon storyline but also how in character they both are. The foundation of their love in this fic is downright eatable.

just couldn't fall til we met - thingbe (@beefcakekinard)

Buck and Tommy spend a quiet morning in together.

This is the one that crossed my dash earlier today and made me eat fucking glass on reread. The closeness. The way they're both so tactile. The blink and you'll miss it hints at a life being built together. Eating this UP every time I read it.

The Premium Twunk Appreciation Society, President: Tommy Kinard - everythingremainsconnected

5 times Tommy almost faints like a Victorian maiden at the sight of Buck’s flesh, and 1 time he can do something about it.

“Hey,” Evan said, shoving Eddie out of the way and filling the screen with his playful glare, “organise bro time on your own time, I’m on the phone with– with Tommy.”

“With who?” Eddie repeated. Tommy didn’t need to see his face to hear the fondness in the mocking. “Who’s on the phone? I didn’t quite catch that.”

- They are so stupid about each other in this fic, please read it and watch steam blow out your ears at how sweet and hot and down bad for each other they are.

desire (i want to turn into you) - chthonicheart

The first time Buck’s really able to bury his face between a man’s tits, he nearly cries.

pwp but with a whole heaping of character study. HOT.

rule four (you were only waiting for this moment to arise) - middyblue (daisyblaine) [@middyblue]

Tommy has doubts.

There is a general mood to this piece that feels heavy in a way I can't quite explain. There was a weight on my chest all the way through this in the BEST way possible. The way Tommy navigates his mind and struggles to trust the little slice of peace he and Buck have carved out is just mindbogglingly beautiful.

Come Fly The Friendly Skies - RC_McLachlan (@rcmclachlan)

Buck meets their rescue mission's would-be pilot and is extremely normal about it.

"Throttling is what I'm gonna do to you if you don't shut up and let the nice man steal a helicopter for us,"

WHEN I TELL YOU I AM INCANDESCENT WITH RAGE over how funny and insightful this fic is.

Every characterization is picture perfect.

Maddie gives great hugs, but she's so small; if she had this guy's build and could basically fold Buck into her like an old blanket, they'd have to pry him out of her arms with the jaws of life.

In the back of Buck's mind, in a place he hasn't discovered, he's already picked out a venue and chosen his centerpieces. He's mentally putting together seating arrangements. This line of Buck's thoughts on Tommy Kinard told me so.

Please read this and join me in trying to destroy RC with my mind (lovingly).

little by little - MediaWhore

Buck & Tommy, during and after the wedding.

There is something so soft and gentle about this fic. The way Tommy just gives in to the exhaustion and props himself up against Buck because he knows he'll be able to take the weight (he wants to take the weight and Tommy knows it). The quiet flirting, the way they take care of one another. The jumpscare of Marge and Phil and how this fic is right at the edges of exploring that but Buck has me important priorities.

“It was badly done,” - the way this is so in character for Ma Buckley and the way it made me want to SHAKE HER TIL HER TENDONS SHATTERED AND SHE CRUMBLED LIKE A SATISFYING CASINO IMPLOSION

Soft and heartbreaking and mending all at once.

while you arranged flowers - newtkelly

Buck’s got a wedding date, but as far as today goes, he’s also got a regular one.

The way I want to wrap this Buck up tenderly and hide him from the people in his life who DON'T DESERVE HIS AFFECTION, HIS LOVE, HIS JOY.

The non-urgency of this, the absolute too-much-too-soon he's dealing with in his own mind while he grapples with the reality of seizing a second chance with both hands and getting to explore himself within the confines of a very lovely, very sweet and kind, VERY HOT man he wants to get on his knees for.

Beautiful prose, excellent dialogue, an insightful character study.

[gfmima]

c. ルーロック | blue lock + f!reader t. solving the big question of “what are we?”

reo was dumbfounded. “uh… what do you mean? you’re my girlfriend.”

he shifted his weight against the doorframe of his bedroom, nimble fingers run through his disheveled locks. the gesture mirrors his current state of mind, a habit of his whenever he needed to make sense of a situation he couldn’t understand.

“woah, hold up, i’m your girlfriend?!” he can hear the heavy tinge of disbelief in your voice, the slight tremor in your tone had assured him that you weren’t playing an unfunny prank on him or toying with his emotions.

is he dreaming? what the hell is happening?

his confusion reaches ten-fold. the expression worn spoke a thousand words, the intensity of his gaze was familiar, it mimicked the same face he made whenever he had to cram through his taxation homework. if you took a snapshot of him in this moment, you could edit it to be a reaction meme his friends can laugh over.

“are you sure you’re not my girlfriend?” you nod at him then say, “i think i’d know if i had a boyfriend or not.”

how can you say such a thing when he’d been by your side for months on end? he was rendered speechless. he walked you to class, spent the night at your dorm and vice-versa, and shared countless meals with you. he even introduced you to his parents, a gesture that held weight since it’d take a miracle to sneak himself into their busy schedules.

“are you sure you’re sure ‘cuz this makes no sense? what do you mean you’re not my girlfriend?” he shoots an inquisitive look, brow raised in curiosity.

“for one, you never asked me to be your girlfriend, reo? you didn’t even confess that you felt this way about me…”

wait, what?

he inwardly retraces his steps in search for any memory of a confession. seconds pass then a minute and his face turned red with embarrassment and frustration.

he drew a blank.

“oh...” wearing a sheepish grin, he scratched the nape of his neck. “would you like to be my girlfriend then?”

when people thought of you and nagi, the status of ‘friends’ would be the last to come to mind. any person with working vision can see the dynamic of your relationship went beyond the borders of platonic, there was a connection that ran deeper. his concern for you and your well-being surpass what was expected out of him as your friend.

the term itself proves to be inadequate, to them at least.

it failed to capture the extent of your feelings for each other, the unspoken words exchanged, the stolen glances, and the unyielding longing for one another.

after all, just friends don’t send “good morning” and “good night” texts on a daily basis; just friends don’t gingerly kiss each other on the cheek as a greeting; just friends don’t experience a twinge of disappointment and bitterness when one of them goes on a date; just friends don’t embrace one another a little longer than necessary; and just friends don’t feel their hearts skip a beat at the sight of the other’s smile and and the sound of the other’s laughter.

most of all, just friends don’t cuddle in the way you two did. and that fact lingers in the air between you. lightly nudging him, you hope to rouse a answer from him. instead he gives you an annoyed groan, and an even louder one escapes after he heard your question.

“tired, mostly sleepy.”

“i’m being serious! what are we?” tone laced with a touch of playfulness. a stream of consciousness flickered in his eyes, momentarily breaking through his fatigue. a coy grin tugs at the corner of his lips, as the grogginess melts away, and replaces his initial annoyance.

nagi draws your body close to his chest then wraps his arm around your torso, enveloping you in a warm hold. his voice, softened by his affection for you, murmurs near your ear, “we’re… whatever you want us to be.” he tucks his chin over your shoulder then looks up and meets your gaze. “happy?”

[daze-puppyboy]

had a fantasy while in the shower last night...

invite me over to play video games, maybe a few of your friends are here too. we start playing and snacking, im too wrapped up in this round to pay much attention when you bring brownies out. once the round is over, i go to grab a snack and you ask if i wanna try your brownies. they taste a little funny but i don't wanna be rude because you're my friend, so i finish mine and im used to the taste. after a while i start to get a little sleepy, and you say i should have another brownie. the sugar will help me stay awake. your friends all agree, so i have another one. its late now, and one of your friends suggest we make it interesting. the loser of each round has to do a dare. everyone else agrees, and im too out of it to react much. you pass me the controller and i can barely focus, eyes hazy and head spinning. what was in those brownies? you laugh and i realize i lost the round. one of your friends dares me to take my shirt off. im self conscious at first, but you all push me to do it. "you lost, you have to do the dare" "come on, it's not a big deal" "guys take their shirts off all the time" i nod slowly and pull my shirt off. it doesn't click in my mind that it should be someone else's turn as we start the next round. soon, im in just my boxers, eyes half closed, leaning against you for support. you put your hand on my waist and the other starts groping my chest. i look at you confused but you assure me you're just helping me stay awake. just giving me a little massage. im not sure when the others joined us on the couch. one friend puts his hand on my thigh. i pull my leg away but you forcefully push it back, spreading my legs. "no no, we're just helping you stay awake. this is what bros do for each other" i whimper in protest, making you laugh. two of you are groping me while the other two clean up the snacks and turn the tv off. im whining and struggling weakly, unable to see anything except a blurred, spinning mix of color. you lay me down on the couch and pull my boxers off. i don't realize what's happening as you start to get undressed, pulling my arms behind my back and holding my legs open. im dripping down onto the sofa, murmuring incoherently and shaking. you decide im being a bit too vocal and shove your cock down my throat. my eyes get wider as i feel you growing in my mouth. you grab my hair and start thrusting your hips, pulling my head up to meet you roughly. tears stream down my face. once you're hard, you pass my mouth off to the next guy idly stroking his dick beside me. i weave in and out of consciousness for the rest of the night, cockwarming in my pussy and mouth while someone fucks my ass, all four of you jerking yourselves off before slamming into my cunt to cum one at a time. covering my face and body with your seed, hair drying sticky and gross. once youve lost count of how many loads have been dumped into my holes, you send your friends home and get to work cleaning me up, making sure i forget everything in the morning. i wake with a throbbing cunt and a sore throat, head spinning. i ask you what happened and you tell me; i fell asleep playing video games last night. youre my friend, so i trust you. i thought i wore boxers to your house last night, but i cant remember clearly. lucky for me, your friends all really like me, so ill be allowed to hang out with you more. and as you introduce me to more and more friends, your storage space on your computer drops significantly. its a good thing i keep falling asleep or blacking out, because it gives you plenty of time to remove the recording devices and clean everything up.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Perv!dark!Jim Hopper x fem!reader x Steve Harrington • This is a very long chapter • But it’s worth the read, I promise! The cliffhanger at the end is… 😱🤯😯

PART ONE

Jim Hopper woke up with a headache so intense, he wasn’t sure he could open his eyes. He did anyway, cursing under his breath at the sunlight streaming through his bedroom curtains, despising it. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the morning’s intrusion, yet his splitting headache persisted. He’d consumed far too much alcohol the night before, more than he usually did most evenings. As the fuzzy events of the past eight hours rose to his consciousness, he felt a wave of dread and vomit battling in his stomach.

What had he gotten himself into, Hopper wondered? The sound of footsteps echoed from the bedroom doorway. Hopper turned to see the woman he’d apparently brought home last night, smiling at him and carrying two mugs from his kitchen, steamy and smelling of fresh coffee. “Morning, handsome.”

She appeared to be naked except for one of his plaid flannel shirts, which she’d (obviously intentionally) left unbuttoned most of the way down her body.

Hopper felt nothing in regards to this woman at the moment besides annoyed. Her neon pink lipstick was missing, but her smile and demeanor still held that pathetic desperation which made Hopper’s skin crawl. She was standing there, waiting for Hopper to say something.

“Well?” she started, her tone slightly bothered as if expecting a compliment of some kind. “I thought maybe you could use this.” She walked closer and gently handed Hopper one of the mugs. “I know I sure can. Last night was…” She tilted her head, attempting flirtatiousness but it fell flat. Hopper watched her silently, waiting for a description of the night before, as he was genuinely in the dark. He realized he must have been blackout drunk, a state Hopper had somehow managed to avoid for the majority of his years drinking.

The woman sighed wistfully, and playfully tapped her mug to Hopper’s. The sound of the ceramic clinking together pierced Hopper’s ears through the filter of his hangover. She sat down on the bed beside him, snuggling close. “Cheers,” she said, and at this proximity, Hopper could now see the residue of neon pink staining the corners of her lips. Hopper grimaced. He watched her take a sip, then place the mug on his nightstand. Her hands began to wander over him, massaging his shoulders, moving along his back. Her right hand lingered below Hopper’s waist, and he realized what was happening. She wanted him to fuck her.

As Hopper expected, the woman’s cheaply manicured fingers slid beneath the sheet over Hopper’s waist, finding his cock. She bit her lower lip, eyes flashing up at Hopper expectantly. A new worry itched at his brain, and the roiling in his stomach returned. Had he fucked this woman last night? He couldn’t remember. And Hopper hoped that if he’d come inside her, it hadn’t been in her pussy. The last thing he needed was another pregnancy scare to add to his list of irresponsible sexual behavior.

“Remember what you said?” the woman asked, gently stroking Hopper under the sheet. His eyebrow lifted. “Refresh my memory?” he murmured, his voice gravelly with fatigue. Hopper turned from her, reaching for a cigarette on the nightstand.

She paused, slightly irritated, before answering. “You said you’d make it up to me.” Hopper glanced down at his semi-soft cock, which refused to fully harden even as she continued to work her hand around him. He took a drag from his cigarette, and cleared his throat. “Make what up to you?” he asked.

She forced a polite, playful smile. “When you fell asleep, silly.” Her grip around Hopper’s cock tightened, pulling a deep, lazy groan from his chest. “You said you’d make it up to me in the morning…” Her eyes were cast downward, the disappointment in her voice poorly masked. “…That you’d make up for not fucking me…”

Hopper sighed heavily, both in relief and at the pleasurable sensation tugging in his belly as the woman pumped him in her hand. He was fully hard now, that familiar, aching throb in his cock attempting to eclipse the throbbing in his head.

Hopper had a busy day ahead of him. He didn’t have much time to waste before diving deep into learning every single thing he could about Steve fucking Harrington, the only thing standing in his way of having you. But for now, Hopper decided he might as well take advantage of the hand around his cock, regardless of how little he regarded the woman the hand was attached to.

Hopper smiled slightly, giving her the impression he was interested in her continuing. She needed little motivation from him, dipping her head to take his tip between her lips. Hopper’s chest dipped slowly as he exhaled. He knew he was using this woman, whose name he couldn’t even recall. Hopper had no intention of fucking her. He’d come down her throat and then tell her to take off his shirt, and get out. It was simple as that; a one way transaction. And he never wanted to see her or her disgusting neon pink lips again once he was done using them.

She could take Hopper deeper at this angle than she’d been able to sucking him off in his car. Hopper closed his eyes and mentally replaced her with you. As his fantasy deepened, Hopper’s hand at the back of her head closed tighter. The soft sucking sounds she made on his cock shifted to deep, guttural grunts as he forced himself further down her throat. Hopper steadily rocked his hips upward, fucking against the back of her throat. With every thick, chortled sound he forced out of her, Hopper’s fantasy of you in her place grew stronger, more intense.

He felt himself already getting close. Hopper clamped his hand around the back of her neck, shoving her as far down his shaft as he could without breaking her. God how he wanted to throat-fuck you like this. The image in Hopper’s mind of you on your knees before him was intoxicating, your eyes weeping mascara down puffy, reddened cheeks, his hands firmly clutching fistfuls of your hair, skull-fucking every thought out of your pretty little head…

The woman whimpered uncomfortably on Hopper’s cock, attempting to pull away as he locked her mouth in place, her nose pressed into the wiry hair of his bush. Her hand smacked Hopper’s thigh in protest, as warm streams of cum shot against the back of her throat. Hopper groaned deeply before releasing her neck, his eyes still closed. In Hopper’s fantasy, you were licking your lips up at him, thanking him. In reality, the woman in his bed was coughing and looking at Hopper with nothing but contempt.

Her palm striking his cheek brought Hopper out of his fantasy, his eyes flashing open. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” she spat, her voice thick, eyes red and tearful. Hopper reached beside him for his cigarette, then stared at her blankly before mumbling “…too rough?”

The woman’s eyes widened, but she composed herself quickly. Shuffling off the side of Hopper’s bed, she hastily pulled his shirt off over her head, and threw it at him, a little disappointed when he barely flinched. “You know, I’d heard a lot of rumors about you,” she said, picking her own clothes off the ground. Hopper watched her dress herself, enjoying his cigarette in silence. A light sheen of sweat covered forehead and chest, rising and falling slower as his breathing returned to normal. At this point, the only thing he wanted from the woman standing in front of him was her absence.

“That you’re a real piece of shit,” she continued, her voice like acid. “That you use women; fuck one and then move on to the next best thing, I guess.”

Hopper exhaled a cloud of smoke in her direction as she stared him down, defiant. “You know what I’ve heard some of the women in town call you, Hopper?” she asked, and he shrugged disinterestedly.

“Hop on and Hop off, that’s what they call you,” she replied. “Because that’s what you do. Like I said-.” She tucked her shirt into her pants aggressively. “-A real piece of shit. And now-.” Her fingers dug through her purse, finding her car keys which she removed and held onto. “-I know all the rumors are true.” She turned on her heel and left Hopper sitting in his bed, his cock softening against his thigh.

Hopper showered and had something to eat before leaving for the station. He wasn’t on duty today, not officially, at least. But he certainly was going to be working, albeit on a private case opened exclusively by him. He intended to learn everything he could about Steve Harrington, the man you’d introduced yesterday as your boyfriend. The man who was allowed to fuck you, whose too-happy smile and boyish charm had irritated Hopper beyond measure.

Hopper had experience as a detective from his years spent in New York. He’d returned home to Hawkins of course, after the death of his daughter and subsequent breakdown of his marriage. Those years felt like a lifetime ago now, but Hopper planned on putting the skills he’d learned as a detective to good use in his investigation of Steve Harrington. As Hopper pulled up to the station, it occurred to him that his craving for you was about to descend even further into obsession. But it was your fault, he reasoned, for introducing him to Steve in the first place…for dangling that relationship in Hopper’s face, unwittingly playing a role in strengthening his need to have you…

────────────────────

Hopper made a generic excuse to those at the station about coming in while off duty to finish some paperwork he’d neglected the previous week. He entered his office and got straight to work, using every resource at his (ample) disposal to learn everything he could about your boyfriend. And by the end of the day, when the sun was beginning to set warm and amber over Hawkins, Hopper knew Steve Harrington’s life story by heart. The profile he’d compiled of Steve was depressingly positive. Steve was a good kid, rebellious at times but he’d never been in any serious trouble with law enforcement. No arrests, no charges, a basically spotless record with few indications that your boyfriend was anything less than…perfect.

Hopper grit his teeth behind his lips. He stared down at the considerable information in front of him, notes he’d compiled from interviews conducted via phone to everyone Steve knew and had known, spanning his entire life. Nearly everyone in Hawkins was fond of Steve, and the Harrington family in general. Steve’s mother in particular was a very respected member of the community, mainly due to her work with various local charities. The Harrington’s were wealthy, and used their prosperity to help those less fortunate than themselves.

Steve had worked as a lifeguard at the Hawkins Community Pool, and his coworkers had fond memories of their time knowing him. The only people who did seem to have any grievances with Steve were some of the former students he’d interacted with in high school, who said he could be a bit of a bully at times, if you rubbed either Steve or his group of friends the wrong way. He’d apparently been christened the obnoxious title “King Steve,” during his time at Hawkins High; but otherwise, Steve seemed to have completed school without much fanfare. In total, all of Hopper’s evidence painted a picture of Steve Harrington as a good hearted young man with a bright future ahead of him. And Hopper would have approved of Steve, could maybe even have been fond of him, if only Steve hadn’t had you. Hopper leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. The hours he’d spent sitting behind his desk had left him cramped and fatigued, a cruel reminder of his age and that a young man like Steve Harrington probably never experienced these sorts of aches and pains that Hopper occasionally found himself victim of.

He looked behind him through the office window, noting the sunset. A thought occurred to Hopper, and maybe he should have squashed it as soon as it appeared, but…he didn’t. Instead of leaving it, Hopper let the thought roll around in his brain, and it didn’t take long for him to be consumed by it…

It was a Sunday night. You were very likely with Steve right now. If Hopper was lucky, he could probably find the two of you together, and…Hopper wasn’t sure where he’d go from there. But he needed to see you, needed to know how you interacted with Steve when no one else was watching. If you were really, truly happy with the boy…?

Hopper left the station with a spring in his step. He felt a glimmer of hope in an otherwise fruitless day. Sliding behind the wheel of his Blazer, Hopper decided to begin by visiting the two places you were most likely to be this evening: Steve’s house, and yours. His visit to the Harrington home proved unhelpful, as neither your car or Steve’s were there. Hopper drove through downtown and found your house easily. He’d never been there personally, but he of course knew the address. Your car and a vehicle with plates matching Steve’s were parked in the driveway. Hopper slowed the Blazer quietly to a stop a couple of houses down, and peered through the windshield, hoping for even a glimpse of you.

Unfortunately for Hopper, he couldn’t see anything from such a distance. So he left his vehicle and walked closer to your house. Hopper was grateful for the darkness concealing him now, the dull streetlight allowing him coverage while he (admittedly) stalked you and Steve. Hopper waited beside a tree in your front yard, hoping it would further conceal him. Growing restless and frustrated, Hopper was considering walking back to his car and leaving for home. But movement in one of the upstairs windows gave him pause. With no curtains and a light illuminating the room from inside, it was easy for Hopper to notice if that light was interrupted. If someone walked between the light and the window, Hopper would be able to tell; and someone did…you. Wearing an adorable sundress, you were obviously dancing to a melody Hopper couldn’t hear from his place outside. You were…enchanting. Hopper found himself smiling while he watched you, twirling and moving your lips to the lyrics, looking so sweet and happy. Hopper noticed the shift in light again, and how your eyes seemed to focus on something else in the room. Your smile shifted, becoming flirtatious, your teeth settling over your bottom lip. Teasing. Seductive.

Hopper tried to see around the edge of the window who you were looking at, although he already knew it was Steve. As if proving him right, your boyfriend entered the frame through which Hopper was viewing you, and gently pulled you in for a kiss.

Hopper’s jaw tensed, the knot in his stomach tightening. The scene in front of him was supposed to be private; but Hopper had no intention of turning away. He’d never seen you so…exposed. The soft curve of your shoulders in that dress, the way they trembled slightly as Steve gently removed the straps…Nuzzling his nose against the soft skin revealed there, Steve pressed his lips to your shoulder in another, more intimate, kiss. Hopper swallowed, a conflicted mix of jealousy and arousal stirring within him. He realized he’d inadvertently placed his wrist against the growing tent in his jeans. Hopper pressed himself against his wrist, testing the feeling. Would he be able to come watching another man fuck you? A man that wasn’t him?

His breath was shallow, lips pressed firm in a tight line as watched. Watching…that’s all Hopper was doing. While Steve’s hands and lips explored your shoulders, your neck, the only person Hopper was able to touch was himself. Pathetically, frustrated, he reached for his zipper and tugged it down. The moment Hopper’s palm wrapped around his cock was also the moment Steve went to his knees before you…

From Hopper’s vantage point, he couldn’t see Steve’s face, only the back of his head and hair, which your fingers had laced through tenderly. Steve’s face was pressed between your thighs, his head bobbing rhythmically as he ate you. Hopper exhaled deeply, a heavy breath leaving his chest. How he longed to taste you, to feel your sweet, ripe cunt gliding up and down along his tongue. Hopper imagined what you must taste like, how wet you became when you were being licked, if you got off like this? His cock twitched in his fist, a pearlescent bead of precum blooming at the tip. Hopper’s eyes were drinking you in as Steve drank at your cunt.

Your head tipped back, the soft smile on your lips replaced by concentration, your eyebrows knitting together in pleasure. Steve’s big hands groped up your thighs, lifting the back of your dress, giving Hopper a full view of your ass. Hopper groaned low in his chest at the sight of you, exposed for him, so vulnerable yet unaware of your vulnerability. You’d never guess your boss was watching you right now, tugging his cock in the darkness, behaving like an animal and not like a man worthy of the power and position he held.

Steve’s face appeared from between your thighs, his chin slick with cum. Hopper swore he could taste you on his tongue, the warm heat of you, candied maple sweet. You shook your head at Steve and the boy grinned, saying what Hopper interpreted to be “more, baby?” And you nodded, your hands going to Steve’s shoulders as you leaned into him. Hopper’s cock pulsed against his palm as he imagined you requesting more from him, more of his tongue, licking places inside you no other man ever had. His knees felt weak, his stomach knotting at the scene unfolding before him.

Your right leg was wrapped around Steve’s face now, fully obscuring him from Hopper’s view, which Hopper was grateful for. Your body trembled, the muscles in your thigh tensing where you had draped your leg over Steve’s shoulder. Your fingers gripped the fabric of Steve’s shirt, clenching it in fistfuls. How Hopper wished he could hear the sounds you were making as you came. He groaned watching your body shiver and convulse through your climax, the way you curled your hips upward and humped Steve’s face as hard as you could, the way your mouth opened in a perfect O as you uttered what Hopper could only imagine were the prettiest moans to ever spill from any woman’s lips…

Steve remained on his knees a moment longer, letting you grind and rut against him till you were fully sated. He then rose to his feet and took you in his arms, letting you melt against him, your legs weak and mind gone soft. Hopper watched as Steve kissed the top of your head, your hair sticking to the sides of his face. Steve was completely soaked in you, from his forehead to the neckline of his shirt. Hopper wanted to be drenched in you, for you to rub your cunt on his uniform so he could have your scent with him all day long. He seethed inwardly with jealousy, longing to know what the room smelled like right now, with your cunt so wet and dripping down your thighs. Steve took your chin in his hand and gently tipped your face to his. “Open,” he said, and you parted your lips obediently. Hopper felt himself edging closer as he watched you accept your own cum from Steve’s mouth as he spit it into yours.

“Fuck yes,” Hopper growled softly in the darkness. “Take it, baby, take your own cum like a good little girl…”

Steve took advantage of your mouth being open for him, pressing his tongue between your lips. Hopper watched the muscles in your face and Steve’s move as you explored each other, tongues wrestling together as deeply as possible in the deepest, dirtiest kiss Hopper had ever witnessed. He watched as you sucked the tip of Steve’s tongue, not letting him go, and the mischievous grin that pulled your lips. Steve said something to the effect of playfully scolding you, likely for being greedy, Hopper imagined.

Steve whipped you around by your shoulders and bent you over at the waist in front of him. Steve’s cock was visible now, long and thick, his tip wet and ruddy. Hopper was relieved to see that he and Steve were similarly equipped; you’d be able to take a dick as big as Hopper’s without the discomfort he’d been afraid of potentially causing you. Steve placed one hand on your back, forcing your head down, obscuring your face from Hopper’s view. Since he could no longer see your face, Hopper watched your ass, the way Steve spread your cheeks apart and spit between them. Steve held his cock at the base and rubbed it up and down between your thighs, spreading your slick over your hole. And when he penetrated you, sinking into your ass, Hopper swore he could feel you gripping him, too.

Steve rocked his hips back and forth gently at first, gliding in and out slowly to adjust your hole to fit him. When he’d opened you up sufficiently, Steve’s thrusts came harder. Hopper’s forehead creased, a grunt of pleasure falling from his lips as he increased the speed at which he was fucking his fist, keeping in time with Steve’s thrusts. God he wanted you, needed you. Hopper imagined your ass bouncing back against him, his heavy balls slapping your cunt while he took you from behind. He wanted to fuck you every single way Steve ever had, just to do it better.

Steve’s fingers dug into your hips, leaving indentations in your flesh that Hopper wanted to soothe away with his tongue. Steve stilled inside you just long enough to remove his shirt, pulling it over his head and discarding it to the floor before resuming his pace. The perspiration whetting Steve’s tanned skin shimmered in the darkness, matting the thick nest of hair covering his chest. He reached forward and grabbed a fistful of your hair, arching your back, tilting your chin toward his. “Open,” Steve ordered again, spitting into your mouth before releasing your hair and letting your head fall forward.

Hopper felt weak as he watched you, the way you behaved so well. He wondered if Steve was a good master to you, if he rewarded you often for being so submissive and obedient? Hopper knew that he would give you whatever you wanted, for being such a good girl, for accepting his cock in your ass and his spit down your throat like the dirty little whore you were…

The tension in Steve’s face increased, his lips parting. Hopper watched your ass bounce against Steve as he slammed into you with a few final thrusts that had him fully buried inside you. As Steve ejaculated up your ass, Hopper came all over his hand. Cum dripped down Hopper’s fingers and slipped between them, and he couldn’t stop. The burn of overstimulation should have forced his hand away, but Hopper was still hard somehow, the cum covering his fist only facilitating his need to keep going. Hopper’s eyes were heavy-lidded, vision hazy, his mind completely awash in the sensation of his over-stimulated cock in his hand. He watched through bleary eyes as Steve pulled out of your asshole, cum dripping from his tip and between your cheeks, down the backs of your thighs as you rose to a standing position. Hopper’s cock ached, angry, hurting and yet still he needed to fuck himself, drunk on the image of you, your tits hanging out over your sundress, your hair a disheveled mess framing your face, the sweet and sinful expression of pleasure spreading your lips into the most beautiful smile Hopper had ever seen…

His cock was red and taut in his fist, slick with cum as he used it like lube to fuck himself. Hopper came again, growling into his teeth, spilling more cum onto his fist and the ground beneath him. Gasping for air, he fell against the tree beside him, releasing his spent cock, finally satisfied, from the white-knuckled grip he’d had on it for the past thirty minutes. Hopper panted against the tree, grateful for the cool night air that filled his lungs, replenishing him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, and pulled a pack of Camel’s from his pocket. Removing a cigarette, Hopper placed it between his lips and prepared to light it, his eyes casually flicking up to the window again. He was hoping to see your body one more time before putting his cock away, and having his cigarette on the drive back home.

But Hopper’s stomach dropped when he looked up at the window, his heart thudding to a brief standstill when he saw you, looking down at him. Your chest was still bare, still peppered with sweat and heaving softly from sex. Your eyes were wide but not alarmed. Hopper tried to read your expression beyond that, but…after all, how could he possibly guess what you were thinking in a moment like this?

What even was this moment, Hopper wondered? How could he face you at the station tomorrow morning, knowing that you were aware of his secret? That he’d watched you getting fucked in the ass through your bedroom window? How long had you known he was there, Hopper wondered? Were you aware that he’d just come all over himself because of you, that his semen was beaded on the grass in your lawn?

Glancing past you briefly, checking for your boyfriend, Hopper was grateful at least that Steve wasn’t there. Backing away, Hopper readjusted himself into his jeans, forcing his eyes away from yours and that impossible-to-read expression they carried. He practically ran to his car, lurching himself inside and speeding away as fast as possible, not caring how much noise he made. Hopper just needed to get out of there, away from your house, your street, your eyes, NOW.

He drove home recklessly, shame chewing at his gut. Hopper wondered if you’d tell Steve, if you’d tell everyone in Hawkins? He questioned if life as he knew it was over?

Hopper stepped inside the shower and turned the water pressure as hard as it would go, and as hot as he could stand it. Letting the water wash over him, Hopper imagined he was melting away the sin he’d committed. But in reality, he couldn’t wash away what he’d done. He’d have to face you tomorrow, look you in the eyes…and accept whatever fate you presented him…

PART THREE

[inkspiredwriting]

The Mind’s Maze

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Y/N had always known she was different. From a young age, she could sense the emotions of others, feel their thoughts brushing against hers. As she grew older, her abilities became more pronounced, evolving into the power to manipulate consciousness itself. She could delve into minds, influence thoughts, even alter memories. But with great power came great fear—fear of losing control, of unintentionally causing harm.

That’s where Number Five came in. He had experienced his own struggles with his powers, and he understood the burden Y/N carried. They had met during one of Five’s missions, and their connection had been immediate and deep. Now, they were inseparable, and Five was determined to help Y/N master her abilities.

One crisp morning, Five and Y/N stood in the training room of the Umbrella Academy. The room was spacious and bright, filled with various equipment designed to test and hone their unique skills. Y/N looked around, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety.

“Are you ready?” Five asked, his voice steady and reassuring.

Y/N nodded, taking a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Five smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Remember, Y/N, the key to controlling your powers is to stay calm and focused. Your mind is a powerful tool, and you need to trust yourself.”

Y/N nodded again, closing her eyes and centering herself. “Okay. What’s first?”

“We’ll start with something simple,” Five said. “I want you to focus on me and try to sense what I’m thinking.”

Y/N took a deep breath and focused on Five. She felt the familiar sensation of her consciousness reaching out, brushing against his mind. It was like dipping her toes into a cool stream, the thoughts and emotions flowing around her. She concentrated, trying to tune into his specific thoughts.

“I can feel you,” she said softly. “You’re thinking about... me. About us.”

Five smiled. “Good. Now, I want you to go a bit deeper. Try to influence my thoughts. Just a small suggestion.”

Y/N hesitated. This was the part that scared her the most—using her powers to change someone’s mind. She didn’t want to hurt Five, didn’t want to overstep her bounds. But she trusted him, and she knew he wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

“Okay,” she said, focusing again. She reached deeper into Five’s mind, feeling the layers of his thoughts. She concentrated on a simple suggestion: “Raise your right hand.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, Five’s right hand began to lift. Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise and relief. She had done it. She had influenced his thoughts without losing control.

“Excellent,” Five said, lowering his hand. “You’re doing great, Y/N. Now let’s try something a bit more challenging.”

They spent the next few hours practicing, with Five guiding Y/N through various exercises. He encouraged her to delve deeper into his mind, to influence more complex thoughts and emotions. Y/N’s confidence grew with each success, her fear gradually giving way to a sense of empowerment.

After a particularly intense session, Five called for a break. They sat together on the floor, leaning against the wall. Y/N was exhausted but exhilarated. She had made more progress in one day than she had in months.

“You’re a natural,” Five said, handing her a bottle of water. “You just needed to believe in yourself.”

Y/N smiled, taking a sip of water. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Five. You make me feel safe. You make me feel like I can do anything.”

Five’s expression softened, and he reached out to take her hand. “You’re stronger than you realize, Y/N. You’ve got an incredible gift, and with time and practice, you’re going to master it.”

Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling a deep sense of contentment. “Thank you, Five. For everything.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s presence. Then, Five stood up, extending a hand to help Y/N to her feet.

“Ready for one more exercise?” he asked.

Y/N took his hand, pulling herself up. “Always.”

Five led her to the center of the room, his expression turning serious. “This time, I want you to try something different. I want you to enter my mind fully. See if you can navigate through my memories.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Are you sure? That’s... that’s pretty invasive.”

“I trust you,” Five said firmly. “And I think you’re ready for it. Just remember to stay calm and focused. I’ll be right here with you.”

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement. She closed her eyes and reached out with her consciousness, delving deeper into Five’s mind than ever before. She felt herself slipping into his memories, seeing flashes of his past.

There were moments of pain and loneliness, scenes of him wandering through the apocalypse, struggling to survive. But there were also moments of joy and love—memories of their time together, the bond they had formed.

As she navigated through his memories, Y/N felt a profound connection to Five. She saw the world through his eyes, understood his struggles and triumphs. It was a deeply intimate experience, one that left her feeling closer to him than ever before.

When she finally pulled back, returning to her own consciousness, she found Five watching her with a look of awe and affection.

“You did it,” he said softly. “You really did it.”

Y/N smiled, tears of relief and happiness in her eyes. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Five. Thank you for trusting me.”

Five pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her close. “I’ll always trust you, Y/N. You’re stronger and braver than you know.”

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Y/N felt a sense of peace and confidence she had never known before. With Five by her side, she knew she could face anything. Together, they would navigate the complexities of her powers and the challenges of their lives, stronger and more united than ever.

[muzaktomyears]

Yoko said to me: ‘I was told John was in danger in New York’

Elliot Mintz was the friend with whom John Lennon and Yoko Ono spent some of their most private moments. Now he has written a book in which he reveals what went on after the former Beatle was murdered in 1980

John Lennon and Yoko Ono in New York on November 26, 1980, just days before his death

Part of me started to wonder if perhaps I’d acted rashly. My mother had heard a radio report about a shooting on 72nd Street. The Lennons were not answering their phones. The Dakota operator had hung up on me. Was that enough to send me racing to the airport to catch the last flight to New York? But then I saw a flight attendant exit the cockpit, tears streaming down her cheeks. As she hesitatingly made her way down the aisle, I reached out and touched her arm.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “They killed him,” she answered, gulping back a sob. “They murdered John Lennon.”

For a long moment I found it impossible to process what I’d been told. And then, like a flash fire in the brainpan, the horror of what happened exploded in my consciousness. “John is dead,” I whispered to myself. My best friend was gone. My heart began to race, I found myself gasping for air. I literally doubled over in pain as my whole body absorbed the shock.

Lennon, Ono and Elliot Mintz outside the Mampei hotel in Karuizawa, Japan, in 1977

I don’t know how long I sat, crumpled in agony, but eventually I regained a modicum of composure. I realised I had to marshal my thoughts and plan what to do once the plane touched down at JFK. I needed to pull myself together, bury my grief, and be strong for Yoko and Sean.

I had seen John just a few weeks earlier, in New York; he and Yoko and I had spent a long evening at the Dakota listening to their soon-to-be-dropped Double Fantasy album. At around two in the morning I said my goodbyes. John walked me to the door.

“Remember,” he cautioned me, “walk on the side of the street where the doormen are. Don’t walk on the side of the street next to the park.” “John,” I said, “I grew up in New York. I know how to walk in this city.” That was the last time I saw him.

Lennon and Ono at home with their son, Sean

By the time I got to the Dakota, at around 7.30am, at least 5,000 people had gathered on 72nd Street. At the request of Richie De Palma, Studio One’s office manager, a couple of officers helped me across the police cordon. Suddenly, I was face-to-face with the crime scene: there was blood on the pavement as well as shards of broken glass from a window shattered by one of the bullets.

I rode the elevator to the seventh floor. The Lennons’ housekeeper, Masako, let me in. It was clear she’d been crying. “Yoko-san in bedroom,” she said in broken English. “Door locked.”

I paused at the closed door, then gently knocked. “Yoko, it’s Elliot,” I told her softly. “I’ll be right outside until you are ready to see me. I’m not going anywhere.”

After about five minutes, I saw the door open a crack. I stood up and peered inside the bedroom, illuminated by the big-screen TV, which was showing live local news footage of the Dakota. Yoko had been watching, with the volume off. Even though the windows were shut and the shutters closed, I could hear the music from seven floors below. The sound of mourners on the street singing John’s lyrics would fill the apartment for days to come.

Lennon surrounded by fans in New York in August 1980

Standing by the bed, wearing silk pajamas and a kimono, Yoko looked incredibly frail. I reached over and gingerly put my arm around her. She touched my face, then crawled back into bed.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked her. “There’s nothing anybody can do,” she weakly responded. “Have you eaten anything? Can I bring a cup of tea?” “Elliot,” she answered, “your presence is comforting. You don’t have to say or do anything.”

I sat down in my usual spot, the white wicker chair, and we both watched the images flickering on the TV. For a while, my eyes wandered around the room, eventually settling on John’s bedside table, where I spotted a pile of books — it was an eclectic stack, to say the least, everything from The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir to Your Child’s Teeth: A Parent’s Guide to Making and Keeping Them Perfect by Stephen J Moss. Yoko’s reading material was similarly varied.

Suddenly, a picture of the suspect appeared on the screen. Yoko sat up and stared intently at the mug shot of the assailant; she seemed both mesmerised and repulsed — and deeply confused — by the face of the man who had murdered her husband.

The following weeks were a blur. I spent a lot of them downstairs at Studio One, joining a staff of four or five employees, fielding a never-ending barrage of phone calls. At one point early on, an assistant held out a phone for me. “He says he’s Ringo Starr,” she whispered. Ringo was calling from a pay phone and wanted to make a condolence call with his girlfriend (now wife), Barbara. I ended up sneaking them into the building through a back entrance.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Ringo told her when she greeted him and Barbara in her bedroom. “No, you don’t,” Yoko replied, “but I’m grateful you are here.”

One evening, just a day or two after John’s murder, I returned to the apartment to find Julian Lennon sitting alone in the kitchen. He was now 17 and had just flown in from London by himself to pay his respects. (He told me later that the flight was filled with passengers reading papers covered with headlines about his father’s killing.) John and Julian had made some repairs to their estranged relationship, but Julian had practically no relationship with Yoko or with his half-brother, Sean.

“Would you look after Julian?” Yoko asked me. “It’s so depressing here. Take him around New York, show him different places.”

She was asking partially as a kindness to Julian but also as a mercy to herself. Yoko was in no condition to deal with John’s grieving teenage son; she could barely handle her own child’s grief. Sean reminded her so much of John, she found it painful to be in the same room with him, so he and his nanny were dispatched to the Lennons’ vacation home in Florida.

Police outside the Dakota, the apartment complex where Lennon was killed

I found the idea of sightseeing with Julian a bit odd, but we ended up spending a day together, culminating with a trip to the viewing deck atop the World Trade Center. It was one of the few pleasant interludes in an otherwise unbearable stretch of misery.

One of the other assignments I took up around this time was reading through the bags of hate mail. The most worrying ones were flagged for further investigation by law enforcement and shared with Yoko’s private security, who started pinning the names and descriptions of the senders on a bulletin board at Studio One.

I was always running into bodyguards in the kitchen. The irony was impossible to miss: this house built on love and peace was now filled with guns. At one point, even I started carrying a snub-nosed .38 revolver in an ankle holster. I was also provided with a bulletproof vest. One of the few times I recall willingly slipping into it was when a man fitting the description of one of the assailant’s fan club letter writers was spotted on the street outside the Dakota.

He was a tall, young, otherwise innocuous-looking fellow. I approached him carefully and asked him for the time. When he lifted his wrist to look at his watch, I could see under his jacket what appeared to be the butt of a gun.

I quickly returned to the Dakota lobby and called the police. They arrived in minutes, pushed him against a wall, discovered what was indeed a weapon, and hurried him away.

Julian Lennon, Ono, Mintz and Sean Lennon at the dedication of Strawberry Fields as a memorial to Lennon in New York in 1984

Nearly as shocking and upsetting as the dangers that were swirling outside the Dakota were the perils lurking inside. Yoko would learn that some of her most trusted confidants were scheming against her. By far the worst offender was an assistant named Fred Seaman, a trusted aide who, earlier in the year, accompanied John on a trip to Bermuda — the trip on which John wrote many of the songs for Double Fantasy.

Incredibly, almost immediately after the murder, Seaman began smuggling shopping bags stuffed with private papers from the Lennon offices and residences — including five personal journals that John kept hidden under his bed — hauling them uptown to the apartment of his accomplice, Robert Rosen, as part of a scheme to write a tell-all book. We eventually got the diaries back, and Seaman ended up pleading guilty to second-degree larceny.

Yoko found herself surrounded by traitors. Whom could she turn to? For a while, she leaned on the companionship of her friend and interior designer Sam Havadtoy, who not only moved into the Dakota but began sharing a bedroom with Yoko, although not the one she had slept in with John. This struck many on her staff as curious. Although Havadtoy was undeniably charming, appeared to have Yoko’s best interests at heart, and was terrific with Sean, he was also a gay man.

Yoko continued to grow more and more wary of just about everyone around her. I don’t know if I ever fell under Yoko’s suspicion but I do recall one moment when she and I came dangerously close to a serious argument, after I implored Yoko to let me conduct a radio interview with her and Sean to dispel some of the more outrageous rumours being spun about the Lennon family following the publication of Albert Goldman’s book about John, like the notion that he was an abusive husband and father (who once allegedly kicked Sean across a room); and that he was a drugged-out recluse, possibly schizophrenic, and an enthusiastic devotee of Thai prostitutes.

“I’ve never asked you to comment about any of the other books, but this one we can’t ignore,” I told her. Yoko paused for a moment, then responded. “Let me check with my advisers,” she said, meaning her team of tarot readers and numerologists.

Mourners at a vigil for Lennon shortly after his death

I’d never expressed scepticism about Yoko’s mystical beliefs but for once, I pushed back. “Yoko, let me ask you something,” I said. “If these advisers are as good as you believe they are, why is it that none of them saw what was going to happen to John? Why was there no warning?”

Yoko’s answer astonished me. “Elliot,” she said, “how do you know I wasn’t warned? Did you ever ask me if there were warnings?”

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll ask you: Did any of your advisers warn you about John being in danger?” “Yes,” she answered. “I was told he was in danger in New York and that he should be removed immediately. That’s why I sent him to Bermuda over the summer … But I couldn’t keep him away forever. He had to come back at some point.”

I was speechless. “Look, Elliot,” Yoko went on, “you know how John felt about his own safety. We talked about this at our kitchen table when your friend [the actor Sal Mineo] was killed. John said, ‘If they’re going to get you, they’re going to get you.’ It didn’t matter what my advisers told me. He didn’t believe in bodyguards, he wouldn’t put up with them. He wanted to be free.”

(source)

[credince--writes]

Hands (1)

God, you dream of those hands.

Original Prompt:

Size Kink & Breeding Kink with Konig.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - AO3

Konig x Fem! Reader

(A/N): I accidentally fuckin deleted the original post while trying to add links to the other 2 chapters, so reposting LMAO. I'M SO SAD BC IT WAS ONE OF MY BEST PREFORMING POSTS.

Honestly? It started in a very innocent way.

"I'm taking off your gloves."

He sat in front of you, tapping his foot on the cold tile. Currently under the attention of you from the intended use of his hands in combat.

Which is why you were inspecting for broken knuckles.

Most of his gear had been taken off, set aside along with the hood that donned his head on missions. Now, you were pulling the gloved that clung to the asking of his hands off. Inspecting the pale skin beneath them.

"You know, I'm starting to think you do dumb shit like this on purpose." You glance up at him.

"I'd never." He replied.

"Because I'm lookin' at these hands, and I'm seeing a whole lot of unnecessary bruising."

"It was necessary."

You quirked a brow.

"You just, happen to lose your gun there soldier?" You pulled back, leaning back against your seat and shooting him an amused glance.

"Sometimes, things are better done by hand."

"mmhm." You mumbled.

Eyes trailed up his hands, finding stray scars and following the veins leading up to his forearms.

Man,

those were some big hands.

"Is everything alright, doctor?" He asks, amusement twirling around in his eyes, sparking out in his voice.

Maybe he was catching on to your oogling.

"Just making sure nothing broken. Can't imagine it would be fun to work with broken fingers."

"Nein."

"This hurt?" You ask.

"Nein."

"Then you're fine. I'll give you some meds and send you off on your way."

"Danke!" He shot up, clamping a hand down on your shoulder, man near enveloping your entire left side.

You started to imagine what it would be like if that big hand wrapped around your neck.

"Be careful, please."

"Of course." He shot a sideways, toothy grin. The side that his nose crooked over to and the side with the one crooked canine that made him look like a dog ready to chase a bone.

He turned, starting to walk away.

"You know, König." You stated. He stopped a turned around. "If you want to visit me, you don't need to have an injury."

His eyebrows raised, and you could swear there was a blush that tinted his cheeks. "I'll consider that for next time."

Before turning and leaving.

And he did visit you.

One visit turned into two.

Then four.

Then he just popped in so often while he was not on a mission he became part of your routine.

Have a cup of coffee with König in the morning, maybe even join him for dinner and enjoy it in the sanctity of your quiet and private office.

Just so happened that the longer you spent with him the more your thoughts were clouded.

His hands,

his thighs,

fuck, you can't even imagine how big his cock would be.

You'd like to think you were better than this.

Pressed up in your shower thinking about the huge man, wondering what his bare chest would feel like curling up over your back.

You closed your eyes, trying to picture just how good it would feel.

It would be right after he comes back from a mission, the dark look in his eyes still clouding his consciousness as he's still in the mindset of a soldier, a killer.

His steps would be heavier- you'd hear him walk into the bathroom, the rustling of clothing as he strips the cloth covering his flesh discarded down to the ground without a second thought.

He'd slip into the shower, with your head placed under the stream of hot water. Almost comically so, his head would be unable to reach the stream of water without immensely bending at the knees.

You'd hum, leaning back into him as he'd reach his arm around your waist, pulling your wet body closer to his. Head dropping down for his mouth to latch onto the nape of your neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin.

Gasping throwing your head back farther and allowing it to bump against his shoulder, letting out a light whine that he'd love to harvest from your throat.

One hand would drift down, widening his palm as it flattened and slid down your tummy, nearly covering the expanse of your abdomen before it dipped down, lower.

His other hand would grab your chin, pulling your head back to meet into a feverish kiss. Pressing your back up against the cold wall of the shower, holding it up against it.

On a normal occasion, you'd be terrified to slip, but you just know with his arm slinked around over you waist toying dangerously close to your cunt that there was no chance of slipping.

No chance of him letting you go.

A digit would brush up through your folds collecting the slippery production of your arousal, dragging his finger ever so carefully up until it traced around your clit. Circling it, dangerously so.

Applying pressure as the rough pad of his finger pushed against your clit, mouth devouring any noises you let out.

It hurt, in a way.

One that was so delicious you only wanted more.

His large finger pressing down on your clit felt heavenly, the feeling of his tongue pushing against yours as you swapped spit in the most degenerating fashion.

Your hips unconsciously pushed forward against his hand, bucking as he pressed you firmly against the wall.

He'd tsk, giving you a light scolding before removing his mouth from yours completely, allowing a thin strand of spit to cast its way from him lips to yours.

God.

You could just die.

He'd snicker, that snicker that made his lip quirk upward revealing his crooked tooth. All before he'd lean in and ask,

"What do you want me to do, Schatz?"

"Fuckkkk." You'd whine, letting your head bump against the shower wall. "Please." You'd whisper out.

"Hm?" He'd ask, still toying his finger around your clit.

"Finger me- fuck, please. Please finger me."

His finger would leave your clit, diving back down and just barely poking into your entrance.

The digit was long and thick- it felt like nearly two of your own being stuffed inside you. Even more so as the single digit could curl up in such a delectable manner pressing up against the spongey roof of your core.

You'd breathe harshly, ducking your head up against his neck and arm gripping at the expanse of his back and nails digging into the pale and freckled flesh.

He'd add a second digit, and you felt like you were on cloud nine.

No,

You felt like you were on cloud nine as he removed his free hand from you, bringing it down and rubbing on your clit as his other hand pumped mechanically in and out of you, curling his fingers forward and circling the pad of his finger against your clit.

It would feel like your legs would give out first, but he'd keep you upright as you came, his mouth would latch onto yours. Shoving his tongue into your mouth claiming you in the best way possible.

Body draped over yours, his large hands pleasing you to the point of competition-

Blinking, you realized there was no man draped behind you.

The water in the shower had run cold a long time ago, but the pleasant buzz in your head from your shameful masturbation numbed any embarrassment for a few moments.

You sighed, turning off the water and glancing down at your fingers.

For now? Thinking of his large hands would have to do.

[heirofnight]

blueberry scones & lemon squares

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: azriel spends his morning reflecting on various places he's lived throughout his lifetime. his thoughts quickly reroute back to you, his true home, and he reminisces on how you both met.

a/n: another drabble / stream of consciousness that took on a mind of its own. i really enjoy these! i only skimmed over this once, so it's lightly edited. sorry for any other mistakes i may have missed. this one made my chest hurt though - in a good way.

home.

az had resided many places during the course of his lifetime. but, as the years progressed, he'd come to realize that home was not solely determined by a physical structure with four walls - not just a place to lay his head and wings after a long, grueling day, or after returning from missions with bloodied hands and a dagger in need of sharpening. no, azriel's true home was always marked by wherever his brothers were. and now, wherever you were too.

the house of wind. another home of his.

azriel stood atop the balcony connected to his chambers. it was early dawn, the sun just beginning to rise into the morning sky. misty clouds carried on a breeze idled by, so close, az truly thought he could reach out and grab a piece of one for himself. if he squinted hard enough, really focused, he could make out the city of velaris and the sidra river, glowing like melted sapphire, far below him. could see the smoke of chimneys rising to meet the clouds as the city and its patrons began stirring for the day.

he stretched his large, membranous wings outward, letting the sunlight bathe them in warmth. his breath escaped him as visible white puffs, the autumn chill inescapable at the high altitude.

az regarded himself as a self-reflective male. his mind never stopped, and unfortunately, he was not ever able to fully escape it. this morning, he lazily cycled through thoughts regarding the places he'd called home. his early childhood, with his father and step-mother. never a home, he'd thought, leaving that memory behind as swiftly as it'd presented itself. windhaven, where he'd been dumped at eleven years old. his lips quirked up as he recounted his first memories of cassian and rhysand. the way in which they'd quickly become brothers. rhys' mother taking him in - the cabin where so many memories were made. a home.

he took flight now, shooting directly into the blazing sky. puffs of clouds caressed his arms and wings as he ascended right through them, a tickling sensation that he'd never tire of. now, he thought of you as he inhaled deep breaths of fresh, crisp morning air.

the way you both met. your father owned a bookstore right in the middle of the rainbow in velaris. an older business that was well-known and well-loved within the city. it had been destroyed during hybern's attack, and when it was rebuilt - a task that you'd had to heavily convince your aging father of - you'd added on a bakery to the renovated structure. one half was now a quaint pastry kitchen, designed with small café tables that extended onto the boardwalk overlooking the sidra, swirling gold motifs atop white marble, and glass display cases full of baked goods that you'd hand-make each morning. the other half was reminiscent of your father's original bookstore, and while he was still involved, you'd opted to largely take over the business so that he could rest and enjoy the fruits of his labor from afar. this was the first storefront of its kind in velaris, and everyone was smitten. including feyre and nesta.

feyre was absolutely infatuated with your glazed blueberry scones. on several occasions, you'd arrived at the bakery hours before opening to fulfill large-batch orders of them for various events that she'd ask you to cater throughout the city.

nesta, on the other hand, adored the attached bookstore. several times a week, she'd meander through shelves of first edition texts while feyre and rhysand browsed your daily selection of baked goods. nesta would always purchase stacks of books, as many as she could bare to hold within her arms. sometimes, if the group would opt to hang around for breakfast, you'd catch her flipping through her recent purchase, carefully cradling a scone in her other hand.

feyre had given az the task of picking up another large order from your bakery the day that you both met for the first time. azriel began to recall that day as he flew higher into the skies, his heart swelling at the memory.

"six boxes of glazed blueberry scones," his high lady had told him. "and if she has any fresh lemon squares, please pick one up for rhys. he becomes an insufferable baby whenever i return without anything for him." az had huffed out a laugh in response, nodding once to affirm he'd handle the task presented.

he made his way down the boardwalk to the front of your shop, making a mental note of how nicely the renovations had come along since that awful attack on the city. pushing the door open, a small bell tinkled above the doorway that his tall frame had to slightly crouch through. you'd appeared from the back almost immediately, flour dusted along your nose. you wiped your hands on a small towel, looking up at him to offer this beaming smile. a smile that he remembered, even now, being absolutely winded by. "hi!," you'd greeted happily. "you're here for feyre's order, right?," you'd moved towards a nicely-wrapped stack of six pastry boxes, sliding them along the counter for him to grab.

he briefly remembered reminding himself that he was meant to actually move forward. 'grab the boxes, grab the lemon square, and leave,' he thought to himself, feeling absolutely ridiculous for floundering in the presence of such a warm, pleasant female. he'd nodded towards you, approaching the counter. he'd had to tuck his wings in tight against him to comfortably fit within the spread of café tables. once reaching you, he'd cleared his throat before speaking.

"a lemon square too, please, if you have one," his voice steady despite the way his chest felt. you let out a precious, tinkling laugh. "ah, must be for the high lord. feyre's told me of his outbursts if she forgets to include them in her orders.", you shook your head affectionately, clearly quite fond of his family. he huffed out a quiet laugh, perusing over the rest of the goods within your pastry case as you packaged up rhys' lemon square.

he wasn't sure back then what compelled him to utter his next words, although now, years later, he knew. you were magnetic, and he would have done anything to see that beaming smile again and again and again. which is why he proceeded to point at the pastry case and ask for one of everything else within it.

you'd paused, eyes widening slightly at the request. "also for the high lord?," you'd breathed out, purely stunned. the corners of his lips had quirked upward then, your adorable expression hitting him right in the chest. "no, for me.", he'd stated matter-of-factly. you'd graced him then with one of those face-splitting smiles, dimples sweeping across your cheeks in its wake. he was a goner then, and he knew it.

after carefully packing up the rest of his order - which was now so large, he had no idea how he'd manage to fly back up to the house of wind cradling all of these boxes - you'd slid them across the counter to him.

he'd reached out to grab them, and that's when you took note of his beautiful, scarred hands. your gaze snagged on them, and he noticed immediately. his heart sank, a breath lodged in his throat. surely, he thought, this was the swift and brutal end to something that could have been between the both of you.

instead, you hummed quietly, unabashedly meeting his gaze. your next words came out quietly, almost a whisper - a hint of awe woven into the statement that azriel would absolutely never forget in this lifetime or the next: "you must be very brave."

no, it was then that azriel knew he was a goner. and that was it. he'd vowed at that very moment to do whatever he had to do in order to know you, love you. and you had made it so easy for him to do so.

azriel smiled at the memory, smiled at the fact that while he'd spent his morning reflecting on places that he had lived and called home throughout his lifetime, that you had flooded his mind - guided him back to all thoughts of you.

of course you had. you were his home, after all. a living, breathing representation of love so pure. he'd never once questioned it, he'd never felt something so sure. your love had healed him of so many things, things that you weren't even aware of.

and he knew, that if love were enough, all of his physical scars would be washed away too.

a/n: hi thank u for reading! honestly no idea what this is or where it came from, but i do know that i'm PMSing and writing it almost made me cry lmao. i'm such a sucker. anyway pls let me know if you enjoyed this drabble!