#they’re not even together anymore but I think she probably speaks to him more than we speak to each other

[chloeofgondor]

I did in fact try to establish a singular boundary and yet it’s still been crossed, send help

[starrystevie]

it was all supposed to be a joke. they were supposed to be in steve’s backyard with all their friends and family in shitty lawn chairs, holding cans of budweiser and jamming to whatever song eddie was in the mood for that day blasting through the speakers. steve was supposed to be in front of them all in a tuxedo t-shirt and powder blue dress pants, flowers in his hair that had been teased to high heaven and dark black sunglasses to keep out the bright sun. that’s how they had planned it all those years ago when they’d been high and drunk and young and in love.

but somehow instead, the yard is full of flowers and benches that hopper and wayne put together with spare wood for everyone to sit on and there’s an archway at the end of the aisle and soft acoustic songs spilling gently out of the speakers. steve’s still at the front, that was always supposed to happen, but this time he’s wearing an actual tux, light cream with a boutonnière and everything, and his hair is pushed back just so. there’s no flowers in his hair and no sunglasses but it’s cloudy enough of a day where he doesn’t really need them anyway.

they weren't even supposed to do this. there wasn't supposed to be a grand entrance and a walk down the aisle, no flower girls or ring bearers or anything remotely traditional. but what started off as, "well, i wouldn't mind walking down the aisle," and "i think exchanging rings would be cool," and "who cares if it isn't legal, i'm going to marry you anyway damnit," turned into this beautiful day of friends and family and love.

robin’s standing beside him in a tux of her own, pinstripe grey donning a pocket boutonnière that matches nancy’s bouquet, with a few notecards in her hands. and speaking of nancy, she’s heading down the aisle in a flowing dress, and when her eyes catch robin’s, she crinkles her nose before blowing her a kiss. she stands opposite of steve as eddie's not-quite-bridesmaid and grips her bouquet tightly, her eyes never leaving robin's.

and then there's dustin. he's in a tux that matches steve's and he has his curls pushed back with probably too much gel and a tie that suzie got him for their 3rd anniversary. the best thing he's sporting, though, is the smile on his face and the ring box in his hand and the joy in his eyes as he looks out at the crowd. having him there as best man and smelling the cheap cologne he wears so he seems more grown up calms steve's ever beating heart enough to where he doesn't think he'll throw up from nerves anymore.

all of their loved ones are surrounding them in clothes steve’s never seen before but he couldn’t care at all what they’re wearing because they’re all smiling wide and bright at him. he catches himself rocking back and forth on his feet so he shakes out his hands and holds them behind his back to distract himself. his stomach is rolling with waves or butterflies and when he catches joyce's eye in the front row, she mimes taking in a deep breath which he instantly copies. the soft grin she sends in return tells him that he thinks it could actually work to settle him. mothers have that healing way about them.

he’s never been good with weddings, always fidgeting in a too tight suit his mom picked out, but he never thought he’d be this antsy at his own.

steve's just about to give up and sprint down the aisle to get eddie so they can run away together and leave nerves and or butterflies behind him, but then the music stops. he sees lucas changing out the tapes quickly, giving a thumbs up to mike who throws one to will who runs back behind the shed to where he knows eddie is waiting and when will pops his head back out to run back to his seat, it hits him.

he's getting married.

steve doesn't have time to think about it anymore than he already has been for the last 8 years because eddie's coming around the corner of the shed.

'here comes the sun' is playing out over the speakers, soft and perfect, and eddie's smiling, wide and beautiful, and steve can't help but mirror it back to him. the clouds overhead seem to hear them, hear the song and hear their hearts beating in time with each other, because as soon as eddie gets to the aisle, bright warm rays of sunlight peak out and make the rhinestones he demanded line the lapels of his own black tux shine like real diamonds.

steve stops breathing. he swears he does, and he knows his family are all feeling the same way. he can hear a few gasps, hears joyce muttering what she thinks is a silent, "oh my god," in hop's ear, and watches how wayne stands up just a bit straighter from his front row seat.

eddie glides down the aisle like the drama king he is, soaking in the looks from everyone they care about and soaking in the sun that seems to come out only for him. it's like the sun knows he's a star, too, and wants to come out to be with one of it's own. eddie's always been sunshine and starlight and a blinding thing to look at and take in. he's the light, steve's the moth, and a few clouds on their wedding day could never change it.

"well, that was insanely good timing," eddie whispers to steve once he reaches him. his grin softens and he brings up a hand to wipe gently at the tear tracks on steve's cheeks. "hi, baby."

and steve can do nothing but choke out a laugh, catching eddie's hand in his own so he press a kiss to his palm. he thinks he can feel eddie's heartbeat against his lips and, even if it's his brain playing tricks on him, he likes the sentiment that it brings. "i love you so fucking much."

it's eddie's turn to get teary-eyed and the sun glints off the tears that fall down his cheek before heading back behind the clouds, dotting quick-to-fade sparkles on his face like a wedding present.

steve kisses him. he can't help it. it's nothing but a fast press of lips, watery smile to watery smile, and everyone is cheering except for robin.

"hey! it's not time for that yet," she says with a pretend scowl, arms pressing to each of their chests to keep them apart. it's enough to leave nancy giggling where she stands behind eddie, her laugh like bells bouncing off of the trees surrounding them. "just give me like ten minutes and we'll have you married and you can kiss all you want then."

steve swears he can hear mike groan at that which cause him to grin which cause eddie to grin back and then they're holding hands like it's the only way to get through the next ten minutes. and it might just be the only way to get through it. knowing them, if they didn't hold on tight, one of them would make a move first and there'd be hands around waists and fingers tangled in hair and robin would hate them forever because she wouldn't get to do her speech.

it's after vows are shared, after rings are on fingers, after kisses are pressed to lips and cheeks and temples and hands and everything else they can quickly reach, that the two of them get some peace. everyone is inside eating snacks and drinking cheap champagne, and it goes unspoken that they're going to take some time for themselves. take some time to bask in their new maybe not-so-legally real but as real as could ever be in their hearts marriage.

they make their way, hand in hand like they've always been meant to do, to a table set up for them. eddie pops a bottle of champagne that they pass back and forth between themselves as they share cheesy smiles and champagne-laced kisses. and it's as they look into each other's eyes, fingers lacing so their rings clink softly against each other, that the sun peaks out to say hello once more.

[lunajay33]

Lost Part.2

•🗝️🕊️🩶•

Summary: Carl Grimes was your best friend since birth, when he died the world turns grey, he was your partner in crime so you shut yourself off from the world, no one could get through, until one day you’re wondering Alexandria seeing Negan in his cell, maybe he could be the one to break you out of this hell

Pairing: Negan Smith x f!reader

Content: Age gap, Depressing themes, Consoling, Spicy themes later on, breeding kink, character development

Part.1

•Masterlist•

After Michonne caught me having a moment with Negan, she told Daryl and now they’re ripping me a new one, I’ve never felt like I disappointed anyone more but I can’t help how I feel towards Negan, I don’t get to chose how I feel

Daryl and Michonne are pacing back and forth in the living room in front of me as I’m sat on the couch waiting for their outburst

“Damn kid what the hell were ya thinking? Ya know what he’s done” Daryl groaned

“I’m going to chalk this up to you trying to distract yourself from Carls death but…..”

“DON’T!” I cut Michonne off feeling that rage

“Y/n…..”

“Don’t talk about him, and don’t tell me how to feel, you don’t understand how I feel, Negan does….he’s helping me, I don’t feel extremely depressed when I talk to him, I thought I’d get better eventually but it’s been 2 months, hell Maggie got herself together quicker than this after Glenn, I don’t know what’s wrong with me” I feel my bottom lip wobble again hating the disappointed look

“Why can’t you let us help? Daryl’s tried, do you want Maggie to come back maybe she could talk some sense into you, see the reason why she doesn’t have Glenn anymore” Michonne huffed before she stomped out the house slamming the door

“I don’t like ya talking to him but…….i can’t watch ya go through this anymore, if yer just talking to him and it helps do it, just be careful sunshine” Daryl said more gently as he rubs my back

“Thanks D, I’m just gonna go to my room” I say defeated but at least Daryl was sort of on board, thankfully Michonne never brought up what she caught me and Negan doing, if so Daryl would’ve probably marched down to his cell and beat him black and blue

It’s been a week since everything happened, the first day after I got up to go see him and right as I got to his cell Michonne dragged me back to the house, she wasn’t as keen as Daryl was, I tried again the next day and the same thing happened, see even got Rick involved so now I’m basically under house arrest, by the third day I could feel that darkness seep back in, I continued to stay in my room, Daryl would occasionally bring me food and water just like now

“Hey kid, ya hungry?” He asks as he sits on the edge of my bed with a sandwich and glass of water

I nod feeling too tired to even speak, this was way out of character for Michonne, sure she could be a hard ass but this…..this was too much

“They still won’t let ya leave?” My silence answered his question hearing him sigh

“It’s happening again isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Negan was helping for a bit, I can’t think of anything else except Carl when I’m locked up in here” I say looking at the letter that I have placed on the night stand, he followed my gaze taking it and reading it

“Ya can’t keep reminding yourself of this over and over”

“I….i didn’t even get to say goodbye”

“Would seeing his grave help?”

I didn’t even know he had a grave, no one even told me but maybe seeing it and talking could help resolve something that’s been missing

“I know this might be a long shot but could I take Negan? Would you be able to convince Rick just for the day to let him out?”

He watched me for a bit with that look I can never decipher what he’s thinking

“I’ll try but I ain’t promising nothing, now come on I’ll walk ya to the cell”

I ate my sandwich on the walk to Negan and of course when we got there Michonne and Rick tried to stop me

“I’m telling ya Rick let her go, ya haven’t seen what I seen, she needs this” as they are arguing I slip past them down to Negans cell

“Hey” I call catching his attention

“Long time no see darlin”

“I’m sorry, if you can hear them you’ll know they’ve been keeping me under house arrest, I tried to come see you but…”

“I know, I heard everytime Michonne tried to stop you, I missed our talks though, I can see you have too”

“I’ve been thinking about our conversation last time, it’s partially been keeping me sane all locked up”

“Can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind baby, but you know I’d never use you right, I ain’t sick like that”

“I know, you’re different now hell I’m different now, I just wish you weren’t in this cell I’m working on it”

“What do you mean?”

“Daryl said I could go to Carls grave, I didn’t even know he had one until today, I asked if I could take you out for the day since I don’t feel judged with you, obviously only if you wanted, he said he’s gonna try to work something out”

“Oh sweetheart, you got a good heart but are you sure you want me out with you?”

“You don’t have to”

“No I want to, I wanna be there for you”

Just being here for a few moments have lifted that weight off my chest

Later that night everyone went to bed early and they left my door unlocked so I sneak out as quietly as possible, quickly making my way down the block to Negans cell and he was still wide awake, I unlock his cell and sit next to him his arms immediately wrapping around me

I sigh in relief to be able to touch him again, to feel his warmth, he moved me around so I’m partially laid against his chest and lap as he sat back against the brick wall playing with my fingers

“Have you tried anything since our conversation last week?” He asks breaking the silence my body feeling on fire instantly

“I still don’t know how”

“Want me to show you baby?” I look up at him feeling my legs tingle

“You’d do that?”

“I’d love it, you need to unwind, forget about your problems for a moment”

“Please, please help me forget” I whine feeling his hand rub up and down my thigh

“My pleasure” he smirks as he plays with the hem of my pants before pushing his hand fully down basically grasping my pussy

“Look at that baby girl, already wet and I’ve barely done anything” I can feel my face redden

“This is so embarrassing” I mumble hearing him laugh

“Nah baby, this is hot as hell, you’re being such a good girl” his praise eased me

His fingers circled my clit making me jolt it felt so foreign, everytime I’ve tried it’s felt like nothing but his strong hands touching me was so much more than I could imagine

“Oh god” I whine as he gets faster pushing me closer to the edge

“You like that angel? Do I make you feel good?” He teased as he grips my hair with his other hand

“Yes Negan! Oh it’s too much fuck” I gasp when he moves his hand down and enters a finger then another stretching me a bit with his big long fingers

“You okay darling?” He asks as he continues to finger me at a slow pace, doing a come here motion hitting a spot I’ve never felt before

“Woah, that feels…….oh god that feels different”

“Different good?” He goes a bit faster making me see stars as my head slumps against his chest

“So good, why does it feel better when you do it” I whine

“Cause I know how to please ya, this tight pussy just need a good man to clear your head, fix all your worries”

Something was building low in my stomach, it felt so weird but good but also like I was gonna lose control

“Negan wait I’m gonna…” but he kept going

“No baby it’s alright I’ve got you, let it go” his thumb came up to rub my clit again and I instantly let go feeling his hand wrap around my mouth as I let out a intense scream my sight going white, my pants felt soak as I came back down to earth laying limp in his arms

“Fuck baby, that was hot as fuck, you’re dripping” I sat up realizing what just happened, I look at him as he sucks his fingers clean making me hot all over again

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I told you something was happening now I made a mess and my pants are full of piss, I have to go” I turn to leave completely embarrased when I feel his arms wrap around me from behind

“Oh baby, you’re so damn cute, that’s normal and it’s so damn sexy, you just came all over my fingers and let me tell you, you taste like heaven” he whispers in my ear as I turn in his arms

“Are you sure this is normal…….it did feel really good couldn’t see for a second” he smirks gripping my hips

“If you think that was good baby, wait till I give you this dick, you’ll be begging for more after”

“Can we now?” I beg as I push him back on the bed straddling his hips

“As much as I’d love to destroy this pussy, I ain’t taking your virginity in some grimy cell where everyone can see and hear us”

“Okay, but what about you I can feel how hard you are, I can help” I say grinding down on him moaning as I feel his bulge rub against my sensitive clit

“Not tonight, tonight was about you”

“Well if I can’t help…..can I atleast see it?” I ask biting my finger aching to see his dick

“You ever see one before?” He asks laughing

“No please I wanna see it” I pull on his belt slowly undoing it waiting for him to stop me but he never does, unbuttoning his pants, we both stand so I can pull his pants down to his thighs, playing with the hem of his boxers

“Go ahead darling, he ain’t going to bite” he says gripping my hair, I pull them down seeing it smack against his stomach and my knees felt like jelly again, it was so big and thick it was mouth watering

“You like what you see”

“Can I touch it” I look up at him seeing his eyes were blown with lust

“Go ahead baby” I run my finger up the bottom till I reach the tip and circle it my finger wet with liquid, I bring it up and lick it and it tastes so good I want more hearing him groan as I do it

“Fuck you know what you just did?”

I shake my head I feel so clueless with all this

“God you’re going to be the death of me” I push him back down on the bed again and kneel between his legs

“Please I want more let me lick it”

“God how can I say no to that”

I lean down flicking my long over the tip tasting him again but I need more, I’ve heard others talk about blow jobs and this must be it, I take him in my mouth circling my tongue around hearing him hiss I look up but her looks like he’s enjoying it as he runs his hands through my hair

I take more of him in my mouth till he hits the back of my throat but I keep going till my nose is flush to his stomach moaning when I finally fit him in

“Jesus Christ baby” his moans drive me insane, I move my head up and down as his groans get more and more louder till I feel a warm liquid fill my mouth it’s surprises me, I lean back on my legs looking up at him with a mouth full of his cum, I swallow it feeling like ecstasy

“Was that your first time cause god damn woman I ain’t ever had my dick sucked like that”

“I want more, god Negan I could get addicted to this” he lets out a low laugh as he tucks his dick back in his boxers

“Oh baby what have I unleashed”

Part.3

Taglist: @lanadelnegan @lvrgirl6999 @aubiewabie33 @mordilwen-of-mirkwood @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @sadgenderfluidmaniac @aleemendoza2425-blog @donniedarkosblog @itsmytimetoodream @twisteduniverse5 @heidiland05 @negandevotee

[whitemancumslut]

please more dadrry i am begging you. literally on my knees right now. i need more he is genuinely the hottest man ever and i am delusional enough to believe i am married to him. PLEASE

LOVE ME LIKE YOU DO

SUMMARY Y/n and Harry have sex in the kitchen.

CONTENT WARNING, smut (Minors DNI), UNPROTECTED KITCHEN SEX, oral (fem receive), creamiepie

WORD COUNT 3,582 words

i don’t know if you want smut or fluff so i gave you heavy smut:) we all love dadrry! enjoy this till the next harry x angel is out.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” The small child apologizes softly with her voice full of innocence, when the small blue cup tips and the lemonade spills on her father’s grey t-shirt, immediately printing a dark patch on the fabric. Fortunately, Harry caught the cup before it could drop on the floor. Harry’s quick to give his child an assuring smile, shaking his head. The cool beverage sinking into his shirt, sticking against his skin uncomfortably, but he’s brushing it off, not wanting his baby to think they did wrong.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s not a big problem, just a little spill, alright?” The little girl nods then scoops up a spoon full of mac and cheese while her dad grabbed napkins for his shirt.

A curious Y/n walked out of the laundry room just to see her husband removing his t-shirt. As old as they were, the years they’ve been together, it never failed to make her heart skip a beat. The back muscles came into view. As if she was 18 all over again, seeing this beautiful tatted teen for the first time. His toned back and his tense muscles relax as he finally got the wet cotton off him.

When he turns to see his wife he nodded towards her, acknowledging her presence in the room.

“What’s going on in here?” Harry’s head swoons l to the warm chirp of his wife’s voice. She stands in her dark red pajama silk set, her hair tied up, the sight forming immediate heart eyes in his pupils.

Their son was first to speak out, “She spilled her juice on Daddy!” Maeve’s eyebrows knitted as she’s appalled her brother called her out. “No, no. It was an accident,” She whined, dropping her small spoon on her plate.

“It was an accident, darling. Don’t worry about it anymore. You two finish up soon.” Harry told his his daughter before looking up at Y/n asking, “Did you already throw in the load?” He asks, patting down the damp area, the smell of lemon reflecting off him. He walked closer to Y/n, who gave him a nod.

“Yes, but thankfully I didn’t start it yet. I came out when I heard… this.” She grinned, referring to his wet shirt. She steps closer to him taking the shirt from his hands saying, “I’ll take this. Can you get the plates in the sink and baths ready?”

“Yes and yes. Thank you, love,” he said, pressing an innocent kiss to his wife’s temple with an arm around the small of her back. Little did he know that started a fire in her.

Being in love for almost two decades now, had four kids, and he still turned her on. Not much has changed. Yes, he grew a little belly but the dad bod look on him turned her on more. Yes, he grew a bit grey but it was even hotter. He was still the sexiest man she’s ever met. This weekend resulted in two out of their four children being home. For the weekend, their thirteen-year-old daughter and fifteen-year-old son spent the night at their friends’ house. Fortunately, they’re together because the friends are also siblings and Y/n and Harry trusted their parents, Ruth and Austin, considering they have been friends for years. They missed the kids, greatly. But it wasn’t like they were fully free to do whatever. They still had the two youngest in the house, and usually, they are a handful when their older siblings are around to bother them. But now they don’t have anyone to both but each other.

Harry and Y/n’s sex life was probably better than the average married couple’s with four kids. Although, as the kids grew older and more to themselves, Harry found himself getting less private time with his wife. The teens became teens who stayed up past midnight, whether it’s listening to music, binging their favorite shows, playing a video game, or on FaceTime with their friends, they were up. The two parents didn’t completely lack a sex life because they were always willing to have each other— just depending on the circumstances.

The rest of the night she couldn’t help but have butterflies in her tummy whenever her husband would do something. He looked really hot. A little excited she got that familiar feeling of arousal in her core as much as it pained her all night.

But about 30 minutes after the kids baths, they were sleeping safe and sound. Just tucked in by their mommy, hugs and kisses from both mommy and daddy. Y/n finally was able to act of her arousal. Walking down the stairs to see Harry was scrubbing the plates, deciding it’ll be quicker if he hand washed. His wife watched as his hand moved with the soapy towel he scrubbed with.

Y/n walked behind him, the sudden hand on his back made him jump a bit. “It’s just me,” She chuckled. He smiled as she pecked his shoulder comfortably. The kids are sound asleep,” She told him.

“Yeah? Did you check on Lily and Eli yet?” Harry asked on the children who weren’t in the house at the moment. It was hard enough to let them hang out with friends let alone a sleepover. But as the kids got older it got a little more easier to be more trusting of them not the outside world. They were mature, honest, trusting teens. It made the couple feel a whole lot better since they became friends with two siblings and are with each other all the time. Every other hour, they would shoot out a text to one of the teens phones, just making sure they’re okay. Always a good morning and goodnight text.

Y/n hummed softly against his soft skin. “Yes. Ruth told me they ordered pizza tonight,” She watched as his veins that were in his hands poked out as the dish soap fell down his wrist. Her stomach churning and her head gone black for a second as he scrubbed Maeve’s plate. He smelt delightful, she couldn’t put a exactly a name to it though. But it was making her even more horny.

That’s when Y/n inhaled and exhaled deeply, her breaths making the hairs in Harry’s skin stand up. She called his name gently. The little nickname, H, making his ears grow to listen to whatever his love was to say next. The hand of the woman trails on his back and across his muscles. “What do you say you and I head back to the bedroom, hmm?” She questions sweetly, though her voice is seducing as she stroked his tatted arm, watching as he stopped scrubbing the pan and looked down at his wife. So beautiful. Her eyes gleaming up at him.

Then, Harry began to feel her touch grow less innocent.

Harry turned to take a peak up at the staircase like he expected two little feet to ruin what could’ve been/ what was about to happen. His brows raise, “Really? Right now?” Already growing excited in short anticipation. She nodded, “Please.” Harry’s hands let the plastic plate he was washing fall inside the sink, clashing with pans. Before she could make a complaint about the loud noise, he grabbed her face in his hands, closing her mouth shut. She’s quick to note the change of demeanor and the meaning in his eyes that soon turned lustful. His grasp on her face making her arousal release from her, unwillingly. Pressing their lips together, Harry kisses her passionately, swearing to not waste this moment.

His lips top hers as he took the breath she breathed out. Allowing him to take control of her and the kiss. Harry tilted his head as did his wife, their lips fitting together like puzzle pieces. A fuzzy-headed Y/n pulls away from the kiss, due to her lack of air, “Fuck, H,” She huffed out mid-kiss, the opening of her mouth allowing his tongue to hungrily sweep past her lips and lick inside her mouth. Hands now on her waist, moving her back until her bum hit the kitchen island.

They made out like they needed this. They made out like two horny teens who only see each other two days of week. They made out like they were desperate for each others touch. Her hands met the back of his head, gripping his curls, prying him away from her mouth. Her intentions were to tell him to take this to the bedroom but his eyes dart to the view of her neck and dive down to hungrily suck on the skin. Savoring her flavor, sucking feverishly on her skin. His hands finding anywhere on her body. Her hips, her ass, her thighs.

Y/n pulled back from the kiss, eyes locked on Harry’s swollen lips pink lips that were soon shining when he darted his tongue across. The breathtaking woman in front of him is about breathless. Wanting more of her, Harry pulled her closer going in for another kiss but she pulled back again. “Fuck, baby. Let’s take this to the bedroom,” She moaned, trying her hardest not to prop herself up on the counter and have him fuck her right then and there. But it’s like he read her mind. Harry says, “How about I take you right here?” He replies huskily against her skin causing her thighs to tremble, and voice to stutter. Before she knew it he’s muttering the word, jump, and she’s hoisted up in his arms, letting him slide her on the counter. She was too horny to turn down his idea.

Running her fingertips on his broad naked shoulders, flames traveling through him. His cock grows harder the more her hands are on him and the more she moans against him. “We gotta keep it really low,” He tells her, sinking down to his knees as his fingers hook on the waistband of her pajamas. Once they’re down to her ankles, Harry doesn’t bother finishing the job because once he sees the wet patch in her red underwear he loses it. He huffs out a low, fuck, and let’s his hands ride up her thick thighs.

Y/n peaks down at her husband, making heart clenching eye contact but it breaks when her eyes trail down to his lips. A wide smirk spreads. “Shit, you’re so wet, honey.” He chuckled, almost mockingly. No shit, she thought. “You’ve must’ve been like this all night all huh, baby?” His voice is in a cooing tone as if he was mocking the act of sympathy. He rises up to his feet, placing himself in between his love’s thighs. His palm gets hot as it finds it way against her clothed pussy. That sensitive area heated and aching for attention.

She sucks in a sharp breath as his fingers clamp and he grips her pussy. Huffing out a desperate, yes, her voice is low, afraid she’ll awake her sleeping children. Gripping in the counter, practically bruising her fingertips. “Can you fuck me please?”

Her husband completely dismisses her question before asking, “You like when I do that to your pussy, hmm, darling?” Receiving a nod from his wife, he pats her sensitive clothed cunt like a dog, an unholy moan slipping from her throat. She answers, “Yes I do.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve actually been in you huh? Bet you all tight and shit, huh?”

She nods mindlessly, mentally begging him to just fuck her but damn he was enjoying himself. “I am, Harry,” She whimpered hopelessly. Ending her sentence with a small, please, a whimper following, as she did a small grind with her hips against his hand.

At this point, Harry’s breaths are hitting Y/n’s face as he slid his hand inside the waistband of her underwear, making her breath hitch and her to grip the countertop. Immediately going to her clit, pressing down and rubbing softly. She moans, throwing her head back, hair falling back on the counter.

Harry discreetly slipped one finger her small hole, her hole so soaping wet he just slid in. Tight, she was. She lets out a raspy, fuck, grinding her bare bum against the counter.

Harry leans in, allowing her to grab onto his shoulders, soon wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oh my fucking—” She digs her fingernails into the back of Harry’s neck as he slips in his ring finger.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re suffocating my fingers, baby.” He chuckles lightly, fingering her feverishly. “So. Fucking. Tight,” He purrs against her lips, licking into her agape mouth, finally locking their lips together after teasing her. He plunged his fingers inside her soapy, cock-deprived cunt. Crooking both fingers as she threw her head back at the toe curling sensation. She let out an unholy cry and mewl when her thighs tense as Harry finger fucks her so good.

Harry’s tongue plays with hers, getting all of her tastebuds. Savoring the taste of each other, the two moan as Y/n’s arousal trails down Harrys wrist. He continues the amazing pace and in and out—crooking motion with his fingers as she release a like of curse words when her first orgasm of the night is near. Repeatedly hitting her g-spot, Harry talks her through as he breathing gets out of rhythm. His words go muffled as her breathing and moans get louder.

The last words she heart before her orgasm were…

“Feels like forever since Ive been in you.”

“You’re going to come, babe? I know, I know.”

“Cum on my fingers, baby.”

His words are her confirmation. Her thighs shook, her feet banged gently against the lower cabinet as Harry’s eyes roll over her whole body. She trembled as her toes curled, her stomach churned, and eyes rolled back just as her cum slowly spills out onto Harry’s digits.

A high pitched moan crawls up her throat and out her mouth, she rides out her orgasm on the pads of his fingers. Her breaths are quick and uneven. Desperate to catch her breath. “There you go, so pretty. Fucking gorgeous,” He praised and guided his wife through it. Her around hooked around his neck lightened up and slid down his naked torso.

“Fuck,” Y/n heard the low groan causing her to look up to see her husband looking off her cum off his fingers. “So sweet,” He purrs. Harry looks down, making Y/n follow his gaze. His cock was fighting against the shackles of his sweatpants. “I’m not done yet, baby. My cock is so hard. Jus’ know it was jealous when it saw my fingers fucking you,” he smirks.

“Want you inside me. N-now,” She huffs, her cunt still desperate. “Please.” She watched as Harry began to pull down his sweats, peaking down as he did also began to pull down briefs. The skin of his cock is seen and she grows impatient. Her breathing just getting back to steady rhythm, her whines a little louder than before, muttering the word, hurry.

Harry shudders as the cool air of the kitchen hits his cock, that shoots up when he finally gets his pants down. Y/n whines, “God— H, please.” She doesn’t know the last time she seen his cock. Most likely last week for an early morning shag, but it was still so unfamiliar to her when she’s been with he kids and working all week.

“I know, baby. Lay back for me,” he commands politely. She does as her husband says and laid against the cold counter top, pussy on display. Her wet folds are aching with pleasure as is the rest of her body.

“Shit,” Harry jerked himself as he began to kneel. He didn’t want to take too much of her layers off in case a child was to come down the stairs but that’s why they kept quiet- so they wouldn’t wake them and so they could hear their little noises.

Harry began to kneel in front of her cunt that laid up on the counter top, head between her thighs. Y/n couldn’t see anything but the upside down living room that was set in front of her as her head was back and she awaited Harry’s affection. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to hungrily, rummage through her folds with his tongue, forcefully. Licking a wet stripe between her folds, tasting every bit of her pink pussy.

She mewls out, whining as his tongue plungers inside her wet hole. Letting out an exaggerated sob, Y/n wraps her legs around her husbands back as he kitty licked her cunt, his lips brushing past her sensitive parts. Fuckfuckfuck, she swarms on the counter, having Harry hold her thighs down as he pulls his tongue out and pressed it against her clit. Harry had his hand wrapped around his cock, moving it in a slow up and down motion. Jerking himself slowly, moaning hungrily against her sweet pussy, sending vibrations all throughout her body. Using his fingers to pull back the hood of her clit, wrapping his lips around it and sucking feverishly. She cries lowly, gripping onto the tight curls that her husband determinedly grew. He growled and shook his head as the grip on his hair turned him on more and more.

He tugged on his cock, squeezing as the precum dripped down his palm. His other hand, was rubbing Y/n’s inner thigh, slowly crawling up to her clit. Pressing his thumb against her sensitive bud, his tongue dived inside her, curling up like his fingers previously did. Y/n’s cries grew louder, her body oversensitive after her first orgasm and now she’s riding his tongue, on to her second orgasm.

“Fuck. I need to be inside you right now,” He groaned as he stood up quickly. The lost of his tongue made Y/n gasp and cry out. But Harry doesn’t let her pussy go long without attention. He continues to rub her clit forcefully, before teasingly, slaps his heavy cock against her cunt, making her cry. As much as he wanted to be inside her, so so badly, her cries were fucking beautiful.

The tip of his cock pressed against her clit as it slipped down with her soapy mound. “Please, H, please.” Her quiet pleads deceive him as he finally slips his tip in, large soft hands lay on her hips as he tilts in. “Holy shit,” He curses under his breath.

His nails immediately stick inside her hips. Harry rolls his hips meeting with hers, their skin meeting and slapping. Their rhythm is slow at first. Enjoying the intimacy of the moment. His balls slap against the bottom of her folds as he fucks into her passionately.

“Oh my god,” She moans. She’s unable to keep her moans in as much as she’s like as Harry’s tipping inside her.

“Pleasepleaseplease, fuck!”

“Shh, shh. Baby come,” He whispered, pausing his thrust and tugging on her wrist. Pulling a tad, motioning for her to lift her upper body and meet him halfway. She does as he wants and swings herself up, unable to keep steady with the long heavy cock that’s stomach deep inside her. Just moving made her moan.

Harry held her lower back with his left hand, moving closer to her pressing his lips against hers. Kissing her softly, Harry rolled his hips back and forward, his cock hitting her g-spot perfectly now that she was angled up on the counter. “Argnnn, ple—” Y/n’s cries are covered by Harry’s enticing kiss, keeping her steady as they moved their hips rhythmically. His right hand moved on top of her clit, using his wide thumb to rub gently.

She whined against his lips, muffled moans, all of it satisfying him. “Jus’ like that baby. Stay quiet,” He muttered, keeping her lips on his. She would tremble in his arms whenever he hit that spot and he would groan whenever she’d tighten around him. Rocking in and out of her, the kitchen echoed with the soft sounds of their naked skin meeting.

Fuck, Harry was being nasty with it. One thing you loved about Harry was that he was great at multitasking. He licked inside her mouth, tongue finding hers as she submissively let him play inside her mouth. Their salivas mixing as Harry fucked into her cunt, their orgasms coming closer and closer. Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head as his cock enjoyed her soaked cunt hugging it tight, almost suffocating it.

She could feel him so deep inside her. In her guts, just about it.

A breathless Harry pulled away from the heated kiss and said, “Fuck, I’m so close.” His thigh muscles tightening and growing sore as did Y/n’s whole body. Her body began to feel numb as her eyes roll back again in ecstasy. “So so good, H. Baby fuck, I can’t. I’m cumming,” She warned him breathlessly.

She couldn’t feel her legs. “Me too, me too. Come on baby” His breath shuddered and cracked as his cock twitches inside her cunt, spurting his cum inside her. He moans into her ear lowly as she unravels as well, her moans are high pitched, harmonizing with him. It was hot, sweaty. Curses left their mouths as their breaths are lost in the air and the search for oxygen begins. “Holy fucking shit,” He muttered. His cock warms her for just a little bit more until he slips out making her feel immediately empty. She whines as her stretched hole leaks with cum of her own and her husbands.

“Did we really just have sex on the kitchen counter?” She exhales, shaking her head.

“Yes we did angel. How about I deep clean this counter while you get us a hot bath, hmm?”

She didn’t know how she managed to walk up the stairs and into the bathroom but she did. That night resulted in late night back rubs in a warm bath and another toe curling orgasm to end the night off right.

TAGGED @watercolorskyy @gxbiqs @lolarmy72 @hsonlyangelxo @theroosterswife24 @sad1esgf @gigisworldsstuff @princessmiaelicia @justlemmeadoreyou

[raiynnah]

Muggle

@jilymicrofics - word count: 706

Lily loves Remus. She loves that they can talk about books together, from terribly written smut to the classics. She loves that he’s attentive and a good listener. She loves that he’s organised, that he’s a good friend, that he goes on tangents about the most irrelevant things.

What she does not love about Remus is his choice of friends.

True, she doesn’t dislike Peter, who entered Lupin and Lilies' Flower Shop sneezing and coughing, looking terribly out of place, but it did take a while for her to warm up to him. He’d been awkwardly rude, like he knew he was insulting her but not what it was. Remus claims that it was just nerves and, fair enough, she’s learned that he was probably right since they get along better now, even if they’re not friends.

And Sirius Black…Obnoxious, loud, arrogant. She’d asked him what he used in his hair to make it look so good and when he had said “Um, shampoo?”, looking weirded out by her question, she had thought he was mocking her. She has a lot of experience with that. Fortunately, he wasn’t mocking her. Even more fortunately, he won his redemption by being pathetically in love with her best friend. Unfortunately, he really was just blessed with that hair and Lily will remain forever jealous.

James Potter is just insufferable, nothing else to say.

Ok, sure, maybe she’s a bit too quick to judge Remus’ friends. She knows she is. But they’d only had each other for a large part of their lives, two kids who’d seen Severus run off and leave them behind for that magic school with its stupid name—Hogwarts. She knows it wasn’t on purpose but in the end their worlds were too far apart: Lily, muggle; Severus, wizard; Remus, inbetween. 

Yet, despite Remus not going to Hogwars due to stupid werewolf prejudice and parental fear, he’d managed to make friends with the three most annoying students from that school to ever exist. Or at least, the two most—Peter’s okay. Sirius Black and James Potter, however, are on thin ice.

Speaking of the devil, James bursts into the shop like a firework that exact moment, hair even more haphazard than usual.

“I was talking to Remus on the-the tellie? Telephone! I was talking to him on the telephone,” he says, his words rushing out of his mouth. What she hasn’t told Remus, hasn’t told anyone, is that she is pretty sure James doesn’t know that she knows magic exists. It’s incredibly hilarious to see him pretend to know anything about muggle life. “And he said I should come over here! You see, mother’s day is tomorrow and I have nothing! Nothing. I’m a terrible son.” He delivers this news like a man sentenced to death.

“So you’re here to buy some flowers for her?”

“Yes.” He nods, snapping his fingers and pointing at her with a large grin. “Exactly.”

“You could’ve just said that.”

“But then you would miss out on the context. The backstory.”

“Ah, yes, the backstory,” she agrees with biting sarcasm. “I think you just like to hear yourself speak.” He shrugs.

“Don’t worry, I like to hear you talk even more.” She feels herself flush red, cheeks warm with embarrassment. While Remus had never mentioned it, James is a terrible flirt.

“Stop flirting, you’re not getting a discount. Now, tell me what you want.”

“I gave up on that discount ages ago. Remus wouldn’t let me. And how about your number first?” She glares at him, crossing her arms.

“Be serious. I meant flowers.” She sees his eyes glint with the familiar opportunity for a Sirius joke but surprisingly he doesn’t jump to make it. Instead, he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Um, I am. Being serious, that is.”

“Oh.” Lily gapes at him, her arms dropping to steady herself on the counter. “Well, I mean…yes?” She feels off-kilter and knows she’s as red as the roses on the counter.

“Yes?”

“You can have my number.” Even she can’t find it in herself to pretend to hate the way his beaming smile lights up the room. Not anymore.

Okay, so she doesn’t actually hate any of Remus’ friends. Who would’ve thought?

[folk-ivy]

HELP idk where to like request shit but you should do one where it’s like a matt or chris fic based off the song dress by taylor andddd basically they’ve been “dating” for like a few months but trying to keep it from the other brothers and y/n get’s fed up because she’s sick of feel like like a secret (illicit affairs pun lol?) anyways so she shows up to this party they’re all going to in a really hot sexy dress knowing it’ll mess w matt/chris head nd then like smut in a bathroom 🎀🔥💖 thank yewww bye.

Dress.

Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader

When you break-up with your secret boyfriend after being tired of being kept a secret, a stupid party may change everything

smut!

author's notes: thank you so much for your request! sorry if this was not what you imagined, i had never written smut before, so sorry if this is bad (it probably is)! once again, english is not my first language, i apologize for any mistakes!💗

warnings: smut; cursing

The red dress with black lace flowers was hugging my figure perfectly, defining every curve exactly the way I like it. I run my hand over the dress hugging my body and when I feel the silk with the touches of lace all over my palm, I knew the night would be something to remember.

“Earth calling Y/N” I hear my best friend, Emily, who was sitting on the queen-sized bed in the middle of her room, say to me.

"I'm here, I'm here" I say without a hint of enthusiasm.

"Oh, you're still sad about that fight, right?" she says and I automatically lower my gaze.

The fight.

I've never been a quarrelsome person, I've never liked anything that leads to a disagreement, maybe it's because I can't maintain an argument without starting to cry, but that's another story.

With Matt everything seemed different.

I liked that idiot so much that I ended up fighting with him; not out of hate, but because I liked him so much and I just wanted him to understand my side for just a moment.

I hated being kept a secret, I hated the feeling of having to hide and having to act like a fugitive, a criminal.

But I think it's stupid things we do when we're in love.

Emily was the only one who remotely knew about us, well she knew we were more than friends but she had no idea he had asked me to be his girlfriend a while ago.

Matt hid me from everyone, his brothers, his parents, his family and especially his fans. At first it was fun, the adrenaline of hiding from everyone, of taking risks. Over time I started to hate it, I started to want to be free at any cost, even if it wasn't with him by my side.

--3 hours before--

"Matt, you don't understand! I really like you! I don't want to hide anymore" I say, feeling the heavy tears forming in my eyes.

"You don't understand my side! Do you know what they'll say if they find out we're together?" he shouts "they're going to slaughter you, Y/N, that's what they're going to do!"

"I don't care! I just want to be able to have you by my side without having to worry about what the rest of the world thinks!" I say, even louder "shit, not even your brothers know about me! And they know everything about you! It's almost like you're ashamed of me"

"Stop acting like a child" he says, this time with a lower but more rigid tone of voice.

"Fuck you, Matt! I'm not a woman to be hidden, and if you don't want to admit me, fuck you!" I scream, with tears already streaming down my face "we should break up"

"What?"

"That's right, we're breaking up!" I speak, this time lower but with more hatred laced in my voice "t your fans and your brothers that you were too soft to be able to keep a woman like me"

I grab my bag from the beige sofa and walk to the door, when I feel my boyfriend's, or rather ex-boyfriend's, arm grabbing my wrist.

"Please don't go" he says softly, with a small tear running down his face

I shake my wrist until he lets go and walk out the wooden door.

--current time--

“Fuck, Y/N, lost in thought again?” Emily's voice interrupts my daydreams again.

"Sorry, sorry" I say

"Come, the Uber is coming" she says, gets out of bed, and drags me to the front of the house

"I'm not in the mood, Emi" I say "can't we stay home?"

I've always liked parties, and it's very likely that this one will cheer me up after my bad breakup with Matt, but, knowing what the triplets are like and knowing the character of the owner of the party house, it's very likely that I'll meet them there and, if If I meet Matt, my night is likely to end right there.

"We're too hot to stay at home, come on!" She says and drags me when a notification from that app arrives on her cell phone.

The way to the party was short but funny, after we discovered that the Uber driver was, in fact, Emily's distant cousin.

We greeted Emily's cousin/uber and got out of the car when we saw the large party house located at the end of the street.

The place was huge, and had a silver bear statue outside and neon lights going off everywhere.

We presented our invitations that we bought 2 hours before, and entered the house.

Loud music and the smell of weed quickly overwhelm my senses, and I look at Emi as she drags me over to the corner to get a drink.

I order a shot of whiskey; I've never been a drinker, but I think a little alcohol won't hurt, right?

We talk for a while sitting on the metal bar stool, and in a small moment of silence I observe the other side of the 4-story house, and that's where my world stops.

Matt

My eyes meet his and I watch as he walks towards me.

I panic, after all, what the hell can you do when your ex-boyfriend is coming towards you in the middle of a crowded party?

Is pretending to faint really such a bad option?

Before I can put my plan into action and throw myself on the ground, I feel a warm hand grab my arm.

"Hi" he says with his palm on my arm, but avoiding my gaze

"What do you want, Matthew?" I say

"Please, can we at least talk?"

"No"

"Please!"

"She fucking said no!" my friend interrupts, ripping Matt's hand off my arm.

A simple conversation can't end so badly, right?

"Emi, it's okay" I say in a calm voice, and I watch from the corner as Matt's eyes fill with hope "Let's go"

I get up and walk towards the unisex bathroom that was just a few meters away from us.

I enter the bathroom followed by Matt, and I can't help but notice when he locks the door.

"Hey, I think we should talk" he says softly, when I turn towards him with my arms crossed.

"Yes, you already said that" I say "say it, Matt"

"Please, I want you back! Forgive me for hiding you for so long, I think I was just too scared; I don't care what the world thinks, I just want you! It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since I've seen you but I already miss your hugs, so please come back with me...I love you" he says, without pauses and with an extremely shaky voice.

I've never been one to trust others, but something in his tone told me he was serious, and that I could trust him.

However, I couldn't help but pay attention to his last three words.

'I love you'

Shit, I love this idiot too, after all, who could not? His laugh, his smile, and all his flaws, I love everything, and I just want him to know that.

"I love you too, asshole" I say and grab his face in my hands, while pulling him for a kiss.

What was supposed to be an innocent kiss became a make out session, and what was supposed to be a make out session, became something bigger.

Once sweet and calm, the meeting of our mouths was now frantic and needy.

His hands fly to my waist and down to my ass, while my hands roughly grab strands of him.

"You know, I loved that dress, but I would love for it to be on the floor" he breaks the kiss.

"You know, I only bought it so you could take it off" I say and we both laugh as he slowly lowers the right strap.

My left hand is quick to pull the other strap, leaving me now naked from the waist up.

"Holy shit" he says staring at my breasts

"You can touch it" I say and smirk.

His hands fly to my bust, with his fingers pinching the nipples that are stiff from the cold of the bathroom.

A soft moan leaves my mouth and I see his pupils dilate even further, if possible, as he lets out his own moan.

I kiss him again as he pushes me towards the sink, picking me up on his lap and, without breaking the kiss, placing me on top of the sink with my legs open and him between them.

“Let me fuck you, please?” he asks slyly.

"Yes" I whisper with my eyes closed, and I hear his belt being unfastened and the sound of his jeans falling to the floor.

His hands go straight to my wet center, and I feel him tear my panties and make a small caress on my thigh.

"Wow, I liked those panties" I say

"I'll buy you twenty of these, love"

He presses his forehead to mine, hugs my waist and begins to slowly insert his dick into my entrance.

"My god" I say and lock my eyes on his, while I feel a small burning sensation.

The touch of pain is soon replaced by pure pleasure as I feel him thrust his entire length into me.

"Please move" I whisper and plant a little kiss on his mouth, just to let him know it's okay.

And he starts, with slow but strong thrusts.

The wet sound and our moans are all that can be heard in the bathroom with the white tiled wall, the occasional noise of my body against the sink is also present.

And, again, what was sweet and calm becomes frantic and needy.

His thrusts are faster, and I grab his hair with my hands while his right palm goes towards my clitoris, making circular movements and giving small taps.

"Holy shit, I'm going to cum!" I scream and he continues with rapid thrusts

"Me too" he says weakly as he looks at me.

I feel like I can see stars as I collapse into his arms, and I feel thick liquid being poured inside me.

My whole body goes limp as I feel him grabbing me with his right arm and slowly withdrawing his cock from inside me, soon being replaced by his fingers that try to keep his liquid inside my body

"I fucking love you" he says "and I would never be ashamed of you"

And it was at that moment that I knew everything had changed.

[wheatnoodle]

this has been rolling around in my head for weeks and i need to at least express it so i can maybe get motivation to write it in more detail LMAO

night shift by lucy dacus but steve getting over nancy and being able to move on.

failed relationships and rebounds because he can’t even kiss someone else without gagging. he’s on first dates with heidi or sara or payton or becca or whoever it is this time that never make it to a second because he probably calls them by her name at some point.

scrolling through old texts and love letters and her social media even though he knows he’s just going to find things to hurt himself more than he already is. he wants to scream out loud what a bitch she is and how much she hurt him, but he resists and instead keeps scrolling. he wants to shout at her and leave before she can respond.

steve keeps finding himself in places where he ends up seeing nancy and jonathan together, happy. you’d think with everyone in the city instead of a small town now, they wouldn’t run into each other so much, but the universe seems to just have it out for him. it’s killing robin seeing him so heartbroken too.

it’s only about two months later when he gets a text from nancy asking to meet for coffee so they can talk, even though it’s 6pm so it won’t be light for long.

but, he agrees and she’s sitting at a table by the window in the corner and she looks…beautiful. like she always has. she looks up when he walks over, standing in what looks like a “going for a hug” pose. she stops though when he seems to hesitate and gives a polite smile, holding out a hand to shake instead.

nancy’s already ordered their drinks and someone places them on the table right when he sits. of course she remembered his order.

“so…” he says, a bit awkward, a lot quiet.

“…so…” she responds, except now she won’t look away from her lap. steve waits for her to say something, anything. maybe an explanation as to why she wanted to see him, why now, why here, what did she need to tell him?

so he waits.

and he waits.

…and he waits…

and she still wont say anything. so he puts down his mug, and he does.

“am i just supposed to sit here and watch you stare at your feet?”

she looks up then, eyes wide like she’s been caught. she looks nervous. it almost makes him feel bad for speaking up.

“steve-“

“what was the plan? to what…absolve your guilt? shake hands again?” she doesn’t respond. steve sighs and shakes his head.

“you cheated on me. that’s just how it is. i feel no need to forgive you, but i might as well, because i just want to move on.”

he doesn’t want to be here anymore. he can’t breathe. they only last a bit longer of light chat before he’s checking his watch (it’s only coming up on 7) and rising from his chair. she does too and asks if she can kiss him one last time. he just pays for his coffee, says a quick goodbye, and leaves just as the sun sets.

steve cant see her anymore. never again. never again. he’s so stuck in his head he doesn’t notice it’s coming on 11pm and he’s been walking the whole time until an owl in a tree has him looking up at the now dark sky and street lights. he’s back home around midnight and instantly has robin wrapped around his middle, rambling about how worried she had been. he went to talk to nancy, then just disappeared for hours. not answering texts, calls.

he tells her about everything. what she had said. how she seems to show up everywhere he goes. she holds him close, his head on her chest as they lay on their couch.

he quits his day job, robin does as well, and they end up working overnight shifts at a bar/restaurant. depending on the night, they’re either bartending or waiting the table in the bar area. they sleep during the day, go out at night.

steve stops bumping into her everywhere he goes. they’re on different schedules now. he’ll never be up to a read a sunday paper with her name on it since he’ll have just gotten into bed after a long shift.

a couple years down the line, there’s a band that starts playing at their bar, every friday and saturday nights.

they play a heavy version of california dreamin’ that suddenly throws steve back to kissing nancy in the backseat of his car to this song when they were in high school. steve needs to excuse himself for a smoke break, needs to calm his nausea and his nerves.

he’s out back for about five minutes when the back door opens. he flinches at the sound and backs against the wall, though the man quickly raises his hands up.

“sorry! didn’t mean to scare you. uh, i was lookin’ for a place to smoke. you mind if i join you?” the man says, an apologetic smile playing on his lips. steve’s brain short circuits at the sight of him. this man is GODLY, bro, okay, he’s HOT. AWOOGA. he’s all wild, dark hair and big brown eyes. a smile that has something wicked and sweet hidden in it. he’s tall too, only about two inches taller than steve, but still.

steve’s eyes catch on the light reflecting off his rings. he knows his cheeks are burning. “yeah, yeah that’s um…yeah, that’s fine.”

“cool,” the man says and lights his cigarette. steve goes back to leaning on the wall and sucking his own cigarette. “so, what’s got a pretty thing like you out here all on your lonesome?”

steve may or may not choke on his smoke a little. “needed some air. started…thinkin’ too much. what about you?”

“also, needed a breather. worked up a hell of a sweat up there.” and then it clicks and steve is smacking himself in the forehead.

“you’re in the band!”

“i am! you’re in the bar!”

“i am!”

and steve learns his name is eddie, and eddie starts coming in more than just fridays and saturdays. he won’t even drink, just get a water and stare at or talk to steve.

it takes almost 9 months before they start dating and another few after that before eddie practically moves in with steve and robin.

and he has never felt more loved. eddie who sings in the shower too loud and gives the crispiest bacon strips to robin. eddie who holds him during movies on the couch and covers steve’s eyes if he knows a scene in a horror movie might be too much, even though robin will narrate the whole thing. eddie who strokes his hair and rubs his back until he falls asleep and brings him everywhere he goes.

and songs that he once dedicated to nancy are now for eddie and all the new ones that come along are all for eddie too.

and he moves on, and he never sees her again.

[nburkhardt]

5 sentence prompt ask!

Number 22 for platonic Stobin or Dustin&Steve?

Takes place after season 3. Slice of life

Prompt: Go find someone else to annoy.

The thing is, there’s only one person in Steve’s life that can and will annoy him. Regardless of where they are in life or how old.

It is just a fact.

Waking up early to a new person in his bedroom isn’t much of a surprise anymore, not since ‘84. Blinking a few long seconds, he opens them again and yep, that is definitely Dustin sitting down already and missing with his notebook.

“Dude, what the fuck, go find someone else to annoy” he groans and buries his head back into the pillows.

“Robin would kill me, I like living. So,” Dustin states and immediately shoves Steve over to look at him, “I was thinking about this year”

Steve sighs, staring up at his ceiling. It’s moments like this that make him regret helping Dustin. But opens his eyes again, before shifting upwards to lean against his headboard. Looking over at Dustin and fighting the urge to smile at him.

Dustin has his head buried in one notebook and two more sitting in front of him, a calendar and not only his school schedule but Steve’s work schedule too. There’s a plate with two muffins on it and he can twin coffee cups sitting on his nightstand.

He watches as Dustin nods to himself and taps his pencil against the paper, “…we’ll include times for family dinners too, mom would kill me if I didn’t invite you bot- Steve, what’s with the look?”

He shakes his head, “Nothing,” he leans over to pick up the school schedule, “did you also grab Robs schedule too?”

Dustin rolls his eyes and leans over the bed and pulled up yet another paper, “of course”

It brings a smile to his face, happy that Dustin’s just as clingy with Robin as well. They’re an odd trio sometimes and even when Erica is included. Speaking of, “And what about-”

There’s a paper in his face before he can even finish the sentence, Erica’s name in bold letters right there. “She made sure to warn me about any clubs she may join. So gotta keep that in mind”

“Don’t forget about band, and that I’m going to the basketball games if Lucas joins”

Dustin nods and immediately writes it down. Muttering under his breath about figuring out his extra club will be this time and Steve just leans back and enjoys the moment.

Because as much as he finds Dustin annoying, the kid will always be one of his best friends. Even when he decides eight am on the weekend is the perfect time to line their schedules up for Scoops Troop time.

~~~~~~

Idk what this is, I just started writing and throwing words together. It probably doesn’t make sense actually, ooooppps.

Tag list 🫡

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[1lostsoul0fishbowl]

In lostys universe, Gare and El are long distance during some of their college years.

Do they ever have any big fights or miscommunication during that period?? Any conversations about what their future together will look like as the years peel away to adulthood? Just curious 🥰♥️

Still loving that greatmage lore 💜🩷

Ohh girl this made me think A LOT. because my first instinct was to be like “noooo my pookies never fight!” but that’s completely unrealistic. So I dug deep and came up with a few ideas… and of course it got really long so I’m putting it under a readmore…

- I think their biggest fights would be about money, but not in the typical way a young couple fights about money! In both Next Time I Fall and Lost and Found I alluded to El and Kali getting large settlements of “hush money” from Hawkins Lab, and at the end of Next Time El even suggests to Gareth that they use some of that money to get married. But it’s the late 80s and I’m sure Hopper had repeatedly impressed upon Gareth the importance of The Man Being The Breadwinner and the need to Properly Take Care Of His Daughter, so Gareth wouldn’t feel right about letting El pay for anything.

Finally El sits both Hopper and Gareth down one day and tells them look, Chrissy helped me find this super cute house and I can easily afford it so I’m gonna buy it. Gareth, you’re welcome to live there with me if you can get over your pride about it. And Dad, you need to mind your own beeswax. (Will taught her that phrase, and he almost chokes trying to hold back his laughter when he hears her repeat it.)

- Another thing I can imagine is the long-distance thing just wearing on both of them (they’re cuddly koalas and they can’t stand being apart for too long) but I could see that manifesting in different ways. For El, I think insecurity would be something she’d struggle with; especially if school interfered with time they wanted to spend together, she would feel neglected and get a little pouty about Gare thinking his work was more important than her. And I can imagine if he got impatient or exasperated about that, her mind would immediately leap to “you don’t love me anymore?” She needs a lot of reassurance after everything she’s been through.

But this, I think, would probably lead to Gareth never wanting to speak up about his own needs or problems, because he does truly want to be that steadfast source of reassurance for her, but also sometimes he feels a little resentful, as if she doesn’t trust him enough to keep loving her even when he’s irritated. And then that makes him wonder if she feels that way because of everything with Mike, and he gets pouty thinking she’s comparing him to Mike. Oh, kiddos.

- I imagined all of this coming to a head one weekend when Gareth wasn’t planning to come home because he was exhausted and had a ton of work to do, but El getting upset with him and kinda giving him a guilt trip about it until finally he gives in and says okay fine I’m coming. But he’s so tired that he ends up falling asleep behind the wheel and getting into a minor accident, which naturally freaks El out, and I think that would lead to a very deep heart-to-heart talk where they both end up resolving to communicate more honestly about their needs, and trust that their relationship can withstand temporary separation when needed.

- On a much happier note, conversations about the future!

I know a lot of people headcanon El as wanting tons of kids, but for some reason I imagine that pregnancy would be total body-horror for her. (Maybe I’m drawing that from my personal life? Lmao) I do believe she’d want a family of her own though, and I think she and Gare would have a lot of conversations about fostering and/or adoption to help troubled kids. And there’s a lovely fic that was gifted to me about the two of them preparing to welcome their first foster child.

I think they’d want pets, too— I imagine them going to an animal shelter just to look around, and El overhearing an employee saying “nobody will ever adopt this one, these dogs are monsters.” She instantly demands to see the monster dog, and of course it’s not a monster at all, it’s the cutest tiny little pit bull puppy, and El and Gare instantly fall in love with her and name her Bosco since she’s chocolate brown. 😊

I think El would have a lot of trouble deciding what she wanted to do after high school, as far as more schooling or a career or what, and they’d have a lot of discussions about that.

And of course they’d talk about traveling— there’s so many places they both want to see, and experiences they want to have for the first time together. Also I think it would be super cute if they went to Wales with Granny and Granddad Emerson to visit relatives and friends there. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿

This got way longer than I thought it would lmao but thank you so much for asking! I always love sharing my ideas and headcanons with you! 💕

[sercezgazety]

“Of Herbert West, I can only speak with mild annoyance,” Dan tells the police when he finally stops shaking for long enough to string more than two words together. And oh, how they waited for that moment, with the recorders and notepads ready, impatient and faux-polite every time Dan tried to answer a question and broke down instead. Now, now he’s calmer, but also not that helpful since all that’s happened is just kind of foggy. Probably for the best. “Though we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” he adds, remembering the lessons he’s been taught from a very young age because he’s always been a good kid.

The officer gives him a weird look after that last part.                  

“And there’s no reason to,” Dan says hurriedly. Why, he can’t tell. “I mean, in West’s case. He kept to himself, mostly. He… studied a lot, I think. Kept regular hours. Paid on time, didn’t party, didn’t have anyone coming over.”

Never left a mess, Dan wants to add, but that is so blatantly untrue given the circumstances, the words just refuse to leave his mouth.

“Then why the annoyance?”

Dan squints at the policewoman, trying to figure out what kind of question is that. Are they already gathering evidence against West? Well, yeah, probably, that’s why he’s here. There’s no suspect, no one to arrest anymore, just an entire morgue out of order and a lot of dismembered corpses. And some ... complete corpses. He wonders briefly to which group Herbert’s belongs, but tries to focus, lest he goes into shock once again. The officers here were clearly not taught how to deal with it, just like with everything that happened at Miskatonic. But it doesn’t seem like Dan was particularly prepared for any of that as well, and West’s fate suggests neither was he. Still, he gave Dan his notes, his life’s work, and Dan should probably hold on to these, otherwise it’s all for— all—

“What annoyance?” he asks.

He has to admit, the officer is really trying to remain polite. “The one you’ve just referred to, Mr. Cain,” she says, and she doesn’t even roll her eyes.

Dan pauses, considering the question. It’s not just that it’s the police asking it, it’s— it’s also the subject. He doesn’t know how to put it all into words, the insufferable demeanor, the ill-timed jokes and weirdly intense stare, the way West moves — moved — noiselessly, sneaking up on you until you— you were constantly on edge. The clipped voice, the contempt radiating from his every gesture, the absurdly well-pressed shirts that made everyone around him look sloppy. And other things as well, the things West caused.

But no matter how much Dan would love for that to be true, he didn’t cause them all by himself. Dan was substantial in achieving this clusterfuck, and while West suffered the consequences, while Meg is lying there, Dan is apparently fine, absolutely fine and unharmed, struggling with putting a tenth of it into words.

He settles on, “Have you met Herbert West?”

“Yes, actually.” The officer winces. “Been called by the hotel staff to investigate a funny smell in his room last month.”

“Huh,” Dan says, unsure how to react without offering any information that would lead to the notes being confiscated. He should just give them to the police freely, he really should. They’re the cause of… all of this. They, and Dan.

“We found a rabid hamster,” the policewoman adds cheerfully.

Of course they did.

She waits for a second, awkwardly, clearly expecting an answer, but since there’s none, she returns to the original line of questioning.  “So you didn’t spend much time with Mr. West?” she asks, her smile only getting wider, as if that was supposed to hide the obvious trap.

Is it a trap, though?

“Not much.” Dan shrugs. “We worked different shifts. Barely passed each other in the kitchen.”

It’s not a lie.

The woman makes a show of shuffling papers and pretending to read something, and now Dan’s not that sure about her being polite anymore.

“It’s odd,” she says with hesitation that screams insincerity. “It says here in the report that he used to visit you at the morgue.”

Some part of Dan tells him he should be alarmed by the course of the conversation, but the rest of him can’t focus for long enough to tell why is that, too busy trying to avoid thinking about the place the officer’s just brought up.

“He came to visit once,” he says warily. “It just happened to be at the time when, um.” When the Dean was killed sort of by them? He was supposed to go the police with this fact himself, wasn’t he. And now, now they’d probably believe him, given what’s transpired. He told Meg he wanted to confess, he just needed proof. There’s plenty of it now. This is the perfect opportunity to face the music and, well, no, not come clean. Dan will never be clean, he’ll never be able to reverse or even atone for what happened, especially now, with West gone, when all of this was for nothing and all what’s left is the notes Dan traded for West’s life. “When the Dean came by as well,” Dan finishes, and it’s half this weird loyalty for his dead accomplice, half simple cowardice. “And got… angry.”

The officer gives a perfunctory nod and pretends to jot that down. Dan is pretty sure the subject is going to come back sooner or later.

“It’s an odd place to pay a visit,” she comments for now.

“Well.” Dan’s muscle memory immediately tells him how to rub his neck sheepishly. It would have had a better effect, though, had the hand not returned smeared with blood. He’s changed already. How the fuck did that happen? Does he still have blood in his hair? What else, then? “You know. It’s the place I worked in.”

“And why did Mr. West decide to visit you at work?”

Um.

“He knew I was upset that day.” Technically true, but now what? Do they know about the student loan? It’s not really an information he should volunteer to the police, it sounds like a motive. “My cat died the day before. It was rather… sudden,” he decides to say. “I had sort of meltdown when I learned about it.”

“What sort of meltdown?” the woman asks, and only now Dan can see the mistake he’s just made. Way to go, he’s probably being promoted from a witness to a possible suspect. “Are you prone to those?”

All he can do is shake his head.

“Were you angry that day?”

“No, just sad,” Dan says hurriedly, trying to salvage the situation. Though he wasn’t supposed to be doing that, he was supposed to come clean. “It just shook me up a bit, I’ve had him for years.” He gulps, but there’s absolutely no saliva in his mouth now. “Death… is always something hard to accept.” Still technically true. Can one perjure themselves outside of the court? Is that an offense that actually exists?

The officer’s sympathetic expression is what makes Dan remember why exactly he’s here. Ah yes, dealing with death. Yeah. It’s funny, how you can ignore an open wound for entire minutes, and then it reopens, even though it’s been there, gaping, all along. Now, it’s somehow bigger, and Meg is much more dead than a second ago, as if that were a gradable adjective.

But given that death indeed is something hard to accept — and there are so many ways of not accepting it, turns out, much more than Dan’s ever suspected — he just refuses to acknowledge the reality for a second longer, and carries on, “So he came to check up on me. He knew how much I liked him.”

“Oh.” The policewoman brightens up in a gotcha! kind of way. “So you two were close after all.”

“No, no, no.” Dan’s response is so hurried, it’s hardly natural. “I meant Rufus.”

“Who’s Rufus?” the officer asks in confusion that appears actually genuine this time, and Dan wants to scream.

It’s such a small thing, really, but it’s like he just can’t communicate the simplest thought, and that’s not even the real problem here. He doesn’t know what the police wants from him, and if he doesn’t know that, he doesn’t know what information to avoid.

Why is he trying to avoid anything, anyways? The worst has already happened. He can’t hurt West, nor Meg. Not anymore, that is. He’s done a pretty good job until that moment, though.  He tries to inhale through his nose, but it’s a bad idea. Some occupants of this office must have no reservations when it comes to smoking indoors, and the smell is making his nausea worse.

“Rufus is— yeah, um.” Jesus. Come on. “Rufus was—”

There’s a pathetic stutter even he can hear, and it’s not like he’s talking about a person or anything. It’s just Rufus, for now. There will be people he’ll need to talk about. How is he going to deal with the funerals if he can’t mention a dead cat?

Will he be expected to say something? In front of the casket? That probably depends on who he was to Meg, finally. A fiancée? Kind of, but more probably a boyfriend. She accepted his proposal, fine, but he’s not sure whether he accepted hers. He got distracted. No, actually, Herbert distracted him, and Dan’s pretty sure that was on purpose. Did they break up for real last night? Maybe an ex-boyfriend, then. Murderer? That one for certain, so why would they let him into the church at all? Does he have the right to go there?

At least in case of West, he’s pretty sure the event is not going to take place at a church. They’ve never discussed faith — why would they? — but something tells Dan, West wasn’t a very devoted follower of any religion. It’s entirely possible that he avoided temples because he’d burst into flames the moment he entered one of those. No one’s going to care enough to intervene, no matter who shows up during the very much secular ceremony, anyways. If anyone decided to come at all.

Dan would come. He’d want to come, he realizes. There, unlike at Meg’s funeral, he wouldn’t be an impostor but an accomplice. He deserves to be there, whatever the hell that means.

“Rufus was the dead cat,” he finishes as neutrally as he can.

“Hmm.” Now, the officer’s eyes are sharp again. Calculative, though in a different way than West’s were. She, for one, doesn’t seem insane. “There is a weird pattern of animal abuse allegations with Mr. West,” she remarks, trying to make it sound offhanded. “Five different cases, and every time, without fail, turned out it was a false alarm.”

“Rufus got his head stuck in a jar,” Dan says automatically. Doesn’t know why. “Suffocated.”

continue reading here

[herearedragons]

…so I watched this musical called nerdy prudes must die and apprarently I have thoughts about it, so I’m just going to compile these thoughts into one post. (there are spoilers)

people have pointed out how cruel it is that Ruth is mocked for her really sincere performance on stage before dying, and it’s even sadder if you remember that in the one(1) positive interaction she had with Max before his death, he acknowledged and complimented her performance as the skele’un? and that it might have been the first time in years that someone appreciated her as a performer in any way?

but also, Ruth is the only victim of Max’s who dies on stage(for Richie, the lights go out before we can actually see him die, but not for her), so in this very twisted meta way she’s once again honored as a performer when she dies? in-universe she dies alone, but the audience is with her, and she remains the center of our attention until the end.

the last Ruth thing I have is that she says she used to tap dance (I think she’s not acting anymore for the last few lines of Just For Once?) and so does Pete, so… were they in tap class together? if so, that’s cute

also, speaking of meta things, the fourth wall breaks in the actual songs? like the townspeople in Hatchet Town acknowledging that by singing they’re giving the killer more time to kill again, but they can’t stop, or Max calling out the audience in Literal Monster and pointing out that it doesn’t matter if you’re judging him because you’ll still keep watching his show. this isn’t a groundbreaking take or anything, but I like these

the “bean school? :O …excellent! :D” line from Bully The Bully gets me every time, it’s just the “we did it, gang! we got to something that sounds like half a coherent thought!” energy. truly THE teen experience

Max references religion and specifically Christianity a lot, but in Literal Monster he does the wrong gesture for “cross your heart”, so… he’s probably not a practicing Christian, or he would know the correct way to cross himself? which makes the constant use of religious imagery in his lines even more interesting, since I’m pretty sure he’s the only one who makes these references other than Grace (alternatively, his “cross your heart” might not be in the “prayer” sense, but in the literal “crossing someone out” sense? but it’s still a cool detail)

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Dadkovsky and Clara

i LOVE their dynamic, so here’s some content

Daniil is THE reluctant caretaker

He acts like he doesn’t give a fuck about Clara, she’s just some insane brat stepping on the toes of professional adults, but the MOMENT he realizes something is actually wrong with her, he goes STRAIGHT into Dad Mode

And he didn’t even know he had a Dad Mode!

Pet names? Pet names

“Sweetheart” and “pumpkin” are his go-to for her

He questions her choice in bottoms. Her legs are going to get cold!

As such, he’s CONSTANTLY nagging her about putting on pants

“Oh, is the great Bachelor worried for me?” “No, you just look idiotic.”

(He is worried about her)

He doubts the Saburov’s ability to take care of Clara, especially given all her strange…quirks

Sometimes he finds her asleep on benches outside, groans to himself, and wonders if he REALLY wants to deal with this today. And then he trundles over to her and wakes her up, telling her she can sleep at the Stillwater instead of out in the elements.

“God, DON’T look at me with those eyes!”

He once let her use his coat because she was shivering (probably because she doesn’t wear pants), and he genuinely thought he was never gonna get it back (he did. very reluctantly)

He’s the type to worriedly insult Clara when something and happens. like, “what did you do, you stupid girl?”

He and Clara throw jabs at each other constantly, but one day, Clara was just in a really bad mood, and Daniil made a comment, and she just burst into tears

Cue Daniil going, “wait, no, no, no, don’t cry!” and frantically trying to get her to stop

Daniil Very Quickly learned that Clara is EXTREMELY touchy-feely and has no concept of personal space At All

One time, he snapped at her for hanging on him, and she looked like a kicked puppy after, so he heaved a sigh and apologized before explaining that she can’t just go and always get in people’s personal space bubble whenever she wants. She understood well enough!

She still likes using him as her own personal piece of furniture, though

She’s just very touch-starved and craves affection more than food

Speaking of food!

If Daniil has some to spare, he’ll give Clara some food

She always refuses it, though

Which makes him snap at her for being so humble in the time of a famine

After the Plague has ended and Daniil and Artemy become a thing (because we all know those two want to be together), Daniil is even more adamant on getting Clara to eat

Among other things

He’s lucky enough to have found a family in this damn town

Clara has nobody anymore

And although she acts like she doesn’t care, Daniil knows that’s not true

The poor kid is lonely. She wants a family again. But, as brash as she may be, she doesn’t want to impose, especially on Daniil and Artemy

When she invades the house (which happens a lot), Daniil forces her to take a bath while he washes her clothes and that stupid beanie

Daniil tried to teach her how to swim (because i just know that girl can’t)

“Get over here and let me fix you” -Daniil, 24/7

I headcanon Clara with claws because she’s a weird little earthborn creature and deserves freaky bestial traits, and Daniil attempts (key word: ATTEMPTS) to clip them because they’re a safety hazard for EVERYONE, including herself, and she is SO DRAMATIC about it. yowling and crying like a dog getting its nails trimmed. Daniil thinks it’s amusing. and then she bites him.

She once fell asleep in his lap, and he Could Not Move

[baronessblixen]

Prompt: 26. "Honestly, why would I care?"

Angsty humor: All Mulder wanted to do was drop off a report. Now he has to deal with a drunk Skinner. (wc: 1,482)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 28: The Truth Is (Not) Found In A Glass of Whiskey

It’s late and the Hoover building deserted. A few floors down, Scully is putting on her coat, and waiting for him. Mulder hurries through the hallways, glad to be alone here, and not roped into small talk by anyone. As much as he prefers the quiet and solitude this late hour brings, he knows that Scully doesn’t.

While she may not want a boring 9-to-5 job either, she’d like to spend an evening or two at home. Alone, probably. Or with a friend. Maybe even someone who is more than a friend. His thoughts are faster than his legs and he has to shake it off. To him, spending time with her is the highlight of his day. Any day. Monday to Friday, Saturday and Sunday. To her? He hasn’t asked. Is afraid to find out.

Now all he has to do is drop off this report and then they’re off. Part of him is hoping that he’ll find a case that will keep them busy this weekend. While Scully is probably hoping for the opposite. That thought makes him smile. He lifts his hand to knock on Skinner’s door before he remembers that it’s after hours and his secretary will have left hours ago. Same as Skinner.

He walks into the outer office, intending to put it on Kimberly’s desk. But then he sees that the door to Skinner’s personal office is ajar. There’s dim light coming from within. He peeks through the gap and sees his boss sitting at his desk, a bottle of dark liquid in front of him.

“Sir?” he asks, knocking softly on the door.

“Mulder? What the fuck are you still doing here?” The swear makes Mulder wince. He’s never heard Skinner curse like that.

“Dropping off our latest report. We, um… it took a while longer. I wanted it to be on your desk first thing in the morning.”

“Scully made you do it, huh?” His boss is grinning, but it’s askew. Mulder glances at the bottle – whiskey, from what he can tell – and sees it’s more than half empty. There’s only one explanation: his boss is drunk.

“We wrote it together, sir.”

“Sure, sure. Hand it over.” Skinner takes another gulp from his glass and as Mulder walks closer, he smells the alcohol. It’s making him dizzy.

“Are you all right, Skinner?” he asks once he’s standing close. The other man’s eyes are disoriented, his pupils dilated.

“Never been better. Ever have your heart broken, Agent Mulder?”

“I, well-”

“No, of course not,” Skinner goes on, ignoring him. “Someone like you probably breaks hearts.” He’s not going to correct his boss, even though he’s completely wrong. Mulder thinks about Phoebe, about Diana. His heart has been broken repeatedly. Right now, though, it’s not what Skinner wants to hear.

“Do you want me to call anyone?”

“Who would you call?” Skinner narrows his eyes. “There’s no one. No kids. No wife anymore either. I’m alone, Agent Mulder. Alone. Take my advice.” He crooks his finger, motioning for Mulder to come closer. He does so reluctantly and he’s too slow. As soon as he’s in reach, Skinner grabs his tie, drawing him close. His breath reeks of whiskey as he speaks.

“Don’t fuck it up with Agent Scully. She’s the jackpot, Mulder. You probably don’t deserve her, so if you fuck it up, I will find you and I will hurt you. You hear me?” Mulder gulps and nods.

“Sir, um, Agent Scully and I aren’t-”

“Oh shut it, Mulder. Who are you kidding here? I see you two together. I know you try to be discreet but honestly, why would I care? You do what you want in your time off. Hell, you do what you want anyway. All your case files are proof of that.” He pats the finished report Mulder has just dropped off at his desk.

“Thank you, sir,” he says lamely, not knowing what else to say. Explaining his complicated relationship with Scully would take hours, and right now, in his state, Skinner wouldn’t understand. Mulder barely understands it himself and he’s stone-cold sober.

“Where is she, anyway? You two are attached at the hips. She leave without you? You let her leave?” Skinner’s voice is getting louder and more agitated. Mulder wishes Scully had come up with him because he’s at his wit’s end.

“She’s downstairs. I told her I’d drop this off and be right back down.”

“Then go, Mulder. Before she finds someone better. They always do.” Skinner sighs, bringing his glass to his lips, only to realize it’s empty. Instead of pouring himself another glass, he grabs the bottle and takes a huge swig.

“Sir, I think maybe you’ve had enough.”

“You’re not my father, Agent Mulder. Hell, I could be your father. Go to your room!” He laughs and Mulder uses the moment to snatch the whiskey bottle out of his hand. “Now, Agent Mulder, you give that back.”

“Sorry, sir. This is for your own good. You can have it back tomorrow.”

“Mulder, that bottle of whiskey is my only friend.”

“That’s not true. Scully and I are your friends. You have plenty of friends.” Mulder isn’t sure that’s the truth, but he doesn’t know anything about Skinner’s personal life.

“I don’t. My wife took them in the divorce. She took everything. My heart, too. Mulder, you treat Scully better than that, okay? You hear me? You don’t let a woman like Scully get away. Promise me.”

“I promise,” he says.

“Mulder, are -” Scully walks into the office and both Mulder and Skinner turn to her.

“Speak of the devil,” Skinner slurs. “Or rather, angel.” He laughs again. Mulder throws Scully a helpless look, hoping she understands. And she does.

“Sir, I think- we should call you a cab.” Scully is by Skinner’s side in an instant and he looks up at her like a puppy.

“You’re too good for him. But you love him. Can’t do anything about that.” She turns to Mulder, her eyes asking him what all of that is about. He just shrugs. They have bigger problems at the moment.

“Who can we call, sir?” Scully asks.

“There’s no one, Agent Scully. No one. Just my bottle and Mulder took it from me.”

“We’ll call you a cab and we’ll- we’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“Gotta use the bathroom,” Skinner says. He gets up from his chair and stumbles. Scully tries to keep him upright but Skinner is heavy. Mulder helps her and together they manage to get him to the bathroom. They exchange a look, wondering if they should let him do this on his own. Ultimately, they decide to wait in front of the bathroom, trying to give their boss some dignity.

“What happened here?” Scully asks quietly.

“He was like this when I got here,” Mulder says. “I think he’s sad. I think someone broke his heart.”

“Poor Skinner. We can’t leave him alone, Mulder. Someone has to stay with him. We can’t just drop him off at a hospital. What will people think?” He nods, knowing she’s right.

“He can sleep it off at my place.”

“I’ll stay with you.” His eyes grow big. “Unless you don’t-”

“Oh, I do,” he says softly, touching her arm. “I don’t want to deal with him alone. And I always want you around, Scully.” She smiles at him. “Just so you know… Skinner thinks we’re dating and you coming with me will not defuse the situation.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing. He said I shouldn’t fuck it up between us and when I tried to tell him that we aren’t dating, he didn’t believe me. Not that it matters, but he doesn’t mind.” He can’t quite suppress his grin.

“Oh, did I interrupt you two?” Skinner staggers out of the bathroom, a dopey smile on his face.

“You didn’t interrupt anything. Come on, sir,” Scully says, taking charge. She flanks him and nods at Mulder so he’ll do the same. The three of them are an odd pair as they make it through the Hoover hallways, but at least there’s no one here to see the A.D. like this. His secret will remain safe with them.

“Where are we going?” he asks as they get into the elevator.

“Home,” Mulder says. “You’re staying with me and Scully tonight.”

“Knew you two lived together. Could never prove it, but I knew it.” He taps his heart and then his forehead. “Sometimes you just know. You better invite me to your wedding, though.”

“Sir, we-”

“No, Scully, not you too. I already told Mulder it’s fine. It’s so fine. You two do you.” He giggles like a schoolboy and can’t stop. “You know what I mean.”

“This is going to be a long night,” Mulder mumbles, and Scully nods. Skinner, completely unaware of anything that's going on, just laughs.

[sunflowerharrington]

try

wc: 1617

written for the stwg prompt (23/2/24): dustin

warnings: the s3 russian storyline, mention of an almost-death (sort of canon but not really, i just wanted to add some angst because it’s not a real fic written by me if there isn’t any at this point)

left open ended because i’m thinking of writing a part 2 if anyone’s interested? i probably will anyway. low-key made myself cry lol and i just want stobin back together as best friends again

—————

Dustin hasn’t seen Robin around much lately apart from at school, and she won’t even look at him. It’s almost like she’s a stranger now after she started hanging around the popular group in school because Vickie’s boyfriend is on the basketball team apparently. He doesn’t bother going to the games because D&D is more fun, and the only reason he’d go is for Lucas and he’s usually on the bench even after his big win back in March.

What a waste of an amazing player.

It also feels like Steve would rather talk about anything but her. He even talks about his parents more than Robin now. His parents. Something must have happened between them for everything to start falling apart. Maybe there were cracks in their friendship nobody noticed until now. But they were perfect, the textbook definition of soulmates, but now it just feels like those souls were never meant to be friends to begin with and Dustin’s the one trying to pick up the pieces and save Robin and Steve’s friendship.

She’s only spoken to him on the phone once, and hasn’t been returning any of Steve’s calls. If he even makes them. Dustin’s never thought to check because he knows Steve won’t lie to him about something as little as a few phone calls. Or, attempts at a phone call, since Robin never picks up.

In the call she never said anything about Steve, not even an acknowledgement of his existence when Dustin tried to ask about what happened between them. She shrugged it off, made a quick excuse and hung up, leaving the end of the conversation to ring in his ears. She’s a completely different person now, so short with her answers and never wants to hear anything about the group anymore. It’s all about her and Vickie since they’re the bestest friends in the entire world apparently. But no, that was Steve and Robin!

Was.

Was…

He never knew where she lived until he asked Eddie to ask Chrissy to ask Vickie, and Vickie, bless her soul, gave Chrissy the address immediately. And Chrissy gave it to Dustin. So that’s where he is now, with one hand curled into a fist, ready to knock on Robin’s door. And he does, because there’s no point in him just standing there and doing nothing about it.

She almost slams the door in his face when she sees him, but he stops the door from shutting with his foot. And even though it hurts like hell, it has to be done. He has to get to the bottom of this before it’s too late.

“If this is about your friends—”

Your friends. Your friends. Not hers. His friends. It’s like she doesn’t even want to try to save anything.

“It’s not. It’s about you,” he says, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible. He loves Robin, he does, but sometimes when she acts like this he wants to take Steve’s nail bat and take a swing at her with it. And it’s not about her, but if he says that he knows she’ll send him on his way and never speak to him again.

But one way or another he has to get them to talk. Why waste this opportunity when a friendship that was once so perfect can potentially be fixed?

“What about me?” She asks, and he can’t help but let the shock show on his face when she lets him in. Not just into her home, but she’s relaxed a little, which is the most surprising part. But not for long. “Make it quick, everyone’s gonna be here in ten minutes.”

As if “everyone” will show up on time. This is almost worse than her slamming the door in his face. She used to always have time for him, and for everyone, for that matter. And seeing the couch that looks almost untouched in the living room makes him question something. She said on the phone she has everyone over all the time and they hang out in the living room, but there’s almost nothing in there. The place looks empty. Almost as empty as the Byers’ old house and they don’t even live there anymore.

Is she lying to him?

“Okay, fine,” he snaps, and he can no longer hide his frustration. “What the hell happened to you? What’s wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?” She raises her eyebrows as she sits down next to him on the couch, still keeping her distance. There’s a wall between them. An invisible one at that, but it’s still there.

“Did your new ‘friends’…” he begins with air quotes. Maybe it’s a little bit dramatic but he couldn’t care less right now. “…make you hate all of us? You can’t have forgotten about us that easily, Robin. I mean, seriously, what the hell did they do to you?”

“Get out.”

“No, I’m not leaving. I need to know now. Why do you hate us?”

“I don’t hate any of you,” she says, but the sour look on her face says otherwise. However, she has a glass of apple juice on the side. Her ‘talking juice,’ Dustin calls it. Whenever she used to have it she’d never shut up. “I just can’t keep risking my life over and over and other new scarier things get thrown at me left and right and I just have no idea whether I’ll wake up after I fall asleep at night. I couldn’t do it anymore!”

Bingo. Apple juice strikes again.

“As soon as I became friends with you and… other people, I was thrown in the deep end and almost killed by Russians. Russians, Dustin! And I know you guys saved me but that was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me and I didn’t know it could get worse. I almost had a person die in my arms for fuck sake!”

A person. She can’t even say Steve’s name anymore.

“But he didn’t die because you saved him. You did! Because you love him!” He raises his voice to match hers. “You told me nothing in this world could ever make you stop being friends with Steve, you promised me you’d be friends forever and you even made a blood pact! So what changed?”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“I…” She trails off, taking another sip of her juice. “Fine.”

He doesn’t say anything back to that. How can he? It’s not a question, not even a rhetorical one, so he sits in silence, waiting for her to continue. Even though he’s eyeing that pillow on the armchair and wants to suffocate her with it, he stops himself. Violence is not the answer to get people talking.

He learned that from the Russians.

“He loves Nancy.”

Wait so… She’s jealous? Is that really all this is? She’s jealous because Steve loves someone that isn’t her? Is it because he loves Nancy more than he loves Robin? And even after whatever happened between them, at least Steve still tried to keep in contact with Robin, so he does love her but not the way she wants him to. Maybe.

“And before you say anything, I’m not in love with Steve. Boys are gross.” Oh wow, she said his name. Well done. Dustin stops himself from rolling his eyes. He’s just about ready to leave, he wants to, but he’d rather fix this or at least find the reason why they fell out than just leave it.

“It’s my fault, sort of,” she continues. “I pushed him to get back with her or at least try. I wanted him to find someone, but then I found out about Nancy cheating on him a few years ago with Jonathan and then I realized she might cheat on Steve with someone else again and I got mad at him for listening to me. Did they get back together?”

“No,” Dustin says, looking at anything but her. “They almost did, but Steve said he couldn’t do that to Jonathan.”

“Oh… That’s… That’s good, I guess.”

“Yeah.” How did this get so awkward so fast. Think of something to say! For two people who can never ever stop talking, this is even worse than awkward. “I know you might say no, but…”

“Never start a sentence with that. It’ll make me want to say ‘no’ even more.”

“Shut up,” he says, his voice breaking into a chuckle, until he realizes they’re not friends anymore and mutters a quick apology. But what surprises him is Robin bursting out into laughter next to him.

“Okay, what is it?”

“Talk to him. Please. I’m not asking, I’m begging.”

“Can I tell you something?” Her head drops to her hands, before she curls her arms around her knees and brings them up to her chest, making herself small. After a small ‘yes’ from Dustin, she takes a deep breath. “Nobody’s coming over today. I only said that because I didn’t want to talk about Steve.”

“You know friends shouldn’t lie, right?”

“You know that’s a bunch of bullshit, right?” She says, almost mirroring him. “I lied to Steve all the time about little things.”

“Ha!” Dustin replies, smiling at a bewildered Robin. “You called Steve your friend!”

“I—”

“That means you have to talk to him now! I won’t accept ‘no’ for an answer.”

Robin sits in silence for a moment. “Fine. But only if you buy me more coffee. I’m running out.”

Why the hell would Robin need coffee? She’s a ball of energy as-is. He shrugs his shoulders. No point in saying no. The least they can do is try, after all.

“Done. I’ll get you two boxes.”

[yankstrash]

Okay so Gabe and Meel’s go to an outdoor movie together and it’s a romcom and the whole time they’re just stuck like glue. Like he’ll sit up the whole time while she rests her head in his lap just to make sure she’s comfortable. They’re also constantly just glaring at each other and have the biggest smiles on their faces. What’s even more perfect is that the stars are all out so they stay until the movie ends and everyone else leaves to just stargaze together and talk about anything and everything. Then he drives her home and walks her to the door and tells her how much he loves her and how much fun he had with her the whole day.

(I am literally going to start sobbing).

i will also sob.

for some reason this feels like the perfect moment for them to say 'i love you' for the first time

they have been dating for a couple months and honestly, they're having so much fun together as a couple. they've been out on various dates and fall for each other more and more after each one. they've spent almost every single day together since they started dating and it feels like their honeymoon phase will never end. they're absolutely obsessed with each other, but they haven't said the L word yet.

if we're being honest, gabes probably loved her since the first time he ever saw her. however, the first time it really clicked in his head, "damn i love this girl" was the first time he saw her in his hockey jersey. in that moment, he knew he was in love. extremely in love.

but he hasn't told amelia because he doesn't want to rush her or scare her away if she thinks it's too soon. he wants to go at her pace, so he's kept it to himself.

but tonight, it was hard for him. they had a very cute date at an outdoor movie. gabe saw they were playing '10 things i hate about you', which amelia has said is one of her favorite movies, so he knew he had to take her.

amelia clung to him the entire time. she sat between his legs, right on his lap, curled into his side, but mainly she laid with her head on his lap as he sat up.

the two would share glances the entire movie, the smiles never leaving their faces. gabe couldn't get enough of her. each time she looked at him and smiled, he wanted to tell her he loved her. he wanted to tell her so badly. even if she didn't say it back, he just wanted her to know.

after the movie ended, the pair were so comfortable that they didn't even want to get up. they sat and talked for a while before they realized they were the only ones left.

"i'm glad we stayed, look at the sky!" amelia said, looking up from gabes lap. gabe glanced up at the sky, seeing all the beautiful stars shining.

"lay with me." amelia said, lifting her head off gabes lap and lying down on the blanket they had been sitting on.

gabe laid next to her, outstretching his arm so amelia could lay her head on it. she nuzzled into his side, keeping her hands on her stomach as gabes other hand went to the back of his head.

they talked about anything and everything for what felt like an eternity. amelia mainly talked while gabe listened. not only did he love listening to her talk, but he was also worried if he opened his mouth to speak, 'i love you' would jump right out of his throat. so he kept quiet for the most part.

until he couldn't.

amelia lifted herself off his arm, flipped herself over and propped herself on her elbows, staring at her boyfriend.

"thank you for not giving up on me. i know i was a pain in the ass when we first met, and most guys would've ran for the hills because of that, but you were so patient with me, and you never gave up. no matter how many times i turned you away, you came back each time more determined than the last. no guy has ever done so much just to be with me, so thank you." amelia said.

gabe smiled at her, the words stinging in his throat.

so. bad.

he couldn't keep them in anymore.

"i love you so much." gabe blurted out.

amelia didn't say anything for a moment, and her facial expression barely changed.

crap. crap crap crap.

but then she broke out in a toothy grin. "i know."

gabes eyebrows shot up at her words. "you know?"

amelia nodded her head and said, "i've known, you didn't have to say it. if we're being honest, i've kind of always known. the way you were so persistent with me when we first met, never giving up no matter how hard of a time i gave you. the way you treat me, the way we've been going out for 2 months and you still get nervous around me, the way you're so attentive to me, the way you hold me like if you hang on any looser i'm gonna slip away, the way you insist on getting me anything and everything i want, despite me telling you not to. if you didn't know, your love languages are physical touch and gift giving, both of which you don't have a hard time at all giving in our relationship."

gabe was grinning like a little kid, a blush breaking out on his cheeks.

"and my love languages," amelia started as she climbed on gabes waist and straddled him, "are physical touch and words of affirmation." she finished as she cupped his face in her hands.

"i know i was a pain in the ass in the beginning, but now that you've got me, you've got me. i'm not going anywhere, i promise. i love you."

gabes heart was doing somersaults at amelias words.

holy crap. she said it back.

she said it back!

"you said it back!" gabe said, his mouth speaking his thoughts for him.

amelia laughed at his word vomit, and leaned down to kiss his lips. "of course i did, did you think i wouldn't?"

gabe sat up, holding onto amelias waist to keep her in place on his lap.

"i was hoping you would, but i wasn't sure if you thought it was too soon. that's why i hadn't said it before." gabe admitted.

amelia kept her hands on his cheeks and her eyes locked on his.

"it's not. you know when you know, and i know. i love you."

"i love you, meels."

after their confessions, the couple sat under the stars for a while longer before calling it a night.

gabes hand remained on amelias thigh the entire drive home, and just like he had been doing since their very first date, he walked her to the door when they got to her place.

"thank you for another amazing date, i had the best time." amelia said, grabbing gabes hands and swinging them.

"of course, my princess."

gabe and amelia shared a kiss before he tightly embraced her in his arms, resting his chin on top of her head.

"i love you, gabe." she mumbled into his chest.

gabe planted a kiss on her head. "i love you, so much."

[nellyofthevalley]

spawn, ch.3

astarion x fem!tav…

rating: explicit content: NON-CON I'M SO FUCKING SERIOUS FOR THIS CHAPTER, tragedy, violence, lots of cazador, dead dove, probably death at some point, i don’t know it’s a lot, fuck or die summary: cazador uses the one thing astarion cares about to exert control over his favorite spawn in the worst ways.

With her, he would have risen from the dirt and lived again. He swore, a few times, that he felt his heart come to life for a brief moment and he remembers every last one. He thought of them often in the kennels on repeat in his mind, reciting a list of reasons why he had to go on.

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3

read it on ao3 or below the cut:

A sort of ritualistic gathering developed—every night, Cazador calls Tav, Astarion, and a select few of his spawn to the dining hall, where they sit together at the table as a ‘family’. Most nights, Astarion is left to sit in silence and watch as his master passes Tav from spawn to spawn, to be drank from like a bottle of wine. 

Cazador goes so far as to give the spawn praise, tell them what a wonderful reward they’re being given for their behavior, but none are blind to the truth. Cazador never let them drink from thinking creatures before, no matter how well they performed. The favored spawn’s dormitory, sporting a small semblance of privacy, is the sole gift they’ve ever received. The tiefling dinner they’ve all come to indulge in is simply another one of Astarion’s punishments they’re forced to participate in.

The spawn, forbidden from supping of the blood of anything better than bugs and rotten vermin, always bite her wildly and take too much, marring her skin more than Astarion had the night she was taken. Cazador has to compel them to stop, reminding them he still has plans for her and to ‘mind their manners’—though he still allows them to take enough to take enough to render her weak, unable to speak or move at all.

Astarion’s body aches and begs his mind to agree to get up and fight, to break the wooden dining chair and run its leg through his master’s dead heart over and over again; to bathe in his screams, twist the stake and watch his organs curl, and tear his flesh apart until there’s nothing left but viscera.

Most nights, she’d faint before a thrall carries her out to be cared for—this ‘care’  nothing more than an assurance she lives another grueling day of torture. Astarion learned Dalyria had been tasked with seeing to her, and one night in passing, she mentioned that Tav had her own room and hasn’t been by Cazador’s side as he was led to believe. A comfort, albeit small; here, even a short reprieve is a blessing.

Over time, it seemed Cazador had taken a twisted liking to her, directly speaking to her more often and addressing her politely. Empty words when he has his spawn drain her to the edge every evening, but it makes Astarion’s stomach churn.

It's agonizing, being forced to sit at the table in the evenings, so close that he could reach out and touch her—if he were allowed. She looks so empty, so devoid of any emotion, he wishes he could see anything in her. He wishes they had the tadpoles again, threat of ceremorphosis be damned, so they could share in each other’s minds.

The tadpoles were the best thing that ever happened to Astarion, granting him freedom and power, but they were careless. They dragged their feet confronting Cazador and now…

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. The master wasn’t wrong when he said Astarion didn’t have to be his spawn to be controlled; he proved as much that first night.

Astarion wonders if Cazador’s taught her to be so expressionless, or if the light in her is truly fading. He hates how dependent he’s become, how resolve flits out of his heart as easily as it enters. If her fire’s snuffed out—the last of her hope gone—he fears he won’t be able to hold onto his own anymore.

On the nights Astarion is escorted out first, he almost prefers the ignorance to knowing what happens to her in the dining hall after he’s left. 

He thought the dinners were the worst. How wrong he was, he realizes, when Cazador ceases to summon him from the kennels. It is a far bleaker existence in solitude, hungry and oblivious to anything beyond the door.

Thralls no longer come for him. His siblings never come for him. Their friends never come for him.

All he knows is that she must still be alive—Cazador surely would’ve summoned him to watch if he were to kill her. The unknown is terrifying. Many nights, he chooses to live in delusion, repeatedly telling himself she’s okay; shaken, that he couldn’t deny, but not gone.

When Godey comes to discipline him, ‘learning his manners’ is an emphasized lesson, and the skeleton never slips, never says a single word beyond the fucking lesson and his mockeries.

Cazador visited him, too, though the occasions were rare. The master had better things to spend his time on than something as trivial as Astarion’s punishments, even if he is the favorite spawn. Distinct from the favored spawn, the favorite spawn is the most beautiful, most whored, most disdained, and wields the sweetest screams. Many moons ago, before the abduction, he was also the most ill-disciplined. Now, he dutifully plays his part, waiting to see Tav again.

Eventually, these visits also came to an end. Godey no longer prowls and attends to his kennels, an area that has been his, not the master’s, for as long as Astarion can remember. The piece of shit walking bag of bones values his domain, carries a sense of pride and ownership over it; the fact that he no longer makes his rounds is terribly unsettling.

After a few weeks that felt like months of isolation, a mortal servant arrives to deliver a rather lavish, white-and-gold outfit and written orders from Cazador: ‘Dress up. Mind your manners. Wait to be escorted.’ Painfully brief and unenlightening. Not unexpected. The master had never been eloquent in the art of written words. 

Astarion, wrought with hunger, fights the urge to drink the servant dry, persevering only due to his conviction to see Tav again. He can’t fuck this up. He can’t agitate Cazador. He wonders if he’ll see her tonight—if Cazador’s planned a ball, a feast, or some other sort of gathering perhaps—and will she be dressed up, too?

Dress up. Mind my manners. Wait for my escort. 

Mortals who know Cazador’s true nature come to his gatherings expecting to leave with the gift of eternal life. Few are granted eternal life. It’s never a gift, and no one ever leaves.

If Astarion were blissfully unaware to the party’s farce—only a mask for the true feast to be had by beasts and monsters alike—it might be a refreshing sight, with people dancing, talking, and drinking, filling the ballroom to the brim. He nearly envies them; at least their deaths won’t be prolonged across centuries.

He was given no instruction or tasks beyond putting on a pretty face, and upon arrival looks over the crowd to the front, searching for Tav. She sits in a new chair besides Cazador’s empty one, wearing an elegant, flowing blood-red dress the master must’ve chosen for her. No doubt meant to match with his own aristocratic, gaudy attire; a black, tailored velvet coat with red-and-gold embroidery, silken shirt, slim trousers and shiny leather boots.

An image of royalty to the ignorant—the idiots that ask for the gift of eternity. Vampiric king and queen, presiding over their lands and peasants. Astarion never saw him with a ‘partner’ before, but tonight, Cazador is flaunting her like she’s his. The chairs, the matching attire, the event… events at the palace are rare and always a carefully calculated move. There’s purpose.

They’re feasts, but they’re never just feasts.

Tav looks different up there, dolled up in a gothic look she’d never choose for herself, with her hair in a styled updo and at the master’s side. Almost like she’s been transformed into another person altogether, with a mere few distinguishing features left to recognize her by.

It’s wrong, she’s all wrong; he doesn’t see her amber eyes staring back, and he fucking knows why and refuses to believe. Not until he can see it. Astarion weaves through guests, moving up closer to get a better look at her and he sees something that pesters him so ruthlessly, something that threatens to tear down every drop of willpower and self-discipline he’d managed to gather since their imprisonment.

Fresh puncture wounds on her neck.

Red eyes, and the clear hunger behind them. The very same look he wore when he was turned and when he was denied even rats.

It’s a brutal reminder of what he’s known for a very long time: that their efforts had been in vain, a complete waste of time for a world that wasn’t worth saving; that the Gods of this foul place and every inhabitant deserve to drown along with it.

Before she came along and won him over with her honeyed words, he had it beaten into him over two hundred years that this realm is a horrible, vile place to spend a minute on, nor a single lifetime, and certainly not for eternity.

‘The world can be a wonderful, kind place, Astarion, when you find a home in it,’ she said.

She said a lot of stupid things, and he protested against nearly every single one of them, but she was stubborn. Persistent. She did the impossible and made him believe they would find their home in it and experience this wonderful, kind place. He’d been a thoughtless, love-addled twit that thrived on her energy, eventually coming to crave it.

Astarion didn’t want it and he refused it at every turn. He scoffed at her generosity, doubted her graciousness, and chastised her when she dared to challenge him. He waited on her every word, though never without comment, and in time, he started to welcome the infection of her sweet, kind heart.

In his confinement, after the dinners and the visits stopped, Astarion had dreamt many times of the end. No more pain, no more sorrow, no more torture.

True death is a fantasy within the walls of this palace.

Yet, no matter how many times he fantasizes of obliteration, he’s still all but given up on hope. He hopes she’ll kiss him again, laugh with him, or so much as flash a half-smile his way. He would do anything for it. He would do even more to set her free.

Much as he fought it, she brought an irreplaceable light to the gloom in the soul he thought he’d lost.

When Cazador’s voice rings through the room, it’s as if he’s drifted off and he’s watching something else control his form, an empty husk obeying and moving aside as his master commands. The whole crowd splits, creating space in the center, and only a minute later they’re applauding and awing at what’s on display. Their laughs and claps are utterly revolting, it’s like hearing the master’s taunts on repeat—like every guest is mocking him and berating him, and it echoes through the palace.

Astarion looks through his own eyes again, and he wishes he hadn’t.

In another lifetime, it would be them dancing on the ballroom floor. Astarion, the Ascendant, and his lover, dressed in the same blue-and-gold scheme. He’s always thought blue suits her well, not red, and not moving along with Cazador with his palm on her back and her hand in his, twirling her around like a doll to be shown off. It’s a spectacle, a well-crafted show designed to destroy his most prized spawn. 

It’s atrocious enough to push Astarion to vomit, but he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t, he can’t—not with this cold, dead form. He dashes away from the crowd and dry heaves in the corner, over and over until his body can’t handle it anymore and he runs off to the kennels, knowing he’ll regret this later, knowing he has nowhere to go but here.

The place he’d been tortured in for so long, made to scream and cry and beg for mercy, to submit and now it’s all he has to find comfort in. It’s a disgrace. It’s fucking humiliating.

With her, he would have risen from the dirt and lived again. He swore, a few times, that he felt his heart come to life for a brief moment and he remembers every last one. He thought of them often in the kennels on repeat in his mind, reciting a list of reasons why he had to go on.

The first time was when he couldn’t live with the guilt anymore and admitted he’d been manipulating her, trying to win her favor all along by charming her and pleasuring her, and that he’d gone and fucked it up—he finally started to understand that he wanted more from her. Astarion wanted something real, and he didn’t know how to ask nor how to do it, and he was so sure she would yell at him anyway for what he’d done, knowing he’d deserve it but fearing it all the same.

She embraced him instead. He recoiled purely by instinct and she didn’t let him go. He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes and he felt his heart stir.

Then, when she kissed him under the stars at Wyrm’s Crossing. It wasn’t their first or second kiss, he’d lost count by then, but that one was different. That one made his heart flip as they looked beyond the horizon, processing the months of traveling and fighting and how far it had taken them, the city only a few days away.

And again, when they survived the confrontation with the brain. Death was a certainty, and they came out the other side. After that, he felt they could do anything if they did it together. Even the sun that could kill him so easily felt like little more than a petty burn on his skin while he rode the high of it all. She promised to find him a way to live in the sun again after they killed Cazador.

His heart did more than flip or stir that time, it raced.

Later, Godey comes for him in the kennels and drags him to Cazador’s study. A room he’s never entered before, not in two hundred years; none of the spawn or thralls were allowed in his study. It’s a sign. He’s sure it means their numbered days can be counted on one hand. 

He’s shoved in the room and kicked to the floor; Godey’s already left by the time Astarion looks back at the door, and then it’s Cazador jerking him by his hair, throwing him back against the ground.

“You thought to disrespect me, at my party, during my dance?”

“Fuck you,” Astarion retorts. He’s being senseless and rash and he knows it, he knows he should be good, but fuck, with Tav made Cazador’s spawn, what does he have left to fight for? To live for? Why shouldn’t he get himself killed by spitting in his master’s face?

“And here I thought you felt something for her. You seemed to cherish her, didn’t you? And now you’ll throw it all away, just so you can have a meager few seconds of fun, making your jabs at me?” Cazador taunts him, kicking him backwards against the cold floor and stepping on him, shifting his weight to his foot and shoving Astarion’s face into the tile. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always selfish, unable to hold your endless prattle and boasting. The others have always hated you for it.”

Astarion looks down, as if the fight he had simply evaporated—the master perfected the act of preying on his spawn’s worst traits and insecurities, and he was never immune to it, try as he may.

“Look at me, boy,” Cazador orders, compelling him to watch as he lifts his boot and comes back down on Astarion’s chest with a harsh crack on his ribs. “If it was yours to make, what would you have me choose? Would you prefer I carved the runes into her back, as agonizingly as I did to you, and sacrifice her? Or keep her as my pet forever?”

Gods. He can think of nothing worse than an eternity with Cazador, but the thought of Tav enduring the runes, then slaughtered like cattle… he’d rather stay in Cazador’s service for another thousand years than choose. She has so much life left to live, and it’s already been snuffed out, all because she’d been dumb enough to choose him to love.

“She’s already fucking dead,” he says. “You fucking killed her! You took her body, forced red eyes and eternal hunger onto her. You transformed her into a monster. You stole her from me.”

“Stole her—have I misjudged you? Is she simply property to you? Ha!” Cazador laughs and shakes his head, lifting his foot from Astarion’s chest. “You would’ve been smart to see her that way, spawn, I taught you better than to love. But it makes no difference to me, really; whether she’s your lover or your possession, you belong to me. I own you. She was made mine the very moment you set your eyes on her.”

“Fuck you, fuck you!”

“You are nothing and you have nothing. You went on a short vacation with mortals who’ve since forgotten you, and hand-delivered to me the only one foolish enough to show you kindness.”

The door behind creaks open and another body is pushed through the door, onto their knees beside him. Red dress. Red eyes. 

Astarion, too livid to consider if he should, crawls over to her and puts his hands on her, lifting her chin to look at him. Her dark makeup is well-executed, giving her the blush of life, and everything about her appearance screams elegance, class, perfection.

No amount of makeup can cover what he sees when she sets her eyes upward on him: a reflection of himself and what he’s done to her, how he’s condemned her to this.

“My love,” he says, an appeal to her, though he feels guilty for hoping she feels something for him still, sure that he’s unworthy of it.

“Astarion, no.”

It stings worse than any blow or cut he’d been given. It’s been weeks, maybe months since he’s heard her say anything except ‘no’, and even his name is spoken with such bitterness. But her palms raise and latch on to his forearms and her eyes shut, like it’s painful to look at him, and it stokes his little spark of hope.

“Please,” he pleads, but for what, he’s not sure.

It’s but a second before Cazador intervenes, pushing Astarion aside.

“Sit. And watch,” he demands.

Astarion sits up with his back to the wall, staring at them with eyes half-open. His master—their master, now—bends his newest spawn over the desk, lifting her pretty red dress up over her back and pulling her underwear to her knees. Cazador pins her against the tabletop, his cock rigid against her cunt, separated only by the petty fabric of his pants.

“I promised I’d teach you. It’s only a shame that you’ll not have the chance to put my instructions to use,” he says, words directed towards Astarion, but eyes set on Tav and unwilling to spare Astarion even a single glance. A waste of the master’s time, as it often is; as his favorite and most hated spawn, Cazador’s interactions with Astarion are limited to the cruelest encounters, those that wrought enough suffering to satisfy the master for the night.

Tav stares at Astarion, and he hates it. With her face pressed against the surface, expression devoid of emotion, and her hands held behind her back by Cazador—a scene perfectly crafted to ruin him.

See what you’ve done to me?

He hears it in her voice.

“Dry,” Cazador notes. “Fix this.”

Of fucking course she’s dry! What did he expect from her, her admiration and attention? To wet her cunt to her slaver? Astarion can’t fathom how she could even fix it—how could anyone get aroused in this situation?—but something in their master’s tone indicates that this isn’t the first time he’s ordered her to do this.

She follows quickly, she has to. She reaches her hand down under her dress. Astarion can’t see beneath the red fabric and he’s thankful for it. Despite the Gods ignoring his every prayer, he still begs them now to stop this, to remove them from this place, scorch the earth if they must. He’ll serve, he’ll sacrifice, he’ll give anything and everything. He’ll give his body, his soul—all of it. 

None listen. 

Cazador thrusts into her as ruthlessly and awfully as he administered every other punishment. She gasps and scrunches her face, stuffing her true feelings further and further down, being good, being compliant. She’s behaving and putting on a tough face, but it’s so fucking obvious how disciplined and practiced it is.

Rehearsed and refined, like how Astarion honed his skills in the art of seduction over the centuries. Is this what’s being done to her behind closed doors? When the rabid feasts on her blood stopped and Astarion never saw her, even so much as to deliver a punishment, was Cazador raping her and conditioning her to put on a happy face for it?

It’s sick. It’s disgusting. The sounds of his master fucking his lover reverberate in his ears; the ghoulish slap of skin on skin, the repulsive, throaty groans Cazador makes and the distressed, subdued cries coming from his love’s mouth. The noises alone haunt him, and even if he could look away, the memories of when he was first turned and Cazador had his way with him would simply follow.

Astarion would take her place as many times as he had to, if he could, without a second thought. He’d get on his back, his knees, any fucking way he was told to if it meant sparing her from it. He’d pretend to love it. He’d swallow and moan and take it all with a pretty face.

If it would save her, he would endure.

“Tav,” Cazador starts, about to command her, and it’s the first time Astarion’s heard her name said from his repugnant mouth. “My naïve, harebrained spawn over there won’t stop dreaming of taking you for himself again. Re-educate him on the matter of how you came to be a spawn. My spawn.”

“You led me here,” she chokes out between whimpers. “You killed me, Astarion.”

No, no, Astarion thinks, you don’t believe that… you wouldn’t… would you?

He wants to think that she’s only being compelled, that she’d never fault him for it, even if he blames himself. He can’t let go of believing she still cares for him—it’s all he has left.

“He watches you so faithfully, so childishly enthralled by you. Look at him.” Cazador brushes a piece of her hair back to uncover her face and leans closer to her to speak, turning his gaze towards Astarion. “Pretend it’s him inside you, pleasuring you. Imagine his face, his voice, and show us how beautifully you’d purr for him.”

“No, please,” Astarion begs, knowing he’s powerless, knowing his pleas will only satisfy Cazador more, yet he can’t stop them. “Don’t do this.”

Astarion never had the opportunity to lay with her again after the night in the forest. He wanted to—he wanted to so, so badly; he wanted the opportunity to learn how to truly love someone and show his for her as she deserves, but he wasn’t ready for it no matter how much he wished he was.

Whenever Astarion felt he had nothing left to lose, he was proven wrong, time and time again. Cazador commanded him to force himself on her in the ballroom, and now he’s forced to watch as she imagines him behind her. It’s fucking heinous, it’s tragic, it’s despicable.

He was never compelled in this manner, the master was happy to be patient with Astarion, taking his time enjoying beating and torturing him into submission. He wonders what happens when you’re compelled to imagine another lover. Is it Astarion’s face she’ll see when she turns around? Is it Astarion’s voice she’ll hear when Cazador speaks? Or will she still be keenly aware of the nightmare they’re residing in?

It’s her moans that bring him back to the present. Her lovely voice he dreamt of singing for him many times, and now it sings for a vision of him while he watches.

Cazador lets her hands free and hikes her dress further up, leaving nothing out of sight. Astarion tries to turn away, but his body won’t comply—it can’t. He sees Cazador sliding in and out of her and how he roughly grabs her chin with his slimy hand and turns her face towards him. He sees her, his Tav, looking at their master with her half-closed eyes and parted mouth and it makes him feel ill, thinking of how she sees his face laid over Cazador’s.

“Astarion.” She cries his name with a whimper, almost as if she were calling for him to save her.

“No,” he says quietly, to no one but himself, his voice tired of begging and screaming and and it’s futile, anyway; he’s powerless, nothing but a frail, expendable spawn.

“Astarion, please,” she whines in a sweet way, distinct from how she’d said his name only a second ago, like she’s begging him to fuck her. He’d imagined this many times, fantasized of it—he’d been waiting for it for so long—and hearing it now is a fucking torment, a stain on every fantasy; he’ll never be able to push this foul noise out of his head.

If he lives through this, he’ll remember it for a thousand years, a maddening infestation of the mind. It would seep into every one of their interactions, it would creep back into his head when he tried to bed her. It would follow them to the ends of the universe until they lost their souls.

Cazador shoves two of his fingers into her opened mouth, pressing far back until she’s about to gag from it, and she so enthusiastically licks them and coats them in her saliva, seeing Astarion’s pale face and hand while she does it.

“Look at her. So ready to please,” he says, and he wipes his spit-covered fingers on her cheek like she’s just a rag to wipe his filthy hands with.

Then, he covers her mouth fully with his palm forcefully; her brows furrow, eyes widen like she’s afraid, and her nails scratch hysterically at the wood beneath her. He’s relentless, holding her mouth shut tight and pushing her head to the desk while his motions become faster and stronger, and she looks like she’s in fucking pain.

One tear runs down Astarion’s face. Then another, then more; seemingly endless tears running down his face and dripping down onto his clothes and he does nothing to stop or wipe them away. He’s not even sure he could move right now, his body limp and bereft of any life. 

Cazador finishing inside her is a sight and sound he’ll never be able to scrub from the crevices of his brain—a scene that will live in the black when he closes his eyes, inescapable.

“I see why you like her,” he taunts. “She’s obedient, isn’t she? And stupidly infatuated with you. A pity you’re too weak to exploit her.”

He fastens his trousers and straightens out the folds in his clothes; it’s all mechanical, it’s nothing for him but a job to be done, a performance to exert his power.

But Cazador was a pathetic, putrid little spawn once, too. He could be made one again.

He turns and leaves them alone. Together. Astarion’s body and mind are a mess—his face coated with dried, pitiful tears, and he’s lost on what being left behind here, with Tav, means. Does he grant them this visit to tempt Astarion and reprimand him for it later? Or is it as Aurelia had once said, bestowing a small ‘kindness’ for the cruelty of it? 

He gives in to the temptation even if it earns him discipline later, desperate for so much as one moment with her, but it’s not temptation at all—he understands when he approaches her.

The sticky white leaking from her cunt and running down her leg, the bruises covering her back to her thighs, the way she lays there lifeless, even when allowed to move and speak; it’s all to prove she’d been broken. A reminder of the master’s ownership over them, what he’d taken from them.

“Tav.”

She doesn’t reply, doesn’t move. 

“Please. We may never get to speak again,” Astarion begs, his voice cracking. He wanted to have the strength for them both, but he fucking can’t. “Talk to me.”

She starts to cry, he sees it run down her face and onto the desk. He pulls her dress back over her body and bends forward, laying beside her, looking at her.

Beautiful, as she’s always been. Not a monster as he yelled in anger, not already dead. She’s Tav, his first love; the only love he’ll ever know. 

Her cries turn into violent sobs, though still she lays there, motionless. Paralyzed. Astarion gently touches her face with his fingertips, and when she doesn’t fight him on it, he trails down her cheek and wipes her tears away. It’s in vain, the tears flowing ceaselessly, but he can’t stop himself; he can’t think of anything but how desperately he wants to comfort her. 

It’s a need worse than the hunger for blood—despite being starved ever since they came here, he forgot about it as soon as he felt her skin on his finger.

“Come on.”

He extends his hand towards her, to help her stand. He waits with it out until finally, she accepts and lifts herself with stiff movements, sore from the bruises. Bruises that weren’t meant for her, but for him to uncover and never forget.

He loathes to think how the dance must’ve felt for her. Awful. Unbearable.

“Tav.”

“Don’t. I’ve nothing left to give,” she says, sure of what he wants to express, and she doesn’t want to hear it.

Astarion could argue with her, he considers it; he could fight her and tell her everything she still has left to offer, everything he wishes they could share in. He learned better than anyone that undeath doesn’t mean you have no life left to live or that it’s not still you inside.

It’s selfish, but he can’t stop wondering if she’s truly given up on him and if she hates him for this. When Cazador ordered her to speak, did she mean what she said? Does she believe he stole her chance at life? She wouldn’t be wrong for it.

It had been his doing every step of the way, really—trying to seduce her, falling for her so carelessly, letting her hug and kiss and adore him and get under his skin, not insisting they kill Cazador the moment they stepped foot in the city. Fuck, he could’ve stopped it all when they met if he’d driven the knife through her throat. 

As she walks away, he wonders if he’s ever told her he loves her.

Maybe it would’ve been selfish, anyway. Maybe she wouldn’t want to hear it.