#well you see. whenever i considered giving it another shot i was filled with immense dread.

[binah-beloved]

i have now gotten past the unmasked rabbit man and the big wolf with the help of a friend. i hope everything in this manor except Nelly burns to the ground.

[wandaromanova]

Left Behind

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing, death

A/N: hi! this was a request! hope you guys like this one! y’all can blame @midgardianweasley for this one. happy reading <3

anon requested: Natasha x fem! reader. Reader and Natasha were in a building on fire trying to get citizens out and a wooden beam lands on reader. It’s too heavy for Natasha to lift it but won’t give up. Reader is screaming for Natasha to go! Giving her a smile that everything will be okay! A fireman then pulls Natasha out of the building against her will seeing the whole building collapse in reader.

Summary: Natasha and Y/N go on a mission, but don’t make it back together.

Word Count: 1.6K

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please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

You were an Avenger just like your girlfriend; Natasha. You had met the redhead when you first joined the team.

You were one of the highest-ranked S.H.I.E.L.D agents and Fury had decided to recruit you into the team of heroes. You had heard many stories about the Black Widow and to say you were a fan was an understatement.

You had an immense amount of respect for Natasha. Her past wasn’t a great one, but she turned her life around and made it beautiful. She didn’t let her mistakes define who she was and you admired that.

The assassin had taken a liking to you. You guys immediately hit it off. About six months after your arrival, you began dating Natasha.

Natasha’s room became yours too. You’d spend your nights laid on top of the redhead as she stroked your hair gently. You’d close your eyes and ask her to say anything because the sound of her voice was your favorite.

She’d sing Russian lullabies to you. You were the only person she’d ever let hear her sing. She said she was a terrible singer and not letting anyone hear her was a gift, but she was actually amazing at it.

Her husky voice sent chills down your spine whenever she would speak. So when she sang to you in Russian? You were speechless.

You felt blessed to know that Natasha was truly herself in your presence. No one had ever seen her true colors, until you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You were the person that Natasha went to for everything.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Exhausted after a long mission? She’d run into your arms as soon as she’d land. Steve and Tony annoying the fuck out of her? She’d rant to you about how small their brains were.

Devastated after a mission had gone wrong? She’d find comfort in your presence and your words. You’d whisper soft reassurances against her ear as you’d rock your bodies side-to-side.

Receiving good news? You’d be the very first person she’d tell as the excitement took over her. You’d match her energy, feeling just as excited as her, if not more. Natasha would beam as you’d press a soft kiss to the crown of her head, mumbling an ‘i’m so proud of you’ against her scalp.

You were Natasha’s person and she was yours. You genuinely believed you were made for one another. From the way your hands fit like two pieces of a puzzle with one another, to the way your thoughts and ideas seemed to always align. You guys just got each other in a way no one else could.

So, naturally, you were always assigned partners on missions. You two had the best communication on the team which led to tons of successful missions. However, communication couldn’t prevent nor predict the surprises of enemies.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You and Natasha were sent undercover to a gala being held by one of the leaders of Hydra.

The goal was to capture him for questioning and keep him in custody. That should be easy, considering there was booze everywhere and everyone was either tipsy or black-out drunk.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Well yes, it would’ve been easy; if your cover hadn’t been blown.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You were currently sat on the target’s lap as he not so subtly stared at your cleavage. You were with him in a private area further into the party, while Natasha remained in the public area.

The drunk man looked up at you and you smiled down at him; trying your best to hide your disgust. However, he didn’t smile back at you.

You were caught off guard when he abruptly shoved you off of his lap, your body colliding with the marble floor.

“You’re an Avenger. You bitch!” You quickly stood up at his words and attacked him. You spoke into your earpiece while fighting off the man.

“Nat, our cover has been blown. I need backup.” You said as the man landed a heavy punch onto your abdomen. You stumbled back and he took the opportunity to rush out of the room.

“взорвать это место, сейчас! (blow the place up, now!)”

Your eyes widened at his words. Before you could rush out of the room yourself, an explosion pushed you back. Your body collided with a wall and you let out a scream of agony as a beam from the ceiling landed on top of you.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

The sounds of screams and the fire alarms accompanied the ringing in your ears. Your only thoughts being; your pain and Natasha.

She had been on her way over here before the bomb went off. Was she okay? Did she get hit by the force of the bomb? Was she gone?

You tried your best to lift the beam off of your body, but to no avail. You realized that a piece of metal that had been sticking out of the beam had lodged itself into your chest.

Your eyes tore away from the beam on top of you and landed on red locks. Natasha stumbled into the room; or at least, what was left of it anyway. She paused in her tracks at your state.

Tears threatened to fall from her eyes as her hands shot up to cover her mouth, a muffled gasp escaping her throat. She quickly got it together and rushed over to help you.

Nat got down on her knees, not caring about how harsh the rubble was against her bare skin. She moved to lift the beam, but you stopped her.

“Natty, no. If you lift it, I’ll bleed out.” You sent her a small smile before you began to cough. Natasha’s heart sunk to her stomach at the sight of blood pouring out of your mouth.

“I have to get you out of here, babe. We have a movie night planned, I have to make sure that still happens.” Nat tried to joke in an attempt to console you, but it was more to control her own fear than anything.

Your conversation was interrupted by the sound of another explosion. The building quaked as flames began to invade the room. She needed to go; now.

You shook your hand that was sticking out from the beam slightly. Nat got the message and held your hand with both of hers tightly.

“You need to leave, honey. This place is going to collapse any minute now.” You croaked out, ignoring the metallic taste in your mouth.

“I’ll be damned if I leave you behind. If you’re going down, I’m going down with you.” You couldn’t help but smile as you took in every inch of Nat’s face.

She was absolutely beautiful. Even with the dust and dirt littering her face and her worried expression; she was still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

The flames began to rage. The smoke was beginning to cloud your vision of the woman in front of you. You rubbed one of her hands with the back of your thumb, not minding the pain that accompanied the action.

“Go. Now. It’s okay. I love you so much and you aren’t leaving me behind; you never would and I- I know that.”

You stuttered towards the end of the sentence as you were overcome by an intense chill. You were losing so much blood and it wasn’t going to be long now before you were gone.

Your eyes drifted towards a figure entering the room. A firefighter. His eyes widened as he noticed both of you. He rushed over to help you, but you stopped him.

“Hey buddy, I’m a goner regardless if you get this off of me or not. Get her out of here. You can’t save me, but you can save her.”

You managed to let out as another fit of coughs shook your body. More crimson liquid spilled out of your mouth and Natasha finally let her tears fall.

The man nodded solemnly before he grabbed Natasha by the waist. She struggled against his hold as she kicked and screamed; her arms reaching out for you.

“No! No! Please let me stay! I can’t leave you! You can’t leave me!” Natasha’s words paired with her tone of agony and desperation tore your heart apart.

All you could do was smile lovingly at her as you slowly felt the life leave your body. She was going to be okay eventually and that’s all you wanted for her.

“I love you, moya lyubov (my love). It’s okay. Take care of yourself.”

You spoke quietly, but it was loud enough for Natasha to hear. She watched as the bright light that once filled your irises turned to a blank stare.

Natasha fought even harder against the man’s firm grip as she sobbed out. He had finally managed to get the both of them out of the room and out of the building. This all happened in the span of a few minutes, but to Natasha, it felt like an eternity.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

The firefighter placed Nat down once they were a good distance away from the building. As soon as her feet hit the floor, she ran towards the building, but before she could make it back in; the entire structure collapsed.

Natasha’s knees roughly hit the floor as she took in the sight. The building that you were in was nothing but broken concrete and rubble. You were buried beneath all of that carnage.

Natasha sobbed without care. She couldn’t give two fucks if people were staring at her with pity or sympathy. She had just lost the love of her life.

Natasha couldn’t help but blame herself. If she had gotten to the room sooner, she could’ve gotten the both of you out of there. You wouldn’t have been crushed by a beam.

She wouldn’t have had to watch as you bled out. She wouldn’t have had to witness firsthand; as the soul she had fallen in love with left the world.

Natasha cried out into the night. The chaos going on around her turned to white noise. Her surroundings were in slow motion as she mourned.

Each tear that fell from her eyes represented each obliterated possibility of a future with the woman she loved.

Each scream that left her mouth served as curses to every higher power there was, for so cruelly taking the love of her life; you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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[deadpcnned]

the gamble of the heart | chapter 2 (r.l.)

chapter two: repression

series masterlist

previous chapter

pairing: remus lupin x potter!reader

chapter summary: y/n pursues her relationship with mason and sees the repercussions on remus. and herself. 

warnings: swearing, kissing, alcohol 

wordcount: 3.8k

a/n: new chapter! the next chapter is shorter so i’ll have it up sometime this week. 

“Stop,” Y/N drawled, but she made no effort to move the arms that were holding her in place. “I should probably say hello to my friends.” As Y/N used her fingers to comb through Mason’s blond locks, she couldn’t help the content smile that fought its way onto her face. 

“Probably - but I think I’ll miss you too much,” Mason mumbled against her lips. Y/N knew if she let him kiss her she would never get the chance to even glance at her friends. There was just something about Mason that drew her towards him. It was like whenever Mason Tomlinson was in question, Y/N was physically being pushed towards him and she would find herself doing things she’d never expected. It was a wonder to her how she fell for him as quickly as she had. 

There was no doubt that Mason Tomlinson was handsome and extremely charismatic, yet Y/N would have never guessed that she would feel as strongly as she did for him after only two weeks. She always considered herself to be a practical person, but when Mason looked at her with his big green eyes, she lost any pragmaticism. And Mason knew how to take advantage of that. 

“Mmm, Mase. You know I’ll stay if you ask me to,” Y/N pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips and they twitched slightly beneath hers. 

“I’m asking, love,” Groaning, Y/N placed her head against Mason’s chest before pushing herself away from his grasp. She looked through the doors to the Great Hall and could see all of the strangers she was so shamelessly flirting with her boyfriend in front of. 

“Nope,” She said, giving him a pointed look. “I am going to sit with my house today. You’ll just have to miss me.” 

“Will you miss me?” She would. That was the strange thing about her recent affair. It was like when she wasn’t with Mason she was floating purposelessly. It was as though she was a kite and he was the piece of string that was keeping her from floating out into space. Her independent streak was something Y/N had always valued, but since meeting Mason it was like she never wanted to be away from him. 

“You know I will,” An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she noted the jovial expression on Mason’s face. Why couldn’t she stay away from him? 

After departing from Mason, Y/N took the familiar path to the Gryffindor table. As she noticed three familiar boys, she smiled to herself. Suddenly, she was half walking and half skipping towards her best friends. When she reached she threw her arms around Peter from behind and squealed. 

Hi, boys,” she giggled, not noticing the dry expressions on their faces. “Did you miss me?” She took a seat next to Peter and surveyed their faces carefully. Who pissed in their pumpkin juice?

“Tomlinson busy today, Y/N?” Sirius accused. 

“No? I just wanted to sit here today. Are you guys mad?”

“Yes,” James shrugged. “You haven’t spoken to us in two weeks, because of your new friend.” Oh. Y/N had been so consumed in Mason she didn’t realize she was neglecting her closest friends. 

“I’m so sorry, you guys. I guess I didn’t realize I was doing that,” She offered, her hand reaching out to hold James’ hand from across the table. Upon feeling his hand squeeze hers, she let out a relieved breath. 

“We’ll forgive you on one condition, Y/N” Sirius mused, the shadow of his mischievous smirk evident. Y/N quirked her eyebrow at him, prompting him to continue. “You have to tell us everything.”

Y/N began to gush endlessly about her boyfriend and was so enthralled in the topic that she hadn’t noticed a fourth figure appear in the seat beside James. As Y/N finished explaining how Mason had asked her out after a few days of sharing a class, she looked up only to have the air knocked out of her lungs. 

“Remus,” His name had left her mouth just like it had a million times before, but now it was leaving a bitter taste behind. He nodded his head towards her before starting to fill his plate with some toast and meat. While watching him Y/N barely caught the rest of the boys telling Remus that they needed to finish morning detention and they’d see him in class. 

The last time Y/N and Remus had spoken was a few weeks prior when she had sent him an owl over summer vacation. She felt another odd ache in her stomach, but it sharply contrasted the feeling she had with Mason. This was different. It was like when she was with Mason she couldn’t help but want to be near him, but with Remus, she wanted to want him close. But that couldn’t be possible. She liked Mason immensely so why was she still experiencing residual feelings for Remus? 

Y/N couldn’t help but analyze every detail of the boy in front of her. He had cut his hair slightly shorter (which he did at the start of every school year) and it had become a slightly lighter shade of brown, likely due to the summer sun. She also winced as she looked at the new scar that trailed from the back of his hand and disappeared under his robes. 

“Rough full moon?” Remus looked up at Y/N, started for a couple of seconds, and returned his gaze to his food. Y/N looked around the Great Hall awkwardly before starting again. “How have you been, Rem? Been a few weeks since we last talked.”

Y/N was met with a deafening silence and a shrug from Remus, but she noticed that he had taken the luxury of rolling his eyes, as well. 

“Right, well… oh I’m not sure if you know, but I’ve got a boyfriend now,” Remus snapped his head up, an indecipherable look on his face. “Would you like to meet him?”  Remus looked away, but when he looked back at her, Y/N wished she hadn’t ever said anything. He looked furious.  

“No, not really,” Remus finally said, before getting up from his seat and storming off. 

Y/N watched him as he walked away and felt her head begin to spin. It would be idiotic for her to act like she didn’t know why Remus was so angry, but she never wanted to confront those feelings. She was terrified for the moment that someone would ask her what happened between her and Remus. Because the truth was she had no idea. What she and Remus had was real, she knew that. But ever since she met Mason it was like something had shifted. Suddenly the only thing on her mind was Mason, Mason, Mason. Seeing Remus had awakened something in her she hadn’t felt in weeks and she hated it. So she was going to do the only thing that made sense. She was going to repress her unwanted feelings so far down, she’d forget they existed. 

—

These days the word Quidditch could seldom be spoken at Hogwarts without someone associating it with the Potter name. That was for two very competitive and very proud reasons: James and Y/N Potter. The Potters had an aptitude for the game and everyone at their school knew it. 

Y/N and James often argued over which Potter was the most valuable asset on the team. “If it wasn’t for me being a seeker, the game would go on for ages. I literally win us the games,” James would argue to which Y/N would say, “You must be joking, James. If it wasn’t for me constantly throwing bloody bludgers at the opposing team’s seeker, you’d never catch that snitch.” 

But regardless, Quidditch was the thing that connected the cousins most. Growing up, Quidditch was all the pair knew and for Y/N it had become an escape. There was something about being so high in the air as the wind blew harshly against her skin that made her feel free. Maybe it was the fact that not many people could reach her when she was flying through the sky or maybe it was simply the thrill of the game. 

“Ready, Potter?” Marlene yelled as Y/N adjusted her helmet. “What about you, other Potter?” The two cousins grinned as they approached each other. 

“On the count of three,” James began. “1, 2 —” Before he finished his countdown the two Potter kids each raised their right hands and clasped them together. Laughing maniacally they thrust themselves into their pregame ritual (which was a very poorly executed handshake-dance combo), effectively filling the locker room with loud laughter.

“We are now, Mar.”

With that, the team began their walk to the Quidditch pitch. Y/N bounced on her feet as they approached the crowded arena, a habit she had when she got excited. It was the first game of the year and against Slytherin no less. She knew that if they won this game the party was going to be absolutely insane, which was, of course, all a Gryffindor could ask for. 

The game had gotten intense as soon as Madam Hooch had blown her whistle. The Slytherin Beaters were giving Y/N a run for her money, but luckily the Gryffindors had been able to hold their own. Regulus Black, who was the Slytherin seeker, was taunting James playfully as they each kept an eye out for the snitch. Y/N was close enough to James to see how his attention began to shift from Regulus’ face to beside his head and then back. He had seen the snitch. And it was right next to Regulus. 

Y/N could easily distract Regulus, who was too caught up in teasing his brother’s mate to properly prepare himself against a hit from her Bludger. She also knew that if James tried to grab the snitch, Regulus would have it in his hands in a second. The younger Black brother was known for his quick reflexes after all. The decision was easy.  

Making one lap around the pitch to gain momentum, she shot her Bludger right at Regulus who with a horrified look ducked the ball. At that moment James leaped forward on his broom and grabbed the snitch. The stadium erupted in cheers so loud not a single Slytherin’s disappointment could be heard.

“And the Potter’s have done it again! They really are a dream team.” With a triumphant smile, Y/N made her way down and was quickly thrown into a circle of people where she found James right in the center. 

“Nice one, cuz,” James winked, happily relishing in all the attention he was receiving. 

“Yeah, mate. You too,” Y/N followed James out of the crowd of excited Gryffindors but they were looking for two completely different people. Y/N watched James look around for either Sirius or Lily (she didn’t know who he’d look for first these days) and she found herself looking for one boy in particular. Mason. 

Instead of the image of a blond boy dressed in a repulsive blue (Mason had refused to wear the Gryffindor colors), she found herself staring at a taller boy who was donning her favorite colors. Remus had not only worn a scarlet cable knit sweater (which it was way too warm for) and yellow-gold scarf, but he was wearing a beanie that was meant to give the appearance of a lion’s mane He had also used muggle paint on his face. His left cheek had a red number seven and the right revealed a very badly drawn snitch. He looked utterly stupid. But the worst part of it all was he was dressed almost exactly as he had at the last Quidditch game of the previous year. 

In the past two years that Y/N had played Quidditch on the Gryffindor team, this game had definitely been her best. The Gryffindors had just secured the Quidditch cup, which Y/N thought was the best way to end her fifth year. Y/N’s performance in the last game of the year just made it that much sweeter. 

“I reckon you played alright, Potter,” Remus smirked. He had been right in front of her as soon as her feet had touched the grass beneath her. Waiting for her. Like he had at every one of her games. 

“You know I did a lot better than alright, Lupin,” She shoved his chest, but before she could move her hand he had flattened her palm against his chest. 

“Yeah, you did,”  She was only distracted from his intense gaze when she heard Sirius let out a wolf whistle at the sight. Remus let go of her hand, blushing slightly as he glared at Sirius. 

“Oh, shut it,” Y/N scolded. She nodded her head to the right, indicating for Remus to follow her. After walking a little while longer, they had found themselves walking on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Remus had grabbed a hold of Y/N’s hand as soon as they were out of everyone’s sight. She glanced over at him deciding that he had dressed warm enough for the cold that was invading the new spring season. She stared a little longer to get a better look at his painted face and eclectic accessory. She wanted to laugh, but the sound died in her throat as she took a better look at his cheek. 

There on his right cheek was a big number five. Her Quidditch number. 

“You look utterly stupid,” Y/N insulted him, though she had intended to say something else that had been on her mind. She and Remus had reached a weird sort of limbo. They had gone from just being a part of the same friend group to being each other’s best friends in their fourth year and now they were here. In their fifth year, Y/N and Remus had spent the majority of it flirting and being affectionate with one another. However, they were still technically not a couple. They had spent so long being each other’s friends that it was second nature to make jabs at one another in good spirit. Y/N liked it that way. She liked the healthy balance of romance and humor they shared. Only at this moment, she wished she had told him how happy he made her. But Remus, like he always did, understood. 

“Wanted you to know that I’m your biggest fan,” Remus stopped walking and softly pulled Y/N closer, positioning them to be face to face. 

“Are you? My biggest fan, I mean?” Her voice had fallen to a whisper despite no one being near.  

“Without a doubt,” Remus said fervently, his voice just as low as hers. “I know your parents might disagree, but no one’s as big a fan of yours as I am. I promise you that.” Remus brought one of his hands up to her cheek and stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Lowering himself slightly he placed a kiss on her cheek before hovering over her lips. Y/N’s heart was beating harshly against her ribcage and she felt like her feet were lifting off the ground. Remus had a way of doing that to her. Whenever he was this close to her, she felt like she was back on her broom floating inches above the ground. He had a way of giving her that freeing sensation even when she was trapped under his lustful gaze. Moving forward just a little more, Remus teasingly grazed his lips against hers. 

“Remus,” she whined, earning an innocent hum from him. “Just fucking kiss me.” And boy did he kiss her. No matter how many times she had felt his lips against hers, it never failed to amaze her how much better each kiss got. He kissed her slowly, probably to continue to tease her, but she found herself enjoying it more than he could’ve intended. His lips were soft, contrasting hers which were chapped from the wind but she didn’t care. The taste of mint and chocolate was intoxicating and she was losing herself in his touch. She hardly noticed when he pushed her against a tree, kissing her harder than before. Remus pulled back slightly only to dive right back to kissing her. After doing that a couple more times, he hesitantly kissed down her neck. No, please don’t stop, Y/N thought. 

With one last kiss on her neck, Remus mumbled against her skin, “We should probably get back.” Remus had one hand on her waist and the other pressed against the tree behind her, keeping her in her spot. 

“Don’t wanna,” She pouted and she felt Remus groan against her neck. “I wanna stay with you.”  Sighing, Remus pulled back and placed his hands on her cheeks. He used his fingers to warm up the apples of her cheek which were bright red from possibly more than just the stubborn cold air. 

“And I want to stay here with you, but you promised Lily that you would help her with some work before the party tonight,” Y/N laughed because that response was so Remus. Making sure that she kept her word and did what she had to. Taking care of her in an unconventional way. She gave him another peck and just looked at him with adoring eyes. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just something really special. You make me feel elated, you know that, Remus Lupin?” Remus beamed at her and kissed her again. Just hard enough to express his bliss, but not get them stuck in the forest for another fifteen minutes. 

“I think that’s why we were put in each other’s paths,” Remus’ words caused Y/N to draw her eyebrows together in confusion. “I mean, call it fate, destiny, or just insignificant chance, but I think we were meant to know each other. Just for that. To elate each other. Don’t you think, Y/N?” 

“Y/N?” Y/N was drawn out of her trance and when she blinked Remus wasn’t in front of her anymore. Instead, she was staring at green eyes and a blue sweater. 

“Hm?”

“I said don’t you think?” Mason said, only now realizing Y/N had been completely lost in thought. “Here, you must be tired. Have some of my juice.” Finally blinking out of her daze, Y/N properly took in the boy in front of her. 

“Babe! I’m sorry I didn’t even realize you were there,” She immediately jumped up to kiss him and with each second she felt any thoughts of Remus disappear. Besides, they shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Repress. Repress. Repress. 

“I noticed,” Mason attempted to sound lighthearted, but there was an edge to his voice. “Uh, any way you wanna do something before the party tonight?” She nodded her head and let herself be dragged away from the bustling crowd around her. But not before she realized she could feel a smoldering gaze directed towards her. 

—

A crowded common room, the smell of firewhiskey, and deafening music was without a doubt Y/N’s second favorite feeling after flying. If there was a party at Hogwarts you could bet you’d find Y/N carelessly dancing or making a spectacle of herself for others’ entertainment. And the person right next to her? Always Sirius Black. 

There was no reason tonight’s party was any different. Sirius was downing Firewhiskey straight from the bottle with one hand and spinning Y/N in circles with his other. The music in the back was pulsing through their veins just as much as the alcohol was and they were horridly singing the lyrics of the song in the background. 

“Potter.”

“Black.”

“Don’t let that Ravenclaw make you into a drag.”

“Never,” she whispered her face inches apart from his. 

“All I need to hear.”

The two probably would’ve kept dancing if Mason hadn’t wrapped an arm around Y/N and pulled her away from Sirius. The alcohol mixed with the sheer excitement she had seeing Mason in front of her, compelled her to grab a hold of his collar and kiss him as hard as she could. Lost in his touch, she ignored Sirus’ drunken “gross” and continued to sloppily make out with him. Eventually, they had reached the corner of the common room and unabashedly deepened their kiss. 

The most surprising part? Y/N was doing the most kissing. She was leaving purple bruises along his neck and biting his ear. She was running her hands up his arms and pulling at the collar of his shirt. She didn’t know why and she didn’t know how she was doing this in a room full of people. All she knew was something about this boy was so spellbinding and she needed to feel him against her. But she was halted from fulfilling her needs by someone pulling her off Mason. 

Her eyes met Remus’ bloodshot ones, which she assumed were caused by the empty bottle of Firewhiskey in his grasp. Pushing him off her, she stepped back a bit trying to gather her thoughts.

“Remus, what-” She was cut off by Remus' discordant voice.

“No - no. I -” He hiccuped, pointing an accusing finger to Y/N. “You… you suck.”

“Remus, you’re drunk-” she started again, but to her dismay, she was cut off again. 

“NO. I - no, you’re going to listen. You said - you said you, in your last letter, you know what you said. So if it was true how could you be w-with him,” Remus growled as his eyes trained on Mason’s slowly reddening face. “How can you act like we never happened?” 

Y/N flicked her eyes towards Mason and gulped as she noticed how angry he looked. She had never really talked to Mason about her past with Remus because he had never asked, but judging by the look on his face he didn’t want the conversation to be prompted by Remus insulting him. Luckily, Y/N was saved by James.

“Remus, c’mon. Now isn’t the time,” He mumbled. He held a sympathetic look in his eyes as he looked at Y/N, but she had a feeling the sympathy in his voice wasn’t for her. 

“No, Prongs. She needs t - to tell me,” In his frenzied state, Remus had tucked his head into the bespectacled boy's neck.  

“Okay, mate, but not right now.” Y/N watched as James led a babbling Remus up to his dorm, her heart clenching. She had done this to him. She had betrayed him, his trust, his heart.  She betrayed him and when he asked her why she couldn’t even tell him. She wouldn’t be able to tell him or herself, because she truly didn’t know why. 

taglist: @chococerealmilk​ @rare-breed-of-human​ @rexorangecouny​ @messagesinthesky​ @theawkwardone-isme​ @kitkatkl​ @faceache111​ @peasantview @missmulti​ @666cookies​  @thetiredslytherin @wonderful-writer​ 

[tobesobri]

𝒜ll I have to say about this one is..... be prepared nvjknfv

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

CHAPTER SIX: DON’T WANT THIS NIGHT TO END (4K)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

She didn’t mean to stare at him all night. She had planned to keep herself as low-key as possible. But that was before the tequila and a highly intriguing game of Cards Against Humanity began.

He’d come home with Will after the studio where they continued to work out whatever song was being chipped away at until they couldn’t handle it anymore and called for a game night. Normally, Y/N didn’t get as into game night as everyone else. She didn’t even like saying half the things on the vulgar card game out loud. She would have signed herself out by now if it wasn’t for the alcohol and Harry. Okay… maybe it was mostly Harry. She didn’t want to bury herself in her room and spend all night wondering when he’d knock on her door. 

Besides, hearing him read aloud cards that mentioned orgasms and furries was much more entertaining. 

And maybe he just hadn’t paid much attention before, but listening to her read cards out loud whenever it was her turn to be the card czar, he became all too well aware of the fact that she skipped right over curse words like they weren’t even there. And come to think of it, he couldn’t ever recall her saying a single ass or fuck or shit ever. Y/N didn’t cuss and he had no clue why it took a stupid game for him to realize that.

But it made him love her even more to the point of spending most of his night wondering why she chose not to. Maybe it was a moral thing, but she didn’t really seem that way to him. Maybe back before he really knew her, he would have thought that. That she was a bit prudish. But knowing everything he did about her now, he hated himself for ever making that snap judgement. So maybe she just simply didn’t like to.

The rest of the night was also spent with stolen glances and a drinking game that consisted of taking a shot every time someone was forced to say the word penis. Which led to all of them getting sufficiently shit-faced faster than anyone had anticipated.

Still, Harry and Y/N’s tipsy eyes found one another quite often when no one else was looking. When everyone was distracted by the game or by something stupid James had said. They shared small smiles across the table from each other and it gave them both butterflies like they were a couple of horny teenagers.

Y/N was up next as Violet proclaimed it to be their last round, mostly because none of them could see straight anymore and the adrenaline from the alcohol had just about worn off by then, leading to them all crashing quickly into exhaustion and grumpiness.

“What’s that smell?” She read the black card out loud after drawing it from the diminishing deck and set it down on the table. It was definitely an interesting one to end on. It had the potential to be good or to go horribly wrong. She listened to the giggles as the others picked out their white response cards and placed them face down on the table in a not-so-neat stack.

Once all the cards were collected, she turned them upside down one by one and read them. The first brought a smile to her face, the second was something she didn’t say out loud but Will did instead and they all lost their shit over it. The next was moderately funny and slightly distasteful. No doubt that had been James’ card. Then there was the last one. 

In bold black letters it read two simple words: Sexual Tension.

She immediately crowned that one as the winner, not because it was the funniest, but because it fit her current predicament quite well. No on else int he room knew it besides them, but she felt it every single fucking time Harry looked at her with those eyes and dimples of his. Maybe it wasn’t sexual tension, but it was some kind of tension. 

And when Harry picked up the winning black card in victory, she gulped the pit in her throat. He was the one to pick that out. He thought it was funny. Did he also think it was relevant? Is that why he thought it was funny?

Either way, he looked at her like it was just the two of them in the room. It was a look similar to all the rest of them. His eyes were a fiery emerald green that complemented the cheeky smirk she would have otherwise wanted to smack off of his face in any other situation. He looked at her like he absolutely played that card on purpose even if he’d never admit to it.

From his eyes, she found herself tracing the outlines of his body like she’d never really done before. She watched his hands as he delicately picked up all the cards near him to begin cleaning off the table; hands that she was all too familiar with but had never really given much thought to, at least not as much as she was giving to them right now. She thought about his touch quite often, mostly when he wasn’t actually around. But seeing his hands now and knowing they’d been on her body at one point or another made her feel all prickly inside. Then there were his tattoos that traveled all the way from his wrist to up under the rolled sleeve of his blouse and to his chest where she knew other ones were scattered about. She only had her blurry memories of them, but she knew they were there. Her mind drifted into uncharted territory when she considered what other tattoos he had in other various locations on his body she had yet to discover.

She snapped out of it when Will nudged her to hand over the hoard of cards in front of her on the table to be placed back into the box. And she was grateful for it. Another second of daydreaming about Harry’s body parts and she wasn’t sure where her mind would have ended up.

Helping clean up was a lot harder than it seemed, especially when she stood from her chair and then fell right back down into it. They all, of course, proceeded to laugh at her. Harry was a little less amused than everyone else. Worry, more than anything, filled his pale features because he’d never seen her that drunk before. And instead of violently laughing at her, he was stopping himself from reaching across the table to help her.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed you fucking lightweight,” Will lifted Y/N from her seat with one hand firmly planted around her waist that left Harry in a pathetic pit of jealousy. He knew he had no reason, but he couldn’t help wishing he was in Will’s shoes. 

But, to all of her roommates, her and Harry were barely even friends. They were supposed to only know very little about each other. They were supposed to not talk much at all. 

He knew that situation was going to drive him crazy sooner or later.

Once Y/N was tucked away, everyone else finished cleaning up. James and Violet turned in shortly after polishing off the last of their drinks and once they were gone, Will began setting up Harry’s usual makeshift bed on the couch. 

He felt terrible about it too, as Will spread a couple blankets down and got pillows in the right order for him, completely unaware of the fact that Harry would not be sleeping there. At least not the entire night. 

Still, he gave Harry a lazy hug goodnight and disappeared into his own room just in time to pass out, head first, onto his bed. Harry was thankful for the alcohol that very clearly proved them all to be lightweights, since they were all out cold within minutes of each other. 

Harry had his own spinning head too, but he wasn’t about to let a little whiskey and tequila stop him from knocking on her door. He did not, however, have the strength to let it stop him from leaning his entire body onto the frame so that when she opened the door, he practically fell into her room.

Steadying him with a giggle, they were then both a sloppy pair of bodies attempting to make it across her room to the bed with as few injuries as possible. And without even thinking, without a single second rational thought, they stood in the middle of her bedroom while she helped him out of his shirt. It was probably the immense amounts of drunk giggling that had them both in a cloud, but once her shaking hands had undone the first two buttons of his top, there was no turning back. 

His smile faded while he watched her get the last few buttons undone, finally having some inkling as to what was going on. She was taking off his shirt and in her next careful, but confident movements, she was sliding it off his shoulders.

After a moment of staring almost mindlessly at his collarbones, they both laughed breathlessly at one another and it eased the tension. She ran her fingers through her hair, giving him some space while he undid his jeans and tugged them off next. He looked even better than he had after showering yesterday, but maybe that was because she was about to get into bed with him just like that. He wasn’t going to change into something else. This was it.

“We’re sleeping or what?” Harry teased when she still hadn’t moved or said anything herself. 

She snapped out of it finally and led the way, crawling under the covers while he fit in beside her just like all the nights before the current one. In a matter of minutes, his hands were around her waist and her face was tucked into his neck, just the way they were used to. It was hotter than before though, literally, and he was thankful to be without his layers of clothes. And when she brushed against him, it was the first time he realized she was without some of her own too. Her typical flannel pants were definitely not what he felt under the blanket. 

Mixing them with alcohol really wasn’t the brightest move. 

But still, they both enjoyed the skin-to-skin contact… almost a little too much. It was better than anything they’d ever done before. She could actually feel every single one of his heart beats and the slightly raised skin of a birthmark under her fingertips. She felt his warmth more than anything else, felt his skin heating up underneath her until his goosebumps melted away. She felt the sometimes soft, sometimes prickly hair on his legs every time they accidentally brushed against each other to get comfortable. She felt the way his muscles flexed under her touch without the fabric of a tee shirt getting in the way. 

Most importantly, she felt the way he still made her feel safe, even when she was intentionally more exposed than she ever had been in front of someone. She always thought it would make her way too anxious to follow through with. But here she was, without pants cuddled up in Harry’s arms and not having a single care in the entire world.

Until, well… until she woke up.

Because at some point during the night, she’d managed to go and wrap her leg around one of his so that when she woke up in a puddle of sweat, there was an even more embarrassing puddle between her legs. 

The dream she’d been having came flashing back in pieces like an old movie she hadn’t seen in a long time. It definitely involved Harry, that much she knew. She could see his eyes, narrowed, taunting her before they disappeared…

Holy shit.

If she was one for vulgarity, she would have quite a few curse words on her tongue in regards to her current situation. A wet dream about Harry while she was currently all wrapped up in him. There was no way he could know about any of it either. It would be hard enough moving on from it herself, but him knowing about it too? Impossible. 

The relationship they’d been building would be ruined. She could never look him in the eye again. She didn’t even know how she would when he eventually woke up.

So slowly as not to bother him, she untangled her leg from him. But even if she was doing so cautiously, it didn’t stop him from flipping positions onto his back and pulling her along with him. She cringed while he did so, up until he settled and she found his face in the darkness to realize he was still asleep. With a breath of relief, she succumbed to her new position curled up into his side with his arm firmly around her shoulders. The second she closed her eyes to forget about everything, however, she saw Harry again. The way he’d looked at her in her dreams, settled between her legs, about to do unholy things she never knew she wanted so badly.

Her eyes shot open again. 

She couldn’t deny she liked Harry, maybe even a little too much for her own good. But wanting him like that? She couldn’t even remember a time she’d ever wanted someone the way she clearly wanted him. She barely remembered the last person she had a crush on, which had been years ago in college. And even then, she never got to the point of being sexually attracted to them. All this time she thought she was broken. Everyone else could go around sleeping with whomever they wanted and she never even had the urge to do so in the first place. 

But here Harry was, breaking down everything she thought she knew about herself. She thought she’d never let anyone close to her again. That she would never trust anyone enough to experience that intimacy. And most importantly, she never thought she’d let herself get fucking aroused by someone who wasn’t a safe distance away from her. 

Every time she even let herself think that way about someone for even a second, it sent her right back to that trauma. Because daydreaming about her Italian Literature TA always led back to things she didn’t want to think about. She couldn’t think about people touching her without also thinking of that night. So, she eventually just stopped thinking about it altogether. 

Then there was Harry. And for some reason he was different, but she had no idea why. Why she found herself indulging in the dream about him, letting her eyes shut and letting Dream Harry do as he pleased. Why none of it was interrupted by her disruptive memories. Why she got lost in the idea of having a real relationship with him and not feeling repulsed by it one bit.

Why she didn’t find herself repulsive. Like he’d somehow screwed her head back onto her body again and she didn’t completely hate every inch of it. She thought about when he’d told her she wasn’t ugly and the way she had brushed him off back then because right now, she believed him. His words had been one thing, but the way he made her feel about herself was another. 

It was comfortable and she’d never really felt that way before when it came to her and relationships and sex (or the idea of it, rather). So when she finally managed to doze off to sleep again, she didn’t feel as bad about the dream or of facing him in just a few hours.

Even so, Sunday morning sharing the close-knit spaces of their kitchen and dining area with Harry and her roommates, hungover, wasn’t the least awkward situation she’d ever been in. Not only did she have to pretend like Harry didn’t spend the night in her bed (and several nights prior), she also had to pretend like she didn’t have a personal epiphany last night brought upon by dreaming of Harry going down on her. 

So there was definitely plenty of awkward to go around. 

Especially when Harry was the first to join her at the table with a mug of freshly brewed coffee and a borrowed bowl of cereal. He’d been out of her room at his usual time, not that it had mattered because he still woke up on the couch before anyone else retreated from their bedrooms. He was slightly salty about the fact that he could have stayed curled up in her warm bed longer, but he knew it was best not to risk it.

They were way too far deep into their secret little situation that telling any one of their mutual friends at this point would just be a bit too weird. 

When he was right in front of her, offering up a quick smile before digging into his Lucky Charms, she stared at him for a while longer. Particularly at his shirt. And the fact that it had been off of him last night. That she’d had him in all his mostly naked glory in her bed and she still had no idea the specifics about any one of his tattoos he had hidden under his black cotton t-shirt. She knew there was a butterfly and some birds but that was about it. And looking for answers on Google about them just didn’t feel right.

But now with his shirt on again, she wondered how long it had taken him to find his clothes scattered about her bedroom floor in the dark after his alarm went off. She wondered if, once the alcohol had sufficiently worn off, he thought that it had been weird the way she undressed him. 

She cleared her throat and focused her attention on her own breakfast of champions when she saw Violet approaching in her peripheral. From then on the most she allowed herself to see of Harry was a quick glance, which she was fine with. Even if she wasn’t stealing all the glances she wanted to, he was close enough so that whenever he moved just the right way she got a whiff of his all-too-familiar cologne. It reminded her, again, of last night and when she'd gone snooping through his bathroom, stealing a whiff of his Tom Ford cologne for her own selfish reasons. She remembered thinking how much better it smelled on him, however.

But it smelled best on her shirt and in her sheets.

“So, Harry, how’s the album going?” Violet asked as she set her plate of eggs and chorizo down, making Y/N’s stomach grumble even though she was on her own second bowl of Lucky Charms. 

Will and James joined shortly after at the table just as Harry gave a bit more of an answer besides his usual shrug. “It’s uh… going.”

“He has half a song written, that’s how it’s going.” Will answered bluntly instead, knowing Harry would never admit to his recent struggles with writing.

Violet still looked impressed though, “Is it at least a good half of a song?”

“Honestly, it’s strong enough to be a single if Harry can get his shit together and finish it.” Will teased while Harry rolled his eyes. Despite Will’s picking at him, however, Harry felt a little better seeing Violet's eyes go round out of excitement.

“That’s good! You need to stop pressuring him, Will.” Violet pointed an accusatory fork at her roommate. “It’ll come when it comes.”

“As long as it comes before the deadline.” Will mumbled under his breath which caused Violet to chuck a balled up napkin at his face.

Laughs sounded from all around the table, offending Will even further. “I hate y’all, I hope you know that.”

“Anyways,” Violet started, changing the subject, “Y/N I feel like last night was the first time I saw you in weeks. I don’t think it’s healthy staying at your coworker’s place all the time and not coming home, you’re going to turn into a workaholic and then we really will never see you.”

There was another braved glance at Harry, who was already looking at her with those stupid green eyes of his as if he had no idea why she hadn’t been coming home lately.

“I, uh… it’s just easier. It’s been really busy since we got this new client.” She saw him in her peripheral vision, his dimples reappearing as he tried to hide the little smirk on his face because of course he knew she was lying. And of course he enjoyed it. He oddly enjoyed being her little secret, even if just last night he was wishing he wasn’t. 

“That or she’s been seeing someone and lying to us.” James spoke up for the first time all morning and everyone’s eyes darted straight to him.

She couldn’t help her cheeks from heating up, even though she knew what James had offered wasn’t true. Well, at least not in the way he meant. She was seeing someone, but not like that.

Violet gasped dramatically, “I hadn’t thought of that!” And then pointed her accustory, big brown eyes at Y/N again, “You have a fucking boyfriend, don’t you?”

She tried not to look at Harry, she tried really fucking hard, but to her defense, he was looking first. And when she glanced at him, he didn’t even try to hide the smirk on his face while he chewed on his Lucky Charms. He was just as amused by all this as her roommates were.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Y/N mumbled, not really feeling up for defending herself at the moment.

“Yes you fucking do, you’re blushing!” Violet exclaimed, pushing every single one of Y/N’s buttons the only way Violet knew how to. 

It wasn’t even that Y/N felt embarrassed, that she wouldn’t just tell them if she was seeing someone, but it made her uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t even explain.

“I don’t have a fucking boyfriend.” 

All four of them immediately stopped laughing. They didn’t even make a single noise. Harry’s smile dropped from his face faster than any of the others. Not only had he never heard her utter a single cuss word before, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her voice get that loud. 

And she left all of them in shock too, taking her bowl of leftover milk to the sink before disappearing into her bedroom. 

“Guess she doesn’t have a boyfriend.” Violet muttered under her breath as if Y/N might still hear her.

“Why do you always do that? You know she hates it when you talk about that kind of stuff.” Will defended, angry eyes mostly pointed toward Violet, but James got a little bit of his vengeance as well for being the one who started it in the first place. And suddenly Harry began to understand Y/N’s sudden outburst a little more clearly.  

“Maybe if she wasn’t so uptight all the time, she would actually get a boyfriend and stop being so damn sensitive about it.”

Will shook his head in disbelief, glancing at Harry quickly, like whatever he wanted to say, he knew he couldn’t. Not in front of Harry. So instead, Will sighed and shook his head, returning his attention to his breakfast, “You really need to just shut up sometimes, Vi. Especially when it comes to things you know nothing about.”

Harry sat close-lipped and lost in thought. He wondered if whatever Will wouldn’t say in front of him was something he already knew about Y/N. That maybe the mere mention of relationships made her uncomfortable because of what happened to her. 

And then Harry ventured further into overthinking it when he considered the fact that Will might know more about Y/N’s past than he did, that maybe there was more to her story. He hated feeling like he needed to know everything, because the fact was that he only needed to know what she chose to share with him.

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[matildaofoz]

Memento Mori Pt 3. (Michael Langdon x Fem!Death!Reader)

You reached the courtyard of Kineros Robotics in record time, Michael hot at your heels.

“Can you walk a little slower?“ Michael complained, walking quickly beside you to keep up despite his long legs. You weren't lying when you had told him that you were on the clock.

„No can do, kiddo. Now come on, use those wonderful legs of yours,“ you threw at him over your shoulder, your hands searching for the car keys you had stashed in one of the conveniently hidden pockets of your dress without slowing down. Why weren't those a thing yet when humanity had invented every other type of useless thingamabob and yet pockets on a dress were blasphemous, you wondered. The intricacies of humankind often evaded you. The fingers of your right hand grazed the keys in your pocket and with a satisfied smirk you pulled them out.

“I'm not a kid, you know. I'm the Anti-,“ Michael began, irritated.

„The Antichrist, yes and you were born exactly when, 2012? You may not look it Michael, but in the grand scheme of things you're barely an amoeba,“ you interrupted him, not in the mood for any more temper tantrums. Without having to look back at his face, you felt the anger rolling off him in waves. He really was not used to being treated as anything less than the son of Satan. If he wanted you to lick his shoes, he was sorely mistaken. If anything, he should be on his knees before you, praising the universe for having sent you in his hour of need.

Continuing to ignore a seething Michael, your eyes zoned in on your newest toy. A 1965 Black Ford Mustang Convertible with bright red leather seats. Seeing as you were all things considered an ancient being and material things meant positively nothing to you, you did have two weaknesses. Fast food and fast cars. You liked to think that it was due to the human form you took, your immense power being pressed into the confines of a limited body and your patient nature being expressed in a rather paradoxical instant gratification. Thankfully, you couldn't gain any weight nor die in a car crash, remaining ever the same, and so you chose to indulge yourself at every given opportunity. Soon enough, those fleeting pleasures would come to an end. Might as well enjoy it while you could.

You skipped over the curb to the driver's side, admiring the way the inky paint coat glistened in the late afternoon sun, not a speck of dust in sight.

Michael came to stand by the passenger door, now more confused than angry. He was ever-changing, you mused.

“Did, did you sell your soul to my father too?” he asked, mustering the convertible before his eyes searched your face.

“No, Michael,” you chuckled amused. H really didn't know the first thing about the Apocalypse or his place in all of this. Maybe there would be time to give the boy a lesson, but not until you had had a good meal.  

“I think I'm out of your dad's league if we're being honest. I am more a collector of souls myself. Your father or God don't actually hold the monopoly even though that's what they like to tell everyone. Tell you what, over dinner you and I will take a little trip down memory lane,” you explained, watching him with intent.

“Liar,” Michael said lowly, processing your words. His icy blue eyes narrowed at you. You could feel his power trying to claw at you, yet it felt distinctly like a kitten lick.

“Oh please, Michael, I don't lie,” you retorted unaffected, your hand grabbing the door handle and sliding into the seat, grabbing the pair of sunglasses on the dashboard and putting them on before looking at Michael, your fingers drumming on the steering wheel. This was not going nearly as well as you had planned and if you wanted to keep the plan you had set in motion rolling, you would undoubtedly need to change course, despite the fact that you loathed having to do so. Death be damned, you thought.

“I don't like repeating myself, Michael. I don't owe you any answers but perhaps I'm growing soft and the fact that you are left to your own devices, trying to figure out the single most monumental task on this rock hurtling through space has me feeling a little...sympathetic,” you stated, leaning over to push open the passenger door as a sign of goodwill.

“Tell you what, you can ask me all the questions you like, deal?”

Michael contemplated for a few seconds. He didn't like to admit it but so far he hadn't been the one to come up with any good plans that didn't involve The Omen 3 plot and his father had been absent throughout his accent so far. He didn't trust you or anybody bar Ms. Mead and yet you presented an enigma to him, one he needed to crack open. He was brilliant at problem-solving and he would solve you too, he thought to himself, a little grin creeping into the corner of his mouth. His invisible claws retracted.

“Deal. But I get to ask as many as I want,” he replied, pulling the door open all the way and plopping himself into the passenger seat beside you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Fine, a deal's a deal,” you groaned only halfheartedly, shooting him a grin of your own as you fired up the engine and pulled out onto the road. You really did have your work cut out for you. Lucky for Michael, he was so easy on the eyes that you didn't mind as much as you should have. You pressed the 'on' button of the radio and stifled a laugh at the song that had just started playing:

I see the bad moon a-rising I see trouble on the way I see earthquakes and lightnin' I see bad times today

Don't go around tonight Well it's bound to take your life There's a bad moon on the rise

°°° 20 Minutes later, you pulled into a parking lot, turned off the engine, hopping out of the car, and came around to Michael's side to take an unneeded but deep breath, filling your lungs with crisp evening air and the distinct smell of desert. The sun had just begun to set, a slight chill setting in and the last remaining rays illuminated Michael's blond hair in a way that reminded you an awful lot of his father before the fall. You let your gaze wander over his sitting form for a second, before lightly slapping the arm he had draped over the side of the car, lost in his own thoughts.

“Come on, Angel, we're here,“ you chided playfully, knowing it would rile the blonde man up unnecessarily. On cue, Michael's gaze shot up to meet your own, nostrils flaring at the more than holy pet name.

“Don't call me that! I'm anything but that!“ he bit out but couldn't keep the blush from creeping up his neck. He didn't like the way you made him feel. Weak and unsure of himself. No power he had encountered could match his, not even Cordelia's and then you came along. As if he wasn't already feeling insecure enough, even after having massacred the witches and warlocks, you only added to the sense that he hadn't yet achieved what he was meant to do, or be where his father expected him to be. Sensing his unease, you tussled his locks with your left hand, pulling him out of his self-induced reverie.

“There is nothing a good cake can't fix, Michael. Trust me,” you smiled at him, hoping he would pull himself together and get out the car. At the word cake, he did perk up, finally glancing behind you to look at where you had taken him.

“The Cheesecake Factory, really?” he looked up at you quizzically, disbelieving. If you were in fact Death, and he wasn't yet sure you weren't lying to him despite your overpowering aura, shouldn't you be dining in some high-class restaurant on the other end of town where they didn't even have prices on the menu?

“Are you food shaming me?” you retorted, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Err, no. It just doesn't...suit you,” Michael replied, his right hand coming to massage the back of his neck, embarrassment evident at his remark.

“Wouldn't you like to know what does and doesn't suit me. If you must know, it's kind of my thing. Don't ask me why but I just can't keep my hands off sweet things,” you explained, winking at him and only adding to his embarrassment. Before the Antichrist could slide any further down your passenger seat and be swallowed whole by the ground, you opened his door and gestured for him to get out.

“Relax. You clearly don't know how to take a joke. Come on, I can smell the cakes from here.” You turned on your heels, cape dress swishing behind you as you made your way across the parking lot to the entry. You weren't quite sure your words were meant as a joke but that was a heart-to-heart you'd have with yourself later. The only sweet thing on your mind right now was cake and soda. The slam of the car door indicated that Michael had managed to detach himself from the red leather interior and he jogged up beside you, matching your stride.

“I hope you're hungry. I'm paying,” you said, smiling with glee and making Michael chuckle. Another thing to add to your slowly growing list of likes about the spawn of Satan, you noted to your dismay.

°°° You placed the fork neatly back onto the now empty plate, devoid of even the smallest crumb, that had held an entire ultimate red velvet cake, groaning blissfully. Eyes closed, you swallowed down the last bite. Opposite you, Michael had stopped eating his pasta dish some time ago. When you had said that there is nothing a cake couldn't fix, you had meant an entire cake after all.  The hunger you felt whenever you were in a human body was not easily satiated. Something that Michael or the waiter were clearly not prepared for. Both had been watching you for the last 5 minutes, jaws slack, as piece after piece traveled on the fork and into your mouth.

“That was positively delicious,” you hummed, casting a glance at Michael, fork suspended in mid-air.

“W-would you like anything else, Miss?” the waiter stuttered, taking your plate and admiring it as if it were a rare antiquity.

“Oh no, I think I've been quite naughty enough, don't you think?” you giggled, reaching for the Fanta and taking a large sip.

“Michael, you've hardly touched your food,” you noted, your voice rousing the young man out the trance your display of gluttony had placed him under. He cleared his throat, putting the fork down, adjusting his seat on the table.

“I'm not hungry anymore.”

“Oh, ok, well in that case we'd like the bill please,” you addressed the waiter with a satisfied grin, gulping down the last remnant of orange soda in your glass.

“Hey, you said you'd answer my questions! I knew you were a liar!” Michael intercepted, trying his best to keep his voice down.

“ I don't lie, Michael. You chose to watch me enjoy some cake instead of asking questions, didn't you?” you countered, your elbows coming to rest on the table, fingers intertwining. His anger and frustration bubbled to the surface once again. If he weren't the Antichrist, you were sure he would have a heart attack by the time he hit 30. His body tensed at your statement of truth, eyes squinting menacingly at you. Yet you were right, he had been so busy watching you, he had forgotten all about the myriad of questions buzzing in his mind like moths around a flame. His eyes fluttered shut briefly, gulping down the rage that threatened to burst out his chest. You watched as the blonde man tried to gain back his composure, your finger coming to run along the rim of the empty glass in front of you.

“Michael,” you demanded. His eyes opened to meet your own and you could see his restraint hanging by a thread in them. He did have a temper and you didn't want him setting fire to your favourite restaurant just yet.

“I'm in a good mood tonight. Instead of just answering your questions, I would like to show you something that will answer almost all of them. A deal is a deal,” you tried to reason. Michael mulled your words over in his head, sizing you up while doing so.

“Oh for goodness sake, Michael! I'm not trying to manipulate you. I'm trying to help you!” you exclaimed, exasperated at his hesitance and mistrust. While you knew his beginnings on this earth weren't exactly peppered in love, warmth and trust, you couldn't afford him seeing you as the enemy. Neither could he.

“If you don't believe me, take a peek. Make it last, this will be a one-off,” you encouraged him, an invisible finger beckoning him closer and allowing him limited access to your mind momentarily. Michael's mind pushed through your doors, grazing, flitting over millennia of memories before you let him look at your core.

No lies, Michael, you see?

You eased him out and sealed the doors shut tightly once again, leaning back in your chair, the restaurant coming back into focus.

“Here's your bill, Miss. Thank you for stopping by at the Cheesecake Factory tonight,” the waiter had brought you the bill. Wordlessly, you handed him a 100$ bill, nodding your head briefly at him to suggest that he could keep the change and waited for Michael's response.

“Ok,” Michael finally replied, rolling his head on his shoulders, resulting in a gratuitous cracking sound. You weren't sure if he was entirely satisfied with your show of goodwill. Not that it mattered.

“Let's take a walk,” you suggested, getting up without even the slightest hint of a stomach after decimating an entire cake. Michael's eyes never left you and the enigma you were to him just became a lot more enticing. A boyish smirk crossed his face as he stood up to walk in front of you. At the exit, he held open the door.

“My, my Michael. Didn't take you for a gentleman,” you chuckled, gracefully pushing past him and into the cool night air.

“My Ms. Mead would expect nothing less of me,” he offered, not bothering to hide his Cheshire cat smile. You had allowed him access to your mind and the things he saw, he desperately wanted to see again. You were like a box of confectioneries to him. For once in his life, his pride and ever-growing sense of entitlement took the backseat.  He felt like he had finally met someone of his own caliber and the feeling was exhilarating to him. You weren't his father but you were the next best thing and best of all, right in front of him.

Tag List:

@sexwon131​ @leatherduncan​ @rocketgirl2410​

[deepgentlemenchild]

Decided to post something I guess, a trashy bakudeku angst lol

Kirishima and Kacchan had started dating over the summer holidays and everyone had been overjoyed at the news. Everyone but Izuku. Under normal circumstances he would be thrilled that his classmates found love and comfort with one another. But these weren't normal circumstances and Izuku definitely wasn't thrilled. If anything Izuku was heartbroken, horrified and overwhelmingly resentful. Izuku wouldn't usually be so selfish, normally he would move on and let them be happy. But that's kinda hard when your so in love with someone that when you find out it's undoubtedly unrequited you contract the

hanahaki disease. If you don't know what hanahaki is it's a disease that suffocates your lungs by growing flowers in them and you can only get it if the person you love doesn't love you back. There is only three options to choose from once you contract the disease, option one is getting the flowers surgically removed, but it also removes all your memories of the person, so obviously not something Izuku can do considering he is who he is because of Katsuki.Option two is them loving you back, which is a no go with the whole Kirishima thing. The last option is probably the simplest, which is dying. Now Izuku doesn't necessarily want to die, but it's better than forgetting Kacchan, he loves Kacchan with his whole being and simply can't willingly choose to forget him, and there's no way of Kacchan loving him back so he really doesn't have any other options. All he can do is pretend to be happy for the new couple and hide his life threatening disease from everyone, can't be too hard.

So remember how Deku said it can't be too

hard to pretend to be happy for Kacchan and Kirishima whilst also pretending to not be dying. Yeah, well, he forgot to mention he and Kacchan had become best friends again and Kacchan spared no details when talking about Kirishima.One night while he had been coughing his lungs out Kaminari had walked passed his door and checked on him like the caring friend/classmate he is. "Hey Midobro, you alright in there?" He asked concerned after he knocked.A few seconds passed by before Izuku admitted defeat and let Kaminari in. "H-hey Kaminari-kun," he rasped with the ghost of a smile on his lips. Kaminari looked around the dorm room, seeing all the flower petals floating around. "Oh Mido," he said sadly as he pulled the boy into a bone crushing hug.

Weeks go by and Denks is still the only classmate who knows about Izukus condition, after Denks constant insistence Izuku finally told Aizawa sensei and his mum, but absolutely refused to tell any other peers. Denks and Izuku were doing everything together from walking to and from the classroom to hanging out whenever they had spare time. "Hey Deku," Kacchan started and Izuku nodded to show he listening "Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?" Before Kacchan had finished speaking Izuku was already shaking his head. "Sorry Kacchan, but me and Denks are going watch the new All Might movie tomorrow." Izuku apologizes.

"You're spending all your free time with that dumbass, when can we hang out again?" Kacchan asked irritably.

Izuku shrugged, "Maybe later, anyway I gotta get going me and Denks are having a sleepover." Izuku beamed and Kacchan rolled his eyes before going to sit with Kirishima on the common room couch. "ZUZU!!" Denks exclaimed excitedly. "You're hereeee."

Izuku giggled lightly. "Of course I'm here Denks, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Except maybe for a certain "Kacchan" hmm?" Denks waggled his eyebrows.Izuku blushed and puffed his cheeks indignantly before bursting into a coughing fit. "Oh, shit. Sorry Zu." Denks looked upset with himself as he pet Izukus back lightly.

"No no. Don't apologize Denks, besides Kacchan asked to hangout tomorrow and I said no cuz we've already got plans," huffed

Izuku once he could open his mouth with flowers falling out.

"Gasp. The world truly is changing. But even

so it's only cuz it's to do with All Might." Denks retorted.

"Humph." Izuku pouted.

Denki laughed at the adorable display before turning on his switch so the could play Mario Cart. As the night dragged Izuku only had a total of two

coughing fits more and even won a few races. Denki had noticed a certain spikey haired blonde glaring at him when he was hanging out with Zuzu at school and in the dorms, but he couldn't figure it out. Maybe Bakubro was upset that Denki had stolen his best friend which wasn't unlikely, or something completely different. Denki decided not to confront Bakubro about or even ask Zuzu what he thought of it because he thought he was overthinking it and maybe Bakubro glaring at him was normal.

Izuku was sat on his bed without Denks for the first time in over two weeks and was really missing the comforting pats on the back as he coughed his lungs out staring at the stunning red petals that matched Kacchans eyes like nothing else. If it weren't for the fact that the flowers were killing him he would call them beautiful, but considering they were killing him he'd rather call them stunningly evil. Izukus coughs became horrid, each one making his whole body tremor and more and more tears fell out the corner of his eyes and dropped onto the petals littering his bed. "I'm so sorry Kacchan. I'm so sorry mum, Denki, All Might, Aizawa sensei. I'm so sorry everyone." Izuku whispered out into the night not knowing if he would last much longer.

The next day Izuku avoided Kacchan like the plague, even going as far as to swap seats with Kirishima so he could sit further away from him. Denks kept giving him pittying looks from where he sat, knowing his best bud didn't have much longer. Everyone in class knew something was wrong with Izuku but didn't mention it so as not to upset him. As the day went on Izuku found it harder and harder to keep his coughs in and even harder to stay away from Kacchan.

After almost coughing in class Izuku decided it was finally time he went to the nurses office. When Recovery Girl saw who it was she almost rolled her eyes. "What is it this time? Another broken bone?" She asked sarcastically. Izuku could only weakly shake his head before he started none stop coughing petals, but mainly whole flowers up. Recovery Girls eyes changed from annoyed to immense concern almost immediately. She quickly guided Izuku on a bed so he could sit down. After a couple of minutes Izuku finally stopped coughing and looked up at Recovery Girl sadly. "I-i don't think I have long left Recovery Girl." Izuku admitted as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Oh you silly boy." She shook her heard remorsefully. "You can still do the surgery you know? As long as you do it in the next twenty four hours, otherwise you're a true goner."

"I-i can't do that to Kacchan." Izuku whispered.

"Ok then love, is there anyone you want me to call so you can go home." Recovery Girl asked.

Izuku shook his head, "Can you bring Denks though," he requested instead. He didn't want his mother seeing him like this, it would make her sad and he didn't want to see her sad. Recovery Girl nodded and went to Aizawas classroom to grab Denki.

When she got to the classroom she knocked softly on the door. "Yes? What is it?" Aizawa asked through the door. Recovery Girl opened the door before speaking. "Izuku asked me get someone named Denks," she announced.

As soon as Denki heard Izukus name he shot his head up and after hearing the rest of it he jumped out of his seat and quickly made his way to the nurses office. Everyone else in the class looked perplexed besides Aizawa and Bakugo. Aizawa looked solemn where as Bakugo looked angry.

"Denks you came," Izuku spoke softly yet excitedly once he saw Denki burst through the door.

"Zu, baby. Of course I came." Denks said seriously as tears gathered in his eyes. Izuku smiled at him, though not nearly as bright as before but still as contagious as Denki smiled back sadly. They stared at each other for a long while, no words could be spoken to lessen either of their pain. The silence was eventually broken by Denki, who carefully embraced Izuku "you know Zuzu, I love you. More than anything. Your my bestest friend and the last few weeks have been the happiest of my life." Denki exclaimed as he cried the hardest he's ever cried.

"Oh, Denki. I love you too and I couldn't be happier to have you as my best friend. But you need to move on, make a new best friend. Kiris really nice." Izuku replied even softer than before. Denki just shook his head and cried harder. "I'm calling Bakugo." He announced. Izuku shook his head.

"Denki, please don't. I don't want him to feel guilty." Izuku pleaded. Denki ignored him in favour of pulling out his phone and tapping on Bakugos contact. It rang a total of three time before Bakugo picked up. "Pikachu, what's wrong with Deku?" He asked immediately. Denki shook his head, these idiots. "He's in the nurses office, come quick." Denki answered urgently before hanging up.

"He does care about you, you know that right? He may not love you like you love him but he truly cares about you." Denki finally addressed Izuku. Izuku looked away from him with more tears gathering in his eyes. Less thank two minutes had passed before Bakugo burst through the door with a panicked look on his face. Once his eyes met Deku they instantly filled with tears. "Izuku." He said softly before hugging him tightly. He looked into Izukus as if questioning him. Asking him who? Izuku looked him straight in his beautiful red eyes before kissing him straight on the lips. All of 5 seconds passed before Kacchan reciprocated and another 5 before Izuku went limp in his arms. At least I finally kissed him. Izuku thought before leaving his body to moving towards the light as tears blocked his vision.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

The reader is a best selling author and her book is about all her past lovers (Erik is one of them)

Smutty, Flashback, Dark

It’s hard writing Erik with a nickname besides killmonger so I am sorry in advance if his name pops up when it’s not supposed to LOL. Enjoy Loves!

Y/N was afraid to come out with this book but her team insisted that she did. They said it was one of her best works yet. Y/N did agree but there was one particular person in that book that she didn’t want to know about her writing. Y/N went along with it anyway because she needed the new book to do well since her royalties were getting low from other published works. That was over three months ago. Now, she was still doing interviews and signing autographs in New York and Los Angeles book shops. Her face was on TV, in magazines, and in Time Square in Manhattan, New York. He knew... he had to know.

Y/N’s book was an erotic tale about her past lovers. She gave each of them pseudonyms to protect their identities. The title was called Concupiscent. It means lustful or desire. This wasn’t like the poetry or erotic romance tales...this was very smutty and so nasty you couldn’t go a second without touching yourself. The fan mail she received was outstanding. Especially from the BDSM community. It was all thanks to him... F-16. He was the last chapter in her book filled with past lovers.

He was nicknamed F-16 because the one thing he told her was that he flew an F-16 Fighter Falcon Jet in the Military. His story got the most hits out of all of them. People were dying to know who F-16 was.

-I need F-16 in my life! He fucked you so well I could feel that shit myself!

-could you please share with me who F-16 is? He sounds so sexy.

-are you still in touch with F-16? If so you are a lucky woman, Y/N.

-F-16 fucked you real good!

-all of the chapters were amazing! Nothing surprising but that F-16!!! Girllllllllll I need more of him! Write an entire book with just him and I’d give you all my money!

-The book club loves the story! A lot of us reread F-16 while sipping our wine LOL. Very sexy chapter.

“You see, Erik, they can’t get enough of you,” Y/N spoke to herself within her penthouse while reading fan mail. She sipped her glass of red wine with enthusiasm. Y/N couldn’t deny the fact that she missed Erik deeply. It was just a one night stand but goddam...the shit needed to happen more than once. However, Erik was very secretive with his life. He was also very upfront and told her what he wanted: some pussy...

July 8th, 2019:

F-16.

She lived for nights thick with lust.

Angel Face wasn’t so much an angel anymore.

She yearned to be seduced and destroyed.

She was tired of delicate kisses and romantic evenings.

No...Angel Face wanted something harder; vicious even.

The Blaze was a rather chancy bar. Y/N sat on a bar stool on her fifth shot of Blue Sapphire Gin with her finger twirling a strand of her sleek silk pressed hair. Maybe she didn’t have enough to drink. She was already talking herself out of this mess. Her stomach did summer salts and her fingers fiddled with the hem of her short red mini halter dress. Such a slutty choice of attire. She nibbles the corner of her bottom lip as her amber-colored eyes scanned the bar for a potential man to take her home and fuck her hard and rapid. She didn’t want timid strokes, she wanted back-breaking strokes. Y/N needed a man who looked at her as she rested before him with her divine body exposed for him and thinks to himself, what kind of noises would I like her to make? 

“OHHHH!” 

Thunderous drunken applause came from Y/N’s right. She looked over at the small group with immense curiosity. A group of men that looked very hazardous and unsafe. Even the women who entertained them looked a little wary. They were all tall and muscular. Men who could snap your neck with a simple squeeze. 

“Can I have another shot of Gin?” She asked the same punk rock bartender who gave her the last five she had.

“Foxy,” He nicknamed her since she settled at the bar, “You’ll pass out and I don’t want your pretty face on this bar.” 

“I can handle it, trust me,” Y/N pleaded.

“Fine, I warned you.”

He poured her the shot she asked for.

Y/N threw it back and accepted the sweet burn.

“Whew,” she pinched her lips together, “That really hit the spot,” she let out a drunken giggle, her breasts bouncing.

“Foxy,” The punk rocker gave her a playful smile, “Are you alright?”

She gave him a goofy grin, “never better,” her words slurred slightly.

The Punk Rocker gave her a bottle of water, Y/N taking it thankful that the bartender was being thoughtful.

Y/N turns back around focusing on that corner again. There were dartboards on the wall and a pool table but instead of the men throwing darts they were throwing daggers. Y/N flinches in her seat. Sharp toys...spine-chilling. Her body felt hot all over. The alcohol seemed to make her hyper-aware of all the predatory eyes on her. All different types of men staring at her like a pack of wolves. 

“You’re too delicate for this bar, Foxy.”

Y/N could agree with that but she was tired of that label. Why couldn’t she be risky and wild? Y/N was doing it now. That dance floor surrounded by low lighting was calling her name. She could twirl her hips and shake her ass into a sweaty frenzy. Finger comb her hair to show off her sex appeal, lock eyes with a man just to tease him and make him consider going to the urinal to buss a load. Bend over to show her lack of panties. Yes…she didn’t have on panties but she did bring a pair in her clutch just in case. Y/N could be heaven or hell. A strong man’s dream and a weak one's nightmare. 

“That a boy F-16!” 

Y/N’s eyes darted back over to the group of intimidating men, resting on whoever F-16 could be. She hoped this was him. He was honestly the only good-looking man in that bar. 6 ‘3, 225 lbs of lean muscle. He wore a tactical black utility vest, black long sleeve fitted henley, cargo pants in a black and grey camouflage pattern and black timbs. 

“Watch out, Damion, I don’t wanna end up aiming for your head,” F-16 spoke while rotating a Kunai throwing knife in his hand. All eyes were on him in that moment to see if he would miss or actually hit the bullseye. 

“Any day now, F16,” Damion rushes him while downing the rest of his beer. F-16 gave him a death glare before turning back to the dartboard, arm coming up and forward swiftly. The throwing knife whizzes past Damion, almost slicing the top of his ear and landing straight for the damn bullseye. The area exploded with cheers, yells, and ferocious pats on the back. The women clapped delicately while staring at F-16 with sultry eyes. Y/N could relate to those stares as well. He was...so damn...fine. However, if he was around those types of men that means he’s equally as dangerous. 

Don’t do it, Y/N...

“Hey, could you watch my bag for me? I feel like dancing.”

The punk rock bartender squinted his eyes covered with black eyeliner, “alright, Foxy, don’t get yourself hurt out there.”

Y/N stepped off of the stool, giving the bartender a sassy look, “who would want to hurt all this?” Her hands trailed up and down her tantalizing body, “I mean...fuck it maybe, but hurt…”

“I think I underestimated you, Foxy,” The bartender gave her a sly grin.

Y/N swiveled around in her heels. She made her way through the wild crowd and to the dance floor. They were playing decent music to dance to. She found a spot in the center and started at her own pace. Her eyes moved around her to take in all the men who savagely wanted to grab her. They looked ready to gang-bang her and she liked the thought of men salivating over her that intensely but Y/N wouldn’t bring herself to fuck a group of men...unless they all looked like F-16. Her hips moved in a circle to the deep base of the Afrobeat. She really liked the variety of music here. Of course, this caused all the black people to crowd the dance floor too. Y/N had her hands in her hair, on her thighs whenever she went low, on her ass when she let it jiggle and bounce. She was looking really scrumptious on that dance floor. 

It was as if the entire dance floor made a circle around her. She was in her own world now. Eyes closed, body moving with a skill that could make a grown man cry. She was giving her the best sexy performance. This had her adrenaline pumping. 

Behind every bad bitch is a sweet girl who got tired of everyone’s bullshit. 

“You’re the best fucking dancer I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks,” her heart skipped a few beats.”

“Name?” He raised a single brow at her as if to say oh, you’re gonna tell me your name, baby girl.

“Foxy.” She didn’t want to tell this man her real name. This was supposed to be a no strings attached ordeal. 

“You’re doing the damn thing, Miss Foxy.”

The way he said her newfound nickname had her toes curling. She was Angel Face no more. Not when this fine ass dangerous man stood before her. That’s right...F-16 was down for her. Y/N’s little performance sparked his interest. 

“You’re out here by yourself?” He got closer to her now. His dreads rested over his eyes almost and it gave him a wild look. 

“Yes, I came alone.” 

“Damn...to a place like this? you never come to a place like this alone, Foxy.” 

“...why?” She gave him a perplexed look.

“Because it’s filled with bad guys,” His eyes looked tricky, “None of that fake shit you see in movies, baby girl...the real lion's den.”

Y/N swallowed spit to soothe her dry throat. 

“I take it you’re one of those guys?”

“You wanna find out?” His precarious grin would be beautiful if it weren’t for his haunting words. Y/N came to find out. She wanted this. 

“Yes, if it’s with you, I’m down.”

He chuckles, “Shit...aight.”

He grabs Y/N’s hand, leading her towards the “bad guys” that she watched from the bar earlier. Some of them reeked of liquor breath and cigarettes, others smelled quite nice like F-16. The women in the area looked at her like she was competing with them. F-16 kept her close though, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting her between his strong thighs. She assumed he did this to show the other men that Foxy was his to play with. 

“This is Foxy. I found her shaking that thick ass on the dance floor.” 

She froze at that introduction. Y/N looked around at the group of men giving them a shy smile and a wave of her small hand.

“Nah, baby girl, introduce yourself,” His words were cutthroat and sharp in her ear.

“I’m Foxy, nice to meet y’all,” F-16′s hands gripped her hips on both sides.

“She’s soft,” A tall man with skin like midnight and a scar on his left cheek spoke, “a good girl.”

Y/N didn’t like that. She was trying to appear like a bad bitch, not a princess. 

“Pussy probably tastes just like sugar,” The man spoke again causing the other men to hum in approval.

“If it does, I’ll be the judge of that. Ain’t that right, Miss Foxy?” 

His soft-spoken voice tickled her neck. She felt frazzled. Her low eyes turned to his dark ones, her lip between her teeth. 

“Yeah...that’s right,” He gave her a sly lop-sided grin with those full lips. He was certain that Y/N would be going home with him. She liked that a lot. A hell of a lot. He could take her to his place right now and fuck her all night long. Y/N wanted to bury her face into this man's neck and breath in his scent. He was so large and warm surrounding her. Her pussy quivered and damn near begged her to let this man put it on her. 

“So, what do you guys do for a living?”

She was curious. 

“We’re military men,” One of them spoke up.

“I’m an Airmen,” F-16 spoke with a husky voice, “I fly fighter jets.”

He said it in such a dismissive tone that it didn’t appear all the way true. He did hint to the fact that this place was filled with nothing but bad men so maybe he was putting on a front so she wouldn’t go running away crying. All the other men had treacherous looks on their faces. 

Killers.

They’re murderers.

She was glad they put on a nicer front. If not she probably would chicken out of an opportunity with F-16. 

“Sounds cool,” she smiles, “tell me more.”

“Nah,” F-16 places his thumb against her chin to rub it lightly, “You’re not interested in what I do. You just want somebody to fuck the shit outta you.” 

Her lip twitched a little. Damn, this man could read her like an open book. 

“Is that a problem?” Y/N said in a discourteous tone.

“Fuck no. That’s what I plan to do to you, Foxy. Just know you’re in for some shit, girl,” he brought his lips to her ear, “You got these other bitches mad at you.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” She spoke in a bold tone, “they’re loss my gain.” 

“Shit,” He places a kiss to her neck, “I like you. You got a lot of mouth on you.”

Y/N normally didn’t but he sparked a rebellious nature within her. Y/N wanted to be a bad girl for him tonight. 

“Sharing, F-16?” The same man with the face scar asks. He had a determination in his eyes to have a piece of Foxy. F-16’s succulent lips dragged down Y/N’s neck and to the exposed cleavage on the sides of her dress. She was alarmed by his outright need to suck her flesh in front of these men. His hands were dancing around her hips just above her soaking wet pussy. He didn’t need to respond to that man, He let him know by how famished he was. 

“Come on, let us get a piece of that,” Another man with an African accent asks. 

“Y'all some thirsty motherfuckers. Nah, she mines,” F-16 wrapped his hand lightly around Y/N’s neck. She shuddered from how thick and warm his calloused hand felt around her slender neck. If he applied just the right amount of pressure she would probably whimper in ecstasy. Even though Y/N was bold enough to stand between F-16’s legs she wasn’t bold enough to press her bubble booty against his crotch. She just knew that dick was nice, hard, and suckable right now. 

“You can’t speak, Foxy?” One of them spoke up with a harsh tone. F-16 grunted with frustration. Maybe it was best that he takes her out of here to avoid a brawl between these men. 

“I can speak...I’m with him, sorry,” She gave her best charming smile. The menacing glares were thrown they’re way had Y/N shaking in her heels. F-16 pulls Y/N closer to him, her ass finally slumped with a soft bounce against his long and rather...girthy erection. 

Stuff this pussy, Daddy, She thought. Lord, he was everything she was missing. 

“Can we get out of here?” Y/N whispered to F-16 while he was drinking his whiskey, “I want you to take me home with you.”

“Just like that, huh?” He licks his lips, “Don’t act all scared when I take that ass out of here.”

“I promise I won’t” She spoke to him softly before placing her lips against his dimpled cheek.

“We’ll see.” His disbelieving eyes had Y/N second-guessing her words. 

________________

Leaving that bar was like a breath of fresh air. F-16 informed her that he arrived on a bike and that she would need to ride out to his hotel on the back with him. He didn’t have a spare helmet so he offered her his. She took it with quivering fingers hoping that he didn’t sense her fear. 

“You riding, baby girl?” He looked so good on that speed bike. Taking one last calming breath, Y/N placed the helmet over her head, gripping her clutch tightly before settling on the back of the bike with F-16.

“Good girl. Wrap your arms around me nice and snug...good girl. Now lean in towards me...just like that. You’re ready?”

“Just drive.” She placed her cheek against F-16’s back, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Say less,” He zoomed off down the city street and into the night. Y/N was in a state of anxiety the entire ride. He zipped and zoomed between cars, made sharp turns, and sped up whenever the roads were clear enough for him to have a little fun. He had to feel her heartbeat rattling against his solid back. Now, they were inside a tunnel whipping past cars. Y/N could feel her dress flying up past her naked ass and at this point, she didn’t care that everyone around her caught a glimpse before they were nowhere in sight. She wasn’t about to let go of him just to pull the short-as-fuck dress down. Plus, she had too much ass back there anyway. F-16 began to slow down as he approached a luxury hotel in Boston. He drove through the garage, going around several levels before finding a parking spot. The minute he parked his bike Y/N hopped off to fix her dress. It was up and around her waist. That explains why the valet men wolf-whistled at her. The minute Y/N removed her helmet she came face to face with F-16 adjusting his shirt and revealing two Glocks resting on his hips. His well-knit, muscle-bound abdomen and hips made her crave to touch, lick, and suck this man all over but those guns...petrifying. 

“Gotta watch my back,” He answered her question before she could even ask, “Got a lot of enemies.”

“For a fighter pilot?” Y/N gave him a puzzled stare.

“You’d be surprised, ma,” His eyes flickered up and down her shapely form, “I won’t hurt you.”

She knew he wouldn’t but Y/N never saw guns up close and in person. This just made the situation more real for her. She was definitely fucking a trained killer. Maybe a mercenary? An assassin? He’s definitely more than a fighter pilot for the Military. All of the men at that bar too.

“Don’t be scared, ma, I got you.”

“Okay,” Y/N placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead the way to his hotel room. 

__________________

It was dark.

Everything pitch black.

She could hear him moving about before a small lamp light within the living room flickered on. She looked around her with eager eyes as he removed his utility vest and timbs. She walked slowly around the hotel room, hands in her hair and a nervous feeling in her gut. 

“Restroom?” She asked with a shaky voice.

F-16 points down a hall, “Down and to your left, baby girl.” 

Y/N took off finding the restroom with a jacuzzi tub, standing shower, and a beautiful view of Boston. She closed the door, pulling her dress up to use the toilet. Y/N ran her trembling fingers through her hair, trying her hardest to calm her nerves. He was gonna put it on her for sure he didn’t even have to prove that to her. She wiped and flushed, standing at the sink to wash her hands and look over her makeup and hair. Her hair still looked nice but that wouldn’t last. Makeup still on point as well. She hesitated to leave that bathroom. 

“Breath, Foxy, it’s just sex. You’ve had sex plenty of times,” Her voice didn’t even sound convincing. Grabbing a hotel rag in a frenzy Y/N refreshed herself between her legs before finally leaving that bathroom. When she walked back to the living room he wasn’t in sight and it was dark again. Turning around, Y/N went to find his room which was directly across from the restroom except the door was cracked. Being the nosy girl she was, Y/N peaked between the crack to see what he was up to. F-16 was in the middle of packing away some weapons and foreign currency. He was topless showing off his powerful and dynamic body covered in keloid scars. She had an odd look on her face as she studied the organized placement of those scars. It was beautiful but Y/N is a smart girl, she knew those scars held a grizzly past. Before she could even react F-16 pulled his bedroom door opened, staring down at her with a menacing glare. 

“Spying on me?” He had a glint in his eyes and a base in his voice that made her shiver.

“I’m sorry I was just looking for you!” She spoke in a jumble. 

His chest rose and fell with harsh breaths, “It's not polite to spy on someone, Miss Foxy. That shit can get you in a whole lot of trouble if you aren’t careful,” F-16 stepped back to allow her to fully enter his room, “Get comfortable, we got a long night, ma.”

Y/N cautiously stepped inside. F-16 reached out to harshly slap her ass. Y/N’s back flinched and her hands came around to caress her sore flesh. 

“Big ass on you, girl,” He closed his door, “You need another drink?”

“N-No.” Y/N sat on the edge of F-16’s bed facing a wall mirror that hung over his hotel dresser. 

“Stand up,” F-16 stood in front of her. Y/N got up from the bed, his hard body pressing against the front of hers.

“Turn around.”

She did as she was told, turning away from him and stroking her hair to the side to give him access to her neck. F-16’s hands feathered through her hair, massaging her scalp. She closed her eyes, head falling back against his brawny chest as he lightly tugged on her pressed out strands. He would wrap his fingers around her hair and pull to make her head fall back against him. Now, his nose was in her hair as he massaged her scalp. The air from his nose warmed her scalp each time he exhaled. Her eyes fluttered shut and now her hands were reaching back to squeeze his thighs. That’s all she could really reach since he was much taller than her 5’ 5 self. F-16 takes her hair into a ponytail, leaning down to place his lips against the back of her neck. Now, her body was arched forward a little and her bubble booty was pressed firmly against his groin. His lips circled her earlobe over her diamond stud in her left ear. His wet warm mouth had a tight suction on her ear that had her thinking about that same tightness around her clit. F-16 softly places his hands on her hips, flipping Y/N around to face him. His brown eyes were so fanatic that she couldn’t even hold his gaze. F-16 grabs her jaw, placing his starving lips against her neck again. His hands moved from her jaw down and around her waist to pull her from the ground. Startled, Y/N wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He had better access now to her collar bones and heaving chest. His large hands squeezed each bare cheek of her ass while he places open-mouthed kisses along her breasts.

“I’m tired of this fucking dress,” He spoke in a hushed tone, “I feel like cuttin’ this shit off of you, girl.” 

If he did that she wouldn’t have anything to wear when she went home. He takes one of his hands to untie the halter. Once that was free he practically ripped it from her chest. Her breasts popped out at him and his lips began to suck and lick her nipples. Y/N arched into his mouth while her hands fingered through his dreads. She tried looking down to watch him pleasure her breasts but he had her so weak and feeling so good. He was suckling like a hungry baby and damn she could feel that shit in her toes. 

“Fucking sexy, girl,” He murmured something into her chest while his lips attacked each hard nipple. Not only were her nipples given attention but around her breasts were too. He french kissed that skin basically wetting her up with his saliva. 

“Oh, God,” She mewled, “Your mouth feels so good on me.”

She wanted him to lay her on her back and lick and suck her all over. Y/N’s body was screaming for attention. Y/N pulled F-16’s face away from her nipples and replaced it with her greedy dripping tongue. He swallowed her tongue and lips with his full mouth. His tongue was deep down her throat causing her eyes to open and stare at him with a sexual appetite. She really needed him. Kissing him made her open her legs further so she could feel his clothed dick stroke her hard clit. 

“You needy little girl,” He smirked, “that pussy wants some attention, huh?”

“See?” She opened her legs as best she could. F-16 looked down then back up at her face. Y/N had her fingers pinching her clit, “Suck my clit.”

“Shit,” F-16 tosses Y/N on the bed, “Spread them legs and show me how you play with that pussy.”

She didn’t hesitate because her fingers were aching to touch. She spread her legs so wide she felt like they were detached from her own body. Her pussy was spread out and sloppy. She fingered her clit causing some of her natural lubricant to drip. Taking her fingers, Y/N dragged that liquid up to her clit to rub it in. She noticed F-16’s erection twisted to the side in his briefs now that his pants were removed. If she pulled those briefs down his dick would probably hit her in the face. He walked up to her, standing between her legs and bringing his hand down to rub along the outside of her opening. Wet gushing sounds came from her pussy each time his fingers would tap lightly against her hole. Damn, she was so wet. His other hand grabbed his balls through his briefs. 

“This how you play with that pretty pussy, Foxy?” 

“Yes,” She rolled her hips.

“You rub that clit just like that?”

“Mhm,” Her eyes closed.

“Make that clit nice and hard, huh?” 

“Fuck yes,” She was close. 

Two of his fingers slipped inside. She widened her legs while still rubbing her clit. He was knuckle deep in her pussy and she was sure his hand was soaking wet. 

“I’m making that pussy cum?” His other hand was in his briefs now.

“Yeah, you’re making my pussy cum,” Y/N couldn’t even rub her clit anymore from how weak he made her. Now his thumb replaced her actions. She thrust her hips forward more to get his fingers deeper. 

“This too much?” His voice was so low and seducing.

“No, I can take it,” Y/N moaned out.

“Shit, then you should be able to take this,” F-16 slid a third finger inside. 

Stuttering she said, “F-fuckk I-I’m cumming f-for you!”

His fingers came up to rub her clit as her essence spilled onto the bed. Her thighs closed and her body fell back against the bed. F-16 finally let those briefs down and showed her what he was packing. He had such a beautiful dick and body. It looked so good and she knew it would feel just as good in her pussy. Beautiful man. She had a serious body and dick fetish. 

“Damn, can I suck it?” She licked her upper lip, “Let me slide that right down my throat.”

Y/N was proving to him that she wasn’t afraid. She opened her legs more for him while wrapping her small hand around his big dick. F-16 smiled down at her and she thought she would die from how fine he is. Taking her giving and unsparing lips, Y/N allowed that pipe to slide right in down to the base.

“Nasty bitch,” F-16 showed Y/N no mercy as he fucked her mouth. She thought she would take control but it was all him… all of him indeed. She wanted to suck him dry. Her sloppy mouth spilled saliva over her chest. She purposely made gagging noises to let him know that she loved the dick and how perfect and beautiful it was. 

“Daddy, I want,” She said while F-16 slapped his weight on her tongue.

“Say please,” He rubbed it along the length of her tongue.

“Please feed me.”

Swallowing it whole, Y/N was loving that chocolate stick as it swelled in her bountiful mouth. 

“Fuck, bitch, look what you’re about to make me do,” His head fell forward and his lip was between his teeth. His face looked so relaxed but his body was literally shaking as he erupted thickly within her mouth. It was yummy perfection. F-16 slapped Y/N’s pussy before rubbing her clit and labia in slow circles. Her eyes were on him, silently telling him to punish her brutally. Removing his hand and placing it in his mouth to suck off her cream, F-16 walks over to his pants to grab his wallet. Wrapped in gold was a magnum that he ripped open to roll over his shaft. Walking back to Y/N with her legs still spread open He reached down to pick her up so he could fuck her standing. She practically jumped on him, opening her legs to give her pussy to him.

“How you like that pussy fucked?” He asked while rubbing his dick back and forth over her wet folds.

“Deep daddy,” Y/N stared into his dark eyes, “So deep daddy...very deep...I wanna feel your balls slap my pussy.”

“You wanna be a slut for this big dick so damn bad,” He finally let his length inside of her. He was deep like she wanted. Her mouth fell open into a silent scream. 

“Damn, pussy feels just as good as it tastes, baby,” F-16 gave her shivers, “You wanted to be filled like this looking the way you did at that fucking bar, HUH?!” He thrust forward sharply and pulled out slowly. He repeated this assault on her pussy over and over until she was finally able to mutter a sound. 

“You can take some dick in you, mhm,” Y/N bounced as best as she could on him without stopping. F-16 was so big in her little pussy. He saw her struggle and now his hands were under her ass to lift her up and down his dick. She dragged her nails painfully over the scars on his chest when his dick made contact with her g spot. 

“Damn, you’re gripping my shit,” His hand found her neck, “You like showing this pussy off? Wearing no panties with all that ass and pussy out. If I would have known, this dick would be in that pussy at the bar instead.”

The thought of being fucked on the dance floor or on that pool table in front of all those people had Y/N so wet and open for him. She moaned his name and wrapped her arms around him while he molded his dick into her pussy at a rapid pace. The power of her orgasm pushed against his dick causing him to slip out. He grabbed his dick at the base and rubbing it along her clit. She continued to spill for him when he did that. Y/N’s cum was plentiful. She couldn’t lie that it feels great when he’s a little too big and overwhelming to take. His dick was long and strong and when he pulled her off him to place her on her back she almost came again. She wondered how long he would be in town because she really wanted to fuck him from sunrise to sunset. 

Damn, now his lips were on her pussy. Y/N rubbed the back of his head softly even though his lips were strong on her pussy. He was licking away the mess he caused. 

“Mmm, fuck this tight pussy up, Daddy,” She was ready for more. 

He still had his lips on her pussy. 

“Daddy...please,” She tried pulling him away but damn he was really eating her pussy. Her arms wobbled and fuck she was gonna cum again. He held her hips in place while his tongue fucked her pussy. She watched his head move back and forth. He pistoned that tongue in and out of her. She wanted the pussy fucked again he was gonna give it to her every which way.

“Ima fuck around and hit you up every time I’m in Boston with a pussy like this,” He slapped her phat pussy, “Ain’t no such thing as too much big dick for you, slut.”

She was really being a daredevil tonight. F-16 wanted to give her backshots but Y/N needed to sit on his dick first. She begged him and now here she was bouncing on his dick. Her ass clapped against his thighs and her titties bounce in his face. 

“Good, bitch, sit on it, take that FUCKING dick!”

This was a real dick fuck. Foxy is a true rider. She was fucking F-16′s head up on purpose. Ride that dick. Jump on that dick. Bounce on that dick. Taking that dick and using it for a cum stick. 

“You hiding that sexy phat ass from me?” His sweaty face glowered at her, “Fuck me in reverse, bitch, and twerk that ass!”

Y/N kept the dick in her while turning to give him a view of her phat ass. She looked back at his sexy face because it said it all for her. F-16 was ready to bust a load in that condom. 

“Shit, that's how you feel?! Gon’ head nut on this Daddy dick then!” her moans were so damn angelic. She couldn’t hide behind a nickname like Foxy when Angel Face was her true identity. 

“Damn, I got me one for real,” He slaps Y/N’s ass, “Thick as fuck, damn, got a phat ass.”

Out of nowhere, F-16 sits up on his knees causing Y/N to fall forward on her elbows with her ass in the air. F-16 was ready to slam in that pussy for real. She needed to be appreciated for being such a good slut for him. F-16 grabs a fist full of her hair, making her look up into the mirror above his dresser. She strained her neck to watch her ass clap back on him.

“Been too damn long...hmmph.”

That’s that shit she was talking about.

Fucking hard and rapid.

Use her pussy like a punching bag.

“You watching that ass? Watch it while I fuck this pussy.”

She could see her cheeks acting like a tidal wave whenever he dug deep. He was fucking the shit out of her. She would love to roll over to this every morning and before bed at night. Damn, F-16 could fuck some pussy up. She just watched open-mouthed as her ass bounced and clapped. She started moaning and cumming around him. 

“You are sexy as hell, bruh...got my dick hard just looking at you, Foxy.”

She started twirling her hips and popping her ass while throwing it back on him. F-16 had his arms by his sides but from time to time he would pop her big ass for pleasing him so good. 

“That’s how you do Daddy’s dick? Just nut on me and fuck on me like this? Nice tight juicy pussy on you.”

“Mmmm-ahhhhhh,” She looked back at it with a pout of her lips. 

“Good, bitch, that’s right, give Daddy that pussy,” He slaps her ass with his eyes on her, “Get that pussy stuffed...good girl...let Daddy use that pussy.”

F-16 had his hands on her hips again and that's when Y/N really was in trouble. He was holding that nut off to feel her as much as he could like she would disappear. 

“Let Daddy use that pussy...let Daddy use that pussy...Let Daddy use that pussy,” He was so hung up on how good she felt he was repeating his words, “I should have fucked you raw and leave my nut in you GODDAM!”

Dick throbbing Y/N concord F-16’s dick. He was filling that condom up load after fucking load. 

“Fuckkkk, it’s so much cum!” She could feel it even though it wasn’t actually coating her walls. His thrusts became slower and slower until finally, his dick slipped out. Y/N turned around on the bed, grabbing his dick to remove the condom. F-16 watched her pour his cum into her mouth from that condom before arching forward to suck the rest from his dick. 

“I’ll suck your dick all the time, Daddy,” She looked up at him with her beautiful eyes.

“Then bring it on I’m always hard and ready to be sucked on ma,” 

Y/N found herself sucking this man’s dick yet again. Anywhere, anytime, anyway he wants it. 

“I wish I could take your fine ass with me,” He fingered some of her hair behind her ear before reaching forward to slap her ass, “I need you to calm a nigga down when he ready to kill a motherfucker.”

She didn’t flinch at his words. F-16 knew that she had him figured out the minute he stepped to her. Yeah...it was for the best that she didn’t get involved with this man and his deadly lifestyle but who was she kidding? Whenever he came to Boston or New York he could stop by and give her some good, rough, loving in her tight pussy. 

The End.

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh@chaneajoyyy@pananegra@theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah@moonlight-night-sky @eyeknowmywrites  @crowngold@njadakillthiscookie@blktinkerbell@luvanxi @sheisexcellent1@chocolatedippedinhoney@brandithecrystalgem@dababydababydababydababy@soulfulbeauty19@btitannaaa@sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted@harleycativy @rbhp@thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone@bugngiz@palmstreesallday@skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo​ @truglori @queenflaws

[niseamstories]

Tl;dr: The heavily revised physical edition Dreams of the Dying, my novel set in the Enderal universe, is now available for pre-order via Amazon via my website. Special early bird prices are $32.99 for the hardcover with an illustrated appendix, $12.99 for the paperback, and $2.99 for the eBook. It’s a prequel featuring Jespar, but, for reasons outlined below, opens up a new canon. Amazon.de has yet to pick up the listing for the physical editions, but they are incredibly slow—I’m working to get that done.

Hey guys,

This is Nicolas, the writer of Enderal speaking. As some of you may know, I’ve been working on an Enderal novel, Dreams of the Dying. First released as a web version, I spent the past year completely rewriting and improving the book, adding and removing chapters, revising characters arcs, and improving plotting, worldbuilding, and style. In total, I rewrote the web edition three times from cover to cover. Well, it’s finally time: Dreams of the Dying is now available for pre-order on Amazon!

The English version of Dreams of the Dying will release on October 20. A German (and perhaps Russian) translation will follow as soon as possible.

Please note that this is a rendering and that the actual hardcover looks slightly different, with same format but a matte dust jacket and a matte, laminated case. A big shoutout to Dominik Derow for the cover artwork, Johanna Krünes for her cover design, and Joyce, for her tips, patience, and help with this product shot.

Jaaros Oonai, magnate, visionary, and master of coin, doesn’t muse about whether the glass is half empty or half full—only about ways to fill it.

Jespar Dal’Varek, drifter, mercenary, and master of avoidance, doesn’t muse at all. He’d rather just drink the damn wine.

Two lives that could not be more different intertwine when a strange contract leads Jespar to the tropical island empire of Kilay, the wealthiest nation of the Civilized World.

The mission turns out to be as bizarre as it is lucrative: Jaaros Oonai, the country’s merchant king, knows something that could stop a catastrophe, but he has fallen into an inexplicable coma. Together with an ex-priestess and a psychic, Jespar must enter Oonai’s dreams and find this secret.

What should have been a fresh start rapidly turns into a nightmare, as Jespar slides into a spiral of disturbing dreams, political intrigue, and clashing ideals, where not only the fate of Kilay but his own sanity are at stake. It’s not long before he learns that only a spider’s thread divides the sleeping and the awoken.

And that there’s no greater enemy than one’s own mind.

The hardcover edition comes with an appendix that includes additional lore, such as an illustrated bestiary, a guide to Kilayan fashion, illustrations of the (re-envisioned) seven Light-Born, a short guide to the Makehu language, and much more.

Even though Dreams could be considered a prequel, I didn’t write this as an expansion or fan service but rather as my debut, and a book that stands on its own. This edition differs vastly from the web version, and, though it is up to you to judge, I’m a million times happier with it.

If you’re on the fence and would like to wait for reviews—here’s hoping I get enough—I fully understand. However, if you would buy the novel, you’d do me a great favor if you considered pre-ordering. One of the biggest challenges as an indie author is exposure; since Amazon registers all pre-orders as Day 1 sales, a lot of Day 1 sales would give me a chance to climb in the novel’s category and boost visibility for readers outside the Enderal community. To make this worth it to you, the book will sell for a special early bird price of $32.99 for the hardcover with the illustrated appendix, $12.99 for the paperback, and $2.99 for the eBook, as opposed to $37, $16, and $5. Just follow the link to my website and click pre-order—it will take you right to your local Amazon marketplace.

Unfortunately, Amazon.de has yet to pick up the listing for the physical editions, but they are incredibly slow—I’m working to get that done.

I’m aware the hardcover is in the upper price range, but it uses the best materials, and the illustrated appendix cost a lot to produce. It’s also the only edition where I make a more solid revenue, so see it as a way to support my work, if you wish.

If you’re a patron and pledged $110 or more since October 2018, I’ll be in touch a few weeks before launch to send out your signed hardcover copy right away. Thanks again for your support, Dreams became a far pricier project than I anticipated, and your patronage helped me immensely in covering the cost.

Lastly, a word of warning before you pre-order: For the paperback edition, I took the drastic step to separate Dreams and all future Enderal novels from the game canon. There are two good reasons for this. First, the Vyn games were created over 17 years, the earliest one being Myar Aranath in 2003. Fascinating as this idea may be, it also means that the lore of the Vyn universe was created by a myriad of different authors (the latest and current one being me when I joined the team in 2011). As a result of this, the lore of Vyn has always felt a little disjointed and inconsistent; I initially took these differences as challenges to conquer, but the longer I wrote, the more I realized how much these inconsistencies bothered me and how hard they made it to write the story and the universe I envisioned. Let me assure you that this decision wasn’t easy and does not reflect a lack of appreciation for the work of the previous workers. I stayed faithful to the lore whenever possible.

The second reason is a trickier one: Jespar. This character has been in my mind for nine years now, and I love him with all my heart. Still, the more I immersed myself in the story of Dreams, the more I grew aware of how incredibly constraining it was to write a story where the end is already written; because Jespar is alive in 8234 a. St. (1234 P.L. in new canon lore), you all know he will never be in real danger. Again, there is undoubtedly an intriguing challenge to writing such a “safe” story, but—similar to the lore, I increasingly felt like I was writing with fetters on. 

So, what does this mean? Aside from the fact that anything can now happen, the consequences aren’t that drastic. Enderal is still Enderal, and Jespar is still Jespar, albeit thirteen years younger and at another point in his life. I changed and expanded details about his backstory, but his essential conflicts are still the same, only refined. Major changes include modifications to the Light-Born (their aspects, how they came to be, when and how they disappeared, and the societal consequences of that disappearance), the time frame of the different eras, and a complete rework of the magic system. Minor changes include dates, the spelling of names and locations (Kilay, not Kilé), and others details I tweaked for consistency and worldbuilding coherence.

And that’s about it. I’m aware and grateful for the love many of you have for this world, and believe me, I did my best to honor it; I just realized I cannot tell a good story with one arm tied behind my back. If it’s any solace, I can promise you that new book canon is ironclad – I’m pathologically obsessive about consistency and cohesive worldbuilding, but without a solid framework, that’s a recipe for frustration and disaster. See it as a different but nearby eventuality: details and fates may differ, but the soul of the world remains the same.

If all that didn’t scare you off, pre-order away! I also set up a Goodreads page for the book, so you can add it to your To-Be-Reads or even recommend it to your friends – this is an indie project by all means, so I’m grateful for every bit of support. Please keep in mind that the Goodreads is for the revised edition, not the web edition, so if you’re planning to leave a low rating, I’d be grateful if you waited to read the actual book in October 20. It’s a different experience.

Last but not least, a big thank you to everyone who supported me on Patreon, created fanart for Enderal, or just let me know they enjoyed this game and were looking forward to the novel. This novel was meant to be a 6-month stint but, boy, did it turn into something more. It sounds sentimental, but this last year has been rough personally, and your support and encouragement kept me going.

I hope this story will live up to your expectations.

Best,

Nicolas

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[vagrant-love]

Justin’s Love Chronicles - Story 1

This is a Waverly Place fic. This was meant to be a one shot one chapter story of several stories unconnected where Justin find love and sex in different scenarios. However, I degressed too much in this one so the rest of the story will have another entry.

The next entry will have sex and all the good stuff.

Inspired by S04E19, Wizards vs Asteroids

“We received a report from NASA that an asteroid has changed its course and is heading straight to earth, this means the end of life as we know it” The Russo family, Zeke and Harper were all gathered on the Russo’s family living room watching the television in disbelief as it delivered the horrifying news. Alex, who was usually carefree and youthful, ready to dismiss any terrible news with a joke or witty remark was left speechless, unable to find in her vast mental Rolodex of comedy anything to say that could even remotely lighten the mood.

Harper, who was an alarmist by nature did what was expected of her, she made a mental note of all her favourite outfits, which she would now wear, one after the other, until the end, but she then decided she would not have time to change to all of them, so instead she would make a new one, or die in the process.

Max, who had a mind as feeble and as free as a butterfly in a breeze, almost child-like despite being now a teenager, turned to his family and beloved friends and realised that he would no longer see them. This idea filled him with immense sadness, he felt his shoulders heavy, and his eyes teary. “Guys, I know I am usually lost in everything that is happening around me, or with you guys. But now that the end is coming, I just want you guys to know that I love you guys, and I care for you, and I wish I was more present, more aware”.

Teresa could not help but to love the youngest of her beloved children. Yes Max problematic. Yes Max created all sort of havoc. Yes Max… well, they all knew all that Max did, but one thing they all also knew is that Max never did anything maliciously. He was pure and innocent and they all loved him. She took him into her arms with tender love that only a mother could give, and stroke his beautiful brown hair that resembled hers so much.

“It’s okay Max, we love you just the way you are. Right Jerry?”

Jerry nodded in agreement, like Alex he too had no words for that was happening. He was a big softie after all, they all knew it, and knowing that the world would end and they would never see his family again was a burden no heart could bear, specially not Jerry’s heart. He enveloped both his wife and Max, holding them tight in his arms, feeling their warmth for the last time, smelling the sweet scent of vanilla shampoo in Teresa’s hair, one thing that he loved about her since they started dating, she almost smelled like vanilla. He even appreciated the minty smell coming from Max’s hair, which he hoped was form his shampoo, but he knew was probably from eating too many magical mint cookies to disguise Max’s sour smell of not having bathed for a couple os days.

The only one who wasn’t in a fatalistic mindset was Justin, who’s rational mind was working overtime doing calculations, trajectories, thinking about the physics, rotations, heck, even dark matter if it helped. He turned to Zeke who stared back at him, they shared an unspoken bond, they knew what each other thought without having to say any words. Justin nodded. Zeke nodded. And both went up to Justin’s room.

“C’mon Justin do you really think they could have made the wrong calculations? They are the freaking NASA man. We are so doomed!” Zeke whined as soon as they entered the room. He wanted to be right, but being an emotional bouncing chipmunk he was he could not help but fall in despair when confronted with the idea that he, Zeke, could be right when NASA was not.

“Zeke, we have been tracking asteroids for years. You know the calculations, you’ve done it yourself man. We are RIGHT!” Justin said, almost barking the last word as he usually does the he wanted to emphasise his excitement. He took Zeke by the cheeks, holding each side with one hand and forced Zeke to look straight back into his eye. He had this new theory he thought after considering Plato’s theory on the soul. If a soul was the essence of a being, and decided how the ‘vessel’ would behave, and if Shakespeare was right when he said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, then maybe if he stared at Zeke he could make HIS mind force Zeke’s mind to behave more like Justin, and less like Zeke.

Not that Justin didn’t like Zeke’s soul, far from that. He adored him. Zeke was his best friend, his confident, more often than not a should to cry on. He was there when Justin lost Juliet and Rosie, and he never judged, or made fun of him for expressing his feelings in an ‘unmanly’ way. Zeke was always kind to Justin. *** The day Juliet went away Justin was in shambles. His heart was shattered, exploded and each particle was so small that if one could see they would think he had sand in his chest. It was an adequate metaphor, because Justin did feel like he was suffocating after his girlfriend went away, as if had a whole beach in his lungs. He could not breath, and it felt like every heartbeat was a struggle. After that fated day he didn’t want to go home and see his family. He loved his family, but some things are not meant to be shared with family.

He called Zeke as soon as they got home.

“Hey’, he said as soon as Zeke answered with his cheery ‘Hiellow’. He could not help but to grin, even if just slightly, at the sound of his beloved friend. His overly cheeriness, carefree and over-the-top attitude was something that Justin always felt balanced his more sober, geeky and rational attitude. Together they were balanced… perfect.

Justin explained what happened to Zeke. Not in detail, just enough so that he could ask him if he could come over and maybe spend the night. “Of course man, stay as long as you want. I’ll call my parents to double check but you know they love you, I’m sure they won’t mind. I’m here for you bro, you know that, right?”

“I know Zeke, thank you”, was all Justin could mumble before hanging up. Zeke was very wealthy, his parents had a beautiful and large apartment on the Upper East Side, which wasn’t too far from Waverly Place, but it felt to Justin as if he was entering a different universe whenever he visited Zeke. It was a place of money, Teslas, Chanel suits, Versace underwear and diamonds. A lot of diamonds. He remembered one time when he was younger and he saw Zeke’s mother going out with his father, both looking very chic and well dressed. She was wearing a beautiful necklace, two strips of diamond with a large blue diamond in the middle. Justin was obsessed with it, he never seen something so sparkly in his life. Even magic could not rival it. It was as if one million pieces of glitter had been crushed together to form just one stone. He must have stared at it so badly Zeke’s mother could not help but notice.

“Do you like my necklace little Justin?”, she asked, she had a bit of an accent but he didn’t know where from.

He nodded.

“Would you like to have a closer look?”

Again, he nodded, and the lady took the necklace off her swan-like neck, and handed it to the younger lad who took hold of it as if he was holding a bomb with how careful he was handling with the jewellery.

He adored it, he wanted to have it, to wear it. He wished for a brief second that he was a girl to be able to wear such things. He put it in his head and wore it like a tiara, and looked at himself in the large baroque mirror that was placed in the large living room. He smiled brightly, shining his pearly teeth for all to see. Zeke’s mother laughed heartily, and Zeke’s father smiled kindly to him, giving him a look that Justin never quite understood. It was a kind look, but also a mysterious one.

“You truly are most adorable little Justin, I am glad my Zachary found you as a friend. I told you George that sending him to public school was the best idea. I went to one and I tuned out well. Yes, private education has its perks, but our boy should be grounded and down to earth.”, she said, half to her husband and half to the two young boys staring at her.

She held her slender hand with beautifully manicured fingers to Justin, who noticed she had a bracelet that matched the necklace. Justin handed the necklace back to her, but he never forgot how he looked with that necklace on his head.

Justin wasn’t sure why he remembered that on his way to Zeke. Maybe it was because he hasn’t been to the Beakerman’s house for quite some time. He was very busy with school, magic, etc. So the chances to go to the Upper East Side were scarce. He was happy he was going though, he liked there, but most of all, he liked Zeke.

When he arrived he went through he dark oak heavy doors into a refined reception room, neatly decorated with a classy baby blue carpet that covered the floor and matched the cerulean paint on the walls. On the centre there was a huge glass candelabra that Justin could not even imagine how it was cleaned without magic. To the left side surrounded by white marble was the reception, hosted by a Juan, the oddly young and handsome concierge. He was probably ins his late 20s, Justin would guess 28? He had thick jet black curly hair, not too voluminous, just enough to give him a youthful look, as if he had just left the ocean and his hair dried with the sad from the sea and, sorta stayed that way. With dark green eyes, and a very shallow stable, he almost looked like a model on his day off, except for the cute little cap he wore to match his nice suit. He wondered if the suit came with the job or is Juan bought it to match the opulent surrounding.

“Hola Juan”, said Justin.

“Hola señor Justin”, replied Juan, with his useful cheerful tone. He didn’t often meet Juan, but he always had a tone that was almost as if he was smiling through his voice. It made Justin happy and he pondered for a split second that his natural charisma was too great to be left isolated from the rest of the world, secluded in that beautiful cage of a Manhattan reception. Juan should have been a model, or an actor maybe… thought Justin, considering if he would allow himself to use magic to maybe change Juan’s fortune.

“Señor Zeke told me you were coming, go right in, the code is this”, he handled Justin a piece of paper neatly folder with the number 24.

Justin thanked him, walked into the large elevator at the end of the reception, typed in the cold and went up to the 5th floor, where the door to the elevator opened straight into the beautiful living room he had reminiscence not too long before.

Not much had changed, apart from some furniture changing and moving, the colour in a wall going from white to marsala, and a piece of decor here and there which he remembered not being there, or being somewhere else.

“Hey Justin”, said Zeke, coming from the sofa and greeting him at the entrance. He was wearing only a white tank top and silver cotton pyjama trousers. His hair was a bit messy. It wasn’t early but not late enough that Zeke should be sleeping, thought Justin. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting your nap or anything”

“Not at all man”, Zeke said, shining his naive smile at Justin. “My parents are travelling in Asia so I have the apartment for myself. I decided to have breakfast food for dinner and I thought hey, if I am gonna have breakfast then I need to be dressed for breakfast. So I dressed up like this and messed up my hair. What do you think bro?”

Justin laughed, which felt a bit weird, he hadn’t felt at all happy ever since Juliet had been taken by the mummy, let alone after she went into the woods, but Zeke had this natural ability to make others laugh, it was what made him so charismatic and something Justing envied a little about Zeke. While Justin was more handsome than Zeke, he always lacked this easiness that Zeke had into fitting him.

“Oh I’m so sorry Justin, I’m being so insensitive talking about breakfast when your girlfriend turned into a million years old and disappeared into the woods. Oooooh man I’m a terrible friend!”, whined Zeke in his usual chipmunk manner.

“It’s fine Zeke, I laughed so that’s more than I have done in the past months so, thank you. And I think you look dashing my friend.” He said, giving Zeke a wink and a couple of gun finger pointing.

“Thanks Justin, you’re awesome man. Come in”, he said, leading Justin down the hall and into his bedroom, which was almost as big as the living room.

Zeke’s bedroom as dreamland for any geek. He had Dark Star replica hanging from the ceiling. A book shelf full of fantasy books and mangas, Zeke loved his Sailor Moon and made a point to buy each one from the original Japanese print. Zeke’s bed was enormous, and was probably the size of all the Russo’s beds combined. Justin was always surprised that Zeke didn’t use custom sheets of his favourite series, Doctor Who, but he had a feeling that had something to do with his parents. The rest of the room was filled with other nerdy things, but overall looked like a normal teenager room. There were clothes spread out around the floor, the bed was unmade, and there were a couple of plates of food left on top of the many cupboards around the place.

“Sorry, I gave the cleaning guys a break since it’s only me, so things are a bit messy”, Zeke said apologetically. “Sit down tell me what happened again”. Justin took the seat on the bed, right next to Zeke who sat on top of his leg as he usually did, facing Justin. He wasn’t sure he could reciprocate the gesture. When he thought about talking about what happened to Juliet he immediately felt his eyes filling with tears, and the sand in his chest moving up to his through, choking any words that attempted to break free from his vocal cords.

“I-I… Sh-She…”, he tried saying, but the sobs had already started. Justin hid his face with his hands. He was so embarrassed, he was meant to be the cool one but there he was crying like a baby.

“Hey hey, it’s okay dude, it’s okay to cry. Come here”, he pulled Justin by the shoulders, an action that surprised Justin so much it made his sobs stop and for him to look at Zeke with a horrified face. Not because Justin was avert to Zeke’s touching but because never in their friendship they had been this intimate. Yes, they were very close, but only in the manner that people would see it as acceptable.

“It’s okay dude, there’s nothing weird about this. I know people think us guys can’t like, cry or hug, but the truth man is that you’re my best friend and if you’re sad, I want to give you a hug”, Zeke said without an inch of malice in his voice, without so much of a hint of an ulterior motive. His honesty and frankness were so genuine Justin couldn’t help but feel disarmed. Justin pondered, for a second, and decided that this was okay.

He allowed himself to be embraced by his friend, who put his head in his shoulder and held him tight. He rubbed Justin’s back slowly and gently, and Justin felt himself letting go of the sand in his heart, of all those feelings of lost and despair he had felt since Juliet went away.

And he cried, loudly. And Zeke stayed there with him, holding him, rubbing his back and squeezing his shoulders, whispering ‘It’s okay buddy, everything is okay, I’m here for you’.

Justin knew, at that point, he loved Zeke.

[twiceblackvelvet]

im the person who asked for the 10th emmber reaction!!! thank u omg i loved it and u did so fast it's great!! can i please request a reaction based on that prompt but for jeongyeon??? thank u so much!!!!

A/N; hope you enjoy anon, thank you for both requests🖤

Being a member of the nation’s biggest girl-group comes with immense pressure. If there isn’t a camera in front of your face like there is currently, it would be unusual. A lot of that time is spent with a smile convincing enough to please your adoring fans, however, the nine girls you share the stage with know that it isn’t the real you. Truthfully, your journey to becoming a member of TWICE was rough. The rules against what you can and can’t do, the constant training and evaluations almost shattered your spirit, confidence, and dream to even potentially debut never mind make it as an idol. 

Amazingly, all of those things are not what has caused you to often lock yourself inside your room in the dorm. You don’t avoid people because of your experiences from before your debut. It’s because every day you’re reminded by one member in particular that you’re not wanted. Of course, it’s never been said to you with words but you’ve always believed that actions speak far louder. 

Your audition process was fairly simple, you recorded two videos of you singing and one of you dancing and sent it off to the company after having been spotted at a fan meeting for a rookie group your friend liked. You were invited to the company for an evaluation and the next thing you know, you’re signing a contract and your training soon began. At first, it was all a whirlwind of emotions and experiences. You were in awe of all of the talented people you’d casually bump into every now and then. But all of that changed when you met her. 

Jeongyeon was already a trainee when you entered JYP but the two of you had never met until a few months after you had signed. The dance studio was always where you felt the most comfortable, whether it be to let loose yourself or watch the other trainees work on new choreography. The world must have been out to get you the first day you met her though as it’s by far the most embarrassing moment of your life thus far.

Your hand gripping a reusable coffee cup being knocked by Jeongyeon’s body as she entered the studio door you were exiting and spilling over the both of you is not the first impression you’d wish to make on anyone, yet it’s what both of you are stuck with when thinking back to your first meeting. Even thinking about it now makes your toes curl and head pound in frustration because that split-second moment of stupidity has led you to be stuck in this current position of Jeongyeon seemingly hating your entire existence. 

Your relationship with the other members of TWICE is strong. The bond you hold with each of them is so special to you that you can’t imagine ever doing anything to jeopardize that. They’ve all always made sure to reassure you whenever you’ve had second-thoughts or doubts about your talent. But the more you think about how Jeongyeon will avoid all conversations with you or refuses to spend longer than three seconds alone with you, the more frustrated and angry you become. But now is not the place or time to be thinking about the fact that you’re deeply disliked by someone you’re supposed to be close to and who fans call one of your ‘sisters’. 

So, as you sit and listen to the interviewers’ questions about what you’ve all been getting up to lately and asking you to offer compliments to each of the members one by one, your brain turns back into work mode and throws out the easiest lie you can think of on the spot when you finally reach her name. 

“Jeongyeon has a wonderful voice.” Your own ears pick up on the bluntness and forceful way the words fall out of your mouth, luckily the interviewer doesn’t and moves on to asking Tzuyu to compliment you all. 

It isn’t a lie, you think, Jeongyeon does have a remarkable voice that if it came from anyone else you’d love to listen to for hours. However, over the years, her voice simply reminds you of all of the times she’d point out your smallest mistakes, tell you that your issues are not her concern whenever you’d try to speak to her or simply throw out sighs whenever you’d enter the same room as her in the dorm. You don’t want to hate Jeongyeon but she makes it very difficult for you not to. 

The rest of your day consists of an appearance on a popular new variety show, filming an ad for a music streaming app to promote your new album and finishes with a photoshoot with both group and solo shots. By the time you’re in the van to head back home, the sun is rising and your eyes struggle to remain open. You can hear Mina in the front seat playing video games on her phone, Momo is passed out beside you with Nayeon draping across her body like a koala. Sana is seated behind you quietly eating snacks and scrolling through her phone peacefully. 

At the very back of the van, Jihyo and Jeongyeon are seated beside each other engaging in a hushed conversation that you’d struggle to hear under normal circumstances but even more so with the bickering of Dahyun, Chaeyoung and Tzuyu as they discuss the latest drama they’ve been watching. Your head perks up slightly when you hear a faint whisper of your name but you’re unable to figure out which of the members have said it. Sleep takes over your body preventing you from overthinking and you put to rest another busy day. 

When you awake several hours later you’re inside of the dorm resting comfortably on the large sofa with a blanket draped across your body. One of the managers must have carried you inside so as not to disturb your sleep. As you slowly raise your body to head towards your shared bedroom, you notice the kitchen light is still on with a shadow of a seated body on the wall. Curious as to why someone is still awake your feet carry you towards the only source of light available. 

Regret immediately fills your body as Jeongyeon’s back comes into sight. She hasn’t noticed you yet as you mentally curse yourself for inquisitive. A thought pops into your head about how angry and annoyed you were earlier in the day and you notice you may not get another opportunity like this to confront her and try to find out why her behavior around you is so different compared to everyone else.

“Can I talk to you?” You can visibly see Jeongyeon’s body tense up with your words. When her decision to seemingly hate you first began, you may have apologized for startling her like this but you’re past the point of caring now. She releases a deep sigh but nods her head in response. 

The tension between you both is suffocating and you worry about just how often the two of you have made the other members uncomfortable with this unspoken feud you have going on. You decide to put an end to it once and for all here.

“Look, I know that you know there’s something weird between us. I’m not blind or stupid. I can see that you rush out of any room I’m in. You snap at me all of the time even if I haven’t done anything to bother you. You’re so caring towards the other girls and yet you make me feel so small and unimportant. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve considered giving everything up because you’ve made me feel worthless or have refused to just put aside whatever pettiness you’ve created so we can be a stronger group. I want you to tell me honestly what your issue is so we can either fix this or I can decide once and for all if I want to continue to be around you as a member whilst making myself depressed in the meantime.”

Your eyes focus entirely on the sleeves of your sweater unable to look Jeongyeon directly in the eyes as your deepest and darkest thoughts brim to the surface and spill out in front of you both. The dam you built around the floodgates of your feelings has well and truly been broken. Her eyes, however, are staring a hole into your own as she watches you silently explain just how difficult she has made life for you the last few years. 

“I’ve tried so hard to just ignore you whenever you’d make me feel like this but it’s so hard when you’re around me constantly with this invisible barrier preventing us from truly being present and real with each other. I can’t do it anymore, I just… I can’t. I’m fed up of being your punching bag without you giving me a valid reason for your actions.”

The silence that fills the entire dorm once you’ve finished speaking almost makes you get up, walk out and likely never return. You just want an answer and she isn’t even willing to give you that after you’ve very clearly explained the toll all of this has taken on you. As you stand and turn away from Jeongyeon, panic begins to rise inside of her and her voice breaks your concentration on how you’re going to explain leaving TWICE to everyone you know, your fans and the members.

“I love you.” It’s your turn to be startled now at the sudden words you’ve heard from Jeongyeon several times for other members but never yourself. “Please, stay. I love you. Let me explain everything, please.”

She rises from her own seat and moves towards where your body is frozen in place unable to move, unable to breathe and unable to think about anything other than the three words she’s now repeated twice. Her arms slowly turn your body to face her and your eyes find her own. There are tears streaming down both of your faces and Jeongyeon slowly wipes a few of your own away with the pad of her thumb. 

“I love you y/n. I know it doesn’t look or feel like I do, I’ve acted like the biggest idiot in the world. But, you have to know that all of this was to protect both of us.” Your face contorts into a confused expression and Jeongyeon realizes she’s going to have to explain things from the beginning.

“Do you remember the first day we met? You spilled your coffee on us both and practically ran away from me just saying sorry over and over again? I remember thinking you were the cutest person I’d ever seen. I asked some of the other trainees about you and they told me you practically lived in the dance studio. So, I started to watch your classes whenever I wasn’t training myself. You became my escape from all of the pressure of debuting. I’d watch you dance and become inspired, you truly are amazing.” 

The words don’t feel real as you listen to them. All of the times you’ve recalled meeting Jeongyeon it’s been to scold yourself and remind you that first impressions are important and a bad one can ruin things more than you know. 

“You know that Jihyo and I are close, right? She’s my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without her. I told her all about you, how you danced so elegantly, how you’re by far the prettiest person I’ve ever seen, all of it. You can ask her if you’d like. But she made me realize that if I were to tell you all of this, you might be uncomfortable around me. So, when the managers finally told us the final line-up for our group, I knew I had to prioritize that over what I thought was just a small crush.” 

For a second you consider pinching yourself to check all of this is real. For years you’ve fought so many mental battles over the thought of Jeongyeon hating you. Yet here she is revealing that it’s all been over her attraction towards you. She doesn’t allow you to dwell on it for long as she continues speaking.

“It turned out to be much more than a small crush. I thought if I pushed you away, refused to be around you or to accept you that I’d get over it. But my heart simply won’t let me ignore you. You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to tell you all of this but I was so scared you’d hate me, tell the others and then they’d hate me too. The possibility of you ever feeling the same way just wasn’t something I felt was going to happen. I’m not saying that now it will or that I’m going to suddenly pursue you, I just need you to know that I don’t hate you. The problem has always been that I’m very much so in love with you and I’ll never ever be good enough for you.” 

There’s a deep feeling of conflict inside you upon hearing Jeongyeon talk about her fears. Despite it all, you’re proud of her for finally finding the courage to let all of this out. You desperately want to believe her and let this silliness go, but your mind which has been through so much hurt doesn’t wish to forgive her yet. 

“Please say something. Anything. Even if it’s that you don’t want to speak to me ever again.” She begs. 

You turn away from her and the action alone is enough to break her heart, but your words stop the cracks from forming.

“I can’t say I forgive you for everything, nor do I at this moment feel the way that you do. But I’m willing to put all of this aside and move forward if that’s something you want too. No more avoiding each other or being unkind to one another. Let’s try to be friends first and we’ll see where that leads us.” 

Jeongyeon extends her hand towards your body, when you don’t react she grabs one of your own and places it into hers. She shakes your hands together lightly. 

“Hello, I’m Jeongyeon and I’m very silly. It’s nice to meet you.” 

For the first time in years, you think everything will be alright. 

[feathers698-blog]

What a Producer Does, or "How to Herd Cats"

Different individuals are confounded by the verbalization "maker", and by a long shot most don't really have even the remotest sign what it is a maker, you know, does. I've discovered that it is confused such a lot of that it's truly horrible discussion grain at a bar, considering everything. As of now, perhaps in the event that I were an entertainer... be that as it may, I stray. However the term maker is dubious, minuscule, and generally saw as complete, everybody appears to concur that there are various kinds of makers, notwithstanding the way that they contrast concerning how they're part barbara fedida .

Sorts OF PRODUCERS

The business standard line is that making takes in the wake of amassing felines. In the event that you've whenever passed on, in any case, you comprehend that is woefully off base. Making looks like social event broke out, debilitated, crazy felines on a boat in a tropical storm while recuperating from critical sedation.

Regularly a maker is responsible for things like; organizing cast, gathering, and domains; discovering, paying, and regulating bundle; supervising spending plans, copyrights and courses of action; controlling or dealing with the amount of the innovative choices; discovering, raising, or giving assets or financial allies to the creation; coordinating vehicle channels and advancing openings; and dealing with the creation all around. Essentially, a maker needs to make it go, paying little psyche to what it is. They from a certifiable point of view do a type of everything. Inside the universe of making, in any case, are subcategories of makers, and each will in ordinary spotlight in on various bits of the work. It's really like being a competitor; sure, you're a competitor, at any rate what kind? Each maker blends and facilitates with their responsibilities dependent on the necessities of the task. Additionally, once in a while they don't. Hence everybody's tumult. Here a few the ways the verbalization "maker" is unwound:

FILM PRODUCER

The most notable translation of a maker is the celebrated Film Producer. This individual is liable for each piece of the making of a film, film, or TV program. The maker administers everything, and is basically worried about ensuring the absolute of the pieces get together to fund, make, appropriate, and get cash off of a film. In this sense, being a maker is shapeless and non-expressive, at any rate incomprehensibly immense. Such makers aren't by and large committed for the innovative choices (they delegate that to the managers, DPs, and so on), in any case they do have the last say about what winds up in the film, and they fill in as a surprising end round when there are imaginative separations.

CORPORATE/COMMERCIAL PRODUCER

Another typical sort of the enunciation "maker" can best be portrayed as a corporate or business maker. This is somebody who will run the inventive and decided activities of the creation and assurance the customer gets what they need. A maker in this sense passes on the creation from the customer's head and finishes it last suppositions to the customer. This is regular in a creation affiliation that does corporate/present day/customer based work, or for self-administering makers who set forth neighborhood progressions or records for advancing endeavors. Such a maker typically fills in as a contact between inventive longings and the customers' requirements. This position is a more administrative condition, rather than creative. Such a maker may once in a while be straightforwardly attracted with the creative, as well, notwithstanding. In particular, such a maker manages the customer. They should change chicken poo thoughts into chicken serving of mixed greens.

PREDITOR

Somebody who will essentially do everything from intending to shooting to remaining in contact with changing is known as a "preditor", got from "maker/chief/article head". This is standard of people in or from the news world, videographers, and creation affiliations who have more unpretentious creation gatherings. You likewise track down this an inconceivable plan when a customer is searching for somebody to "produce" a video for them: they're considering a preditor. It has gotten extensively more overpowering as a general rule TV, as well, considering the route that there is no substance and lacking money related game plan to pay an entire gathering to do things one individual can do. A maker is expected to shoot all that they can get and a brief timeframe later change the pieces into a fathomable story. Now and again this is a tip top band sort of maker. You realize the individual you see at a neighborhood occasion who has a camera with a mouthpiece and is going close, and you know, you basically know, that he will change his own account later? That is typically a preditor. In the current economy, regardless, areas like YouTube and the commonness and reasonableness of video gear has made the assumption that essentially everybody can be a preditor. Liberally keep a fundamental partition from this assumption, and survey that the music isn't in the certifiable violin. It's in the responsibility for master.

LINE PRODUCER

Somebody who makes and deals with the money related course of action likewise as the social event, plan, and so on for each film in this manner is viewed as a Line Producer. For the most part less inventive, such a maker is more worried about obtaining the cash go where it needs to go and ensuring everything runs as viably and as monetarily as could really be viewed as commonplace. A spending plan is regularly disengaged dependent on "nuances", from now on the name. A line maker runs the normal bits of a creation. In non-Hollywood indications, this stating gets mixed in with the responsibilities of a standard maker and a preditor. For instance, I did an immense heap of such a work in NYC. I was given a set extent of cash by another maker/customer/whoever and urged to "produce" something. I would then make the detail spending design and find, plan and select gathering/assets/regions/grants/sellers dependent on this spending plan.

Manager PRODUCER

Another rendition of a maker that different individuals envision is somebody who goes out and finds financial advocates or different wellsprings of supporting, or is rich and assets the authentic undertaking. This is ordinary in film and record cases, and that individual is permitted either a maker or pioneer maker credit. When in doubt when you track down a self-administering inventive "searching for a maker to assist with my film", this is the thing that they're analyzing. This is for the most part made by a focal maker considering the way that the individual who gives the cash is the individual who has the last say in how things complete. They're the chief. They administer everything, despite the way that they're fundamental center is generally concerning financing or running the film's bookkeeping. It's not difficult to disregard to review that the justification making a film is to sell it. These individuals are there to help you with recalling that.

Free PRODUCER

There's comparably the free maker. This is somebody who is responsible for the entire undertaking, if they have cash. This is run of the mill of short movies and self-administering films, consistently things with no/lo money related game plan. The maker, in this sense, does everything not being finished by the creative/pack/editors. This solidifies paying (or not paying) every single other person. Once in a while from their own pocket, generally from an investor's. A self-administering maker, apparently, is also the standard innovative power behind the endeavor, as well. It's normal for the maker to in addition have made the substance or be arranging the film.

FIELD PRODUCER

There's in like way such a maker who manages creation in the field. This is called, wise enough, a field maker. This individual goes out on the shoot and ensures everything runs successfully, including the distribution of cash. Be that as it may, their commitments by and large circuit shooting, dealing with the get-together and cast, visiting with limit, and in any case, making PA runs if basic. To the degree makers go, the field maker and the "preditor" are ordinarily essentially more boots-on-the-ground coordinated. They're people who purchase the gathering lagers following an inconvenient day, if there's cash left for it.

There are no firm principles with respect to which kind of maker does what (adjacent to, obviously, when there are), and a significant part of the time a maker is some blend of a couple or these various sorts. Moreover, this is in no way, shape or form at all, a thorough once-finished. There are moreover accessory makers, accomplice makers, creation partners, right hand supervisors who are on the makers' track, second aide managers, unit creation directors, seemingly forever. There's in all actuality no certifiable technique to clarify what such a maker does. The best clarification I've whenever heard was that "nobody really fathoms what a maker does. Regardless, nothing occurs without one."

[theplumsoldier]

PREMIERE NIGHT

Request: Anonymous asked: So if you have time and motivation and like my prompt could you write a fic where y/n joins the Avengers cast to play young Black Widow maybe? and she’s in her early 20s but she’s got this massive crush on Chris Evans but is too proud to make the first move because she’s scared of rejection but he likes her too, and then there’s a party with all MCU members - maybe the Oscars or A4 premiere afterparty, where they get drunk and make out in front of everybody and then maybe smut ensues? Please xx

A/N: i cant see endgame until tuesday i hate myself. the people tagged are from various captain america or chris evans taglists of mine, hope none that did not want to be tagged were and if so, feel free to dm me so i can remove you from the list (:

Pairing: chris evans x reader

Word count: 2478

Warnings: smut, explicit scenes, vulgar language.

His admiration for you was enormous and quite difficult to describe. Before the fourth and final Avengers movie, you had only ever done small theatrical shows and minor close to dispensable roles, so when you were cast to play a young version of Black Widow it was utterly impressive you came and stole the show with your undeniable skills, even if your overall screen time was just about 10 minutes.

However, even with no more than little screen time, you had to undergo an insane training program and take ballet classes—even if that had been your own decision. Your dedication to make your time worth was evident and you took all the advice you could, always listening to directors and coworkers to make the best of your performance. This was one of those “once in a lifetime opportunities” people always spoke about and considering you had never attended any acting schools for it was a miracle you had even landed the role, and at the ripe age of 23.

Set was amazing in spite of the long hours as the dynamic was beyond magical. There was no question whether these guys were professionals, which should have put you off and feel a tad out of place, only they never failed to make you feel part of the MCU family—one man in particular.

It was nonsensical to think just two years ago you had been at the verge of giving up on acting and went to carry on the family business. The flower boutique had always been like a second home but in your final years of school, you had sworn if you were to spend another minute in that godforsaken place you would blow it up and your head with it.

Now instead with no hands nor brains in your ablaze childhood home, you stood with a drink in your hand and a huge grin on your face, greeting Scarlett Johansson for the first time since your last on-set encounter.

“So, what will our next movie be?” asked she and you grinned at her overt hint.

"Well, Feige has yet to turn down a Black Widow solo, soo. . .” responded you, dragging out the ‘so’ for obvious reasons. Nudging her lightly, you earned a laugh and she lifted her hands as if to say “one never might know,” but her sparkly eyes told you otherwise. One might know. “You have no idea how nervous I was when my faced showed up on that screen.”

“Oh, you had no reason to be,” dismissed Scarlett with a wave of the hand. “This is about the best family you could have landed yourself in.”

“I know that now! But, you know, the fans are so dedicated and I figured that would mean either they would love my portrayal, or like—absolutely fucking hate it, you know?” chuckled you nervously and sipped from your drink, eyes scanning across the room.

Scarlett laughed, “well, all I have to say is that I’m glad about the casting director’s choice, getting a new face. I cannot tell you who you were up against, but—trust me when I say, you trumped her in every way.”

Your eyes lit up with both joy and curiousness. “Oh, now you have to tell me!”

Hours had passed and you had never been showered with more compliments and good wishes in your entire life, the fact that they all came from successful personas made you think this was not the last the world had seen of you.

On several occasions had you had your shot at doing something about the immense crush you had on the infamous man of your dreams, however, both worry, perturbation and pride took away what courage the alcohol had built up the entirety of the evening. All you had ever managed to come up with, was your gratitude which was more modest than self-assured as your usual kind of flirting would sound.

Your weak knees and flushed skin was nothing that made you wonder; you knew very well why you were vulnerable to such, and you could only think that the man exposing you to the affection, knew it as well. At least, when your cheeks would burn red at his comments or touch, he seemed pleased with himself.

It was an unusual feel and one you did not like much, contrary to the butterflies fighting in your stomach telling you otherwise. His mere voice took away what confidence was only habitual to your customary tone and the scrunch of his nose when he would laugh never failed to take away your breath. The stunning suit he was clad in assured that even if you managed to hide your uncertain stance, you would show in other ways and some that made you shift just a bit too often. How you should have worn a pantsuit rather than a dress.

Some had kids and some had families, others had varying excuses but the truth was you had nothing awaiting you at home. You did not even have a home to return to for you were going straight back to your hotel after this. However, you did not mind, the thought of sharing a life with someone was nice, surely, only the truth was you did not long to leave. The night had been filled with such happiness, which to you was not wonted; how could you want to leave that behind? If so, it was for the reason to take care of your untamed amorous state.

Troubled with your own thoughts, you had yet to recognize it had been Chris to move beside you until he spoke up.

“No one to go home to?”

You could recognize the kindness in his eyes anywhere. With a soft chuckle, your finger traced the stem of the wine glass and blinked at him. “That should only be if room service's waiting for me. If not, then sadly, no.”

His eyes glistened in the dim lightening from the bar, the bright ones behind his head contributing to the lit glory hovering above him. With a smile, Chris sat down, the halo vanishing as he did. “You’re still checked in on the hotel?”

Nodding in affirmation, you raised the glass to meet your lips, your eyes never leaving his blue ones. It was funny how they seemed prettier than ever in this uncertain state. Against common sense and acumen, your judgment decided upon speaking freely, picking what topic you never would have thought yourself to feel confident enough to. Whether it was because you had had enough of being lonely or it simply was the alcohol taking a toll on you, allowing more candidness than needed, you did not know. However, you felt a sudden urge and the words escaped.

“You know I like you, right?”

Chris’ face remained its joyous, laid back look, only the corner of his mouth puckering up. He could not say he was surprised. At least not with your admitted feelings, however, your frankness was something else. Undeniably, he was aware and saying those particular feelings were not reciprocated, would be about the fattest lie of the evening.

“You only say that because you’re drunk.”

“Yes,” drawled you and confessed. “It’s still true though. I shouldn’t have drunk this much.”

“You have been nervous tonight—why?” wondered Chris, thinking of the observation of the night. Whenever spoken, talked or even as little as share momentary eye contact from opposites sides of the room, you had taken another sip from your glass.

With a sudden puff of discomfort, you felt all the more self-conscious. Now, this was awkward.

“I haven’t. Or I have—but, uh. . .” You had no idea how to respond, and from his insoluble expression and soft, awaiting eyes you were forced to find the right words. “I’m not usually like this. Drunk—I, it’s really your fault—”

“That you’re drunk?”

“No—that’s my poor sagacity. You make me nervous,” divulged you, not finding the courage in you to look up for the reaction you so longed for. Instead, your head fell back, sucking in a deep breath and you found him through the corner of your eye. “I guess I wanted to build up the courage to. . . I don’t know, I was afraid this was the last time I would see you.”

“Nonsense. You’re in the Marvel-family now—”

“I know, I know and it’s great, I just—I really like you.”

Silence imbued, the tension you felt pent up completely locking out any signs of the ongoing party behind you. Good thing you were sat on a stool otherwise you might just have fallen to the ground as you knees were about as weak as your sense of vaunt. This man shot you all the way back to your high school years and for making you all hot and bothered, you tried to convince you did not like him. But truly, what was there not to like. With a heart of gold and always decent presentation, sense of humor and bearing soul, he was the one.

“So if I kissed you right now, you would not mind?”

One of your eyebrows bounced in surprise and Chris stifled his chuckle, how glorious you looked tonight. “Right here?”

Giving you no time to contemplate, he leaned in and in a split-second, your lips were connected in a sweet kiss. Being what you had only ever dreamed of, you melted under his enchantment. He tasted sweet and fresh, his cologne lingering to your nostrils and you could only worry of what strong liquor he might sense. But it did not make him stop and careless to what eyes might lurk from behind, he pulled you closer by the neck and parted his lips, deepening the kiss. At his touch, his large hand forcing you closer to him, you hummed into his mouth, reaching up to rest your hand by his beard as you allowed his tongue to dance with your own. Sweet with a pinch of sourness, you lost track of time and only departed when you had completely abated the intensity of your surroundings.

Retreating, you distanced yourself with only a minuscule amount of space left between you, catching your breath.

“Perhaps this is not the best place to do this,” admitted you, a grin playing on your lip and a glimpse flashed in your eye.

“So we leave then,” proposed he and stood up, almost to fast and your eyes grew big for a moment, knowing what he implied. Was this real?

Holding out his hand, you did not hesitate for more than what seconds the stun took and you were then on your way. Pace steady and moderate, something you could keep up with in your heels and you held your head down as you exited and cameras flashed. Out of instinct, you went to retrieve your hand, thinking Chris, too, was not keen on being seen like this. But he did not let go. His grip even tightened and casting a fleeting look across his shoulder, he offered you a sincere smile.

Up in your hotel room, little time was left to settle or even wriggle out of your dress, for the second the door was closed, your lips were once again touching. Chuckling to yourself, you were pleased to know you had not been the only one longing for this moment.

Reaching behind to fondle with the zipper, you managed to pull it down and with the help of Chris, you were freed from its clutching grip on you. Pooling down by your feet, Chris' hands slid up the backside of your legs. On his knees, he peppered kisses, trailing up, closer and closer to your sex, ensuring you would drip the second he removed your panties.

With a final flicker of his eyes, he found you watching him closely with soft and lustful eyes, bottom lip tugged between your teeth and how the pleasure pulled at your features only made him harder in his pants. Taking the encouraging hum you emitted as consent, he rid you of the remaining garment. Licking his lips, he pushed you back to sit on the bed and adored the sight of you. So wet and all for him.

Moving his hands back down your legs, Chris lifted them over his shoulders and dug right in between your legs. His tongue blending with you arousal was enough to elicit a dulcet sound from you, moan after moan escaping as he took care of you.

His facial hair nuzzling where you were most sensitive as he licked long strokes, draining you from what you could offer, you knew he would have you shaken in a matter of seconds. Aching for more friction, his hand came to the rescue, thump grazing past your clit, earning an upward thrust from your hips. His other hand came around you and retiring for just a moment you bucked up to find what sensation had become vague, but when he inserted two fingers in you, the wait was worth it.

At a modest pace he began, just enough pleasure for you to adjust to his two fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, and when first the velocity increased, Chris’ tempo was adequate to make you cum hard right then and there.

The room resonated with your moans and you had to cover your mouth in order to quiet yourself, slightly embarrassed he had you wrapped around his finger like that. But soon his hand removed your own, wanting to hear you more than anything, desperate to hear what he did to you. It had been all too long since he felt this powerful and you gave him everything you wanted by allowing him to eat you like to the likeness of a starving animal. The vibrations, the shameless, guttural groans, the tremors—it was all in the mix of pushing you over the edge and your clawing in his hair as he continued drawing moans from you.

Upon your culmination, you finally released on his tongue, mellow same as wanton sounds escaping you in the process. Riding out your orgasm, you ground your sex against him, pulsating around his fingers and when you finally came down from your high, but Chris did not yield. Continuing, he merciless rammed into you, groaning loudly at the feel of you clenching around his fingers.

Cleaning you with his mouth, Chris relished in your juices and first then he parted from you, only to stand tall before you and his hands fiddled with his black tie. Dark eyes and glinting beard, loosened knot and then the sound of his belt clanging rang in your ears. He nodded down at you, a desiring shade peaking behind the blue in his eyes. “Turn around for me.”

TAGLIST: @patzammit @derekxsammy @woodworthti666  @littledeadrottinghood @littlemissirish @figure8ght @metalarmlover @athiestangel @ihclipse @denzmallows @crist1216 @tinageekandtraveler @mustbeaweasleyginger @feysandmaraudersdramatic @marshyymello @astrid345 @schilj79 @idiosadeoro @justtrynasurvivelife @pixiehex1985 @writing-parker @exuberantqueer @sodonutnutnut @lilymdonaldson

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Life Story *Alfie SolomonsxOC*

Summary: Marianne has been lonely for a long time until she decides to meet her unusual neighbor. 

        Marianne Clark was very lonely. She had been for quite some time. Her parents were lost to the Spanish flu quite a while ago. Her husband, a wealthy heir to a family of shrewd businessmen, was killed in the War. She inherited a good sum of money and property but decided to sell the land. Everything sold except for a gorgeous manor in Margate. There she hid away from the rest of the world, curled up in her grief and sadness.

           As the years passed, Marianne found herself peeking out from behind the steel wall she’d put up between herself and the rest of the world. She’d managed to work through some of her grief although it was slow going. As long as she always heard the ocean at night, she knew the world was still turning.

           Soon, it came to her attention that she had a neighbor. Granted, their homes weren’t right next to each other, rather some ways down the gravel road. Marianne only noticed this because she saw a man returning to the home, she previously thought had been empty for quite some time. So, either he had just moved in or she’d been blissfully unaware of his presence.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           Deciding it was a good step to reintroducing herself into the human world, she baked some treats and walked over to the stately home. Her knocks were met with silence for a good while until heavy footsteps and muttered grumbles approached the door.

           Marianne wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but the man who answered the door certainly wasn’t it. Instantly, she was startled by the state of his face. Intense scarring covered the upper left side of his face, leaving a mangled mess of skin and areas that were still healing from stitches that had just recently been removed. The light caught his face and Marianne saw his left eye had been completely clouded over.

           “Yeah, didn’t always look like this, just so you know.” The man’s gruff accent interrupted Marianne’s impolite staring.            

           Her face turned red and she averted her eyes. “I’m sorry I…”

           “Nah, it’s gruesome, innit?” He mumbled and waved off her apologies. “Have we met? Me brain's been a bit muddled up so forgive me if I've forgotten who you are."

           “No, we've yet to meet. I’m uh-I’m your neighbor.” The woman pointed towards the direction of her home.

           “Oh yeah? You’re the phantom that haunts that place, aye?”

           Marianne looked alarmed. What on Earth was this man talking about? “Phantom?” She stammered. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

           “Me maid says that there’s a phantom woman that lives there. Yeah, lost her love in the war, right? So, she’s locked herself in that ol’ house, walking 'bout hoping her beau will return to her.” He pointed in the direction of her house.

           She cleared her throat and shook her head. A heavy feeling pressed against her chest. “I assure you I’m quite alive.”

           “Yeah…don’t look it, love.” Her neighbor peered at her with his good eye. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret, I was dead too, not to long ago.” He winked and opened the door wider, gesturing for her to enter. “What’s your name, love?”

           The invitation was such a strange juxtaposition to how he was speaking. Was he a mad man? Or was he simply hinting at something she didn’t understand? Either way, Marianne wasn’t sure it was wise to step inside. “Oh I-well, it’s Marianne.” She answered. “But I can’t stay I-”

           He was already walking back inside. “How’d you take your tea then?”

           “My tea? But I-”

           “Margo?” He called into the house. “Put the kettle on, would you? We’ve got company.”

           Marianne cautiously stepped in although she didn’t plan on staying long. “I’m afraid I can’t stay for tea, Mr…” She traced his steps down the hallway to a sitting room. It was cluttered with odd artifacts and pirate-like treasures. French doors opened out to a balcony with a view of the churning ocean.

           “Oh, where are me fucking manners? Alfie Solomons.” He introduced himself. “Marianne, that’s a lovely name, innit? Now did ya keep your husband’s name or have you returned to your maiden name?”

           She blinked and stood stock-still in the doorway. “Why do you ask?”

           With a grunt, Alfie sat down in an armchair. “Just making conversation.”

           Well, at least the man was upfront. “I kept my husband’s name.”

           “Yeah, figure he’s dead, right, but that don’t mean the name’s dead. Name’s a name, innit?” He glanced at her. “Well go on, have a seat, then.”

           Marianne wasn’t sure why she sat down across the room from her neighbor. Intelligence would tell her to leave because the man clearly suffered brain damage from whatever happened to cause the scar around his eye. But there was a strange charisma to Alfie Solomons that lured her in. Perhaps it was her loneliness. She was willing to entertain even a raving lunatic.

           Alfie cracked his knuckles. “So, you gonna be polite then and just not ask?”

           She raised an eyebrow. “Ask what?”

           “’Bout this?” He gestured half-heartedly to his injured eye.

           “That would be rude of me.”

           He scoffed. “Rude. Well, I’ll tell ya anyway because I know you want to know. Everyone wants to fucking know, s'just human nature, innit? We're fascinated by the macabre and unnatural.”

           Yes, Marianne did want to know. Of course, she did. So she nodded meekly.

           “See, some fucking cunt, a dear friend of mine, Tommy Shelby, shot me right in the fucking face. Meant to kill me. Told him to, right, but he done this instead.”

           It was a lot to take in. Luckily. Alfie’s maid came in with tea, giving Marianne a chance to mull over what Alfie had just rambled off to her.

           “So, you asked a man to kill you?”

           “Yeah, well, got skin cancer.” He fixed his tea, plopping in two sugar cubes. “S’fucking painful. Not as painful as being shot in the fucking face, granted, but there you go.” He shrugged.

           “I’m sorry.” She gave her sympathy but apparently the man didn’t care for such things.

           “Ain’t enough time in the world for apologies, love. Best you keep on living how you please.”

           Marianne paused as she lifted the teacup to her lips. “Is that how you live?”

           Alfie rubbed his hands together. “You looking for a story, then?”

           “A story?”

           “Lonely phantom looking to the living for a story?” He cocked his head. “Is that what’ll bring you back to life?”

           Marianne returned her cup to its saucer. “I apologize, Mr. Solomons, I must’ve interrupted you…” She went to stand up to leave.

           “What’d I just fucking say ‘bout apologies?” Alfie waved at her to sit back down. “Where d’ya want me to begin then?”

           She looked to the door. It was simple enough to walk out the door and forget she ever met her odd neighbor. She could return home and shut the world out again. Curiosity got the better of her though. Her eyes returned to Alfie who was waiting expectantly for her answer. Slowly, she sat back down. “I suppose you can begin whenever.”

           He smiled slightly and leaned back in his chair. “That hat behind you?” He pointed over her shoulder.

           Placed delicately among the oddities in Alfie’s sitting room, was a black wide-brimmed hat. It looked well-worn and had gathered a bit of dust from its spot on the cabinet.

           “Go on, you can pick it up, read the inscription.” He nodded.

           Marianne leaned over the chair to carefully pluck the hat out of the objects, pointedly ignoring the taxidermy owl behind a glass dome nearby. She turned it over and looked inside the band of the hat.

           This hat is a kettle in which to boil up your wicked dreams and make a soup of your soul.

           She moved her thumb over the faded letters. Her eyes flicked up to Alfie for an explanation, not sure if he had written the inscription or there was another background.

           “That were me father’s hat.”

           Marianne set the hat down on the coffee table between them. She picked up her teacup again and got comfortable. From there, she was lead on a tour of the life of Alfie Solomons.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           The story couldn’t be told in one afternoon. Before Marianne knew it, the sun had dipped below the ocean’s horizon. She bid her neighbor goodnight and returned home in the twilight. She tossed and turned in bed most of the night. Alfie’s story haunting her and consuming her mind. And they hadn’t even gotten to his first murder.

           Marianne spent a substantial amount of time with Alfie from then on. As he told her his story, he intermixed random conversations about whatever crossed his mind. Despite his vernacular, he proved to be very intelligent. Referencing philosophy and the Classics. Although he admitted that he reserved most of his reading for the Torah because it was such a strain now that he was half-blind.

           When he spoke of his time in the war, she noticed the faraway look in his eyes. He smiled when he spoke of his mother and siblings. His eagerness was palpable when he spoke about all the dogs he’d owned in his lifetime. Recounting their various mixed breeds and names.

           Marianne had gotten so accustomed to his company by the time he began on his life of organized crime. In fact, she would even venture to say that she had never had quite a friendship before. It had been ages since she laughed with another person.

           So, when he told her about what he’d done in Camden Town, she was thrown for a loop. It was reasonable that the man had a temper. Marianne had seen him at some of his lowest points when the pain and migraines had caused him immense discomfort. His mood was severely affected when those days came around. He tried to remain friendly but was irritable. But to learn that he was conniving enough to create an empire? It caused Marianne to pause and consider Alfie as a person. He was kind underneath all the thorny layers he’d built up over the decades. And yet he admitted to ruling Camden Town with an iron fist.

           But she continued to see him. She couldn’t imagine turning her back on him, even if for selfish reasons. His company had filled her with life again. And so, the story continued.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           “Felt the tide come in, woke me up. Always forget how fucking cold that water is, aye?” Alfie glanced outside to the ocean. It was summer. His brief installments of his life, paired with their long discussions about everything from the tides to politics, had taken about six months. By then, the two knew each other better than anyone else in their lives. Marianne was sure she hadn’t known nearly as much about her husband than she did about Alfie.  

           The man was an open book and overtime began to coax Marianne out of her shell. Even though she didn’t tell her entire life story as Alfie had, she did tell him a good deal about herself. She spoke about her husband and parents for the first time in years. She cried and Alfie had gotten up to hand her a handkerchief. She looked up at him as she accepted the token of solace. Their eyes met and there was a long pause before Alfie cleared his throat and retreated back to his armchair.

           That was when Marianne realized how she truly felt about Alfie. She was long past questioning herself. So, what if she found company in a man who seemed like the least likely companion? What mattered was the fondness she felt for him.

           “So, I dragged meself back up here and called for help.” He clasped his hands together.

           “And?” She prompted.

           “And?” He chuckled. “Not much else to say, love, they removed the bullet and stitched me back up. I woke up completely blind until I regained sight in my right eye.” He explained. “Came back here to watch the ships pass by. Then, one day, a beautiful stranger knocks on me door.”

           Marianne blushed. “And so, the story repeats.”

           “So, it repeats.” He nodded and smiled. “Tell you what though, these past few months have flown by.”

           “Is that your way of saying goodbye to me?” Marianne was only half-teasing. She was worried that Alfie would grow tired or bored of her once his story was complete.

           “Goodbye?” He frowned. “Mari, you’ve only just arrived.”

           Her heart skipped a beat. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

           “After you’ve passed me that oil.” He requested. “And a mirror.”

           Marianne stood up and did as he asked but neglected to grab the mirror. She chewed on her lip. “Can I?” She asked quietly.

           He raised an eyebrow. “Erm…yeah.” He was shocked that beautiful thing like her would want to keep his company, let alone touch his mangled face. But he didn’t oppose it either. He was a man, after all, a man who had spent enough time with her to become undeniably attached.

           Marianne was comfortable with him, but she was afraid of overstepping his boundaries. Cautiously, she perched on the arm of Alfie’s chair. She uncorked the oil with rosemary and lavender, designed to alleviate his pain and headaches. Dabbing some on her fingertips, she carefully began to rub the scented oil onto the scars. Passing over the deep lines permanently gouged in his skin and massaging into the scar tissue.

           Alfie closed his eyes, losing himself in her gentle touch. Marianne took her time, smiling when she saw the wrinkles around his eyes and forehead relax. The tension in his muscles slowly easing up.

           After a bit, she let Alfie relax for a little longer while she went to the kitchen to grab a towel. She returned, wiping the oil off her hands. She sat back down next to him and dabbed carefully at his face to clean up any excess of the liquid.

           He opened his eyes and found her face.

           “Bit better?” She asked softly.

           “You have no idea, love.” Maybe it was just her presence but the constant pounding in his head had diminished enough for him to notice.

           She gazed into his eyes and felt her face going red. “Well, I’m glad. You deserve some peace.”

           He reached up to touch her cheek. “Will you stay with me?” His voice was gentler than Marianne had ever heard it before.

           She nodded silently and dipped down to press her lips to his.

           How wonderful it was to be added to Alfie Solomons’s story.

Masterlist

[imagineseclipse]

Your Character Development Imagine

Season 1 Part 6

“I’m really glad that you guys play Lacrosse-well not you Stiles”you spoke to two boys as you walked down the corridor in a row, you clutched your books right to your chest.

You started to daydream about when they were playing, you wouldn’t be anywhere near them, you wouldn’t have to hear their voices, you wouldn’t have to smell them-honestly the last one wasn’t a choice but because of your heightened senses the smell of there aftershave had now become intoxicating.

“Because of the health and social aspect right”Stiles leered breaking you out of your daydream.

You paused for a second, not really having a clue on what he was talking about.

“What?!...No?! It’s because it’s the only time I get away from you two losers”you grinned to yourself excited to have some alone time so that you could actually breath again.

Even though Stiles had practically been stuck to your hip, prodding and poking you whenever he needed to you had been doing your own research on the side.

You had been going through Derek Hale’s history, but it seemed like he’d gone incognito after the Hale house fire. To say you’d hit a dead end was an understatement.

However, you were onto something when it came to your own personal research. You’d been looking at articles on pixies and it mentioned somewhere that they are normally woodland beings.

Which explained your love for nature, and it explained the birds. The headaches however were still bothering you every night and you couldn’t find anything that could help. You’d started to replace the darkness in your room with pretty fairy lights and plants.

It was a big change for you, but after a while you grew to like it.

Stiles had come up with this theory that your wings would come at a time when you least expect it, you were just worried about the fact that it could happen during class. Which you never really attended so your worrying was pointless.

And as for magic, you still couldn’t perform any spells, but there was dust everywhere it was driving you psychotic seeing the glitter all over your room.

However it was amusing when Stiles would nit pick about the amount of glitter dust you’d left in his Jeep.

“Not so fast”Scott tutted.

“You’re coming to practice today”Stiles sang out.

“I really don’t think so”you shot back, ready to swear your way out of it.

“Why not?”Stiles questioned.

“I hate you and I hate Lacrosse why would I surround myself with things I hate it’s not healthy”you held your hands up.

“So you’re really gonna say no to Allison when she asks you to come?”Scott raised his eyebrow.

“Yes!”You sassed, folding your arms as the boys entered the changing rooms.

An hour later and you were sat miserably in the bleachers, the funny thing was that Allison was nowhere to be seen yet she had still somehow convinced you to watch the Lacrosse practice. You were disappointed in yourself but you also wanted to know how she did it.

Since the night of the party Allison had approached you more than once, sometimes to have a conversation, to ask you if you wanted to join her for lunch. It wasn’t as if you were actively trying to ignore her like you were Scott and Stiles.

She wasn’t that bad, well she was the least annoying out of everyone, in fact you wouldn’t like to admit it to yourself but you were kind of enjoying her company as long as she wasn’t with Lydia.

Allison considered you a friend now, and as much as it pained you to say it, she was on her way to being your first proper female friend in since freshman year.

You kicked your leg up onto the bleacher in front of you, stretching your body out. You might aswell be comfortable if you were going to endure an hour and a half of that torture.

You looked around you, to your right a couple of spaces down sat Lydia Martin, she was re-applying her lipgloss in her little mirror.

She was probably there to pressure-sorry... support her idiot boyfriend Jackson Whittemore.

In your eyes the two suited one another, they were both self-centred teenagers who depended on climbing the social ladder and they wouldn’t stop even after they had gotten to the top.

“I really like your denim jacket, where did you get it from”Lydia scooted over next to you, making you feel extremely uncomfortable.

Stiles spluttered from across the field when he noticed that his crush Lydia Martin was sitting right next to you.

“I got it from a thrift store”you deadpanned as you weren’t really interested in all the fashion advice she was giving you.

“A thrift store... interesting”Lydia considered shopping there.

You tuned back into the conversation when you heard her asking for your name.

“You’re y/n right?”Lydia smirked as she flicked her hair behind her shoulder.

“Uhhhh yeah”you slowly replied.

“Allison has told me so much about you, you should really join us for lunch at our table”Lydia offered.

“Do you only wear pink on Wednesday’s?”You mocked. You high fived yourself mentally for that little joke.

Lydia pinched your cheek, she was lucky that she let go before you had the chance to smack her hand away.

“You’re funny, I like you. I’ll see you at lunch y/n”She answered before retreating back to the school.

“I wasn’t joking”you murmured, slumping down in your seat. Trying to already form a plan to try and get out of this lunch time arrangement.

Stiles raised his arms, as if he was questioning your conversation with Lydia but his sign language was cut short when you detected Scott storming across the field.

Something was wrong, you could see that there was tension in the air, Scott was breathing heavily. His anger rising with every second that passed. Suddenly Scott’s emotions hit you like a brick, making you fall backwards a little.

You’d missed what happened because of Lydia’s ambush but you were concentrating immensely now.

Scott began to charge towards Jackson, barging him to the ground. Jackson screamed out in pain.

“Well Lacrosse practice just got appealing who’d have thought”you smirked as you leant forward to get a closer look at the commotion.

Jackson was rolling around on the floor, clutching his shoulder, Scott was on his knees a few feet away, his hands around his head as if he was struggling.

Coach ran over to Jackson and Stiles leapt towards Scott with urgency.

Everyone gathered around Jackson in a circle, the coach holding his hands up telling everyone to back off a little.

The seriousness of what had just happened was starting to sink in.

You took this as your chance to climb down from the bleachers, darting past the boy laying on the floor to get to Scott and Stiles.

“What the hell just happened?!”you yelled in a whisper as you knelt down.

“It’s happening, I can’t control it”Scott wheezed.

“Great timing McCall”you opposed.

“Now?! C’mon get up, get up!”Stiles began to tug at his bestfriends arm.

“A little help?”Stiles requested desperately.

You shot him a dirty look before grudgingly taking Scott’s other arm, dragging him up off the grass.

You and Stiles lead him away from the scene quickly, but out of the corner of your eye you saw Derek Hale standing, observing the situation.

You spun your head to glare at him as he shoved his hands in his pockets. You didn’t have time to stay and have a go at him.

You’d safely made it back inside the school with out Scott lashing out at anyone.

“Do I really have to go in there?”you complained as you reached the boys changing rooms. Flashbacks of freshman year flooded you and you suddenly felt the need to throw up with anxiety.

“I kinda need your help”Stiles replied, pushing Scott through the door.

“The deal was that you help me, not the other way round”you advised before taking a step into the room.

“Please just quick! We gotta do something!”Stiles yelled.

Scott fell forward, leaning on the tiled walls, both you and Stiles knelt down next to him.

The werewolf looked up at you both, rage filled his now yellow glowing eyes.

“Get away from me!”he bellowed, causing you and Stiles to fall backwards in fear. Stiles pushed you up off the floor and he stumbled behind you, running behind the back lockers.

You would have hit Stiles for breaking rule number 3 for the second time but he was guiding you around the changing rooms. If he hadn’t have been there you wouldn’t have known where to run.

Scott jumped on top of the lockers, perusing the two of you.

“He’s going to kill us!”you muttered under your breath with realisation.

Stiles rapidly pushed you in front of him again, guiding you around the locker room away from Scott who was chasing after you in hot pursuit.

McCall growled viciously at you, as he scaled the upper half of the room.

“What do we do?!”you cried out, Stiles looked around fearfully, his eyes setting on the fire extinguisher on the wall next to you.

“Grab that!”he instructed you.

You stretched out your arm, but there was no way that you could reach it, and you couldn’t move not with Scott circling above the two of you.

You closed your eyes, frustrated and very convinced that you were going to die.

An energy inside you started to grow stronger and your hands started to tingle. It was as if your hands were magnets, you couldn’t control it.

Stiles’ eyes widened in disbelief as the Fire extinguisher rose from the wall and flew over to your hands. You’d just unintentionally performed magic for the first time. You panted heavily, your head spinning. It seemed that it had knocked some energy out of you.

“How did you-

“Just take it!”you bellowed as you passed the extinguisher to Stiles, not wasting any time. You slumped back against the wall.

Just as Scott plummeted to the floor, Stiles released a large cloud of white smoke.

As Scott threw his arms around trying to free himself from the substance you took this opportunity to run out of the door, you and Stiles both leaning against the wall just outside of the changing rooms.

You were trying to catch your breath when you heard Scott call out.

“Guys?”He called out weakly.

You both hesitantly peered around the door at the teenager who was now sat on the bench.

“What just happened?”he asked confused and disoriented.

Stiles threw the extinguisher to the ground and you both walked back into the stuffy changing rooms.

“Are you being serious?!”you were so angry.

“You just tried to kill us, It's like I told you before. It's the anger. It's your pulse rising. It's a trigger”Stilinski clarified.

“That experience was definitely triggering, not just for Scott”you whined as you ran your hands through you hair.

“Y/n, you did magic!”Stiles’ mood changed in a matter of seconds as he clapped.

“No way”you gawped sarcastically.

“It was amazing”Stiles nodded vigorously.

“Well in that case, why don’t you become a pixie with weird grey freaking eyes and white dust everywhere?!”you discussed growing sulkier.

“Anyways, back to Scott, every time you play you seem angry”Stiles changed the subject before you exploded into tiny pixie pieces.

“But that's lacrosse. It's a pretty violent game, if you hadn't noticed”Scott stated as if Stiles had ever played a game of Lacrosse in his life.

“Well, it's gonna be a lot more violent if you end up killing someone on the field. You can't play Saturday. You're gonna have to get out of the game”Stiles broke the news.

You pouted to yourself.

Seeing people get hurt on the field kinda made you forget about your own problems. It was your form of entertainment.

“I'm first line”Scott objected

“Not anymore”

[joonsgalaxy]

a turning point

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: fluff?

Words: 1,7k

Warnings: swearing

Prompt: 21 "You're stuck with me, like it or not."  requests

a/n: this is kind of enemies to lovers, but i guess more like friends that hide their feelings behind sarcasm to possibly future lovers

You watched the last balloon inflate until it was big enough and matched the others, and then you secured it. It flew up and clung to the ceiling amongst the others of its kind.

The uplifting tune of soft music was floating in the air, filling the whole apartment as you stared up, evaluating your completed task.

Beyond any doubt, it looked perfect. Silver, sky blue and snow white balloons hung from the ceiling like a bunch of ripe grapes. Beautiful words—congratulating and complimenting—were scribbled onto them, helping to create the mood for the upcoming party.

Satisfied, you spun around, and swung to the music.

You couldn't possibly miss the distasteful sound that bubbled up from Seokjin’s throat. He was snickering as if seeing the most ridiculous thing in the world.

‘What? Never done a good job and did a little happy dance in celebration?’ You shot a glance down at the silver ribbons next to his crossed legs on the floor, and from the mess he’d created you deduced that, ‘Probably not.’

He waved you off, choosing to ignore your sardonic remark. He jerked his head upwards with a bored expression, trying to draw your attention to the ceiling. ‘Take a closer look.’

Confused, you strained your neck and narrowed your eyes to glide your gaze over the balloons. ‘What do you mean? Everything's perf—Oh no.’ That couldn't be real. ‘Oh no.’ How could it happen? ‘Oh no.’

Amongst the sweetest of words on the balloons, there was a certain phrase on one of them that was ridiculously horrendous and definitely shouldn’t have existed at all. How could you be so distrait and miss it?

‘I mean, I'm not judging,’ Seokjin spoke behind you over the music, ‘If that's what this party is all about, I‘m sure he'll be more than happy to oblige.’

‘You’re disgusting,’ you snapped. ‘Shut the hell up.’

As Seokjin's chuckle softly danced behind you, your fingers rummaged through the mess on the floor near the helium tank. You came up with the packaging for 50 balloons that were now all above your head.

“Balloons for a fun birthday party”

What kind of a birthday would that be, with such an obscene writing one of the balloons?

‘It must be a mistake. It's the only one like that, right?’ You inquired, letting your gaze quickly jump from one balloon to another to ascertain.

‘As far as I can see, yes.’

‘Okay.’ You strode across the room to grab a chair and set it down right under that hideous balloon. ‘It‘s going to be fine,’ you chanted in a murmur. It was a habitual exercise of yours used at times like this to alleviate your uneasiness. ‘There‘s enough time to make sure everything's perfect.’

The thing was you quite underestimated the distance between you and the ceiling. You reached upwards as far as you could, the muscles in your arm straining nearly painfully, but no matter what, your fingers couldn't manage to grasp the balloon. Climbing on the chair might have helped you if only you had been just a tad bit taller. The ceiling appeared to be exceptionally high. ‘Shit,’ you mumbled.

‘Need a little help?’ A mocking voice behind you spoke.

‘Go to hell.’ Accepting help from Seokjin? You'd die before letting yourself do that. He was too cocky to not use it against you whenever the opportunity would come.

However, you still had to get the balloon down before the birthday boy showed up. And so you tried out something else that seemed clever at that moment. You bent your legs slightly, focused your eyes on the target and leapt toward it.

Not only you weren't able to grasp the balloon, but you also nearly sprawled onto the hard floor, because your landing on the chair was dangerously shaky and extremely risky.

‘Hey now, wouldn't want to spend Jeongguk's birthday at the hospital, would we?’

You rolled your eyes at Seokjin's comment and climbed down from the chair with your unsteady legs and weak arms that felt a little numb now.

Not the greatest of my decisions, you admitted with pursed lips.

Still, one of your most admirable innate traits was that you never gave up. This party would be the greatest yet. Jeongguk turns 21 only once! Your gaze stopped on a particular object in the room, and soon your legs started purposefully moving toward it.

However, as you marched toward the table that sat by one of the white walls you were interrupted by Seokjin's gruff warning. ‘Don‘t even think about it. You'll ruin the flooring.’

‘You suddenly care about Jeongguk's flooring. Well, that's quite unexpected.’

He gave a careless shrug. ‘It‘s a new apartment. A pretty decent one.’ He made a show of looking around, stood up. ‘As much as I'd love to see Jeongguk scream at you, it would be a shame to see scratches here on the new floor.’

‘How nice of you.’

Seokjin tilted his head toward the ceiling. ‘I‘ll take care of it.’

I don’t think so. You protectively stretched out your arms, blocking his way toward the chair. ‘Don‘t you dare to touch my balloons.’

Exasperated, he sighed at your relentless tone. ‘No one else is here. How are you planning to get it down on your own?’

‘I could... throw knives at it.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, that's a great idea. Just wait a little until I get a hundred miles away from the building, ‘kay?’

You huffed in annoyance and glanced around for something else. Unfortunately, you came up with nothing, for the apartment was pretty much completely empty. How long could it possibly take to fully furnish a room? Three weeks and there’s only a table, a chair and a bed? Well, considering the fact that it’s Jeongguk’s apartment, it somehow makes sense.

‘Jeongguk—the hero—isn‘t here to help you out, not to mention he's the one those balloons are for.’ If you didn't know better you'd assume the rather bitter tone is his voice was a sign of jealousy. Then again, Seokjin was such a mystery; it was always so difficult for you to gauge his true mood. ‘You‘re stuck with me, like it or not.’

‘Oh surely, somebody will show up to help me sooner or later.’

‘Of course, you could risk waiting, but what if Jeongguk shows up the first one?’

You considered all the other options, briefly looking around again… and there were none.

‘Don‘t want me touching your balloons?’ Impatient, Seokjin spoke again. ‘Sit on my shoulders and reach them yourself.’

‘Only if you're okay with me crushing your head with my thighs like a fucking watermelon. You pervert.’

Seokjin scoffed. ‘Believe me when I say that my head between your thighs is the last thing on my mind.’

You grimaced at him, a childish yet wholly reasonable reaction.

His words prompted an odd feeling akin to hurt within you. Strange.

Offended and annoyed, you capitulated and stepped aside. ‘Go get it then. Just don't deflate them with that sharp tongue of yours.’

Seokjin's lips curved in a victorious smirk, and he headed toward the chair.

You watched him climb atop it, push onto his toes and reach for the balloon.

‘Give me that.’ You strolled over to him.

‘Here you go,’ he said proudly and crouched down, pushing the balloon right in your face.

It blocked your vision and infuriated you immensely, forcing you to step back. The writing on the balloon was announcing “suck my ass”. Seriously, who would buy those on purpose?

You snatched the balloon away, and struggled with it like an angry kitten until the pressure of your knee against it made it burst.

Seokjin’s laugh echoed in the spacious apartment, and painted the walls in all the most spectacular colours. His twinkling eyes sprinkled some delightful glitters all around you two.

You absolutely hated it.

‘I was about to say you should keep it just in case,’ he said when his laugh eventually dispersed.

With only the music playing, the walls seemed too gloomily bare now as Seokjin stared at the scattered shreds of the balloon on the floor.

‘For what?’ You asked.

He lifted his gaze to your eyes and shrugged nonchalantly. ‘You could’ve sent it to the guy that stood you up.’

That surprised you. He remembered.

You offered a sheepish chuckle. ‘Yeah, I guess, he deserved that kind of thing.’

‘He sure did,’ Seokjin was agreeing in a heartbeat.

His gaze seemed uncommonly sympathetic now as he peered into your suddenly shy eyes. This kind of moments used to occur rarely and mostly unexpectedly. Nonetheless, they were a thing. You could never know with Seokjin. One minute he would be quarrelling with you, testing your patience, and the other he'd be the sweetest most caring person on the Planet Earth, leaving you completely confused and yet unmistakably warm and dreamy.

Footsteps could be heard from behind the door of the apartment. The sound of keys clanking to one another made your eyes widen in surprise.

‘It‘s Jeongguk!’ You exclaimed in a whisper. He was too damn early. The food wasn't prepared yet, and neither was the booze. There were no other friends except you and Seokjin, too. A precise recipe for a disaster of a birthday party.

Noticing your terrified expression, Seokjin darted across the room toward the door.

You could hear Jeongguk drop his keys onto the floor. He cursed in a couple of languages, and then dropped something else.

‘I‘ll keep him busy,’ Seokjin let you know, his fingers grasping the door handle. ‘You call someone and finish all this.’ His gaze skimmed around the room; his hand tilting the handle.

You stood there baffled for you didn't expect Seokjin to be so helpful and understanding. After all, he hated hanging out with Jeongguk alone. ‘Really?’ You asked, but he was already out the door, pushing Jeongguk away from the apartment.

‘What the fuck?’ The younger one protested, but just half a second later seemed to realize what all of this was about. ‘Oohhh, are you guys throwing a secret party for me?’

(( Something about the lingering gazes and warm smiles from Seokjin during the whole party made you think that it was about time you take another step—a big or a small one—regarding your relationship.

Finally, the lovely moments that used to happen so rarely would now progressively become much more frequent. ))

💖🌸 send me feedback :: masterlist

[theimpalaawaits]

Pain; Subsided by You

Summary: One day on a hunt a witch curses you and you’re forced to touch Dean. Constantly.

Characters: Dean, Reader, Sam, Cas, Witch

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Language?

“God, I am so ready for this hunt to be over! I hate witches!” Dean exclaims, trying not to be too loud considering you’re sneaking into a witch’s house. You and Sam exchange a glance and reply at the same time, “we know, Dean.” The two of you chuckle quietly.

You reach the back door of the stone house, kneeling down to crouch under the windows. Dean looks back at the two of you and makes a two finger motion toward the door, implying that everyone was to go in behind him.

Dean pushes the door open, it creaks loudly, sounding like a sneeze in a library; sure to draw attention to it. The three of you wince at the noise as you make your way inside.

It’s too quiet. There should have been the scurrying of footsteps rushing towards you, a window or door opening, or a muffled scream of the witches last victim. But, nothing.

The old wood floor creaked under the weight of you and the brothers as you took soft steps around the house. You split off from the boys, clearing the kitchen. You heard someone clear there throat behind you, you turned, expecting to see Dean’s green eyes or Sam’s floppy brown hair but instead are met with long black hair, brown eyes and a scowl. You reach for your weapon when the witch runs towards you at lightning speed. You duck to move under her outstretched arms, landing a blow to her ribs. She slams you against the wall, and smirks. A hand comes up to rest it’s palm on your forehead. You drop to the ground immediately in unbearable pain.

You hear a shot ring out, and the witch lands next to you on the ground, her blood staining the floor. Dean rushes over towards you. He cups your cheek, asking, “what is it? What happened Y/N?!”

You feel a wave of relief wash over you, the pain subsiding. “I..nothing..nevermind... it was just her I guess” you stammer out. Dean pulls you up and helps you steady yourself. He searches your eyes, checking if you’re really okay. “I’m alright Dean, let’s go, I’m hungry”, you assure him as he chuckles and pats your arm. He begins walking back to the impala when you fall to the ground, again in immense pain. “Dean! Ahhh!” You clutch your stomach, then your head, the pain radiating throughout your entire body. Dean comes to your side again, playing his hand on your arm.

The pain subsides again and you have a confused look on your face. “What is it Y/N?!” Dean shouts, scared. You attempt to catch your breath, moving to sit up. “I..I don’t know..” you answer. You stand up and he releases his hand. Your body quakes with pain again and you grab his hand, immediately ending the pain when you touch him. “Sam!” Dean yells for his brother, growing more and more concerned for you.

Your face has a look of realization as the two of you stand in the dead witches house. Dean is just standing there staring at you when you let go of his hand and grab it again, feeling a short stab of white hot pain in your back. “Oh..my..god..” you whisper, looking up at Dean. “What Y/N?? You’re scaring me! Did the witch hit you with a spell or something?!” Dean shouts. You nod quickly saying, “I, I think she did something. Whenever I’m not touching you, I’m in a lot of pain.. I think that’s what it is. A spell.” Dean’s eyes widen.

Sam comes running into the living room, ready to attack. His eyes land on the dead witch, his shoulders relaxing as the threat is gone. “Everyone okay?” Sam asks innocently. Both you and Dean shake your heads and you say to Sam, “The witch, it hit me with something, I think I have to stay in physical contact with Dean or else I’ll be in pain.” Sam raises his eyebrows at you and glances at Dean almost to suggest this might be his chance.

Dean grabs your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours and speaks, “Well let’s go figure out what the hell to do!” The three of you head to the impala, Sam letting you have the front seat due to your situation.

Dean drove back to the bunker, driving one handed while his other hand held yours. You weren’t gonna lie, you loved the feeling of his fingers in between yours. You cherished every moment you got to be closer than normal to him. The first that came to mind was when..

You and the boys had been working a vampire case. You and Dean went to check out a victims house that you had believed to have been empty. Sam stayed behind at the motel to research. Thinking no one was there, you were not prepared to find a vampire nest consisting of at least 10 vampires. When Dean looked around the corner and made this discovery, he gestured to a very small shoe closet. The two of you squeezed in, your bodies smashed together. Your breasts were scrunched against his chest as the two of you breathed heavily. You looked into each other’s eyes, the tension between you growing. Before anything could happen, one of the vampires ripped the door open, exposing the two of you.

Thinking about that time made heat rise to your cheeks, leaving a red stain of blush. Your lips curled up in a small smirk. Then there was another time where...

A demon had taken you, using you as leverage against the boys. He had beaten you and ripped your clothes off, leaving you exposed to the cool air. Dean and Sam had rushed in, seeing your naked body. Sam went to fight with the demon while Dean rushed to you, pulling at the restraints that held you to the metal table. Dried blood caked your skin. He had gotten all the metal clasps undone and he helped you sit up. Dean shrugged his red flannel off his body, pulling it around you. He helped you fit your arms into the sleeves, easing it around your shoulders and buttoning it up. He laid a hand on your cheek, moving your hair out of your face. “How’s my girl?” He asked you. You smirked and replied “Still kickin!” He chucked and pulled you into a soft embrace. Dean pulled away and planted a sweet kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering longer than he intended. You looked up at him and he leaned his forehead onto yours, your noses touching. Sam came back saying “Okay the bastards all taken care of!” The two of you pulled away.

After a few hours of falling asleep in your bed, your hand still intertwined with Dean’s, Sam barged into your room shouting, “I found it! Guys I found it!” You and Dean jolted awake, dean asking groggily, “what Sammy?” Sam directed his attention to you saying, “Y/N come downstairs I can cure you!” And with that he walked back downstairs. You fought the urge to fall back asleep next to Dean.

When the two of you reached the bottom of the stairs, Sam was no where to be found. A small whimper cause your eyes to fly to the wall all the way to your left. You saw Sam pinned to the wall, the witch, that you thought was dead, holding him there. Dean reached to grab his gun when the witch noticed your presence. “Ahh there you are!” All of a sudden Dean’s hand was ripped from yours.

You felt a tearing in your body and you crumpled to the floor. Dean was slammed against the bunker wall. You rolled on the floor, clutching your body. The witch laughed maniacally. “Let her go you bitch!” Dean shouted. The witch smirked and replied, “but it’s so much fun watching you all squirm!” You screamed as the pain intensified. Dean yelled, begging the witch to stop. “Please! Please stop this! Stop hurting her!! I’ll kill you!” Dean screamed, not being able to bare watching you writhe in agony.

You began to gasp for air, feeling as though a icy hand had wrapped around your heart. You felt your body begin to weaken, your pulse begin to slow. Your eyes began to roll to the back of your head as tears fell out. You could hear the now faint sounds of Dean and Sam screaming at the witch, screaming for you.

Suddenly, the witch had a sharp blade protruding from her chest. She dropped to her knees, revealing your angel, Cas. Dean and Sam dropped to the ground, grunting with the slamming on their bodies against the floor.

You gasped as air quickly filled your lungs, the icy hand melting from your heart. You laid on the ground, taking a minute to come back. Dean was by your side in an instant checking you for other injuries. You shot up from the ground and lunged into him with a bone-crushing embrace. Dean wrapped his strong arms tightly around you. “I’m gonna miss holding your hand”, Dean muffled into your hair.

Sam and Cas exchanged a glance and moved to the next room to give the two of you some privacy.

Dean moved to look at you and you smashed your lips onto his. His hands went to caress your waist, pulling you closer to him. He was shocked but immediately melted into your lips, kissing for what felt like hours.

The two of you finally pulled away and you said, “I wanna hold your hand forever Dean.” He smiled the biggest smile at you and spoke quietly, “I love you.”