#this was the first one where i really MADE things for it too
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
DCxDP fanfic idea: Danny's Did you know?
Danny is a contact creator.
He started off as a kid who wanted to dump info about space or other interests, making it more "Did you Know" as his theme, but his channel really took off the first time he invited a ghost to speak about the era that came before.
No one knows Sidney Poindexter is a ghost. Ghosts usually do not appear on camera; if they do, they are always a blur or barely visible outline. That doesn't come into play when the camera happens to belong to the Ghost King, who is unaware of the title.
Due to this, the ghosts, as his guest stars, turn out to look like normal human beings. There is no glow, no see-through effect, and the only odd thing about them is how they dress.
Even Poindexter's coloring could be explained with some well-done make-up.
They think he's just someone wearing a costume and pretending to be from the 1950s, using information Danny had researched. Danny's interview with Poindexter became an instant hit among those who applauded the genuine authenticity of what the 1950s actually were like.
Not only that, but Poindexter's reactions to modern terms and objects that Danny presents are hilarious to the viewers, as he never once broke character. There is even an entire section where both grumble about the bullying issue in their shared high school.
A particular scene becomes a trending meme.
"Did you know Dr. Seuss coined the word "Nerd" in 1950? He used it in the book If I Ran the Zoo," Danny tells Poindexter.
The other teenager rolls his eyes. "Of course, I knew. It was published in my first year of High school. I was one of the first to be called nerd, you know? It would have been more impressive if it didn't take the entire football team four days to read."
"Four days!?"
"Dr. Seuss's writing style saved the American reading levels back in my day."
"So we have always been stupid, huh?"
Danny's next guest is Johnny 13, a biker from the early 1980s who spends most of his time flirting with Danny—who doesn't acknowledge the attempts—and proudly tells the viewers he may have been there, but he was too poor to know much about the 1980s.
"What were the trends in that era?" Danny asks Johnny after considering his notes.
The biker shrugs. "I think cellphones? They were too expensive for me or my block. Never saw one in real life before I died."
"Well, one trend was waterbeds. Did you know that waterbeds were invented in the 60s? They were made by a design student but weren't popular until the 80s, making them popular for the sudden rise of sex appeal." Danny says with a cheerful grin.
Johnny 13 tilts his head, considering his words. "Radical. I couldn't afford a mattress, much less a waterbed, but I bet they were fun. If you can get your hands on one, I would happily show you how fun they can be."
Danny rolls his eyes and then considers something. "If you couldn't afford a mattress, how did you get your bike then?"
"I stole it. Car theft was effortless back then after hotwiring took off." Johnny's smirk turns dark. "I stole to keep myself fed. Bad luck followed you everywhere when you started at America's rock bottom. Only crime could get you out, and even then, life was shit."
Danny reaches out and pats his shoulder. "At least you got to live through one of the best eras in our history."
"Nah, I died in 1983. I missed it, but do you know who actually got to live it? Ember. She died in 1990."
Next week, Ember strikes an alarming resemblance to the one-hit-wonder singer Ember McLain, who had nearly made it big a few years ago.
"What were the 80s like?"
"Terrible, everyone hated me in school, and AIDS was killing all my friends."
Danny pauses for a long moment, looking horror-struck, until Ember shrugs, "But Glam rock was made popular, which was kind of cool."
"Glam?"
Ember smirked at the host, holding her guitar. "Want to hear some?"
By the end of her performance, everyone was losing their mind that Danny Fenton somehow knew a big name like Ember Mclain, and her music once again started to trend. So much so she released another song called "Lost," dedicated to all her fallen friends who died in the AIDS epidemic.
It goes on and on, with each new video showcasing different times and people from those backgrounds. Tim Drake never misses an episode as a dedicated follower of Danny's Did You Know?
He also thought it was a gimmick to make the show entertaining and thought nothing of the hilarious conversations—not when the host was such adorable eye candy.
Things are normal until Tim watches Danny interview Greta Hayes, who died in the late 90s. His very dead, very much a ghost teammate who happily tells the story of her life while looking like an ordinary girl for the first time.
It's not even someone dressed up as her. She makes an apparent reference to some slang Bart uses, and a few of the team's inside jokes are sprinkled into the conversation.
Tim feels a headache coming on. After watching the episode, he grinned darkly as he picked up his phone and called Bruce.
"So we may have a problem. Either a necromancer with an insane amount of skill or something similar. We need to go to Amity Park to investigate Danny Fenton."
Bruce sighs. "Tim, I am not helping you stalk your internet crush-"
"It's not stalking. It's detective work!"
#dcxdpdabbles#Danny's Did you know?#Part 1#Dead tired#Danny runs a online talkhost/ info dump#Tim is his fan#The ghosts are his guests#Bruce has been on the receiving end of many “Isn't Danny Fenton so hot!?” rambles from Tim
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 40: Where Do We Go From Here?
Summary: Things aren't going as smoothly as anyone would like. Maybe they can fix it. Maybe they can't.
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader
Word Count: 5,970 words
Warnings: Angst, discussion of nightmares, PTSD, discussion of death and killing people, emotions, so many emotions, angst, a little sliver of comfort
A/N: And it is back!! not super proud of this one but I'm starting out on a filler so...yeah. Really just setting up for the next part where some action starts again. You'll see. Anyway, glad to be back at it and I hope you enjoy!
MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->
John stands at the door, gazing out at the yard. It’s pouring rain, dumping buckets on the roof. The water has pooled on the planks of the deck, splattering with every big drop that pours from the sky. The weather once again mirrors your mood, your sobs audible from your room over the pounding on the roof.
John holds his mug in his hands, staring at the reflection in the window. Kyle and Johnny are sitting on the couch, both looking like kicked puppies. They’re itching to enter your room and go comfort you, but they’ve been kicked out for now. You’re not in the state of mind to be around any of them right now, no matter how badly your sobs tear at their heartstrings.
You haven’t been in that state of mind for a few hours now.
Whatever nightmare had plagued your mind last night, it was particularly awful. You’ve been up since the early hours, waking from a nightmare with a terrified scream that had continued until Kyle finally got you to stop and breathe. His ears are still ringing with it, his mind still pulsing with that fear. Something happened. Someone got in. Someone hurt you.
Nothing happened. No one got in.
The only threat was still just in your mind.
Graves.
He knows that’s at least part of your nightmares. Christine had disclosed that to him quietly on the side. Even she doesn’t know everything that plagues your dreams, but Graves seems to be a common specter in the darkness of your mind.
It makes his blood boil, and not just out of anger for what Graves did to you.
It boils with anger at himself too.
It’s his fault you’re in this state in the first place. He should have known, he should have seen, he should have suspected. He should have never left you there. You should have been his priority over anything else.
How badly he’s failed you.
He lets out a sigh, turning away from the window to move over to the couches. He sinks down with a sigh, resting his elbows on his knees. The little progress you’ve made has regressed with this new string of nightmares, the fear pushing you further and further back into your mind. He’s resolved himself to only get worried when Christine is worried, and right now she’s beginning to look worried. If you regress back again, the chances of bringing you out of that are slim. Sure, there are plenty of options to help, but you have to want them to help.
He knows exactly what will help, you just don’t want it.
He runs a hand through his hair as your sobs begin to quiet. It’s longer than he’s let it get for a long time. They’re all a bit scraggly and ragged looking, worn down and lazy now that there’s no strict rules guiding their lives. None of them quite know what to do outside of the regulations they’ve spent the better parts of their lives living under. He’s been in the military longer now than he hasn’t, and he’s been finding himself itching for that structure again. He can never bring himself to relax and put the job aside even on leave. He only takes it when he has to and usually spends it training and keeping his skills sharp.
Now...now things have changed.
They have no return now. There’s no clear, set time that they have to return to base. They can’t return to base. It would leave them too open to a possible retaliation from Shepherd. They were betrayed by one of their own already, who's to say someone else wouldn’t be just as eager to become a traitor for a chunk of cash? They’re not even truly safe here.
How are they going to go back to base after this? Can he bring himself to take you back there, a place you never felt comfortable in the first place?
Where do they go from here?
He’s been trying not to think too much about it. That’s a dilemma for a different day. That’s thinking too far ahead. Day by day is as far as he dares to take it now.
The door closes quietly, John’s head lifting to watch Christine as she approaches the couch. There’s a slump to her shoulders, something that’s been getting lower and lower as the days have progressed. She’s struggling with this just as much as they all are.
She sinks down on the couch, letting out a long breath. Your sobs have quieted, no sound coming from the room now. The silence is almost eerie after days of constant sounds, good and bad from your room. You were doing better. You were looking more alive and well.
Then this happened.
“She’s asleep.” Christine says, her voice strained. “Finally calmed down enough to nap.” She covers her eyes with a hand, sitting there still for a moment.
“The nightmares?” John asks, glancing at Christine out of the corner of his eye.
“Worse.” She says, her gaze far away. “She's remembering what happened.”
John stares at Kyle and Johnny for a moment, the betas returning his worried gaze.
“Those shadows she killed...” Johnny says.
Christine nods. “She's, uh, not taking it well.”
John runs a hand over his face. He knew it was possible you'd start to remember what happened during the time your omega took control. It wouldn't remain a dark spot forever, though he hoped it would. The things you were forced to do are coming to light now, the things you did to survive because they failed you. Taking the life of someone who deserves it is nothing to them. Taking the life of someone who would take yours just as quickly isn't so much as a second thought.
You're not like them.
You've never had to face that reality before, and you shouldn't have had to.
“One of us should talk to her.” Kyle says.
“I don't think that's the best idea right now.” Christine shakes her head. “She's...regressed a bit. Pushing that on her, while well intentioned, might do more harm than good...” she trails off, her gaze still far away.
The three of them sit there, waiting for what she’s going to say next. He’s not even sure Johnny or Kyle are breathing as they wait patiently for whatever solution Christine might be able to come up with, whatever move she thinks is the best one to take next.
“I want to take her out.” Christine says.
“What?” John asks in surprise.
“She needs to get out of the house. It’s not doing any of us any good sitting in here all day.” She rubs her eyes. “She expressed interest in going for a walk a couple days ago. She needs to get up and moving, start regaining some of her strength.”
John lets out a breath leaning back against the couch. He’s tempted to say no. His knee jerk reaction is to refuse. The world outside isn’t safe. If anyone is watching, if anyone sees them...
There’s always going to be that risk though, and Christine is right. Sitting in the house all day isn’t doing any of them any good. They’re at the mercy of the rain, but even then, he doubts it will keep any of them trapped inside for long.
“When the rain clears up.” He finally says. “We'll discuss it more. But, I think that might be a good idea.”
“What can we do?” Kyle asks, staring at Christine.
She lets out a sigh, covering her eyes with her hand. “I don’t know. I’ve helped hundreds of omegas in crisis and yet I don’t know why this case is so hard.”
“This has become more personal than those cases.” John says.
Christine’s shoulders slump even more. “I know. I try so hard but she’s just so...different from other omegas.”
“This entire situation is different from what you’ve done before.” Kyle says.
“You’re right.” Christine sighs. “The best we can do is let her lead. Do what she needs, give her what she wants. The worst thing that can happen right now is regression. If she regresses too far, we might never get her back.”
“What is it? Tell me what ye need.”
“Can you make me forget?”
“I wish I could.”
“Hit me hard enough on the head I might forget everything. Then we can all just start over.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
“Kitten,” Johnny sighs, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I wish I could make those thoughts go away. I wish I could make them mine.”
“I killed people.”
“I know.” He reaches out, touching your hand. “I wish ye didnae have to. Ye were just defending yerself. Those Shadows would have done worse to ye if ye hadn’t.”
You curl up in your chair, turning away from him. “That’s not helpful.”
“Sorry.” He says, letting out another sigh. “We just want to help ye.”
You’re silent for a moment, sitting there listening to the waves. It’s cold this morning, not even the thick blanket draped over you offering much respite. It’s the first morning it hasn’t poured rain in days and you were determined to take full advantage of it despite the objections of your pack.
“I know.” You finally say, staring out at the grey clouds looming on the horizon. The rain will return, just like the dark thoughts constantly swirling in your mind. They make you sick, nausea constantly churning in your stomach and threatening to rise.
Johnny wraps his hand around yours, his palm warm against your cold skin. “Should head inside. Gonnae catch a cold.”
“You know that’s a myth right?” You say, tilting your head to stare at him.
“No it’s not.” He says, pulling your hand between his. “It’s not good for ye being out in the cold.”
“I’ll live.” You say, trying to pull your hand from his, but he holds you firm. He’s stubborn, but so are you.
“Kitten...” He says, almost whining at you. “Go inside please.”
You let out a sigh, staring out at the horizon again. The clouds promise more rain soon, another downpour on its way. You hate it, how much it’s been raining. You just want to be outside, down at the beach, going on walks. Your pack won’t let you though, not while it’s raining, even though they often leave no matter the weather.
It’s not fair.
You’re not a fragile flower and you’re tired of being treated that way. Even though your brain feels like it’s in a blender constantly. Even though the pain of what happened still drives into you like a knife, you just want to be treated like a normal human being again.
“Fine.” You sigh, pushing yourself up to stand. “I’ll go inside.”
Johnny grabs your arm before you can head back in the door. “Ye know we just want the best for you.”
You stare at him for a long moment, emotions swirling in your mind. They are trying. You’ll give them that credit. They’re trying, but not hard enough. “What you think is best and what’s actually best isn’t always the same.”
He looks like a kicked puppy as he lets you go. You turn away before you can feel guilty, heading back inside the cottage.
You pull the blanket tighter around you as you stare at the flickering flames in the hearth. The heat is intense so close, but it’s warming the chill under your skin. It’s getting colder at night, foretelling the upcoming winter. All the blankets in the world couldn’t fight off the chill that’s settled in you at night. You know what might help, but you’re not brave enough to approach that solution.
The footsteps on the stairs don’t startle you in the otherwise silent house, the creak of them audible over the crackle of the logs in the fire.
“I’d add another one.” A voice says from behind you.
“I’m going to.” You say, reaching for the stack next to the fireplace.
“Careful. Put it on the side.”
“I know how to make a fire, thank you.” You snap, shoving the log in before moving it into place with the poker. “I’m not useless.”
“Didn’t mean to imply you were.” It’s silent for a moment as you settle back into place. “What are you doing out here?”
“I’m cold.” You answer simply, not feeling up to giving an entire expose on your current state of mind to the person you want to speak to the least right now.
“We can turn the heat up more.” John says. “Whatever you want to be more comfortable.”
I want you to leave. You bite your lip, suddenly not brave enough to say it out loud.
They are trying.
“Why are you down here?” You ask instead.
“Couldn’t sleep so I came to get a snack.” He says. “You want anything?”
“No.” You say quickly, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. “I’m alright.”
“You sure?” He presses, standing off to your right.
You hesitate for a moment, curling your toes under the blanket as one of the logs snaps. It’s not food you need from him. Your appetite has decreased again with this new wave of horrible things plaguing your mind. “I want to know why,” You say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “why you left me there.”
John shifts behind you, silent for a long moment.
“I got too caught up in the big picture.” He finally says. “I thought that taking out Shepherd would end everything before it went too far. It’s the only way we’ll ever be safe, and I didn’t consider the lengths he’d go to, the lengths he’d let Graves go to, just to cover his own ass long enough for him to escape. I was wrong in making that decision. You’re not like us. You’ve never been left behind, tortured, had to fight your way out of an impossible situation. You shouldn’t have ever been put in that position. We all failed you. Every last one of us.”
Tears burn your eyes as you stare into the fire. “You left me.”
“I know.” He says, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”
“I can’t do this.” You whisper, your knuckles white where they’re gripping the edges of the blanket. The words are coming out and you can’t stop them. Maybe it’s because deep down you remember the better times, when he was a comfort. Someone you could trust to catch you when you fall. “I keep seeing them, seeing what I did, what happened. I killed people.”
“People that would have killed you without a second thought.” He says. “You were defending yourself in a situation where that was unavoidable. It’s not your fault. None of it is.”
“Can we ever move past this?” You ask, your voice quiet and broken.
“I like to think we can.” John says. “It won’t be easy, but if that’s what you want, we sure as hell will work to make it happen. Things won’t go back to the way they were, and they shouldn’t. You deserve better than what we gave you.”
You don’t respond because you can’t. His words float around in your mind, replaying over and over. You want to believe him. You desperately want to believe him, but a deep part of you can’t. He’s made promises before and then broke them. How can you trust this time will be different?
The creak of the stairs wakes you. It’s jarring, pulling you out of a sleep you didn’t know you were in. You’re on the couch in the living room, bundled under a blanket with a decorative pillow under your head. You don’t remember moving to the couch. The fire is nothing more than embers now, but it feels warmer in the house. It’s dawn, the grey light streaming in through the window, chasing away the shadows of night.
“What are you doing out here?” A gruff voice asks you.
You groan, rubbing your eyes. “Fell asleep.”
“On the couch?”
“Think I was on the floor first.” You yawn, pressing your face back into the pillow. “Don’t remember getting to the couch.”
“Why?”
“Got cold.” Your voice is slightly muffled as you pull the blanket up higher.
Simon lets out a sigh before moving around the couch to the fireplace. He adds a couple logs in before lighting it again, the fire crackling back to life. You’re half asleep already as another blanket is draped over you, tucked up around your neck. There’s a feeling of a hand brushing over your head, but that may have just been your imagination as you drift off back to sleep.
You don’t get to sleep long, more footsteps coming down the stairs waking you. A hand does brush over your head this time, the scent of the beach filling your nose. You let out a groan, trying to snuggle deeper into the blankets.
“Sleeping out here this morning?” Kyle’s soft voice reaches your ears.
You grunt, chasing the quickly fading edges of sleep in your brain.
“Breakfast is ready, if you want to get up.”
You are hungry. There’s a quiet rumble of your stomach as you begin to register the smells coming from the kitchen: bacon and eggs and coffee. Johnny is making the coffee most likely. Maybe you’ll have some this morning. You might need it with how groggy you feel.
You stretch out on the couch, trying to breathe some life into your limbs. It’s not the most comfortable couch, definitely not for sleeping, but it’s better than the floor. It was likely John that moved you. He was the only one that knew you were out here last night.
You're not sure how that makes you feel.
It's nice on one hand, that he saved you from the pains of sleeping on the floor. But at the same time it feels like an intrusion. There was a time you wouldn't have thought twice about it. There was a time it would have been normal and expected and you would have thanked him for it.
Now...now you're not sure.
You push yourself up to sit, joints cracking from being stuck in one position for so long. You blink slowly as you sit there for a moment. It’s warm in the house, almost too warm now with your body warmed from sleep. Dr. Keller is sitting at the table, a steaming mug in front of her. Tea, most likely. Maybe coffee. You’re not quite sure. She gives you a soft smile as you rub a hand across your face.
You feel groggy as you push yourself up to stand, letting your stomach and feet guide you towards the smells coming from the kitchen. Kyle guides you to the table with a promise of making you a plate and you take your usual seat at the end of the table facing the kitchen. Dr. Keller is to your left this time, coffee in her mug judging by the smell.
“How did you sleep?” She asks, her hands wrapped around the mug.
“Fine. Got cold.” You say, resting your head in your hand.
“John turned the heat up a bit. We can get you more blankets if you need them.” Dr. Keller says.
You hum, letting your eyes close for a moment. You won’t complain about more blankets, more soft things to lay with. There is one thing you wish you had, though. You’re not quite sure how to ask for it, or that it would even be possible to get.
You jump when a hand touches your back, not realizing you had even dozed off sitting there.
“Sorry.” Kyle says, setting a plate on the table in front of you. “Food’s hot. You want coffee or tea.”
“Coffee.” You say instantly, earning a wide grin from Johnny as he takes his own seat at the table.
“Even split this morning.” He says cheekily, setting his own mug down. “Three against three.”
“Tea is still the superior choice.” Kyle says from the kitchen. “Better for you anyway.”
“Coffee has a lot of health benefits as well.” Dr. Keller says. “So long as you don’t add too much sugar into it.”
“See.” Johnny says, giving them a victorious grin.
“She said so long as you don’t put too much sugar in it.” Kyle says, carrying over your mug of coffee. “You’ll get diabetes from how much you add in.”
“Two spoonfuls isnae too much.” He turns to look at Dr. Keller. “Is it?”
Dr. Keller gives him a worried look. “You might be pushing it there.”
Johnny’s grin turns into a pout. “What do ye mean?”
A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips as you quickly shovel a forkful of eggs into your mouth. As much as the deep pain of betrayal still aches in your chest, as much as you still want to hate them, you have to admit you missed this. It’s the least tense you’ve seen all of them in the last few weeks. Even Dr. Keller’s shoulders don’t seem quite so squared as they have been.
A part of you feels guilty about it. It is your fault deep down. You’re the one keeping them all on edge, driving that wedge between them over and over again. Deep down you’re the one causing the heavy weight that’s settled over the house. You wish you could just go back to normal, you wish you could just wave a wand and make yourself okay again. You wish you could ease their pain just a little bit.
The eggs suddenly don’t taste quite so good anymore.
You force them down regardless in favor of causing another scene, in favor of dragging the mood down. They deserve a little lighthearted moment after everything. They don’t need to know the inner turmoil plaguing your mind.
Simon shifts next to you, his eyes darting to glance at your face. You can feel them, the intensity of his gaze just as sharp as it had been back in the beginning, back before he looked at you with fondness. He’s stiff as he sits there, almost as if he can sense the storm raging inside of you as you force yourself to pretend that you’re fine in favor of keeping the bright mood that’s settled over the table.
Maybe he can sense it. He is an alpha after all. It’s his job to know, to understand. You glance across the table at John, his eyes on his phone as he sips his tea.
Your gaze drops down to your plate as you pick up a piece of bacon, your heart shattering just a little bit more.
“‘S too early.” You whine as hands pull the blanket off of you. Cold air nips at your skin, making you curl up in a ball.
“It’s noon. Come on.” A hand closes around your arm, gently shaking you. “You want to get up.”
You let out a whine, pinching your face up. “No.”
“Trust me. It’ll be worth it.” Kyle says, brushing the hair back from your face.
“Why.” You say, letting out a huff.
“We’re going on a little trip.” Kyle pulls you up, forcing you into a seated position. “Dress warm.”
You’re alone in the room again, the door left open. Light streams in, making you squint against the harsh intrusion. A quick glance at the clock reveals it is, in fact, a little past noon. You took a nap to make up for a night of tumultuous sleep, one of the few things you have to do here in this prison. Nap and read. It’s a lot like your life before the cottage, before everything that happened, except now you’re stuck with your pack around you at all times.
You almost miss the times they were away.
You maneuver yourself so your legs dangle over the edge of the bed as you try to blink the drowsiness away. The nap hadn’t been nearly long enough, but judging by Kyle’s eagerness, they let you sleep a bit longer than they wanted.
You let out a sigh before pushing yourself off the bed, moving to the dresser. You pull out warm clothes, quickly changing. You have no idea what they have planned, what’s going on. There was no frantic rush, Kyle’s energy more excited than anything. It makes you a bit worried as you step out of the room into the living area.
They’re all waiting by the door, watching you as you approach them, rubbing your eyes.
“Come on,” John says, setting a pair of shoes on the floor. “Boots on.”
“What are we doing?” You ask, moving forward automatically.
“We’re taking a little trip.” Kyle answers.
You look at him cautiously as you step into the boots, pulling them on. You haven’t been away from the cottage since you arrived two weeks ago. You’ve barely been let outside, weather permitting. It’s an overcast day today, the world grey outside, but grey is better than rain.
“Ready?” John asks as you stare at him.
“I guess.” You say, still a bit hesitant.
They make no effort to ease your discomfort and nerves.
You’re led out the door and towards the cars by Dr. Keller. Her face is brighter than it has been lately which doesn’t help your nervous energy. She’s excited too, just like the rest of them. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous. Maybe it’s the anxiety of leaving after being trapped inside for so long. You just want to know where you’re going, what it is you’re going to be doing.
Dr. Keller ushers you into the back seat of one of the cars, getting in the other side. Kyle and John climb into the front while Johnny and Simon get into the other car.
You watch the green pass by as they drive, taking in the new landscape. You don’t remember arriving at the cottage. You don’t remember most of the trip at all. It’s all a blur in your memory, much like the events that transpired after your omega took over had been. You wish you could remember the trip over those events. You’d take green rolling hills over your own hands taking lives.
It had been jarring waking in the cottage for the first time. A new place, a lack of memories getting there. You’re beginning to get tired of the pattern. You half expect to fall asleep and wake up somewhere new again most nights. You wouldn’t know any better. A slip of a pill into some food and you’d wake up somewhere halfway across the world.
You like to think they’d at least warn you beforehand.
John pulls the car into a parking lot, parking near a line of trees. Johnny pulls into the parking lot behind John, parking near the entrance. It’s on purpose, you know that much. Everything is about safety and making things look as inconspicuous as possible. Anyone could be a rat. Anyone could be watching.
It’s windier here as you step out of the car, even though you haven't gone far from the cottage. Walking distance, if you were up for a hike. You’re not.
“Come on, kitten.” Johnny says, guiding you through the parking lot and towards a path.
You still don’t know what’s happening as you follow them, Johnny holding your hand as you step onto the rocky path. He leads the way, the others following. John is behind you, hovering in case you slip in the gravel. You do your best not to, despite how quickly Johnny is leading you. He’s more eager than Kyle had been, and you’re sure he’d be running if you could keep up.
You begin to figure out what’s happening as the sound of waves crashing on the shore gets louder and louder. Your chest starts to constrict with emotion as the trees start to get sparser and sparser, a cliff edge visible over Johnny’s shoulder. You want to run now, you want to break ahead and race your way to the edge of the cliff. Johnny, even in his excited state, would catch you before you could take off and potentially hurt yourself.
You might hurt yourself just trying to run.
You hate it.
The land opens before you as you reach the edge of the cliff. The expanse of the sea seems daunting so close, grey and choppy from the wind. Salty air blasts you in the face, rustling your jacket as you stand there above a small beach. It’s empty, but that’s expected for the middle of fall. All the tourists have gone home, those with vacation homes back in better weather for the winter.
You’re glad you’re alone. You wouldn’t want anyone else ruining this moment.
Kyle’s fingers wrap around yours as you stand there, staring down at the beach below. “Come on.”
The gravel turns to dirt as it winds down the side of the cliff, getting steeper as you near the beach. You do nearly slip as you follow Johnny down to the sand, your boots quickly getting muddy. You’re glad for them, understanding why John chose boots over more comfortable shoes.
You pause as your feet sink into sand. You stare out at the water, at the white crests of waves crashing onto the shore. It’s real. It’s not just some mirage, some painting in the background of your life. It’s really here. You’re really here.
No one says anything as you take a few steps forward before squatting down. You scoop up a handful of sand, letting it slip through your fingers. It’s coarse against your cold skin, thicker and rockier than the sand you’re used to, but it’s still sand. It’s still a beach.
You’re at the beach.
You scoop up another handful of sand, letting it run through your fingers again. You want to put some of it in a jar and set it on the nightstand at the cottage. You want to stare at it and remind yourself you’re really at the coast, you’re really just a short drive away from the sea. You want the sand to sink into your skin and flow through your veins and fill every crack that’s formed in your mind.
You’re really here.
You stand up straight, staring out at the water again. Your pack is still behind you, silently watching you. You shuffle forward a couple steps, waiting for one of them to stop you, to grab you and keep you from getting closer, but none of them move. You widen your steps, treading through the soft sand until you reach the edge of the wetter sand where the water was earlier. It’s easier to walk on as you continue to approach the water, the sound of your pack treading through the soft sand disappearing behind you as you get closer and closer to the water. The waves flow up the beach, your feet getting closer and closer to where that water stops.
You half expect them to stop you as you step forward, letting the waves hit your feet. The salty water washes away the mud and sand clinging to your rubber boots, rushing up over the tops of your feet. You stare down at the water, watching it surge upward and around your ankles. You’d keep walking if you were brave enough, let it get higher and higher until it soaked your clothes, but you know they’d stop you. It’s far too cold to risk getting wet. You can feel the chill of the water through your boots as it flows over your feet.
You’re not sure how long you stand there, watching the water rush back and forth, feeling the pressure of it against your boots as you stand in the waves. You’re really here. You’re really standing in the sea.
You finally turn after what seems like an eternity, making your way back up to the softer sand. All of them are standing in a line, watching you. You wonder what’s going through their heads, what they feel standing here. Relief? Happiness? Guilt? Shame? The wind whips at your back, coming right off the water, blowing their scents away from you. What you wouldn’t give to be able to smell them right now.
Tears burn your eyes as you make your way up towards John, trudging through the sand. His cheeks and nose are pink from the cold wind, his beard longer than you’ve ever seen it. You don’t remember the last time you’ve really looked at him up close. His gaze is uncertain as he stares down at you, trying to gauge your next move. He can’t. You know he can’t and it makes you feel powerful.
It shouldn’t, but it does.
“Thank you.” You say finally, a tear sliding down your cheek. “Thank you.”
You can hear them. They don’t know it, but you can. They think they’re speaking quietly, but in the silence of the morning, you can hear almost every word. Dr. Keller’s protests, John's quiet insistence.
Leaving.
That’s the word that caught your attention. Leaving. Someone is leaving. Someone is separating themselves from the pack again, and not just for a trip to town to go to the store. This meaning is different, it hangs differently in the air.
“I don’t think this is a good idea right now.” Dr. Keller says, her voice just barely audible through the open sliding glass door. It’s open just a crack, just enough to hear what’s transpiring inside.
“We won’t have another chance.” John says, his voice insistent. “We have to do this. She deserves it.”
She. You. Whatever it is, it involves you. It always does. You can’t remember a time over the last few weeks when it hasn’t been about you. It’s always about you and you hate it. You almost wish things would go back to the way they were before, when you were a second thought, the one left behind.
You’re going to be left behind again.
“John-”
“I know.” John’s voice is louder again. “We have to do what’s best for our pack, and right now this is it.”
The sliding door opens, the conversation over. Your stomach is churning, nausea eating its way up your esophagus as John crosses the deck towards where you’re seated. His steps are slow and quiet, almost like he’s approaching a wild animal. He might be, depending on how this conversation is going to go.
How are you going to react? You expected it eventually. They’ll always leave, they’ll always put you last and think about themselves first. Are you upset? Are you angry? Is it a relief?
You wish you could feel something right now. Instead you feel numb. Another promise broken, another lie told.
“You’re leaving again.” You say, staring out at the horizon as John takes a seat next to you. You need to get it out first, say what you know before he can say it and break your heart again.
He lets out a quiet sigh, leaning back in the chair. “We are, but you’re coming with us.”
You turn to glance at him, taken aback by his words. You’re leaving too? You hadn’t considered this. The cottage is your prison. You are Rapunzel trapped by the Mother Gothel that is your pack, stuck in the tower for the rest of time.
Leaving?
“There’s something we need to take care of back in the states.” John explains. “You’re coming with us.”
Back in the states? What could possibly be there that is left for you, for your pack?
You don’t like the sound of that. You don’t like the sound of that one bit.
To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications
#call of duty#call of duty fic#poly 141 x reader#tf 141 x reader#John price x reader#captain price x reader#Kyle gaz Garrick x reader#gaz x reader#Simon Riley x reader#Ghost x reader#Johnny mactavish x reader#soap x reader#a/b/o#alpha/beta/omega dynamics#omegaverse
618 notes
·
View notes
Text
Spencer's Secret - Spencer Reid
₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊
Summary: All Spencer wanted was to finish his paperwork and go home, but now he’s in a bar, drunk, and confessing all his secrets to Derek.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
The team had barely settled back into the office after a grueling case when Derek threw an arm over Emily’s shoulder, talking about needing a drink. Emily agreed with a weary smile, and soon enough, JJ, Penelope, and Rossi had chimed in, all eager to unwind together. Somehow, they’d even managed to convince Hotch, who gave them a reluctant nod, his rare smile hinting he could use a break too.
All that was left was Spencer. Sitting at his desk, he was hunched over, diligently finishing up his paperwork, when Derek strolled over and leaned in with his usual, "Hey, pretty boy."
Spencer looked up, already anticipating the question. "No, Derek, I’m not going."
Derek raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I didn’t even get to ask!"
"Doesn’t matter. I’m not going," Spencer replied firmly, looking back down at his files.
"Come on, kid," Derek urged, his voice dropping to a softer, pleading tone. "Just this once. If you come, I’ll never ask again. I swear."
Spencer let out a sigh, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with him. There was a beat of silence as he mulled it over, glancing at the hopeful faces of his teammates nearby. Finally, he closed his file, resigned. "Fine," he muttered, “but just this once."
Derek’s face broke into a grin, practically bouncing on his feet. "You heard him, guys—he’s in! Let’s go before he changes his mind."
Spencer reluctantly stood up, pulling on his coat with a sigh. He glanced around, noticing the others already gathering their things, excitement buzzing among them. As they all filed out together, Penelope slung an arm around Spencer, giving him a reassuring squeeze.
"Oh, Spence, you’ll have fun. Trust me," she said, winking.
Spencer managed a small, hesitant smile, wondering just what he was getting himself into. It wasn’t exactly his ideal night out, but surrounded by his friends, he couldn’t help but feel a faint sense of anticipation growing despite himself.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
As soon as the team settled into the bar, the weight of the last case started to fade. They ordered the first round, eager to drink, laugh, and let loose for a few hours. The drinks flowed freely, and soon they were deep in conversation, sharing old stories and laughing harder with each passing round. Spencer, who rarely drank, was feeling more than a little tipsy. Nights like these weren’t really his scene—he usually found it far more comfortable to stay home. But now, with the warm buzz in his head and his friends around, he was actually enjoying himself.
Meanwhile, Derek had been off flirting at the bar, but eventually made his way back to the booth, where Spencer was the last one still sitting. Derek, who could hold his liquor well, was only slightly buzzed. He noticed Spencer's dazed expression and grinned, sliding into the seat next to him. "Pretty boy," he said, nudging him, "there are so many gorgeous women here tonight. You should go try and have some fun, maybe even get a date."
Spencer, a little too drunk to filter his thoughts, shook his head. "Don’t need a date," he said, his words slurring slightly.
Derek raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh yeah? And why’s that?"
Spencer’s face softened, and he blurted, “I’ve got an amazing girlfriend at home.”
"Right, sure," Derek teased, not at all convinced. "So what’s her name?"
Spencer’s face lit up. "Y/N," he said, his voice full of adoration. He leaned in, eyes dreamy, and started rambling. “She’s incredible, Derek. So smart, so beautiful. She’s way out of my league—I still can’t believe she’s with me.”
Derek chuckled, noticing just how drunk Spencer was. It was getting late, and he knew Spencer would never make it home on his own. “Why don’t you call Y/N to pick you up, then?” he said, jokingly.
Spencer’s face brightened, and he fumbled for his phone. Derek watched in amusement as he dialed, still skeptical, until he heard a faint “Hello?” from the other end.
Spencer’s face lit up even more. “Hello, my love,” he said, voice thick with affection.
You let out a soft laugh on the other side of the line. “Hey, Spence! Everything alright?”
Spencer grinned, completely forgetting why he’d called. “Yeah,” he said dreamily. “I just…wanted to hear your pretty voice.”
You laughed, clearly touched. Derek, now genuinely surprised that someone had actually answered, took the phone from Spencer, holding it up to his ear. "Hello?" he asked, still a bit skeptical.
"Uh, hi,” you replied, a little confused. “Who is this?"
Derek cleared his throat. “This is Derek. Spencer friend.”
“Oh! Nice to finally meet you, Derek, Spencer talks about you and the team quite a bit.” you said, sounding amused. “I’m Y/N, his girlfriend.”
Derek muttered, “Holy shit, you’re real.”
"Sorry?" you asked, sounding puzzled.
“Nothing, nothing,” he chuckled. “Listen, Spencer’s had a bit too much to drink. Are you able to pick him up?”
You let out a soft, understanding laugh. “Yeah, of course. Just tell me where you guys are.”
Derek gave you the address and hung up, handing the phone back to Spencer. "Your girlfriend’s coming to get you," he said, still slightly in awe that Spencer’s been hiding a girlfriend from them.
Spencer’s eyes lit up even more. “Y/N?” he asked eagerly.
“Yeah, pretty boy, Y/N,” Derek replied, shaking his head with a grin.
Spencer slumped back in his seat with a satisfied sigh. “Finally,” he mumbled. “Someone cool to hang out with.”
Derek just laughed, patting Spencer on the shoulder. He sat down with Spencer and waited with him for Y/N to get there, eager to meet her.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
As Spencer was still happily rambling to Derek about his incredible girlfriend, the door opened, and a beautiful woman stepped into the bar. Spencer’s eyes widened instantly. "Y/N!" he exclaimed, jumping up so quickly he nearly tripped. He stumbled over to you, practically throwing himself into your arms, clinging to you like he’d just found his lifeline. He buried his face in your neck, a contented sigh escaping him.
You wrapped your arms around him, laughing softly at his drunken enthusiasm. "Looks like someone had a good time," you teased, rubbing his back.
“Missed you so much,” he mumbled into your neck, his words muffled but unmistakably fond.
Looking up, you noticed a man standing a few steps behind Spencer, observing the two of you with an amused grin. "You must be Derek," you said, offering him a warm smile.
Derek smiled back, giving a nod. "Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you tonight."
Before you could respond, Spencer had already started tugging you gently toward the exit. You glanced back at Derek and gave him a quick smile. "Hopefully we can actually talk sometime soon," you said, laughing as Spencer clung to your arm.
Derek chuckled, nodding. "I’d like that. Take care of him. Goodnight, Y/N."
He watched as you guided a tipsy, lovesick Spencer out of the bar, a soft smile still on his face. Just then, Penelope popped up beside him, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “What are you staring at?” she asked, following his gaze to the exit.
“Spencer’s got a girlfriend,” Derek said, unable to keep a little laugh from escaping as he recalled the whole scene.
Penelope’s eyes went wide, and she gasped, practically bouncing in place. "Wait, what?! Our Spencer? Oh my God, I need details!"
Derek smirked, shaking his head. "Calm down, babygirl. You can interrogate him tomorrow," he teased.
Penelope pouted, but the excitement was already building. After a second, she sighed dramatically, then brightened up again and grabbed Derek’s hand. “Fine! But right now, you’re dancing with me.”
Derek let her pull him to the dance floor, chuckling as he made a mental note to tease Spencer about this night for a long time.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
#fanfic#fluff#secret girlfriend#secret relationship#romance#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#dr spencer reid#spencer#spencer reid#spencer x y/n#spencer x reader#derek morgan#spencer reid imagines#doctor spencer reid#spencer reid criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#bau team#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x self insert#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds fic#criminal minds
482 notes
·
View notes
Text
My beloved is very particular about their belongings. I was surprised when we first started dating about the scrutiny their loaned objects would be placed under when returned. Their car would be checked carefully for scrapes if someone loaded a bike into it, all returned objects were carefully and thoroughly looked over. Even now if Korben has bitten something left out like a dildo they’ll carefully look it over for damage it has one tiiiny tooth dent.
It won’t surprise anyone to learn that books they’d loaned people had previously been returned with broken spines and dog eared pages, and now it's very important to them to maintain their things in good condition. Their things weren’t treated with care and now it’s a sign of respect to them.
The first time they loaned me a book I was a little shocked that they received it back and began immediately investigating it for wear. To my chagrin there was indeed a tiny scuff at the corner where I’d put it in my bag too hastily. They said nothing, but nothing needed to be said.
Going forward I treated each book they gave me as utterly precious. I dogear my own pages but I’d never dare on a book that wasn’t mine and on their books I elevated to special protocols, handling them as gently as possible.
When it came to books I loaned them I got them back exactly as I’d handed them over. I had them read American Gods. They weren’t totally sold and I suggested the lighthearted sequel Anansi Boys might be more up their alley. It’s about a trickster god and his sons.
I was lounging when I got a call from my beloved. We usually texted, they’re not a phone talker so I picked up right away.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry,” they blurted.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I was getting in my car, and I had a coffee and I was trying to juggle things and well-“
The silence stretched out.
“What?” I asked gently, afire with curiosity.
“I left your book on top of my car and I drove off. When I realized I drove back but I couldn’t find it. I’m so sorry!”
As the words sank in a laugh started rising out of me. “You lost my book?”
“I’ll buy you a new copy! It was an accident!”
“I’m not mad, it’s okay! Its just really funny, you’re always so careful.”
I then realized that they were holding themself to their own standard, beating themself up for something that to me was just a silly mishap.
“It’s really okay! I’m not mad, you can get me a new copy.”
They did, and when I chuckle about it they still pout a little like the funny part is that they made a mistake.
But honestly the thought of someone coming upon a copy of a book about trickster gods being left in a coffee shop parking lot and taking it is the funniest part. I hope they enjoyed it.
#ramblies#funny#ffs foibles#writing#story#books#I did question posting this still as my feelings about the author have changed pretty dramatically but this is still a sweet moment
524 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hmm… Loser!Simon 🤔 Have you done anything on him with a short!reader? (I’m 5’1.75”🤭)
babe, wake up, I posted something
Loser!Simon Riley adores how short you are, absolutely dwarfed by him. he didn’t really know how to physically handle you when you first started dating. Simon is used to used being rough and tough - parading around as Ghost and manhandling other soldiers, bruising his knuckles while hitting a punching bag. you? you’re a little thing compared to him!
Loser!Simon Riley who’s afraid to touch you at first. he didn’t want to grab you too hard, tighten his grip uncomfortably around you - he settles for minimal, extremely light contact. when you hold hands? his is nearly limp, just barely making his hand stay intertwined with yours. cuddling? Simon lets you cozy up to him while he lays stiff as a board, one arm awkwardly wrapped around your waist
Loser!Simon Riley that gets more comfortable about touching you. he realizes you won’t break, won’t shatter beneath him, when he wakes up one morning. he had rolled half on top of you in his sleep and you just laughed it off, said he made a good weighted blanket. that made him feel better, suddenly he’s completely enamored with touching you. he doesn’t purposely hold you too hard, but he can use some of his strenght to squeeze you when you hug, sets his palms on your hips to gently move you when he needs something
Loser!Simon Riley that can’t help but stare at the top of your head. you catch him frequently, eyes dazed and lost in thought as he looks at you. in the kitchen, your bedroom, in public - he just follows closely behind you, zoned out for a moment before glancing around. you don’t really think much of it, Simon has his quirks and you figured this was just one of them. well, until you hear him drunkenly mumble to himself at a pub, looking at you with those same dazed, smitten eyes, “Tiny thing, could prob’ly bench you.”
CW: size difference (spoiler alert, too fucking big!!), thigh fucking
Loser!Simon who’s big, there’s no denying that his height and weight alone are nothing to scoff at. his muscles are another contributor, well trained and made for combat, a healthy layer of fat bulking him up even more. in bed he’s no different, but in the heat of the moment Simon wishes he wasn’t so massive. maybe you’ll both work your way up someday, fight through Simon’s impatience, but today’s not the day. he doesn’t fit, the stretch of him trying to slip into you is too much. even with copious amounts of prep and lube, Simon can’t stomach the way you hiss and grip the sheets
Loser!Simon Riley that thinks one day, god, one day, he’d find himself fucking into you instead of against your thighs. it feels good all the same, his hand working you towards your release as he hopelessly ruts between your plush thighs, his free arm holding your legs together for him. he wishes he wasn’t so damn big, eyes glued to where his tip disappears and reappears between your legs, smearing your skin with his pre. he’s tried to nudge his way into you, nearly orgasming when his head bullies its way into you - but ultimately pulling out because he feels bad seeing your eyes tear up
#this man wants to bench you#and he can!#loser!ghost#loser!simon riley#ghost#simon ghost riley#simon riley#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost headcanons#ghost x you#ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#cod#cod thoughts#call of duty#hit post
380 notes
·
View notes
Text
It's been a while since I wrote about you. Not because I haven't missed you or didn't have good things to say; it's because it's been so, so incredibly good. There is too much for me to say. There have been too many moments that I'd like to write down for me to remember for a lifetime. We came back from our first vacation together, and gad, I have never been more sure about you.
By switching to the other side of the sidewalk so you were the one closer to the road, you made me feel safe. Wearing your 'emergency pants', in case you needed to move the van when the wind was too much for me (which, it was, and you moved the van without a wrinkle or hint of annoyance in your face), you made me feel cared for. Just like all the times you asked me if I was okay. You made me feel heard and made me feel like you truly wanted to understand and hear me, when you asked me how the vacay is going. What our further wishes are and if we want to change anything. You made me feel important and like a princess when you drove around half of the island, just to find a souvenir that I really wanted (even if you usually don't do souvenir hunts). Every single day, you made me feel so good. All of the full body cuddling at night, almost forming a blanket the way you folded yourself all around me. All of the caring during the day. All of the communicating and comfortable silences. The amount of planning you have done, making sure we arrive there and back home safely and that we can "haal het beste uit" our vacation. Knowing I am uncomfortable with manuals and especially a van, you drove all of the time; even if at times, it was stressful as shit. And, everything that came with living in a van; you emptied our water, refilled it, dusted the inside, checked the difficult-closing door, cooking, and did a lot of the dishes.
All the times I asked you to pose a certain way for a picture, you did exactly that. On hikes, you would ask me if the speed was okay, or, like you did most of the time, you'd let me in front. That way, I could go my own speed and you'd be sure that I felt comfi and good. The cute smiles when I said something to Beertje; how I adore and feel so so safe when you like seeing the child inside of me. Ha, the way you went back to souvenir stores with me as I regretting not buying something, while once again, not being annoyed at all. Also, how you paid for my toilet visit twice, knowing I don't carry around 50 cents. It's not expensive, but I know you'd never pay for a toilet like that. But if I really needed and wanted to, you gave me the moneys and always told me to take my time. The way you always let me play whatever music I would like to hear; is that something meaningful that I have overseen every single time (by thinking you just vibe with everything)?
My baby. I can't even describe it in words properly. You truly treated me like a princess. You asked me if u don't always do so. I had no choice but to take my blinding sunnies off during this vacation, seeing how well you treat me. In day to day life, it shines less bright. Now, I couldn't miss it, not even if I closed my eyes during the whole vacation.
One thing I will never ever forget. The 25th birthday you gifted me. You first gifted me a go-pro, which you had named "Renee s vlog camera". It's a typical niklas gift; useful. And damn, even if I was a bit overwhelmed with what it could do at the beginning, I friggin love it. We got to use it sooo many times during the vacay, and I am thrilled that we got to use it in those ways. I am sure there will be more times that I use it, which I am v excited for. And of course, the way you made sure that we got to do what I wanted to for my bday (a hike, an easy one to start with, which,,,, was harder than we had planned but you made sure that I was okay the whole time and we turned around when we both felt like it was a good time). And later, the whale 🐋 dolphin 🐬 watching in Funchal... (where we also looked at the doors I wanted to see, hiked up to a garden u thought I wanted to see, just to take a cable car to the actual palace where I wanted to go to (even if it sounded boring to u to go to a palace), and we ate at such a lovely restaurant, even twice!). Bro. Never will I ever forget the first time you said "I love you too". I was so deep into my feelings, I bit your arm. Yet, that wasn't enough to calm the roaring feeling inside of me. The one that was banging at the bottom of my throat, begging me to say the words. So. I did. "Don't say it back, but I love you so friggin much. Thank you so much for this.... I love you". I felt a weight falll of of my shoulders, as I put my head onto yours. Right there and then, even if I couldn't make it out a 100% over the sound of the waves, the motor from the boat, and the peace that had fallen over me, you said it. "I love you too". My head instantly bounced up: "what?!" I smile, as you also laugh and point out the sharks that you just spotted. Typical Niklas, talking about sharks when he wants to change to topic. Though, it doesn't change the fact that you said it back to me. And even if you are still debating what it means to love someone, maybe you felt the same way that I did right there, on the two front seats of this boat. There wasn't a way for me to explain why I felt the way I did. I just know. For me, it doesn't have to be based on facts. "Okay, so, I really appreciate what he did for me and I feel super safe, appreciated and good. So, in convlusion, that must mean that I love him". I am more of the feeling type. I felt overwhelmed by love for you right there and then. Maybe you felt the same, and told me that you love me too, even if you aren't factually sure that that means. Either way. I will remember you saying it. 24th of October, 3 days after my bday and 8 days before our one year anniversary. I know you only say things you mean, and if you didn't want to say it back, I gave you the options. "Don't say it back", I said the first time that I said I love you. After a short second, I said it again, and even if I didn't realize it, gave you the opportunity to say it back to me. Might not be that big of a deal to you, but as you might know, lol, it is a pretty big deal to me.
So. Baby. It seems impossible to word. But damn. You treated me like a princess. And Gash. I love you, so, so friggin much. No words. I am excited to spend so much more time with you in our future. Endless kisses to you, my love.
emilie.hofferber
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
🤍 Why You Should Be Proud Of Yourself 🤍
credit to @crystallilytarot for the idea 💕
P I L E 1 P I L E 2 P I L E 3
Close your eyes, take a deep breath and choose the pile that you think is the one for you ♥
P I L E 1 - You have come so far! Four of Swords, The High Priestess, Two of Pentacles, Eight of Pentacles, Ten of Pentacles, The Fool, The Magician
The first thing I heard before even pulling cards is The Party's Just Begun by the Cheetah Girls and that feels like a sign that you should be having fun, dancing and living your life to the fullest! Your life can be so beautiful if you let it.
You know much more than you think that you do. I feel like you are back and forth between losing faith in yourself and feeling like you are finally breaking through. (I know what that's like, I've been there too much.) You've got to cut yourself some slack. Yeah, it's not perfect now but, you have made so much progress and that is important. You are so much closer to the finish line than you realize. Don't give up now. You've worked too hard and have come too far to give up now.
party cuz you know the future's all yours // dance 'til your feet don't touch the floor // celebrate the day you've waited for // party like you're ready for so much more // do it like you know it's never been done // go a little crazy // have too much fun //today's the day, c'mon everyone // the party's just begun //
Channeled song - The Party's Just Begun by The Cheetah Girls
P I L E 2 - Going With The Flow Two of Pentacles, Nine of Pentacles, Two of Wands (Reversed), Six of Pentacles, Justice, Queen of Pentacles, Eight of Swords
Despite your fear of change, you have overcome, finding your balance in your life and either now or soon, you will be enjoying the fruits of your labor. That could be financial abundance for this pile - it seems pretty likely, considering all the pentacles. You have been a very giving person and now it's time that people start giving to you in whatever way that may fit you.
You should also be proud of yourself for getting yourself to a point where you don't feel sorry for yourself. You've done the work to really see the truth of the situation - where you have been both right and wrong - and you've seen that you aren't as stuck as you once thought.
P I L E 3 - You've opened your heart again! King of Cups, Ten of Swords, Seven of Swords, Seven of Pentacles, Ace of Swords, Eight of Pentacles (Reversed), The Moon, Ten of Cups
You've been through some hard times. I feel like your heart was really bruised and batter but, despite the things you have been through, you have taken your lemons and turned them into make lemonade! I can see some of you turning to writing, journaling, or posting on social media. You have been working on yourselves and you are so happy with the progress you've made. You should be proud of yourself; I know I am! This work you have done on yourself is leading you to a new beginning in your life, a change of pace that you have be dying to have!
Your dreams are coming true and your intuition is spot on! You are about to get everything you wanted and then some so you can relax and know that your life is about to change for the better.
If you are looking for a personal reading, you can look on my shop on Etsy at PinkAmethystTarot, DM me or send me an e-mail at [email protected]
If you feel called to tip:
C@SH@PP: $oddlycozycottage
P@YP@L: @oddlycozycottage
KO-FI: @oddlycozycottage
Thank you all so much for interacting with me and my readings, it really does mean the world to me!
Page Divider by @cafekitsune
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. THESE READINGS ARE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. no guarantees are implied. These readings are not a substitute or replacement for any professional help or services. My readings are not a substitute for any form of professional legal, medical/psychiatric, relationship, religious/spiritual or financial/ business advice nor consultations. You should always see a professional legal/trained adviser for help in any matter. I am not responsible for any decisions/ actions you take.
#pink amethyst#pink amethyst tarot#tarot#tarotblr#tarot community#pick a card#pick a pile#pick a card reading#pick a pile reading#pick a pile tarot#pac reading#pac tarot#pick a photo#pick a picture#tarot pac#11 11#1111#111#222#333#444#555#888#000#y2k#frogs#rainbow#elephant#four leaf clover#crow
223 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! Can I request an angst Sylus x reader ff where the princess reader and Prince Sylus are in an arranged marriage and he really hates her also because of the rumors her fake friend made. The reader is cold on the outside but a very loving and sweet inside. During their 1 ½ year as a married couple, Sylus didn't acknowledged her as his wife but she does as her husband. One day, tables turned....Sorry for my English 😭
urgh i think you're wanting a fic from this which if i were to do this it would hoenstly end up being 5k</a long fic for which i aim 40k words for minimum and i mean this with all the kindness of my heart - i do not have the energy to do that for free so i hope youre okay w the typical hc style im doing!! also i changed some of it bc i dont see sylus making judgements of people based off what hes told
Sylus had long given up on the idea of doing things for himself wholly. He didn't have the ability to do things for just himself, selfishness the last thing on his mind with the status he owns. That's why he didn't object too much to being married - even if it was to someone he doesn't know.
Your first meeting was all business. He didn't mind at all but everybody in the room could feel the temperature drop by a few degrees. The two of you set out the terms of the marriage cleanly, coming to an agreement in very little time. To him it seemed that the two of you are on the same page, making things that much easier.
To respect your boundaries the two of you sleep in separate rooms. He's always busy, going off to meetings or sitting in his office reviewing the immense stacks of paperwork he has. Despite that, you try your best to find ways to include yourself in his schedule.
The servants always make room for you when you pass by, allowing you to go as you please while whispering about what might happen if they didn't. You pay it no mind, knowing that you've always been seen as intimidating. All it did was secure you a perfect match in Sylus, so you couldn't really mind. You learned quickly what his daily schedule looked like, finding the smallest gaps to insert yourself simply by delivering refreshments or news that other staff begged you not to do as it was below your station.
Sylus was a little surprised at first but he took it well, greeting you politely and thanking you whenever you came in. He understood it as you trying to keep appearances with your marriage, despite it being very clear to everybody involved everything was just for politics. He allows you your vice, sometimes even making small conversations with you. He didn't think you had any ulterior motive with how brief and impersonal the visits were.
He learned later that you began baking the pastries for him through the grapevine. You didn't tell him yourself, worried that he'd think you were trying to buy his affection while all you really wanted was just a way to be closer to him without intruding. He thanks you by buying a new set of clothes for you, a short, yet sweet note of him thanking you for thinking of him.
He doesn't seek you out still, not until he hears you've come down with a terrible illness that the physicians can't quite place. Thankfully it doesn't seem to be fatal, just incapacitating. By now the staff have begun to warm up around you, quietly speaking amongst themselves about how much you miss being able to see Sylus . You've admitted that you know Sylus doesn't see you as his spouse but you think of him as your dear husband, even if your relationship is slightly more than that of acquaintances.
He comes to visit you, sitting by your bed and just. Talking. He doesn't address the fact that you're sick - you've heard it too many times at this point - and just tells you about his day. Asks you about yours, what you want to do next week and if you'd be wanting to spend some time with him. The way your eyes light up makes him regret not reaching out to you sooner but he has a feeling he's got more than enough time to make it up to you.
#love and deepspace x reader#l&ds x reader#lads x reader#lnds x reader#sylus x reader#l&ds sylus x reader#lads sylus x reader#lnds sylus x reader#love and deepspace sylus x reader
261 notes
·
View notes
Text
I really don't know how to approach my response, so I apologize for the chaotic mess that you're about to read.
I recall a post that talked about the discovery of a mended bone. One of the first indicators of people working together wasn't pottery, or tools, or cloth. It was a bone that had clearly been broken and reset. A bone that had healed. This means that someone had to not only set the bone, but take care of the injured individual until it was healed.
We are a species who has evolved to work together.
My default state of mind is: Everyone deserves basic human rights. Everyone deserves access to food, shelter, healthcare, and so on. I don't care what color your skin is, what country you hail from, whether you are disabled. You deserve to be cared for.
I engage with everyone from this mindset. I assume everyone who speaks to me also does so from this mindset until/unless they prove me wrong.
Whenever I get into my car, I drive out of consideration for everyone else on the street. When I do my job, I work to ensure that in all the places my job touches someone else's, I've made their job a little easier. I return my shopping carts not for the social karma, but because the employees at the grocery store deserve not to have their jobs made more difficult by laziness. When I vote, I vote for candidates/policies that I know will take care of as many people as possible.
Because the world isn't about me.
"It is well to remember that the entire universe, with one trifling exception, is composed of others." - John Holmes
For most of my life, I've struggled to grasp the idea that other people do not (or sometimes cannot) operate from this perspective.
Of course, that was before 2016. I was raised in a heavily-religious Christian home. My older sister was made to throw away a Pokemon toy from her Happy Meal because "Pokemon are not real animals created by God. They are evil." We were not allowed to read the Harry Potter books. (Not a big deal to me; I've never been interested in them. But my sister was.) The one time my introverted self wanted to do something social in high school, it was a D&D game with classmates. "Are you sure you want to engage with witchcraft," my mom asked me. I dropped it and didn't ask again.
It wasn't all bad, though. My parents showed me how to be kind and compassionate, and how to help others.
They voted for trump. And I watched as my parents turned into people I do not recognize.
I'm not sure how to tie all this up into a neat bow. The point is, if we as people (Left or Right) aren't working to improve as many lives as possible, then what's the point?
Do I expect Pacifism from people? No, of course not. I would never expect a person to forgive their rapist, the person who murdered their friend/family, the guy who flipped them off for taking too long to cross the street.
But I would like for people to have some fucking compassion. Give people the benefit of the doubt (where appropriate).
Look, I understand. I've just about had it with people voting to strip me of my bodily autonomy. To kill my non-binary sibling or throw them into conversion therapy. (To be quite honest, I've fucking had it with my parents' transphobic bullshit. "God made you a man and God doesn't make mistakes.") I'm at a point where I'm sick and fucking tired of trying to drag the rest of my nation with me down a path where they are cared for, fed, clothed, sheltered, and accepted for who they are.
And I also get the fact that there are some who cannot be convinced. I'm certain my parents are among them. After all, they have their bible. They don't have to think critically. Their holy book tells them what to think. It's part of why conversations with them are so unproductive. Because they don't introspect or regulate emotions when they have scripture to tell them how to respond to a thing.
But I've still also not called my parents to chew them out, because I know that won't help anything. It'll only further the divide that they don't even realize is between us. How will I convince them to stand with me if all they get from me is aggression.
Whether you're Left or Right, if your first instinct about someone is to treat them as an enemy, you are part of the problem. We move forward by being accepting and open-minded. For those of us who lean Left, that goes fucking double.
Don't be a pushover, but don't be a bully.
We can only move forward together.
There are obviously caveats to what I've said, as well as plenty I've left unsaid. I hope those who read this will take it in good faith and understand that I'm not asking for everyone to just drop their grievances or pretend that shit isn't bad. I just wanted to share a little of my perspective. We're all human beings and I think common ground can start there, if we let it.
I hope we can overcome ourselves and be better.
I couldn't have said it better myself.
24K notes
·
View notes
Note
Write something about Max and Kelly corrupting innocent younger reader. They treat her like a porcelain doll and make sure she is always in their sight. They are very possessive and obsessed
Enjoy reading and send some requests!!
-xoxo babygirl 💕
No Part 2!
Keeping her away
"Where are you going, YN?" Max’s voice was smooth yet carried a dark edge that made YN pause, one hand still on the door.
She looked over her shoulder, offering a soft smile. "Oh, I was just going to meet Jess for coffee. I thought I mentioned it."
Kelly appeared from the other side of the room, her gaze warm but intent and possessive. "Did you check in with us first? You know we just like to know where you are, sweetheart." She reached out, tucking a stray strand of YN's hair behind her ear. Kelly had the habit of always touching the younger girl. It was her way of making sure YN was safe. "You know it’s not safe out there. Besides… we kind of like having you around."
YN’s cheeks flushed at the attention, feeling a bit like a child being fussed over by parents—though Max and Kelly were only a few years older than her. Still, they always treated her with such adoration, like she was someone who needed looking after. Like she couldn't exist without the other two.
"It’s just coffee," she replied, laughing softly, "I’ll be back in an hour or two."
Max exchanged a long look with Kelly. "Come on, YN, it’s not that we don’t trust you," he said, stepping closer, his gaze softening, but carrying a possesive sparkle in them. "We just worry, you know? We don’t want you getting hurt."
"How about this?" Kelly chimed in, wrapping a strong arm around YN’s waist. "Let us come with you. We can sit nearby, give you space, but if you need anything, we’ll be right there."
YN’s expression wavered. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. They did so much for her, always checking in, always knowing exactly what she needed before she even had to ask.
"Alright," she agreed, smiling. "You two can come, but only if you promise not to embarrass me!"
Max chuckled, guiding her toward the door with a firm hand on her lower back, nearly touching her ass. "Promise. We’ll just be… there in case you need us."
The three of them arrived at the café, with Jess already waiting. When she saw Max and Kelly trailing YN, her eyebrows raised. "Hey, YN," Jess said, giving her a questioning look. "I didn’t know we’d have company."
YN shrugged, taking a seat. "They just wanted to make sure I was safe." She grinned, not noticing how Jess’s face flickered with confusion.
While Jess and YN caught up, Max and Kelly sat at a nearby table, never taking their eyes off their girl. At one point, Max leaned toward Kelly, murmuring softly, "See how happy she looks with us here. We’re doing the right thing, keeping an eye on her."
Kelly nodded, eyes bright with a crazy twinkle as she watched YN laugh. "She needs us, Max. We’re the only ones who really understand her. Nobody else could love her the way we do. Nobody could ever protect her the way we can. We are the only ones she can love, forever."
They lingered at the café, Max occasionally glancing at Jess whenever she made YN laugh too hard, his jaw tightening just a little too hard for it to be causal. Kelly, sensing his mood, placed a calming hand on his arm, trying to keep her anger at bay when she looked at her precious love and the person she called a "friend".
"Remember," she whispered, "YN will come back with us. She always does."
■■□■■□■■□■■□■■□■■□■■□■■□■■□■■
Later that evening, back at Max and Kelly’s home, YN spotted a new photo on the wall—one of her from the café, laughing at something Jess had said.
"Another one?" she laughed, turning to them. "You two are so obsessed with pictures."
Max smiled warmly, stepping closer to her. "You’re just so beautiful, YN. We love being able to see you around us, even when you’re not there."
Kelly leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching YN with a fond gaze. "Do you like it? We took it because it just… captured you perfectly. Don’t you think?"
YN’s cheeks heated. She felt flattered, even a bit shy. "I guess it’s… kind of sweet. I’m lucky to have you two."
"No, YN," Kelly said, stepping forward and taking her hand, kissing her cheek softly, before whisperingin her ear. "We’re the lucky ones. You’re like our little angel. You let us take care of you, and that means everything to us." Kelly's declaration of love made her shiver.
YN felt her heart skip. She’d never had anyone look out for her so closely. Sometimes her friends hinted it was… maybe a bit much, but what did they know? Max and Kelly loved her, cared for her in ways she couldn’t imagine anyone else doing. And they wanted her safe.
"So… you don’t mind?" she asked, looking up at Max. "That I need you both so much?"
Max’s gaze softened. "YN, we wouldn’t have it any other way." He put a gentle hand on her cheek. "You’re exactly where you’re meant to be."
Kelly nodded, brushing a thumb over YN’s knuckles. "Exactly. With us."
■■□■■□■■□■■□■■□■■□■■□■■□■■□■■
Days passed, and each time YN tried to spend time on her own or with friends, Max and Kelly always found a reason to join or have her stay with them instead. They’d perfected the art of reassuring her with gentle smiles and soft words, constantly reminding her of how precious she was to them and how they didn't want anything happening to her.
One evening, YN noticed Max quietly watching her from the doorway as she arranged flowers on the kitchen table. "Something on your mind?" she asked with a teasing grin.
He tilted his head, smiling. "Nothing in particular. Just… happy."
Kelly appeared by his side, nodding as she took YN’s hand, guiding her to sit between them on the couch. "We love having you here, YN. You feel that too, don’t you?"
"Of course," YN replied, her heart warming. "I mean… I don’t know what I’d do without you two."
"And you won’t ever have to," Kelly murmured softly, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before bringing her in a hug. Over YN's shoulder, Kelly shared a dark look with Max, tightening her hold on YN. A silent form of communication between them. Nothing would ever touch their YN. Ever.
#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#xoxo babygirl 💋#max verstappen x kelly piquet x reader#max verstappen x reader#dark!max verstappen x reader#dark!kelly piquet
190 notes
·
View notes
Text
Remember, Thou Art Barnacle
A serenity prayer for election day.
Originally posted on my website.
The Ann Selzer Iowa poll, regarded as the gold standard in all of political polling, shows Harris is up +3 in a state that Trump won by +8 in 2016 and by +9 in 2020.
And you are a barnacle.
The election better markets have Trump up by +19 (as of noon EST, 11/5/24), and bettors don’t care if people are ashamed to admit who they’re voting for—they’re in it for the money and only the money.
And you are a barnacle.
Mainstream pollsters have admitted to weighting their polls heavily in favor of Trump, to ensure they don’t end up with egg on their face like they did in 2016 and 2020 again. International whales are taking out huge bets in favor of Trump, swinging the markets, and right wing think tanks are flooding the zone with bullshit polls to artificially inflate Trump’s odds in the aggregate. And even if the popular vote is overwhelmingly for Harris, Trump’s team is already laying the narrative groundwork to support a Stop the Steal campaign that, by the time you read this, will likely already have started.
All of that is true.
And you are still a barnacle.
You are not piloting the ship. You are not the captain of the ship. You are not laying out the potential courses the ship could take, you are not deciding which course the ship will take, you are not scouting ahead.
You aren’t even a paying, ticket-holding passenger on the ship. You are a barnacle on the hull, deep underwater, and unfortunately, there isn’t really anything you can individually do to affect where this ship goes. Sorry!
This isn’t an invitation to check out, or become apathetic, or (heaven forbid) embrace doomerism. Quite the opposite: this is a reminder of who you actually are in this entire scenario, of the power you do not have, and of the power you definitely do.
After the 2016 election, some small part of myself was convinced I could change the outcome if I just posted hard enough. If I fought enough of my friends on Facebook, texted angrily, and tweeted from enough protests and rallies, somehow Trump would no longer be President-elect.
All it did was, literally, give me a rash. I got so angry for so long that my skin started to break out in hives. A doctor friend more-than-half seriously prescribed that I “get the fuck off Facebook” until my skin returned to normal. Trump was still President-elect, the next 8 years happened the way they did, and here we are today.
You’re going to hear a lot today: polls are tightening! Votes still aren’t in from this critical precinct! If these trends hold, then we can expect to know something by such-and-such a time! The race is as tight as can be! White supremacists are threatening violence to avenge a dead squirrel!
(The squirrel thing is 100% real, and my god, I really wish I was joking.)
Remember, through all of it, that you are not the captain of the ship. You are a barnacle on its hull, and there is very little you can personally do to change it at this point. You’ve already done all you can do—or maybe you haven’t, but even then, you’ve already done all you’re going to do.
And as you stress, and consider how inebriated you’re going to get, and decide on which web pages you’ll be refreshing every thirty seconds, and stress out some more, remember too that Donald Trump hasn’t ever won the popular vote in his entire miserable life. He only won the electoral college, a racist system explicitly designed to empower slaveholders in southern states, one time, and ever since then, he has lost every election he’s declared for.
More people did vote for the woman candidate the last time one ran for President, and more people have voted for the candidate of color than their opponent every single time a person of color has run for President on a major party ticket.
And women have already made up a larger share of early voting than men in this, the first general election post-Dobbs, than ever before in American history. (53% women to 44% men.)
So as you stress and consider your inebriates and say to yourself, “How can it possibly be this close?!” for the umpteenth time today, remember too that Donald Trump is a fascistic, deeply unpopular person (let alone President) backed by an even more deeply weird party, and that almost the entirety of your experience of this election is being filtered through the lens of a national, for-profit media that doesn’t care who wins, so long as you keep watching.
Remember, you are not the captain of the ship, you are not the helmsman, you are not the map-maker.
You are a barnacle.
Vote for Harris, vote Democrat in your local and state races, and trust your other barnacles.
If you like this, consider signing up for my newsletter to get more writing from me right in your inbox the second it posts: sean-curry.com/signup
187 notes
·
View notes
Text
Seven Devils All Around Me (18+)
Summary: It isn't your fault you like the feeling of power, the sensation was addictive, and although it never worked out well for those around you, it certainly worked well for you. You weren't to blame that people seldom survived attacking you, it was their fault after all. But you can only run for so long before your misdeeds catch up to you, and where will you be left after? It's dangerous to walk certain paths alone as a young witch.
Content: Eventual smut, graphic depictions of murder and violence, character death, power imbalance, manipulation, addiction, grief, discussion of sexual violence (r receiving) (I will add more as I think of them)
Word Count: 4690
Agatha Harkness x fem!reader
Chapter One
You hum to yourself as you follow the marks you carved into the trees, a hidden path you had created that left those who follow you believing you were the perfect victim, blissfully unaware of the danger that followed you. You could hear the boys talking among themselves, their gleeful snickering as they think about all the things they could do to you now that they had you alone and unaware. Like most evenings, the forest was a cacophony of sound, there wasn’t an inch of space where there was silence, every crevasse had sound, even the ants clicked to one another to inform the other of the crumbs of bread that were left abandoned on the floor of the community hall that hosted giants. The leaves crunch underfoot, small twigs snapping as you step on them, continuing to hum the tune until you come to a clearing in the forest.
There was a space where no leaves were, a perfect circle that had been made over years of the same trick, black as the night sky is dark. “Look boys,” Douglas says with a grin, “She’s made a spot for fucking, just for us.” He moves closer to you, the others surrounding you as well, all of them giving each other encouraging looks. They didn’t believe the stories about boys going missing because every coven had tales like that, even the girls were told tales about their powers being taken when lured to walk the witch’s road, but everyone believed that it was just the danger of the road and not one of their own doing it. “I wonder if her tits are as big as her top makes them look,” Douglas says, advancing on you quickly, his hands twitching by his side as he thinks about tearing your shirt from your body.
“I’ve seen them through her window when she changes,” Clint says, “They’re small, no bigger than a handful, but at least they’re perky.” He cracks his knuckles, his eyes glinting dangerously. This wasn’t his first time taking what he wanted, and it wouldn’t be his last, just like the other boys he was with- if he sees something he wants, he takes it. His mother did raise him to be respectful towards women, especially those in the coven, but she always spoke about you as being the exception. You were the freak of the group, the one people whispered about, warned the kids to stay away from least you corrupt them. So, really, what he and his friends were about to do wasn’t a bad thing, it was deserved. “We should take pictures and add them to the wall.”
“We should take pictures and add them to the wall,” you mimic, turning to face them. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to keep trophies? Or was that too much for your tiny little boy-brains to comprehend?” You run your fingers through your hair, letting out a sigh as you shake a few knots loose. You were hungry, and these boys would be enough to last you a few weeks. Sure, they weren’t as powerful as the elders, too jumped up on the testosterone coursing through their bodies to focus on mastering the craft, instead relying on brute force to get things done. “Didn’t mommy teach you better? Or even your fathers? No, I suppose not. No, daddy left you boys behind, didn’t he? Went off to go fuck some young maiden the next town over,” you make a vulgar gesture, thrusting your hips before laughing when you see the group clench their fists in anger. “Oh no, did I hurt your feelings? What’re you gonna do? Blast me?”
It would only take one. It only ever takes one, but they didn’t know that. Of course they didn’t know that they barely knew how to groom themselves let alone see the signs of a trap, to even see that sometimes there is truth in the tales they have been told since childhood. You mightn’t have believed the ones about the Purple Witch, but you wouldn’t deny that there is something alluring about her. The ability to take someone’s powers? You wondered what it felt like, if it was as addictive as watching people burn, using their own powers to cause their deaths. “Lucas and Clint, hold her down,” Douglas orders, his eyes burning into yours.
The two boys he orders raise their hands, their magic shooting from their hands and wrapping around your wrists. They both were smirking until they see the lopsided grin on your face, a darkness settling into your eyes. You breathe in deep through your nose, tilting your head back up to the sky as your eyes drift shut, feeling the warmth starting to spread through your body and bloom out from your palms, “Oh boys,” you exhale. “Silly, stupid, little boys.” Your head rolls forward and you open your eyes to look at them, a fire burning in your eyes that makes them take a step back. “Didn’t you hear the stories? Didn’t your mother tell you not to go into the woods at night?”
“She’s just- She’s just bluffing,” Douglas stutters, “She’s just trying to scare us.” He puffs his chest out in false bravado before moving closer to you, his hands coming up to tear the front of your blouse open, but he hisses in pain, pulling his hands back. Your body had grown hot to the touch, as though he had just put his hands over the hot embers of a campfire, “What trickery is this?”
“You haven’t figured it out, have you?” You yank your hands free of Clint and Lucas’ magic, grabbing a handful of Douglas’ shirt, and pulling him so his body was against yours, a feral grin spreading across your face. “Smell that?” You lean in, taking a deep breath as the scent of burning fabric starts to fill the air, “Maybe you can feel it. It’s getting hot, isn’t it? I wonder if I’ll see eyes explode this time like popcorn.” You stare at him intensely, your hands glowing like magma as you start to cook him from the inside out, feeling his energy seeping out of him and into you. You let out a content sigh a the sensation, watching as his eyes go wide, his skin turning a deep red before starting to melt from his muscles and bones. He cries out in agony, trying to get away from you, to put the fire out inside of him but it was of no use, and soon he falls to the ground, his body quickly going up in flames. “Now,” you smile and turn to look at the other boys who were looking on in horror, “Who’s next?”
“You’re a monster,” Clint says, clenching his fists, “He didn’t even do anything to you! We were just playing!” He was quick to attack you, seemingly forgetting what he had just witnessed you do to his friend. You eagerly drink his energy up, your body glowing like a reactor before his body turns into barbecue. He claws at his clothes, trying to remove the flaming fabric from his body as he writhes on the ground, his screams drowning out the music of songbirds. You wonder if the woods would muffle the sound so it didn’t carry to the houses that lived along the edge of it, that the neighbors wouldn’t have their windows open to let the warm spring breeze in. Then again, if you didn’t want them to hear, you simply shouldn’t be doing what you are, but you couldn’t help yourself, could you? You enjoy it too much. You enjoy luring men into the woods, using their own powers to burn them alive as some sort of penance for all the women burned before you because their power was seen as a threat.
You take a few breaths to calm yourself, looking at your hands, they were turning black, tendrils creeping up your forearm and tickling your inner-elbow. This happened every time, the only evidence of your crimes. They were easy to hide though, you wore long-sleeves, and had a pair of gloves that your mother gave you to protect you from the judgmental gaze of your coven. Your mother wasn’t consciously aware of what you were doing, thinking you were just going into the woods to practice your craft, but she couldn’t deny it was suspicious that boys kept going missing whenever you did.
The remaining boys fall quickly, you wave your hands, letting out a hot blast of fire that turns their remains to ash. You knew the rain would disperse the ashes, returning them to the earth and helping to keep the forest alive, although your circle never grew back- the grass has remained dead and black for years. You were in your twenties now, and you had been doing this since you were sixteen. You do the buttons back up on your blouse then pull your sleeves down, doing the cuff buttons up so the sleeves wouldn’t go out of place. You flick your hair from your face, a smile settling on your features as you start to head back, humming to yourself once more.
As you walk, you stop occasionally to pick some flowers for your mom, making a bouquet for her. Your father wasn’t around to do this for her, not that he had done such thoughtful things when he was alive, that had always been your thing. You loved making your mom smile because it meant she wasn’t worrying about anything which had become her normal. If she wasn’t worrying about you getting in trouble, she was worrying about the coven being run out of town, and if she wasn’t worrying about that, she was worrying about taxes which only seemed to go up every year. It’s not that you couldn’t afford the taxes, she had been around for centuries, she had more than enough money to cover them, but it was still an unnecessary stress in her life that she simply did not need. If you could get away with it, you would burn the tax collector alive, maybe even roast him over a fire like you would toast a marshmallow.
“You can’t help yourself, can you?” A familiar voice asks, disappointment evident in her tone. “I tell them- I tell them every meeting that it isn’t you, that my daughter would never bring harm to her coven, and every time you go out and prove me wrong.”
You look up from the flowers you were examining, your features falling, “Mama… I- They attacked me,” you explain. “I was just coming here to practice, like you always want me to. And they followed me, taunting me, telling me all the horrible things they were going to do to me.” You turn your head slightly, just enough to see the open area out the corner of your eye that was a few hundred feet away by now before looking back at your mom. You try to smile, holding the sad looking bouquet out for her, “I picked you flowers. Your favorites. I know you like having fresh flowers in the house because you like when the bees-“
“Enough,” she cuts you off, “Enough,” she repeats, softer this time. She walks closer to you, a sadness on her face as she gently takes your free hand in hers- your skin was like charcoal, and still hot to the touch like the furnace in winter. Her heart aches painfully in her chest, why was her only child like this? Had she done something wrong? Those questions hurt her; how could she think so poorly of you? She loves you dearly, she would do anything for you, absolutely anything for you, why couldn’t you do this one thing for her? Her touch was soft, cooling your burning skin as she runs her fingers over it, your skin slowly turning back to your normal shade. She turns your hand over so your palm was facing her, running her finger in a circle on your palm, a small smile tugging on her lips, “Round and round the garden,” she whispers, “Went the teddy bear, one step,” she walks her finger up your forearm, healing as she goes, “two step,” another step onto your bicep, “Tickle you under there,” she says and gently tickles your underarm, a soft giggle escaping her. “You used to squeal whenever I did that to you as a toddler.”
You can’t help the quiet giggle you let out, unaware of the tears spilling from your eyes, “Mama,” you whisper back, “I’m not a little kid anymore.” She gives your arm a squeeze at that, looking pained by the reminder. You rest your hand over hers, looking remorseful immediately, “I know- I know I’m still your little girl. You still make my boo boo’s better.” You look down at your hands, they were no longer black as tar, and you could see the blue and purple of your veins on the backs of them instead of a deep red that glowed against the black. You felt a knot form in your stomach, “They’re gonna kill me, aren’t they, mama?” You ask her quietly, a waver in your voice. “For what I’ve done- They’re gonna burn me.”
Your mom blinks back tears but it was futile, the salty liquid running down her cheeks, “When they find out,” she replies softly, “Yes. They will.” She raises her hand to tenderly stroke your cheek, and as always, you lean into her touch. Her thumb brushes against your rosy skin, wiping away any tear that dared to fall. She didn’t know how long you would both have together, whether she could wash your hair and braid flowers into it, or whether now was the only time you two would get. “Why couldn’t you stop?”
“I can’t help it, mama, you know that,” you answer, your eyes closing as you relax into her touch. Her hands never caused the same pain and suffering that yours have, they have always healed and protected. There was never a moment where she didn’t help someone, where she turned them away when they showed up to the door pleading for her to make their sick child better. There was always a spare bed for the child or adult to recover, your mother watching over them during the night to ensure their condition didn’t worsen. You. You had always been the one to hurt, to harm, to inflict suffering and pain. Your mother, try as she might to get you to do things for the betterment of the coven such as burning the fields to return the nutrients to the earth, or helping start the bonfires for when there was a community barbecue, even trying to get you to take out the wolves that threatened the farm animals, but it never satiated you.
It wasn’t until you turned sixteen did it become a problem, but she brushed it off because you had been terribly bullied, she kept brushing it off when the first group of boys went missing. She had moved you both after that, found another coven. Six months of peace before it happened again. Every time, you would come home with blackened skin and a bouquet of flowers. She never had to worry about running out of dried flowers for her potions, the basement was full of them, your peace offerings to her. You always were so sincere in your apologies, and she believed you every time, why wouldn’t she? “They deserved it,” you add, “They were going to hurt me.”
“Not every single boy was out to hurt you, surely, sweetheart. What about Tommy? He was always so kind to you, he tutored you. You were friends.”
Tommy had been your friend two moves ago, you two had bonded over being excluded from most of the college class you were enrolled in, even the lecturer refused to acknowledge you in class. You both were good students, handing your assignments in on time and not once even asking for an extension. You thought you were just friends, you told him you only liked women, and he told you he was okay with it. You had gone over to his house one afternoon to study for an upcoming exam, the two of you were in his room on his bed reading notes when he had asked you if you’d ever kissed anyone before. The question made your skin crawl, “No,” you had answered, “I haven’t.” He got this look in his eyes at that answer, his hand had come up to turn your head to face him before he leaned in to kiss you, his tongue forced its way into your mouth, pocking and prodding your throat. You had frozen; your eyes wide as he assaulted you. It wasn’t until he had pulled back did the anger kick in. You don’t really remember much of what happened, only running out of the house as the fire department showed up to extinguish the flames, two of the firefighters checking over you for injuries. You had told your mother what happened, what he did, and she had brushed it off, saying it was just how it was done- nobody needed to ask for permission to kiss, it was spontaneous. You had cried in your room that night, you didn’t understand why your mom didn’t see why it was wrong of him to do that to you. She knew you liked women, why on earth would you ever want some man to kiss you?
“We- You know what he did to me, mama. He hurt me. He hurt me,” you tell her, more tears falling onto your cheeks, “He knew I didn’t like him like that. Every single one of them deserved it.” That wasn’t true, there had been a couple of groups you took out because you enjoyed the thrill of it, the screams, the feeling of power that filled your system. Even thinking about it now made you giddy, your pupils dilating as though a drug was coursing its way through your system. “You have to believe me, mama, please.”
Her hand falls from your face, “We should head back. You need a shower, and I’d like to braid your hair.” Her voice was cold, the older woman turning her back on you, not even taking the flowers from your hand. She usually hummed with you, the same song she sang to you as a child, but tonight the only sound was the owls hooting in the forest. You wipe your eyes on your sleeve, holding the flowers close to you as you follow along behind her. You hum quietly to yourself, looking up into the trees to see the glowing eyes of birds watching you. There was something comforting about them being so attentive, like they were looking out for the inhabitants that called the woods their home, even as they swoop on the mice that scamper across the leafy floor. It was the balance of things, and even as they eat the mice, they too would return to the earth and continue the cycle anew.
When you get home, your mother sits on a chair and has you sit on the floor between her legs as she starts to braid your hair, her fingers working deftly. She carefully takes the dried flowers and works them into your hair, willing the protection to keep you safe when the leaders come knocking. Only now does she hum, the strands of gold that hold the flowers in place starting to glow. She new deep down this day would come, that moving towns, cities, states would only get you so far because the tales that were told about a witch of destruction would catch up to you, that one coven was going to be smart enough to figure things out and realize it is one of their own. “You’ve always had such beautiful hair,” she murmurs, adding another flower to the braid and tying it into place, “Ever since you left my body, you had a mop of hair on your head. Whenever you woke in the morning, your hair was all over the place, and it would take so much water to tame it.”
“I’ve seen the photos,” you reply with a giggle, your eyes closed as you relax, enjoying the calming sensation of your mom braiding your hair. There had been times she had yelled at you for not brushing your hair, threatening to cut it all off if you didn’t want to take care of it. She had always apologized afterwards though, blaming her anger on something that had been said in a coven meeting as she carefully brushed the knots and tangles from your hair. “How long do we have?”
Your mother doesn’t look up from your hair, the wards she had set around the house were starting to crumble, only meant to slow them down, “Not long, my dear,” she picks the hairtie up and ties the braid off, securing a crystal in with it. “There,” she says, running her hand lightly over her work before you turn to look at her, your eyes holding the light of a thousand flames, “My beautiful girl. If you survive, you know you must never return.” Her hand caresses your cheek, her eyes held the river of life which you always loved looking into because you could feel the cool refreshing water wash over you, keeping you calm.
“I can’t leave you behind, mama. I can’t- I promised you that I would look after you,” you rest your hand over hers, they were the perfect balance. It always made you laugh how whenever her hands were cold, yours were burning hot, and on the rare occasion hers were warm, yours were colder than the glacier high in the mountains. You didn’t want to leave her behind, she would be an outcast unless she participated in your execution which she was unlikely to do because despite everything you have put her through, she still loves you and you knew there was nothing stronger than a mother’s love. “I can’t go without you.”
“You have to, sweetheart. You must find your own path, in a coven that will understand you,” she pulls back from you when the front door flies open, standing up she calls out to them. “She’s in here!” She looks at you, pain visible in her eyes, “She killed them! I saw it with my own eyes. No daughter of mine shall harm our coven.”
You felt your spirit break, unable to realize she was doing this for a reason, to keep herself safe, to keep you safe from seeing her harmed. “Mama-“ You start, struggling against the witches as they bind you with their magic, “Mama, please,” you beg, “Please don’t let them do this to me. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to do it, mama.” The women haul you to your feet, the magic tightening around your wrists behind your back, cutting off the circulation to your hands.
“I saw the look in your eyes, Yn. You enjoyed it.” She follows the other women out of the house, the path to the stake lined with other members of the coven holding burning torches. “I’ll bind her to the stake,” your mother tells the women, “To make up for what I have done. I have let this coven down too many times before, I won’t let it happen again.” Her magic felt different this time as it wraps itself around you, your hands pulled taut behind the stake, the cold no longer soothing, instead it felt icy, the frost burning your skin. She couldn’t look you in the eyes, she didn’t want you to see how much this was hurting her, and she didn’t want to see how betrayed you looked as she prepared to watch her daughter burn.
“I never thought I’d see the day, Theodora,” the elder-witch comments, “Preparing to burn your own flesh and blood after so long of defending her. Had this evening turned out differently, you would be on that stake along with her, there is no doubt about that.” She gestures for the others to surround you, a group of six women all part of the higher counsel, and every single one of them deeming you guilty. There was no room in their coven for someone like you, someone so dangerous, someone without remorse. Were they unbiased in their judgement? Four of them were not, all having lost a son to you. The other two had daughters, but even they feared that one day your hatred would spread to women. Although whenever their daughters had caught a glimpse of you, their cheeks turned as red as a rose, and a carefree giggle escaped them which they thought was arguably worse. “Get into position, Theodora. It’s time.”
“Mama please,” you beg, “Please. I didn’t mean to. I can’t control it. Please.” You look at her, desperate for her to believe you one last time, “Please, mama. Tell them. Tell them that I didn’t know what I was doing. That I didn’t mean to. That they hurt me too.”
Your mother wanted to stroke your cheek one last time, to wipe your tears away but she couldn’t do that, not anymore. She breathes you in, inhaling the floral scent of the shampoo you used before stepping down from the platform and joining the other women encircling you. “I should have let you burn the first time,” is all she says.
The elder-witch gives a nod, everyone raising their hands in preparation, “Begin!” She commands, their powers shooting out of their hands and hitting you full force, a pained scream tearing itself from your throat. It felt like your insides were being roasted, your skin prickling from the heat. It was agony, you had never felt anything like this before and you wanted it to stop.
“Please!” You scream, your head falling back against the stake, “Stop! I can’t-“ You could feel that familiar sensation starting to build in your stomach, and it wouldn’t be long until it broke free. “Mama- Mama run!” Your face was wet with tears, your head tipping forward, your eyes making contact with your mom’s. She couldn’t run, you both knew this, but you hoped this last time she would break the rules for you. The binding around your wrist starts falter, the women behind you noticing it.
“Elder- Her bindings! She’s going to break free!” One of them exclaims yet she does not stop her attack on you, none of them do because they hoped that if they continued, you would finally burn.
The elder-witch encourages them to push through it, “She is glowing! We are close! Keep going!” Your mother knew what was about to happen, finally she meets your eyes, mouthing an apology to you before the blast happens, all the women letting out agonizing screams as the fall to the ground ablaze. You slump somewhat against the wooden stake, your hair blowing in the draft created from the fires, your skin flush a deep red and your hands glowing brighter than the sun. You didn’t want to hurt them. You didn’t mean to, you begged for them not to do this. You warned them you couldn’t control it. You were going to wallow in that feeling until you remembered your mother. You look around frantically, counting the bodies: seven. Your mother-
“Mama-“ You jump down from the pedestal and rush over to where she had last been, sinking to your knees as you desperately try and put out the flames. She was unrecognizable, her skin blackened and burned. “Mama, I’m sorry,” you sob, cradling her burnt body close to you. She was the only person to look out for you, the only one to have stood by your side, and you had repaid her by killing her. Your tears drip from your chin and onto her corpse, the tears evaporating before they even touch her skin. You look down at her, “I’m sorry.”
#Agatha Harkness#Agatha Harkness x reader#Kathryn Hahn#Kathryn Hahn x reader#Agatha All Along#Agatha Harkness imagine#Kathryn Hahn imagine
141 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hoo boy. Okay. This reply got my attention, and I'm going to do my best to answer each point you raise. Because I think this is an incredibly bad faith reading of the Jedi and the Star Wars movies in general.
The Jedi are Detached from reality as it is perceived by humans.
There is absolutely nothing in the movies that supports this claim. Nor is there anything in the movies that support your claim that the Jedi don't perceive time in a linear fashion. Yes, some Jedi get glimpses of the future, or the past, but that is in no way the same thing as fully experiencing time in a non linear fashion.
Genuinely, I don't know where you got this idea from. I can't think of a single moment from any of the movies that supports it. You have simply made up a headcanon about the Jedi and decided that it was true.
Anakin, a person who clearly suffers from borderline personality disorder which comes with symptoms such as fear of abandonment, an unstable view of the self, devaluing or overvaluing relationships to the point placing of one’s self-worth entirely in another person’s hands, and more, literally needs unconditional love and support.
Anakin does not clearly suffer from borderline personality disorder. The movies don't support that, and no interview I've ever seen from George Lucas supports that. This is, again, a headcanon that you made up and have decided it's true.
He was simultaneously considered the “chosen one” and considered a burden or a problem.
Exactly one Jedi made a big deal about Anakin being the Chosen One: Qui-Gon. That's it. The Jedi don't treat Anakin any different than any other member of their order. Heck, potentially being the Chosen One wasn't even enough to convince the Council to let him join the Order in the first place!
As for treating him like a problem/burden...well, no, not really. Not in the movies. They get frustrated when he disobeys orders, but that's a fair reaction. Obi-Wan corrects him when he's getting too emotional, but that's literally Obi-Wan's job as Anakin's Master. They're upset when Palpatine forces them to give Anakin a seat on the Council, but that has less to do with Anakin and more to do with not appreciating Palpatine trying to manage Jedi business.
And that’s not even touching on how in Phantom Menace he created strong bonds with both Qui-Gon and Padmé only to have both of the ripped away right after he’d left behind everything he knew and loved.
...I'm not sure what you expect the Jedi to do about that? Qui-Gon died, and Padme was a Queen who had to go back to her own planet.
And Anakin choose to leave Tatooine and his mother behind to try and become a Jedi. Shmi encouraged him to go! And certainly an argument can be made that a nine year old can't fully understand that decision, but Qui-Gon did his best to explain what that choice meant, and that a Jedi's way of life is hard.
Anakin made choices. So did Qui-Gon, and so did Padme. The Jedi can't help any of that.
He was NINE and being told that everything he ever learned was wrong and backwards and leads to being evil and that he needs to be perfect for anyone else to think he belonged because even the smallest mistake would just confirm their preconceived beliefs about him.
I'm going to need some references for this claim, because I don't remember ever being shown this in any of the movies.
The Jedi are shown to respect other cultures, but Jedi have their own culture and standards that one must live up to in order to be a Jedi. There's nothing wrong with that! The Jedi are allowed to have their own culture, and they're allowed to have standards about who can join them.
Anakin never would have become anything like Vader without Sidious leading him.
It's quite possible that this is true. Though he did murder a whole tribe of Tusken Raiders, women and children included, years before he became Vadar. That being said, no amount of lies and manipulation from Sidious excuses the choice Anakin made to betray the Jedi and murder younglings.
That was a choice that Anakin made. Sidious didn't force his hand. Anakin made the decision that the chance of saving Padme - from a fate he didn't know for sure she'd experience! - was worth betraying the Jedi, worth murdering younglings, worth overthrowing the Republic and turning it into an Empire.
Anakin doesn’t view Padmé as a possession, I don’t know why anyone would think that.
Well - to stick to a movie example, since you indicated you don't consider the Clone Wars show to be canon - it could be because he never bothered to consult her in his "I will murder a bunch of younglings and help Sidious start an Empire to save Padme's life" plan, to see if she was actually okay with it. And once she finds out after the fact, and she IS NOT okay with it, Anakin responds by Force choking her.
That's why I call Anakin selfish and possessive. Because ultimately, he didn't care about Padme's feelings or opinions. Even if Anakin had been right that she was definitely going to die and Sidious would save her, Padme still would not have agreed to wiping out the Jedi and destroying the Republic to save her own life. Anakin doesn't just betray the Jedi and the Republic. He betrays Padme, her beliefs and values, because he can't stand the thought of being without her.
As for the unconditional love you say he needed? Padme did love him unconditionally. She loved him after he murdered a whole tribe of Tuskan Raiders. She loved him when she knew he was lying and keeping secrets from the Jedi Order that trusted him. She loved him after he betrayed the Jedi Order and the Republic, offering to run away with him and live hiding out from the Empire with their baby. Padme loved Anakin unconditionally and it wasn't enough for him.
Because Anakin was selfish. And he wanted everything. And he couldn't have it.
"no attachments" in SW literally just means "don't be selfish and possessive". that's it. that's all there is. doesn't mean jedi can't have friends and loved ones. they can. just. don't be possessive and selfish about it. don't murder thousands of people in an effort to save one.
#return of the op#star wars#anakin skywalker#and look i'm saying all this as someone who very much enjoys anankin as a character#but he decided to do the things that he did and that's not the jedi order's fault#and also i don't care if someone wants to come up with a bunch of headcanons about the jedi or anakin or whoever#but you can't just claim a headcanon is canon because you like it#that's not how this works
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
THE BOY NEXT DOOR
PAIRING: ENHYPEN's Park Jongseong x M!Reader
GENRE: Smut, Fluff, Angst
WARNING: i guess some intense smutty action ✨, not proof read
SUMMARY: Park Jongseong. The name is known widely as the infamous fuckboy of the 4th floor in your apartment building. He insisted he shares a room with you for the night as he is being stalked. What's the worst that could happen?
Another night where you had your headphones on for a couple of hours now, knowing that your nextdoor neighbor was at it, again. Fucking horny boys and girls in his apartment room. In fact, it seemed to happen too frequently that you pretty much caught onto his schedule when he would start having his fun that you even had your alarm for it on just in case you forget about all of it.
Damn, Park Jongseong was one horny guy.
After that, he would throw them out of his room and leave them there almost naked, giving zero shits whether they would get fucked again on their way back home. Besides, it was just a one time thing. Practically, fuck and go. No strings attached. What a heartless guy, I must say. After taking advantage of their heart, he just leaves them as though they were just toys for him to play with.
But, of course, those were only the stories you heard. You knew Jongseong more than anyone can think.
Your eyes travelled its way up to the digital clock you owned above your closet after staring at your phone, scrolling through your feed to pass time. You saw that it was already half past six in the evening and that's usually the time when Jongseong would always finish.
You wanted to make sure first that he was actually done, pulling on one side of your headphones. When you thought it was finally quiet, you slowly took it off and sighed to yourself. "Finally."
You got off your bed to move to the mini fridge you have where you stored all your bottled water, since you loved drinking cold water rather than lukewarm. Soon, there was a knock on your door which got you feeling confused since you weren't really expecting any visitor.
You heard another knock bringing you to your front door to open the door for the person outside of your room. "Who is..." You trailed off when you saw your next door neighbor standing in front of you. "Jongseong?" You heard a loud bark from beside him, later noticing his pet dog that made you coo at how the cute creature looked like.
She was wearing a pair of sunglasses which you knew Jongseong had put on her himself while she wore a very cute shirt with the tag 'I'M THE BEST DOG' written on the back of it. You kneeled down to match the height of it and started to pet her, Charlotte, as you remembered it, wagging her tail happily.
"Y/N, can you do me a favor?" You heard the taller male speak out, you looked up at him with a smile. Jongseong looked like he was hesitating to say what he had in his mind to you, judging by the way he would stumble through his words or how he would open his mouth to say something only to shut them close and repeat.
Without looking at him you give him a soft laugh, all the while giving Charlotte the best belly rub who was now lying on her back. "Speak up, Park," you said, with Jongseong hesitating for the nth time. You paused for a moment facing up towards the other male, your head tilted over to the side a little. "I can't read minds, you know," You joked in an attempt to lessen what Jongseong is feeling.
Jongseong sighed, blushing due to his embarrassment. Your words were all that he needed, pushing him to tell you the tiny favor he would like to ask of you. "Well, you see. It's er... can I and Charlotte crash at your place for the night?" Jongseong stuttered a little, trying to compromise, thinking of the right words to make it seem less inappropriate. "It's very important and I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to do," he quickly added.
You rolled your eyes at him, then standing back up knowing just how it had come to this. "Let me guess. Another stalker?" You asked him in a teasing manner, Jongseong immediately shaking his head in denial. You raised him a brow while crossing your arms.
Jongseong was still pressed on denying it, but the look on your face made him do otherwise. He could only sigh in defeat and hang his head low whilst nodding his head looking like a dejected dog, his shoulders slumped down. You gave him a pat on top of his head, practically on top of your toes.
You opened the door for him to enter, gesturing for him to get inside. "Come on in," you welcomed the male into your place, the blonde male replying with a muttered 'thank you' and a smile. Once he's settled inside, you close the door behind you. "Just don't use my apartment room as your new strip club."
Jongseong quickly snapped his head toward you and shook his head. "I promise you none of that will happen," Jongseong reassured you, while you took something out of your dresser's drawer. He hears a soft laugh from you, the taller male realizing that you were just teasing him, making him frown.
"I know. I trust you," you told him before you threw to him a spare key that you kept with you in case you lost the one you're currently using. You popped a loli into your mouth and sucked down the flavor of the sweets. "So, how'd you get in this situation? Again?" You asked him, walking towards your bed and sat on top of it.
Jongseong contemplates, before he looks back at you and your eyes stared back at him with full anticipation. He lets out a sigh. "Well, you see. Tonight, isn't that normal night," he answered, but you didn't completely understand what he meant to which you just stayed silent for, as a signal for the male to continue. "Believe it or not, I didn't bring anyone today because I'm having a test coming up tomorrow," he continued.
"That... still doesn't explain to me why you're getting stalked," you subtly persuade the male to tell you the leading cause of the unnecessary attention, but it didn't have to take any of that since Jongseong is willing to tell you everything. I mean, EVERYTHING.
He laughs softly at how impatient you are. "Just wait and listen," he mocks you in the most polite way possible, afraid that your attitude is brushing onto him. Though you don't meet often, you're the one who practically saves him from your lousy neighbors. So, it's starting to kinda reflect onto him.
You raised your arms and let the male do the speaking. "I asked to be recommended a tutor and found out one of the guys who applied is actually one of my past side flings. The same guy I told you about. The one who endlessly obsessed over me," Jongseong pointed out and you thought for a moment before you snapped your finger and points at Jongseong, your mouth agape in shock. "Yeap, yeah, exactly. I was shocked as well that he found any of my socials. It still got me thinking how he did it." Jongseong seeped air through his teeth, cocking his head to the side.
You got up from where you're sat and patted the male's back. "I may not be able to do anything about.. this. But, you'll be safe here inside," you stated out and went to pick up your towel from the rack to take a shower. "I'll only take a couple of minutes. I better not catch you peeking, Park,"
"Oh, god. Please." Jongseong scoffs at your cocky attitude, then he hears laughter from you before the door to your bathroom is shut closed. As soon as you got hidden inside of your bathroom, Jongseong hears the light taps of Charlotte's paw on the floor approaching him. She had something in here mouth. "Charlotte, don't go snooping around someone else's stuff," Jongseong gently told his pet dog who threw the item across the floor and let out a bark.
Jongseong looks at it confused. "What's this?" The male picks it up and draws it near to him. It looked like a pendant. Only it wasn't. He noticed the small crack around it, probably an opening and ran his finger over it, before it slowly opens and a music plays.
'Dear, don't fret. You are wonderful.'
It was a small holographic message. It looked too advanced, technologically speaking. Who could have made this? It's... brilliant. It feels like a memory locked in a device to help you remember. "This is... incredible. Don't you think so, too, Charlotte?" The female dog barks in reply and pants happily with her tongue out.
After a few more minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom with a fur robe on while you dried your hair with a towel. You catch the male staring, or admiring rather, at something and had a huge smile on his face. He looked very fascinated. "Whatcha got there, Jay?" The male didn't reply and continued to stare at the item. You chuckled.
You make your way towards him and only then that Jongseong is able to acknowledge your presence. "Oh, you're done? Sorry, I sorta got distracted by this. Whatever this is," Jongseong told you, the smile still etched onto his face. "It's so amazing," Jongseong makes a comment and your face splits into a smile.
You sat on the nearest chair beside the taller male and spoke up. "My dad made it for me," you shared to the male, whose mouth turned an 'o' shape in shock, turning his head to you. "He created it so I'd never feel homesick, but it only made it worse." You let out a light laugh, head hanging a little low, unable to look at Jongseong who found sympathy in you.
"You have a really great father, Y/N," Jongseong said with a soft smile. You lift your face up to look at the other male and decided that that was enough sentiment for the day and chose to tease Jongseong, again.
"And who told you to go snooping around my room?" You smirked, making Jongseong widen his eyes and point at his pet dog, who whimpers and lay flat on the floor while she covered her face with her paws, which you found incredibly cute as though she's able to understand your language. At this point, maybe she does. "I'm just kidding," you stood up from where you are sat and moved to your closet. You are about to get changed.
On instinct, Jongseong turns on his back and puts the pendant down on your table, but there is one thing he couldn't get off his mind. "I'm sorry. Y/N, just minutes ago, did you just call me 'J'?" Jongseong scrunched his face, not able to trust his ears. He might have misheard things.
As you threw on what you could see as cute in your closet, you replied with a hum. "Yeah, sorry. I should have thought first before I spoke. Does it bother you?" Your brows furrowed. You really had the the idea that you and Jongseong are already that close to be calling each other by nicknames.
Jongseong shakes his head in reply, but guessed you couldn't see. "No, not a even a bit," he answered. "It's just new to me, but I guess I'll get used to it eventually," he continued, before he heard the closet door close and the bed creak on your weight which could have only meant that you're done. "Are you finished?" He questioned for safety measures.
"Yeah. You can turn around now," you replied. Jongseong cautiously turns around, making you raise a brow. "So, you're scared of seeing a clothed body than a nude?" You scoffed.
"No, no. It's not like that. I mean you're a very close friend. And if I were to see you naked accidentally that would mean an awkward atmosphere around us," Jongseong full on explained and hearing that the male considered you as a close friend made your heart swell in happiness.
You propped yourself down on your bed with your hands. "Point taken," you told Jongseong. "By the way, if you didn't bring anyone with you tonight, then what was the noise in your room all about?" Your curiosity got the best of you as you looked over at Jongseong who had his lips pushed into a pout and a blush on his face.
Oh, it's those kind of days.
You breathed in air through your nose and tapped your feet on the floor. "Well, Jay. I have to stop by the convenience store. Anything you want?" You stood up to take out your wallet and fix a few things where your other important items are hidden.
The taller male lit up at the mention of having to go outside. "Can I come with you?" Jongseong asked, a little too excited. Almost like a kid who wants to go only for the car ride.
You turn to him, a big smile riding on his lips, before you return to securing your things. "Uhm, are you sure? Wouldn't that be a little dangerous?" You started to make your way to the clothing rack where some of your coats are hanging. "Considering you have a stalker that's on the loose," you stated to which made Jongseong knit his brows.
"Damn those pricks," Jongseong whispered under his breathe, still loud enough for you to hear though. He tried looking for excuses, but only found the shorts you are wearing. "And how about you? You can't possibly be going out with just that," he pointed out.
You looked down and faced him with an 'are you kidding me' look. "What about it? They're loose jersey shorts. You should be more concerned about yourself. You could catch a cold with what you're wearing. A tank top and thigh length shorts." you told him yet Jongseong was already on his way out with Charlotte. "What is up with this guy?"
In the end, even when you felt skeptical with other male, you still let him sleep over for the night. When you arrived, the male kept on insisting he stayed. The poor male looked shaken up by something you can't determine, so here you are in one bed with Jongseong who is barely in anything, but a boxer after you tried to resist him from sleeping on the floor and it made falling asleep hard for you.
It ain't helping either that you used to have a big fat crush on the older male when you first arrived here in this building. Keyword: USED. After you realized he had a fuckboy tendency and it just didn't seem quite right to you.
You let out a sigh and your eyes went over to the time on your clock. '2:31 A.M', it reads and all you could do is groan silently, your eyes clenched shut at your distress.
You opened the bedside lamp to at least illuminate a small portion of the room as you rubbed your stinging eyes. You feel so tired, but your thoughts are circling around your head endlessly like your own brain is trying to torture you, but you have no choice. You brought yourself onto this and now you have to pay.
You looked over to the other side to see Jongseong sleeping so soundly. Like a baby, safe in his mother's arms. At the sight, a small smile made its way up to your lips. "At least someone's able to get some sleep," you muttered out with a scoff, before you adjusted the blanket, so it covered him comfortably. He might be cold already considering that you put the temperature down a few degrees down, yet he still had the strength to get almost completely naked.
You watched him snore lightly. He looks so peaceful. Has he always looked this good in this light? You thought to yourself, as your gentle grin stayed on your face.
You gave a sigh and moved a few hair strands that got in the way of his face, but were immediately stopped by the older male who took ahold of your wrist which made you flinch. His grip was gentle.
You quickly averted your attention to his eyes which you felt started to bore holes into your skin. His face is dimly lit by the lamp on your table, but he still looked so ethereal. "Y/N, what are you doing to me?" His sudden question made you look at him confused.
He sat up from the bed, all the while the hem of the blanket falling to his waist which gave you a just right view of his structured abdominal muscles. "I... I don't understand," you replied to him, Jongseong sighing audibly loudly.
"Ever since you arrived in this building, nothing ever went well for me," Jongseong continued, that got you taken aback as you pulled your arm away from the male whose eyes lingered onto you.
You raised him a brow, feeling literally offended at what he had just said. After you let him spend the night at your apartment, this is the thanks you get from him? "Excuse me? Be at least grateful—"
"Let me finish," Jongseong cuts you off mid-sentence with a chuckle and you folded your arms on your chest and you gave him the stage, letting him hit the microphone with whatever he had to say. "See, this will sound weird, just giving you a heads up, but I just... I can't get it up," he stated.
You scoffed at him in disbelief. "And that's supposed to be MY fault?" For your entire existence you've never had a person blame you for their erectile dysfunction and hearing this from Jongseong—the male you only considered your friend right now—is blaming you that he couldn't get an erection because of you. That's just completely fucked up.
"Yes," Jongseong replied, rather more solemn than bluntly. Your jaw dropped at his reply and your instinct was to just kick him out of your apartment, but he looked like he had a lot of things going on inside his head. Before you could even reply, Jongseong faces you with a bittersweet smile riding on his lips. "Because I like you, Y/N. I've liked you since... I don't know, before we even started talking which was like almost two years ago. And I couldn't get you out of my head. I didn't want to make you feel sexualized or in any form, sexualize your image. I can't do that to you, Y/N," he said, ending with a tone that told you he is truly genuine and truly cared about you.
You could only look at him with furrowed brows, your mouth opened, but unable to make a noise. You were shocked, to say the least. In the middle of the night, all because Jongseong had a problem with his hormones, confessed to you out of nowhere. Who wouldn't be so surprised with that sudden news?
"Jay, I... uhm," you let out, hesitant.
"It's fine, Y/N. You really don't have to say anything if you don't feel like it. Besides, hearing a reply without much of any—" he is stopped the same way, but you've put a finger on his lips to make him go quiet.
"I don't need time to think about everything, Jay," you replied, a small smile on your lips. You trailed off, trying to find out how to start, but you thought giving it to him directly would be the best way. "I like you, Park Jongseong. Less than you think, though. Look, I don't know when it actually started, but it gave me the ick that you're actually a call boy, but I thought I would have done the same for a check," you laughed lightly.
"Uh, thanks?" Jongseong let out, one brow raised upward.
You sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that, I like you, Jay. I love your personality, I love the way you care for me, your dog, your family, or the way you'd always update me about—" Jongseong gave you no chance to finish what you're saying and spare you no time to adjust as he grabbed the back of your neck and planted his lips onto yours.
You were quick to process as you melted into the kiss, your eyes shutting closed while your hands instinctively found themselves in his soft bleached locks, your fingers entangled within it. Your heads and lips perfectly sync with each other, untamed thoughts circling around your head like a broken record. They were unruly, but it somehow made your heart feel full.
It's like on a winter night and you start the fireplace to warm the room. You don't even remember any sense dawning over you as you just let yourself in to the spur of the moment as though your whole life depended on it.
A few minutes in and Jongseong decides to deepen the kiss, as he slides one hand under the pit of your leg, rising ever so slowly as he lifted the bottom hem of the jersey shorts you wore, a soft moan moving past your mouth, the older male swallowing the sweet sound. You feel one side of his lips curve into a smirk, satisfied with the reaction he received from you.
You were probably gonna regret this later on; being treated like one of Jongseong's clients, but you wanted his touch. You NEEDED his touch. You craved everything he can give. You yearned for his warmth. You need him, in general.
It's like he's some kind of drug that made you suddenly feel addicted with one taste and you know for a fact that you'll never be able to get out of this sensation.
Jongseong nipped at your bottom lip, asking for permission. As a reply to his request, you slowly parted your lips for access. With not much time to lose, Jongseong (gently) delved into the depths of your wet cavern, cupping your cheeks as he started to search for your tongue.
Thinking the placement was uncomfortable, the blonde male repositions himself, so he's fully facing you, all the while never breaking contact. Your tongues danced together, both in different pace, but found a way to synchronize with each other, as though harmonizing.
Whilst your tongues played with each other, your hands went down to feel his biceps, which you found attractive with all the muscles surrounding it. Your fingers smoothly glided over the protruding skin of his arms, still too high on the kiss to even focus somewhere else other than the shape of his lips. It's like they were carved to fit yours perfectly.
For a breather, Jongseong was the first to pull away, breaking the kiss as you start to already miss the intimacy. Hearing a whimper unconsciously leave your throat, Jongseong chuckles. "In a second, angel. We still have to breathe, you know," he smirks. Right now, his sight of you just raised the gauge of his sex drive higher.
As everything had started to heat things up inside the room already, you could no longer wait. You're feeling hot and the way he looked so sexy just made you want him to just take you; make him claim you as his only possession.
While Jongseong tried to find a better position, you sunk down to become face to face with his clothed crotch. This went unnoticed by the male, not until he felt a shiver run down his spine when he felt your finger om the waistband of his boxers that he looks at you, while your eyes were already clouded with lust.
"Y/N, what are you—ah," he moans at the contact of his clothed member on your open palm, teasing him before you pulled down the only item that restricted you from its full glory, his cock coming in contact with the cold air of your room. "Shit.." The male let out when he felt your tongue line the underside of his cock.
"A-ah, Y/N. I didn't—ah," Jongseong sighed at the pure pleasure you were giving him. Out of pure desperation to aatosfy the taller male, you fit the tip of his thick rod in your mouth, which earned you a hiss from the blonde as a hand found its way on top of your hair. "Shit, Y/N, ah... stop teasing," He moaned, feeling your tongue swirl around his girth, the older male pushing his head back, feeling so much bliss.
Soon enough, your chest swelled with pride as you made a spur of the moment decision to take the whole male inside your mouth, while Jongseong hitched in place, an electrifying sensation running down his back. "FUCK!" He moaned out, unconsciously pulling at your hair.
You bobbed your head up and down, only then taking the few inches you could take inside your mouth (after a realization that he was too big to take whole) and jerked him off to compensate for it. Jongseong seeped air through his mouth, peering down at you only to see that your eyes was looking up at him as he had the perfect view of your lips perfectly curled around his cock.
He got more turned on by the sight of you and could no longer hold himself back anymore, raising his hands to hold onto the back of your head and forced his whole length inside your throat, which made you gag and choke, earning a satisfied whistle from Jongseong who chuckled and caressed your beautiful face. "I can see that you were trying, Y/N, but you weren't trying hard enough." The male smirked, then went on with his plan to assault your unaccustomed throat in a fast pace, tears forming in your eyes as they rolled themselves at the back of your head over the euphoria that Jongseong brought to you by constantly hitting the back of your throat.
"Shit, fuck," Jongseong cursed through gritted teeth, the vibrations of your moan only sending a satisfying sensation to his girthy dick, you knew immediately that he was feeling good. "So, you were waiting for this to happen all this time, huh?" He questioned you, not stopping with his erratic movements.
If you hadn't lost all your senses, you wouldn't have let yourself be treated like you're a thirsty slut, but the pleasure is unbearable and at any moment you felt like your mind will finally break.
Without thinking much about it, you nodded your head in reply and the smirk on Jongseong's face only grew wider. "Me too, babe," He said and continued on violating your mouth, resorting to a more inhuman speed and laughing darkly at how easily you submitted to him, liking the idea that if he ever felt pent he could easily just run to you and you'd just let him use you, but of course he wasn't a bad guy to take advantage of you. It's just an idea. An impossibly dream, if you must.
"Damn, angel. Didn't know your mouth could do so much wonder," Jongseong groaned, you holding onto his thighs for dear life, hoping your neck wouldn't break at how strong his thrusts were.
You knew how much Jongseong is capable of being rough with anyone, he literally goes down with any sex play—it's not eavesdropping, it's overhearing—but damn, you never knew him being this rough with you would be so fucking hot. Even having to experience it firsthand.
"Maybe we can do more than just this, Y/N. Weren't for us having to rest for our class tomorrow." It was nice of the male to think of your welfare, but it already reached this far and he'll let go with just a simple blowjob? You wished he's just joking.
Jongseong's pace went unbelievably animalistic, suddenly not caring about how you were now crying due to the pleasure, finding it fun how those tears stained your cheeks like they were the perfect decoration on your face, him abusing your throat with all the strength he had left until he started to convulse and buried his dick deep inside your throat and filled your mouth up with his cum, feeding you every last drop, not spilling anything as it ran down yoir throat.
He was a panting mess as he stared down at you, finding it adorable that you were so fucked up and was made a mess of by him.
He thrusts a few more time to ride out his high, before he caressed your cheeks softly, then pulling his now flaccid cock and puts a finger below your chin to lift your face up. "Not a single drop, darling. Open your mouth," He demanded of you, you complied as you opened your mouth with you tongue rolled out.
Jongseong, feeling satisfied, bent down to your height and kissed you on the forehead. "Well done, angel," he said, then fixed himself up and helped you up to your feet with a slight chuckle. "You're already weak to your knees? We still haven't even got to that part yet, Y/N," He teased you that immediately made you blush.
"Sh-shut up, Park," You told him, your voice a little hoarse, Jongseong being the reason why.
The next morning you woke up, with your eyes still feeling heavy and the memory of what happened im the middle of the night engraved in your head.
You soon realize that the bed was empty and the space beside you where Jongseong slept has now gone cold. It dawned over you like a bucket of cold water. "I should have known. I was just one of his clients," you mumbled to yourself.
"You're not a client, Y/N," a voice started from somewhere in the room, which startled you as you got up immediately and saw Jongseong by the window reading a book, in a bath robe.
Jongseong looks at you and you did as well. You were in different clothes. Did he get you changed? "I, uhm, I thought you left," you stumbled in your words. You didn't want to sound too desperate.
"I wouldn't. I would never," he replied, before he closes the book and approached you with I want to be your partner." Jongseong looks at you with his eyes full of sincerity and truthfulness. "If you're doubting my words, I'll prove to you by my actions. I will stop these vices," he stated out with determination in his voice.
"Jay... you weren't being stalked, were you?" You asked him which took the male aback. "You just wanted to spend time with me," you concluded that made him blush a deep red color. You found it cute at how he gets very flustered easily, before you threw your hands around him for a hug. "And I would have done the same if I were you," you said as the taller male, wrapped his arms around you to keep you close to him.
#male reader#x male reader#fanfiction#bxb#idol x male reader#bottom male reader#kpop#enhypen x male reader#kpop x male reader#enhypen jay x male reader#enhypen jay#enhypen park jongseong#enhypen park jongseong x male reader#jay x male reader smut#x male reader smut#male reader smut
125 notes
·
View notes
Text
All characters are aged up 18+.
Shoto's face was bloomed red. The red flaring down to his chest, visible through the haphazardly unbuttoned shirt.
His eyes widened, his mouth dropping open slightly. As he stared at you, pretty little thing, standing between his legs and grazing your fingertips on his thighs.
10 minutes ago, Shoto was leaning across the kitchen counter, nursing a concoction that Denki had made for the graduation party. It was a vague comment really, nothing was meant to do any harm. "Pretty boy, Shoto is a kiss-virgin, you know", Denki stated from his seat beside you. Shoto stared at him in disbelief while you gulped down your drink in one shot.
"And I can change that you know", you looked at Shoto while placing the glass on the table with a clink.
"Only if pretty boy allows that is"
"I do" Shoto blurted straight away, almost tripping over the table. He felt a heat rising to his face, a telltale sign of his embarrassment.
"I mean, I don't mind, I don't mind kissing you", Shoto said after gaining composure, .
You got up and walked around the table towards Shoto. Standing between his legs "Mind hopping on the counter for me, pretty boy" You whispered in his ears.
Shoto proceeded to put his glass away and sit on the counter with his hands clasped in his lap.
Gently you separated his hands and slid between his legs. Running your hands from his wrists to his elbows to his shoulder and finally holding his cheeks, Shoto let out a shudder.
His face heating up and breath getting uneven. Closing the gap you stood millimetres apart. As you leaned closer, his heart raced, he could hardly meet your gaze, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. Spearing him, you pressed your lips together.
It was hesitant first, lips touching slightly before pressing in. While you grinned at his shyness and pulled him closer by his collar, Shoto's hands remained on his thighs too shocked to do anything.
"You can touch me, you know", you whispered against his lips.
"Where?"
"Anywhere, anywhere you like?"
Shoto let's out a breathless whimper, a sound that only fuels the fire in your belly.
Pulling away from his lips, which he chased, you started kissing down the column of his throat. Tracing his jaw with your tongue, sucking on his pulse point. His hands hesitantly came to rest on your waist.
You messily unbuttoned his shirt to continue marking him up. Every little kiss drew out a mewl from his lips.
You pulled away, while staring at him "you are a sight for sore eyes, Shoto", you traced over the curve of his nose, He averted his gaze, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
"It's your fault, you know", he finally admits while looking at you.
"Is it? It probably is I took your kiss-virginity" You admitted, "do you want me to take your other virginity too?" You continued
Shoto straightened up, fire flaring from his ears hands tightening into a fist.
"Yes, I do"
"Alright pretty boy"
You pulled him off the counter and guided him to your room.
#bnha#bnha fluff#bnha x reader#mha#mha x reader#todoroki shouto#shouto x reader#shouto todoroki#shoto todoroki x reader#todoroki x reader#mha shoto#shoto todoroki#todoroki smut#bnha smut#mha smut#mha todoroki#bnha todoroki#shoto x reader
124 notes
·
View notes
Text
ignis obscura (dragon-sacrifice!Steve falls for random-man-in-the-woods(?)!Eddie before Steve goes to get eaten) (???)
feat. lots of love-at-first-sight, soul-deep devotion sorta shit
When a dragon arrives within telling-distance, the town nearest the lair it claims must send the sacrifice; their most valued possession. Everyone knows this.
It was just that no one in Hawkins had ever imagined—never really believed—that of all the villages, a dragon would come to them.
Steve had imagined it, though. As a boy, he’d thought it an adventure. As a teenager, he’d fancied it something of an escape.
Now, when it happens? As a young man, Steve Harrington mostly just thinks of course it goes like this.
Because he’s the disappointing-but-only son of the mayor, in a town where mayoral wealth rivals the coffers of the crown, and if the dragon wants value? Steve’s the gateway to whatever riches have been hoarded, whatever small power may be marshaled to command more, to rule, to gather up virgins if Steve himself proved insufficient to that fabled task—though he was renowned as the most comely of his people, having just dipped his toe into his prime while keeping the rosy flush to his cheeks alongside the strength in his arms: perfect timing, really. It helped pad the argument for him as the tribute.
As if maybe the dragon had waited, had watched. Had known what it wanted, and swooped in with intent.
Steve couldn’t give two rats’ asses what the dragon did or didn’t do, as he made his way through the woods and up the mountain. The stories of sacrifice always paired with the same end: no matter how you pleased the dragon, the tribute did not live to descend to their home again.
So really, at this point, it was merely a question of how Steve would meet his end. At the dragon’s mercy, of course, but: more like details.
Steve distracts himself with arguments for whether it’s wiser, or more efficient, to carve human flesh with claws or teeth, and it’s a job done so well that he not only finds himself wholly turned around on this trek, far too close to nightfall, and not nearly as near to the cave he’s aiming for as he need be, but more than that:
He fails to notice he’s no longer alone.
“Are you lost?”
There is a honey-smooth quality to the voice that rings out but…deeper. Darker even, though it doesn’t strike warning between Steve’s lungs. It’s…caramelized, and slow slip of thick…almost comfort. Steve fights to keep a clear head: not all dangers are apparent. Enchantment and faerie mischief, even, could have found him in his mindless wandering.
“Lost?” Steve tries to scoff at the right tone of haughty; “I’ve lived here my entire life—“
“In these deserted woods?” the voice, and now there’s a figure that draws nearer, closer in the growing claim of the moon for light but still more silhouette than anything as it—he, the voice is male, Steve is near-certain—turns and assesses their immediate surroundings before tutting thrice:
“Strange choice of domicile.”
And it’s mocking, of course it is: but the honey-caramel of the voice is a molten thing. It warms Steve deep and he cannot even be cross.
“I,” he starts, but sees not point to finishing before he sighs and admits, to himself as much as to the stranger:
“Yes, I am lost.”
“But you’ve lived here your whole life!” the stranger slaps a palm to his own cheek, mouth dropped in faux-horror but he looks so…earnest. And maybe adorable with it, so much so that Steve can’t help but chuckle a little helplessly for it all.
“Hush,” he chides, half-heartedly at best. “I was supposed to get to the caves by nightfall.”
“Ooo,” the stranger leans in, as if to prepare for a secret; Steve didn’t realize he was so close; “scintillating dinner date?”
Steve can’t help it but to snort.
“By a measure,” Steve deadpans, before clearing his throat; “I need to present myself to the dragon.” When the strange man stares at him unblinking Steve deflates a little.
“You know, hot, fire,” he gestures broadly; everyone knows what comes at the end of a sacrifice: “dinner…”
“Why are you looking for a dragon?” the other man asks, his lips pulling down a bit in just-shy-of-a-frown. Steve doesn’t like the look on him, so he tries to put on a bit of a show, match the stranger’s teasing energy from before as best he can in the given circumstances:
“I just so happen to be the village sacrifice,” Steve announces, chest puffed a bit, but he fails to do anything but deepen the frown he’d been aiming to wipe clean from the other man’s face; now Steve’s frowning, too, as he deflates a little, but hardens a little too, crossing his arms and leaning back where the other man’s not even bothered to stop leaning in, despite his apparently displeasure.
“What?” Steve challenges, but it’s brittle, he knows it. “It’s a,” he vacillates, unsure how exactly to describe the…ritual of it. The way it’s cast as a, as a…
“It is a high,” Steve’s voice wavers a bit, like finally saying it aloud makes it all the less believable: “honor.”
The other man eyes him silently until Steve feels it in his very skin, before finally he speaks:
“Hmm,” he tips his head, considering just a little before he seems less to come to a conclusion, and more to a conclusion on how to best voice the things he wanted to say already, at that:
“Well, I know these woods very well, better than any hailing from the village I suspect you’re speaking of,” his gaze flicks Steve top to toes, something warm in it, no, something hot in it, that simmers through Steve’s veins: “and so I can get you to the caves, at the very least for shelter before moonrise-full,” he glances skyward, seeming to doublecheck his words before he nods decisively and reaches out a hand:
“Think you can trust someone you only just stumbled upon in the forest to steer you straight?”
And Steve doesn’t know for sure what he’d have done, what his answer and actions may have been if death-by-some-draconic-means weren’t imminent. But it is, and so he takes the hand offered, and grasps more than shakes, holds more than strikes accord and lets himself notice and relish how smooth and warm it feels against his skin:
“Lead the way.”
He doesn’t know what he’d do in lesser circumstances.
But for the grin on the man’s face, the way it shines brighter than moonlight, than sunrays even, he suspects: for the way it makes of the man a star on his own somehow?
Steve wants very much to believe he’d trust the man anyway, regardless of sense, just for the breadth of that smile.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Looks like the dragon’s out for the night.”
Steve makes an extra survey of the den nestled a good bit into the cave when his mysterious guide comments on the undeniable silence of their surroundings, the telling echo of their footsteps in the empty space.
“Curses,” Steve huffs, both frustrated and dismayed because: “I’ll have angered him, what if he doesn’t think I’m enough for—“
“One,” Steve’s beguiling guide ticks the point off with a finger raised on a strangely elegant hand; “you think dragons to be too irritable.” Steve rolls his eyes to himself—this Man who knows so much of the temperaments of dragons, the ego to presume—
“They can be quite pleasant so long as they have sufficient treasure. And they’re long-lived, so they’re patient,” the man continues on, which: it seems his ego’s well-reasoned out at the very least, Steve supposes.
“Which brings us to point number two,” and of course there’s a number two, a pair of fingers now waving almost accusingly to the side of Steve’s face:
“You’re more than enough to be worth waiting for.”
Steve blushes furiously and thanks the sparse cracks of nearly enchanted—quite possibly enchanted, actually—light for very little chance to be seen for it.
His companion grins with a glimmer of that sparse glow catching his eyes, glittering in it like enchantment themselves, and Steve thinks both that yes, he’s likely been seen and caught so that likewise yes, he needs to move out of the shaft of light that betrays him and with haste, because to think such a thing about this strange and beguiling man—beguiling, good gods—says far to much about what Steve feels about him, and far too soon, even by his standards.
Which are lightning quick already on a day in which he knows restraint.
“Sparse for a horde,” Steve surprises himself for how steady his voice is, given how obvious his bid to change the subject lands, not matter his tone.
His companion is gracious enough to allow the shift without comment:
“You think mortal eyes can see such things without a dragon’s explicit permission?”
But not gracious enough to abandon that ego.
“How do you know so much of dragons?” Steve finally just asks; subtlety’s never been his strongest characteristic, and in honesty, it’s past time to have asked it.
The other man smirks, scoffs a little.
“This may be your village’s first encounter with them,” and it’s said not quite in censure, and not unkindly, but Steve is cowed a bit nonetheless—the man had never named but has more than once referenced where he thinks Steve’s from, and Steve suspects if his vestments and the crests embroidered to them weren’t enough, his lack of knowledge would be—his people have been blessed in many ways, and live privileged lives on the whole, most especially his family, in comparison to their neighbors.
“But here is the only perch for the span of tens of villages,” the man points out; “and they’ve not been left untouched for so long.”
Right. Of course.
“You’re from a neighboring town?”
“One word for it,” the man shrugs, in such a way now that it shivers through his unruly curls; “and you’re from Hawkins, I gather.”
Right. Unsubtle to the bone it seems, indeed.
“For the whole of my life I can say I know only one thing about your home,” the man takes Steve grimace as the confirmation that it is; “and it’s how they share notoriously little to know.”
Steve chews at his lip, knows the failings his family’s rule has had for the people without and without their borders. Has tried to find ways to help without power of his own in the order of things.
“I always wished to see other lands, even the nearest of them,” Steve finally lands on something to say; “I tried to convince my parents, but—”
“Parents?”
It might be the first time his new…friend? Looks properly halted.
“Son and heir,” Steve points to himself with a weary sort of smirk, the whole thing laughable, really; “the tribute has to be valuable, right? I thought upon seeing so little here, I could offer from our own troves before the end, as appeasement but,” Steve sighs, suddenly drained, only now realizing, now that the option eludes him, just how heavily he was counting on the option of at least trying to bargain with the dragon, appealing to its intellect and far more, its love of treasure.
“But if it’s as you say, I may have much less by way of offering at all.”
There’s an instant sort of chill that fills him as he starts to acclimate to the reality that he’s going to die, and soon, and there truly is not hope for an escape. He—
“Let me assure you,” the man’s hand startles Steve, battles and swiftly overcomes the chill in him as it wraps tight around Steve’s wrist, his voice following Steve’s own almost without break, a cutting finality to it, definitiveness in his tone and his eyes alike once Steve meets them—and once Steve meets them, the not-quite-stranger doesn’t let him look away.
Magnetic.
“Based on what I have seen?” and the words could be casual, but the low rumble they’re spoken with is anything but:
“You could walk here wholly empty handed, and no dragon worth their flame would turn you away as unworthy.”
Steve feels less his cheeks, and more his whole body, inside and out, flush bright and there’s no light to hide from, save from the one shimmering in the gaze locked into his own.
And Steve, for all his postures of pride: this time?
He has no desire to hide the way he flushes, never mind the way he shivers, if it means trying to evade those eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~
Incidentally, it’s too late for the other man to turn back, though he clearly knows these woods so well. Steve insists that he stays.
Not for any ulterior motives, of course.
The man argues, if almost for show alone, but agrees on one condition: they neither of them have bedding. The other man apparently hadn’t planned to be out past the hour for rest, is only stuck because of Steve and Steve—
Steve has a pack but he…he presumed he’d either be dead and his offerings deemed fitting, or the dragon would keep him as the dragon desired, bedding or clothing or neither, until the dragon was satisfied.
And then, again: he’d be dead.
It is unthinkable to take the meager blankets Steve can see in a corner, not without permission; not from a dragon, so. The other man is asking to…lie close.
And Steve is not opposed. The man is almost…surreally exquisite, especially in the passing moonlight. His angles are…particular. Alluring. They steal the breath in Steve’s chest a little, long before they’ve earned the right.
“It feels more than overdue now to ask your name,” Steve whispers, not that it’s necessary. Not that there’s anyone to hear.
“Eddie,” the man whispers back, his voice so warm and almost enveloping, like an embrace in itself and Steve feels less absurd for speaking so soft, so privately.
Nearly intimate.
Good gods, now Steve is being absurd and should feel it to his bones. He deserves to suffer the uncomfortable twist of embarrassment it leaves in stomach, at this rate.
“Steve,” he manages to say low enough that his mortification isn’t audible.
But then:
“That is a beautiful name, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, and he’s shimmied closer somehow while Steve was stuck in his shame-spiral for being the too quick to show his cards, even to himself in his own head.
“Nothing special to it,” Steve mutters, demurs a little but in a coquettish way, doesn’t even mean to. Just…there’s an energy between them now, and Steve’s primed to match it.
“Isn’t there?” Eddie asks, heated and near in a way that dances up Steve’s spine:
“I would hesitate to be so sure.”
Again, Steve doesn’t mean to, or plan to, when he rolls further into Eddie’s frame where they’re laid together, already so close, now nearly in each other’s arms.
He doesn’t mean to, and yet: his arms are gathered close against the chest of a man he doesn’t know, and yet feels…more comfortable next to than any body he’s pressed against in his life.
And there have been fair few.
“You’re so warm,” Steve mouths more than anything, lips dragging on this half-stranger’s neck by accident, because it could be nothing save an accident that Steve now knows that Eddie’s skin tastes of salt and smoked cinnamon sticks and the air in the forrest at night: elemental, somehow. Necessary.
Only by accident would Steve torture himself this way.
“I’d keep you warm always,” Steve hears as the world blurs soft to black, the phantom sensation of arms curling around him, welcoming him to sleep—the whole of it odd in every way because he hadn’t spoken loud enough to be heard, really, even so close, and to read his words from the drag of his mouth to flesh was of course impossible.
“To the end of the Age and beyond if I could,” the words drift blissful, wistful like an invitation into sleep: “if you’d let me.”
So of course: it must have been a dream.
~~~~~~~~~~
Daybreak finds them entangled.
Steve…freezes, as if he didn’t feel snug and perfectly warm wrapped up so close. He weighs the merits of bolting, and making apologies after the fact, against trying to extricate himself without rousing his companion, versus—
“Good morning, sweetness.”
Steve stills somehow further, feels his face heat yet again and yet this time, despite the dark of the cave, he’s…crushed ever so pleasantly against the bare smooth planes of a chest that…shouldn’t be bare, should it, because they moved together close for heat against the chill and for certain it is past dawn but it is still nowhere near warm enough for—
“Did you sleep well?”
Steve groans, which only leads him to burrowing further into the unavoidably welcoming give of Eddie’s chest, lean but strong, Steve can tell, much like he can feel as much as hear the rumbling laughter that cascades through that chest: so much like an invitation to sink into the chest and the sound alike, to never be singular, to never be cold.
What a ridiculous notion.
But then lips are unmistakably pressed to the crown of Steve’s head, not even in passing, no: they linger. They…feel right.
Steve wants for them to be right until the day he dies—
Well. That might actually be possible, or close enough for what he’s earned in this world.
The irony.
Eddie takes to the hunt—the reason he was in the woods to find Steve in the first place, apparently; he says his bow and knives are just down toward the ravine, which Steve vaguely knows but not well, too close to the borders of other lands.
“Don’t fret, though,” and this time the lips press to the low half of Steve’s cheek, affection that does not press its advantage but makes it desires clear, too close to Steve mouth to be anything less.
Steve…is unsure what to make of that. Because he cannot make what he thinks of first; he cannot possibly follow that thread in his own mind—increasingly in his own chest.
“I’ll find you, if you get lost again.”
As if Steve will wander, would risk missing his dragon captor’s return, to even consider one misstep to unintentionally enrage his looming executioner, to even consider missing a single instant in the meantime with this man—
But the glinting smile that man shoots Steve’s way as he strides out the yawning opening in the rocks, its glinting like stardust and warm radiance that fills Steve’s veins then spills over and seeps into his marrow:
Steve doesn’t think that man actually meant getting lost that way.
And what on earth is he supposed to make of that, save everything that he can’t have; that cannot be?
Though, in fairness: it would be on brand. Steven Harrington of Hawkins.
Falling hard and fast and more real than ever before, mere hours before he leaves the mortal coil.
~~~~~~~~~~
“You’re anxious.”
Steve knows now that his dreams were realty, last night. The words, the arms.
He is awake in them now after they eat what Eddie’s secured for them, cooked over a fire perfectly pitched outside the mouth of the cave, its warmth not insufficient as they’d eaten in pleasant company together.
Not insufficient at all. Just not this chest; these arms.
And now they are both of them bare to the waist, knowingly and happily curled into one another, and Steve feels on one hand boneless, weightless, inexplicably held and kept beyond the physical in the embrace of a man he barely knows and yet feels…close to. Something-he-cannot-bring-himself-to-say-at-first sight, like in the fairy stories.
But that man’s palm is splayed across Steve’s chest; can feel the birds’ wings of his heartbeat at first stroke.
For the first time in Steve’s life, it doesn’t feel like a weakness he’s caught out on; with Eddie nuzzling at his hair, Steve doesn’t hesitate to speak his fear with a heavy sigh:
“You said you’ve dealt with dragons.”
“Time to time,” Eddie hums, presses his lips to Steve’s scalp like reassurance.
“How will it happen?” Steve whispers shakily, but for the first time in his entire life, he shakes into someone who seems to care, against all reason; who holds tighter to him for needing rather than casting him away.
“I mean, I know,” Steve licks his lips; “I know what will happen, just,” and he can’t quite finish, chokes around his words. Eddie moves closer against him, under the weight of Steve’s frame, maneuvers them so that he can tilt his head just so to kiss down Steve’s jaw while still holding him close; ever closer.
“Well,” Eddie pecks against the peak of Steve’s cheekbone before moving down, all the while massaging circles against Steve’s chest; “a town sends their most valued,” and he sucks a little the, against Steve’s jawline; “but some towns have less to pick from,” and then he finds Steve’s pulse point and suckles there with real feeling until Steve may be terrified, but he’s simultaneously soft clay in a beautiful man’s hands, under a beautiful man’s mouth.
“A dragon is not a mindless beast,” Eddie adds after Steve can feel he’s been well and thoroughly bruised.
“I’ve always heard they’re very smart,” Steve breathes, maybe nods, mostly just savors Eddie’s heat, his nearness, how he touches Steve like he has value; like Steve has value to him, and what a thing to feel, to want, to possibly hold, even for these stolen moments; “it’s how they tell if you send them less than they’re owed.”
Because of course Steve knows the stories. Steve can remember countless tales of horrific ends for villages, towns, whole kingdoms even, razed for being so haughty and foolish as to try and swindle a dragon—perhaps embellished to encourage children’s behavior, but. The bones of the narrative fit the oft-smoldering evidence often enough, so far as Steve could tell in the proper histories.
“Not owed,” Eddie corrects, firmly but somehow also gently, his capacity for dynamism an oddly comforting thing, so human and forgiving of overstepping boundaries so freely as to maybe not even draw any to begin with, at complete odds with Steve’s entire life; “not how most people think, at least.”
Eddie flip Steve over gently, firmly again, settles them chest to chest, one atop the other as Steve looks down at him, feels his heartbeat crash against Eddie’s own closer than ought to be felt, like their ribs clear way for the two of them, for whatever they could be, and Steve wonders if part of why his heart is racing so is for the loss of the possibility that rushes through him, that swells between them in every moment—something that grows in every moment, every look and touch and blink, that expands effervescent and filled with so much without any knowledge that there is not space to hold it, that what time they have is borrowed at best.
Steve thinks maybe; his sick heart for it could be railing where the rest of him is fixated on etching every one of those looks and blinks and touches into his bones so that they may be among the last parts of him to leave the earth.
“A dragon, above most things, has a particularly keen sense to know precisely where value lies,” Eddie’s explaining again, his hand now still, pressed against Steve’s heart akin to a shield, or a safe-hold. “And how.”
Steve ponder that for a moment before he meets Eddie’s eyes, having felt them heavy and molten upon him with new fire before taking them in for all that they are: brilliance.
Blinding.
Steve leans as Eddie arches and they meet in between to press their lips together after what feels an eternity and an instant of living in a world where they didn’t taste one another in such a way as to drink their fill. As to breathe each other’s breath.
So as to tease and cherish deep, to tongue against the very heart.
And there Steve makes certain, before he loses himself wholly to sensation:
Looks. Touches. Blinks. Carved into his bones, but first.
First he’ll gild them in every single kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~
They transition fully into lovers in a seamless fashion, insatiable like Steve’s never known it. Eddie never keeps him wanting, gives selflessly and Steve does all that he can to reciprocate and more, because Eddie is everything, of that Steve is certain, and therefore he deserves no less.
He also seems dead set on making sure that they are posed as equals. That to lavish one another with affections as much as to ravish each other endless never unbalances one way or the other. Wherever Steve seeks to give more where Eddie should have it, Eddie turns the tables to takes Steve apart so that all he knows is tingly euphoria. A happiness he’s never felt, didn’t quite believe could exist.
Yet here he is. Here they are.
Steve smiles more than he remembers, playful and ravenous and overflowing with feeling, and Eddie doesn’t rise to meet his enthusiasm: he’s already there, matched with him and ecstatic to entwine. It’s a heady thing, addictive and overwhelming and a gift, Steve thinks: maybe the universe forgive him for doing less to stop harm and deprivation in his home, for wishing to help more and acting where he could even if it wasn’t enough. Maybe he gets this sliver of heaven out of pity for what’s to come.
He will take it with open arms. He will welcome it. He will make himself of it until there is not Steve that exists outside of it.
But it cannot overcome the inevitable, in its impending, suffocating weight.
Come the sixth day like this—the sixth night like this—something in Steve gives way. Existing on the precipice of life and death with no telling of when the hammer with strike finally takes too much of a toll, and his nerves betray him.
“Likely they are hunting, it can take many days, weeks even I’m told,” Eddie tries to console him as he shakes, can’t even sob, like his body can’t coordinate even that much to work properly, too distraught are pieces of him he’s flooded with pleasure but finally could no longer be denied, fed on his wonderment and picked until it cracked enough for his fears to bleed through. “But if you are still so anxious we could, or, I could try and look for some clue as to where it’s gone?” Eddie offers carefully, holding Steve together as he does his utmost to shudder out of his skin. “And you can stay here, in case it returns?”
The only thing Steve can do then is shake his head until it hurts, until he’s dizzy with his own vehement denial: it’s the first things that’s properly matched, body to feeling.
It’s fitting that way.
“I,” Steve starts, just voice barely a scratch as Eddie reaches, tips his chin upward and cups his face so delicate:
“What, angel?”
Steve blinks at him—takes him in, presses down to pain as he draws it, brands it onto his skeleton to be remembered, all the tangled but powerfulfeelings he has for this man so fast, so strong.
For this man, for all he feels: Steve makes himself speak what’s heavy and true and real in his galloping heart:
“I have no intention of reneging my duties,” he rasps, holds on to Eddie as tightly as he can, as if maybe their bones could brand one’s another and fuse into one.
“But until no choice is left, I,” Steve chokes, and his eyes burn as he holds Eddie’s gaze, lifts Eddie’s hand away from his cheek and over to his lips to press all his hopeless hopes against Eddie’s palms:
“I don’t want to be out of your sight, nor you taken from mine.”
The tear that escapes him then is caught by Eddie’s thumb. Adoringly.
Each that follows is lost between Eddie’s lips; might belong to them both.
Steve thinks he can believe that much—in these fleeting, sacred moment—to be true.
~~~~~~~~~~
The dragon has still not appeared, and Steve has since collected himself for the most part, with Eddie ready to brace him steady when he starts to falter. It’s a wild novel thing, to be supported this way. To be cared for.
With such care, comes perception. For better or worse.
“What troubles you, beloved?” Eddie eyes him knowingly, a level of sight straight through to Steve’s soul that should not be fathomable in a lifetime, let alone a week’s time.
“My own mind,” Steve admits freely, unwilling any longer—if he ever had been—to hide from Eddie, unsure what the point would be even if he desired to: “it is cowardly, and selfish.”
“I doubt that,” Eddie catches Steve’s jawbone with a single finger, playful, endearing: but clear in its pointed redirection of Steve’s gaze, and his disparagement of his own thoughts:
“I would doubt that quite strongly, in fact.”
Steve lets Eddie touch prompt him to a kiss, as if he needs coaxing before he leans into the crook of Eddie’s neck and breathes him in: the best savours of the ground and sky.
“I would not run from my fate, here,” Steve says, not wholly to remind himself but, not without that purpose at hand; “save that it feels like my fate is…”
And he slides his hand to Eddie’s chest, hopes it speaks for him where he doesn’t know words for the depth and breadth and weight of these feelings; Eddie’s hand covers his, automatic, and he knows he’s understood.
“I wish not to be parted from you, now that I’ve found you,” Steve whispers, swallows hard, then looks Eddie in the eyes, speaks straight to the soul in them so that he is not misread, or underestimated in the weight of his own words, now:
“I think that I may be in love with you.”
And he’s never been before. He’s believed it may be love, but: no. No, it was never love before.
If ever it was love: it is this.
“Oh my precious one,” Eddie pets his hair and kisses after his own touch: “I don’t think that I’m in love with you,” and Steve stiffens only for the instant Eddie leaves between those words, and dipping down to Steve’s ear to exhale with feeling:
“I know it.”
How it is possible to die brokenhearted and happier than he’d ever dreamed, Steve doesn’t know.
But he’s about to serve as object lesson, in just days.
Maybe less.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Know that when,” Steve is speaking to the cracks in the rock that peek at the night sky as he speaks, Eddie on his chest like a blanket, save so much better; “when it happens,mwhen it devours me whole or takes me in pieces,” and his voice catches, but he remains resolute; “it will know you in every inch of me,” and he cups Eddie closer to him then, holds him against the thunderous roar of his pulse.
“My heart is full of you, and it will taste only of devotion,” Steve near-hisses for the fervor in him. “You’ll be the last bit of me known to the world.”
“Never.”
The growl that comes from the body that curls around him, protective, possessive, beloved in a way and to a magnitude Steve didn’t know he could feel before now: the venom in it makes it clear that it’s not a refutation of Steve’s declaration for the sentiment.
It’s a refutation to the cosmos itself.
“I would never allow it,” Eddie bites out, pressing closer to Steve, to his heart: “you will not be forfeit to some dragon,” and oh, but this man Steve loves is wild with his passion, foolhardy and yet all the more lovable for it.
“I would fight with all that I am to protect you,” he vows, presses his lips to Steve’s chest and speaks there like he means well and truly to means to tell Steve to the heart of him this sole, unshakeable truth: “and should somehow I lose the battle, it could only be because there is nothing of me left to fight.”
And for the first time, in all his life: Steve clings to something, someone, he’d happily rip his beating heart out to protect.
And that—he realizes in a single world-rewriting instant—he fears the loss of more than any other thing.
Any. Other. Thing.
~~~~~~~~~~
They don’t speak of it, or of a choice to be made when the time does come: Steve thinks maybe that’s the only way they manage at all, really, is to simply hold it between them in those last days. Known. Seen.
Loved.
And feared.
But always together. Always so close, in every way.
Until the stasis breaks.
“Steve,” Eddie breathes into the afternoon, innocuous. Steve’s stopped counting how many days they’ve stolen together.
“I must leave, my darling.”
Steve narrows his eyes, trying to understand him. He watches as Eddie hurries to gather both of Steve’s hands, to bring them to his lips.
“Only for a short while,” he murmurs between Steve’s fingers, kisses at his knuckles with apology, and with heartsickness thick between his breaths: “barely a moment,” and his breath is short, thin, like the thought of leaving hurts.
And Steve…Steve has been in love for the first time, with the perfect match to his very soul. Unthinkable, but undeniable.
But it hasn’t made him wholly blind.
He means to press, to see if the slight little inklings he’s had every so often hold any weight, point in any direction of significance, means to ask just a simple thing, but then Eddie’s expression breaks open, a miasma of emotion spilling forth as his breath catches, monumental on a sob and he takes the hands at his lips and instead uses them to bury his face.
“Oh, my Steve,” he breathes, and all Steve can really see are the heaving lifts of his shoulders, and the way his curls fall a little like a monsoon.
“I am sorry,” Eddie whispers into Steve hands and Steve feels dampness there, and oh. No.
Not from Eddie. Not for whatever this is. Steve can think of nothing, save Eddie leaving for good before the end, that he should be moved to apologize for. And even that Steve would forgive.
Because Steve loves him.
“Why?” Steve asks, incredulous, his own half-formed ideas to seek to know gone at the sight of his beloved in distress. “What reason on earth do you have to be sorry, you said,” and Steve halts, wonders if that’s the catch, and tries not to falter without reason, tries to stand tall: “only a moment,” and that is what Eddie said, he said only a—
“I lied.”
Steve does to falter.
He starts to fracture and fall entirely. Because what, what all was a lie, was it all a lie, he—
He doesn’t know if he can breathe. He’s never lost his heart before. But he imagines that if death is still waiting for him, and he’ll face it alone: it’s what he’d planed for. What he’s prepared for from the start.
He knows how to be alone. It has to hurt less, than losing his heart now.
It will have to hurt less, at the very end, if it comes to him without a heart in his breast.
“It was worth every second, no matter that it must end, in joy or heartbreak,” Steve finds himself saying, and if his tone rings hollow, it’s only because his heart’s already leaking from him, already half-gone: he means it with every bit he has left, nonetheless.
“You are the moon, pulling me close,” he turns his hands so his palms line to Eddie’s; “the sun wrapping me in warmth,” and he folds their fingers together, clutches tight one last time, greedy as anything:
“You have been the greatest gift at the end of all I’ll ever know.” And that is the truth, that is the last words and final rites written on his bones. “Because of you, I will die fulfilled in ways I didn’t realize I was lacking.”
And then there’s just one thing, because Steve, Steve needs to say this part, he doesn’t think he’s said this part yet:
“Thank you.”
He means it.
But Eddie only holds onto him harder, painfully but it’s perfection; only shakes his head over and over before he finally rasps, barely audible:
“You misunderstand.”
Steve leans closer to hear him, to feel him, to know his warmth in the lat moments that might be left. He wants to understand. He doesn’t want the end to be anything but clear.
Even if it hurts.
“I have lied,” Eddie swallows hard; “but you misunderstand for what.”
Steve…still misunderstands.
“You have been my moon,” Eddie nearly moans, his head nuzzling into Steve’s hands, his hold, with nothing short of desperation:“you have been the sun since the first revelation when I was taught as barely a hatchling that my kind were born of suns, made from fire.”
And that. It’s been those small things: some dragon. Not owed. No dragon would find him unworthy.
The ego to presume.
This is no longer a small thing, spoken now.
“You stole my heart straight away, and I gave it freely but,” Eddie hiccups the slightest bit; “I only grow in relishing that of all the souls in all the worlds, yours has welcomed mine,” and he sniffles, by every god and power in all the worlds—
“You are a privilege.”
And oh, oh, but by every god and power: Steve loves him.
“And you have a dragon’s heart now, no matter how you choose to use it, to keep or reject it,” foolish words Eddie speaks so messy, so rushed and ragged, so ripped out from him visceral and slick with feeling: “and your end will be my end,” and his lips brush Steve’s hands, kiss the pulse on both his wrists:
“And either that will be unmeasurable ages hence,” and his breath catches, and Steve only wants for him to look up, just look up, because he’s said it without saying now, hasn’t he, muddled and frantic and so human, to say he’s anything but as he admits to the thing he thinks he needs to offer apology for.
“Or,” he trips over the next words, but they’re so sodden with candor, the blood in his veins:
“Or my heart may turn ash if you leave but,” and he brings the heels of both Steve’s hands to his mouth and kisses, speaks into them worshipfully:
“Your life will go on as a mortal’s, once I’ve—”
“You’ve given your heart?”
Because Steve had suspicions. Of why Eddie said certain things, certain ways. How warm he was. How strong and even and…ancient the beating of his heart resonated beneath Steve’s ear, his touch, like it radiated heat as a sun in itself.
“Of course,” Eddie’s head snaps up, like he’s offended at any suggestion to the contrary; “almost immediately.”
He blinks; he forgets himself. There’s a lid to his starburst eyes that closes unlike Steve’s, the opposite direction, almost invisible.
But Steve’s watching. Steve doesn’t blink once, cannot miss this.
Cannot pause what he writes into his bones because even if he plans for nothing less than ages unmeasurable, now, he wants this written on the bones that come in the end.
Whenever the end stretches out to.
“And if it’s ill received,” Steve asks slowly, his brows pinching as he picks through the implications of this part: “you—”
“Wither, slowly,” Eddie says, far too matter-of-fact for Steve’s liking, or willingness to stand: “but the end comes, yes.”
“Eddie,” Steve scolds, and Eddie flinches, thinks he’s been caught, been known and revealed now and in so being is anything but wanted with all of Steve’s being.
There is a tiny part of Steve that’s grateful for his foolishness: it makes Steve feel less alone, to be swept so by a love this vast.
“You are the dearest treasure I’ve ever known,” Eddie whispers, but it’s a pleading thing, something even Steve can tell doesn’t feel as if it had a hope to grasp; “if you let me keep you I would hold you closer than all things. To give a dragon’s heart means to place whatever holds it closer than the heart itself ever learned to rest on its own,” and Eddie gathers Steve’s hands again to his chest, stacks them, presses so very hard.
The life in him is a sobering thing. The idea that Steve holds this power somehow in his hands, literally and otherwise, is…staggering.
No less then amazing.
“You are my single desire, but more,” Eddie breathes; “you are my single care, my sole concern,” “my only.”
“Why do you leave, then?”
And Eddie stills. Pulls back only so much as to weigh what he sees in Steve’s face, Steve’s eyes—what Steve sees in his is clear: Eddie didn’t think he’d get to this part. He thought Steve would balk at learning his lover was something more than mere human.
Specifics aside, Steve could have told anyone that from the night that they met.
And so Eddie, bowled over by the shock of the fact that Steve still holds to him, does not waver, seems to speak unvarnished when he answers:
“The things you have shared,” and Steve knows without expansion what Eddie means: tales of home, of his family, of his parents, of how he came to be here, pledged as sacrifice for the good of his town, whispered in the dark as they watched the stars move slow; “I can bear it no longer, my darling.”
And Eddie straightens further then, and Steve sees what he dismissed as the play of the light: the glow in Eddie’s eyes unmistakable as something other, something from within.
“I demand the most valued,” Eddie’s words come out in a hiss, shape even as he hesitates, leaves every moment for Steve to pull away should his touch be unwanted as he reaches to brush Steve’s hair from his face.
“You are that and more to me and yet,” and he shakes his head, and it’s so strange still to be marveled at this way: unbridled and unashamed.
“You said it yourself, valuable,” Eddie nearly spits the word, like a poison he seeks to eke out; “and yet I believe that I said something different.”
Steve frowns, tries to put together the pieces but then his face is framed in long fingers that span the whole of him, fittingly so, as Eddie looks deed in his eyes and says with force and feeling:
“Valued,” he emphasizes with a kiss; “beloved,” and another, and Steve cannot help but smile into it just the slightest bit, his heart soaring as the other pieces—borrowed time and impending ends and forevers in view all at once rearranging into what he thinks might be an always with this man who’s more than a man when he speaks against Steve’s mouth:
“Precious beyond all else and others.”
He pulls back, and marvels more, then narrows his eyes in a way Steve’s never seen, pupils contracting inward from the sides into slits.
“You are mine,” Eddie growls; “but the demands we make are not idle, and they did not value you as you deserved,” Eddie scowls, and Steve sees it now, where he’s going, what he’s doing:
“And they thought it acceptable to send you to me as their most valued, believing they sent you to your death?” Eddie seethes:
“It cannot go unpunished.”
Steve…sees it. Understands, now.
It does not hurt, the idea of losing people who were family only in name, especially not to the man before him, who is all that family should mean, could mean, will mean.
Always, now.
“The villagers are innocents, please,” Steve whispers, and Eddie cups his cheek, so lovingly it aches.
“Fret not,” he says with that warmth that Steve’s melted in from the very start; “I know who deserves my ire.” His expression sours, hardens:
“And they will know their hard-earned consequences.”
Eddie kisses Steve with a kind of devotion bigger than the sky somehow, and it’s only because Steve’s reeling to get his footing back that he trails behind Eddie and not at his side as he makes to depart.
“Please do not follow me, beloved,” he calls over his shoulder, not breaking his pace; “I do not wish you to see-“
“I will stay,” Steve answers, like the words were waiting on this tongue of this very moment: “if.”
Eddie stills; turns.
“If?”
“You promise to return with all haste,” Steve reaches him quick and is the one who kisses with all that he knows, all that he can imagine, all that he holds inside of himself and shares already with Eddie uninhibited; “I will be cold without you.”
And that makes Eddie soften; smile as he promises:
“Done.”
“And,” Steve adds, pulling away from Eddie’s lips to look him straight on as Eddie’s brow quirks in question:
“And?”
“Change for me.”
And Eddie, for once, is wholly dumbfounded. Speechless.
It’s quite a feat to behold.
“You,” he stammers; “you wish to see,” he shakes his head, disbelieving; “beloved, it is not, I am,” and oh, oh: Steve did not expect this part: “we are cast as fearsome creatures for good reason.”
He is wary. He is cautious. He thinks himself the monster. He wants to hide this part from Steve.
But Steve will have nothing hidden between them, least of all this: the whole of who his love is.
“I do not fear you, I could not,” Steve pledges in truth; “and any creature with your heart, who has captured my soul,” Steve grabs Eddie’s shoulders and draws him in, bows those foreheads into one another:
“You could never be anything short of exquisite. Breathtakingly so.”
Eddies breathing is hitched, stuttering. Steve wants to cry for the way he is surprised. Wants to mourn for whatever hurt him to make him this cautious, this stunned by Steve’s love: unconditional.
Undying, now that it’s possible to give as such, and in truth.
And Steve waits, watches him, stares patient until Eddie sighs deeply, steps back far and then closes his eyes and…becomes.
Larger, of course. The wings are a feat. The talons are less a surprise from his spindly fingers.
He’s, he is…
“You are,” Steve reaches, waits until Eddie comes to him, welcomes his touch this way and to feel him, smooth scale not so unlike the chest bare against him in the night—warmth and safety and all that is right:
“Magnificent. And I would know you,” Steve tells him, seeks his gaze as he speaks from the very core of his being: “even if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”
He steps closer, waits for Eddie to be curious enough to bow his head low so Steve can mimic how they’d stood, forehead pressed just moments before.
“These unfathomable eyes,” he whispers between them, and smiles at how those eyes fall closed in something like relief, like comfort after laying down a heavy burden as Steve reaches for the soft underbelly in lighter scales against the charcoal of the rest of his beloved’s form:
“The might of this heart,” and he presses, and yes, exactly as he knew he’d find: thunderous. Could part seas, reshape the globe, stir the stars.
And it’s Steve’s. So he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips above the breathing and breathe out:
“Unmistakable, my darling.”
When he pulls back those eyes truly are just the same: they wonder. They marvel.
At Steve. Just Steve.
It’s intoxicating.
“Do what must be done,” Steve nuzzles at the side of Eddie’s face, pulls his snout to his shoulder so he can kiss at what he supposes is something of a cheek, and then he pulls back, lets go.
But only their bodies. Nothing more. Never anything more. Not ever again.
“Then come home to me.”
Steve could be wrong, or just wishful, but he thinks Eddie glows from within through the whole of himself, and not just his eyes, as he takes flight and shoots like the star Steve always saw inside him, up into the night.
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s not long. It’s just as Eddie promised.
After everything, Steve hadn’t worried at all that it would be anything else.
“It was painless,” is what Eddie says as he walks back into the cave, a man again; “and it was for the sake of justice overdue,” as if he must explain. Or seek forgiveness.
Steve pulls him in and kisses him until he’s breathless as an answer for both concerns.
“What now?” he can’t help but ask. He is still more in love than he can breathe through. Will live and die exactly that way for time innumerable.
“You wish to be here, with me?” Eddie asks, almost hesitant; seeking.“You do not feel indebted, or, or coerced? Or tricked or held by force or—”
Steve grins at the babbling, the nervous rambles. To think they’re because of him.
It might just give him an absolutely unbearable ego of his own if it’s to be the norm forevermore.
“Love,” Steve presses a single raised finger to the missile of Eddie’s lips, watches as he adorable crosses his eyes to follow its trajectory.
“You are all that I have imagined and never thought to find.” And it really is as simple and as unthinkable as that, in the end. Or the beginning. “The only way I would be anywhere but your side is to be torn from it, or sent away.”
Eddie growls at the first suggestion, and huffs in pure offense at the suggestion of the second as he reaches and pulls Steve flush to his body: warm, warm, warm.
Steve’s heart flutters against him, reminding him that he owns it wholly.
Eddie’s drums in protective answer, welcoming as much as seeking to leap into Steve’s chest on the same promise, the same pledge as he murmurs into Steve’s lips:
“You still misestimate what it means to be loved by a dragon,” and drags his mouth against Steve’s bottom lips, a little wanton even as his words carry the weight of the universe entire:
“This,” and he clutches Steve’s closer still, so as to not be mistaken; “is for as much of eternity as is for us to grasp.”
It is not sacrifice at all to kiss the man, to love the dragon, in front of him, now.
And for the rest of time ahead.
For @a-little-unsteddie, who requested the quote 'Magic' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST
✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher
divider credit here
💫 ao3 link here
#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#hurt/comfort#love at first sight#physical affection#fantasy au#dragon au#true love#dragon-sacrifice!steve harrington#random-guy-in-the-woods!eddie munson#because of course Steve falls hard for the rando he meets right before he's about to get eaten by a dragon!#CLASSIC steve!#dragon hearts#mythical creature eddie munson#dragon eddie munson#happy ending#stranger things#gift fic#a-little-unsteddie#hitlikehammers' hobbit-birthday prompt fest#hitlikehammers v words#hitlikehammers writes
106 notes
·
View notes