#wrestled w this for a few hours last night + all of this morning

[fortjester]

Let Dead Dogs Lie by Silas Denver Melvin vs. Harrow & Gideon's perspectives on cavaliership and lyctorhood

[spiteless-xo]

in honor of drunk vacay tiff, what kind of drunk do you think eren and jean are ? for some reason i picture jean as a hothead who’ll try fight people who look at him wrong 😭

my friends and i regularly rent out airbnbs and just get drunk all week/end so i’m going to write this in the context of that as opposed to just a regular party or drunk over dinner or something

drunk headcanons- eren and jean

jean kirstein

jean wakes up early every morning and is immediately productive. he’s tidying up from the night before, he’s making coffee, he’s going for a walk, reading a book, w/e. he’s already been up for hours before the next person wakes up

he’ll start the morning w a baileys coffee but won’t drink too much until after he’s made breakfast for everyone. then it’s another coffee or a mimosa before the real drinking starts

casually drinks beers all day. cracks a new one the second his last one is empty. will play cards or outdoor games all day until the alcohol really hits him around late afternoon/early evening

then he gets HEATY. any game is now extremely competitive. he will argue with you until he’s red in the face if he thinks you’re cheating (but he was actually the one cheating 💀)

all that motherly cleaning up and cooking from the morning?? yeah, forget about it for dinner. he’s so lit up that he’s yelling instead of talking now, absolutely no volume control

despite being so tall, he’s surprisingly coordinated while drunk. he’s not the type to stumble around or knock things over, but he’ll breathe REALLY heavily. like he’s constantly sighing or blowing air out of his cheeks.

he’s also a big whiskey drinker, but he won’t do it alone. if someone else suggests it he’ll light up and go run to grab the bottle he brought. he’ll pour cups for everyone, even if someone doesn’t want it

he doesn’t fall asleep like a normal person. eventually, the alcohol knocks him out and he falls asleep on the couch or on the ground and then he’s out for the rest of the night. usually happens pretty early in the night, so that’s why he always wakes up early 💀

if you catch him alone right before he starts getting sleepy, he’ll have the deepest most emotional conversation with you about anything. his eyes will be completely glazed over and his cheeks will be pink but he’ll sit there and talk to you about your insecurities and vulnerabilities with no judgement. (but in the morning he hardly remembers anything)

eren jaeger

sleeps in until like noon, and then crawls out of bed, hungover from the night before, and immediately cracks a beer. hair of the dog, he claims. probably brings it into the shower with him

isn’t a functional human being until after he’s had a few drinks. then he’s a menace.

drinks mostly whiteclaws/other low calorie seltzers, but will have the occasional beer during the day. won’t drink hard alcohol unless it’s mixed into a shot

turns everything into a drinking game/only wants to play drinking games. will rally people to do shotguns or shots. always wants to play beer pong.

is generally a pretty happy, smiley, friendly drunk. also very touchy-feely. will put his arm around your shoulder if you’re talking, lean in really close to your face and stare at you intently, lay across your lap on the couch

if you’re playing as a team for beer pong and you win, he’s picking you up and spinning you around like you just one a sports championship. kissing your face, screaming and cheering, meanwhile the other team is just 😐

LOVES WRESTLING WITH THE BOYS!! idk what it is but as soon as the sun goes down, he’s ripping off his shirt and challenging all the guys to a wrestling contest 💀💀 isn’t even considerate enough to move it outside, he’ll just be rolling around on the kitchen floor with jean in headlock

his contribution to the house is doing the dishes. he can’t cook so doesn’t bother helping w that but he’ll clear off the table and clean up the dishes so nobody complains that he doesn’t help.

gets really annoying if people want to do low-activity stuff like cards or something. will spend the whole time whining and complaining until someone (probably jean) tells him to shut the fuck up

[countlessrealities]

Send me ‡ for my character's reaction to yours climbing into bed with mine || Selectively Accepting !

@imprvdente sent: ‡ Fish @ Rick ✨

It isn't often that Rick makes it to his own bed. Even the few times when he has managed to drag his drunk ass back to his room, he usually ends up passing out on the floor. Not that it bothers him much. He's used to spending most of his nights in the garage anyway, whether on the ground or half sprawled over his workbench.

At least his bedroom has a carpet, which is an improvement compared to cold, hard concrete.

Under different circumstances, by that hour of the night, he would have been so out that he wouldn't have noticed someone kicking him in the face, but the mere fact that he has managed to walk to the other side of the house is hard evidence that he isn't too drunk. At least for his personal standards.

So, perhaps he doesn't hear the creaking of the springs of the old cot, nor he truly consciously acknowledges the mattress dipping, but he isn't deep enough into unconsciousness to ignore the warm weight that suddenly drapes itself over his back.

"W-What the fuck..." The scientist protests, his words almost completely muffled by the pillow his face is shoved into.

His mind takes a few seconds to figure out what's happening. Or rather who. The form lying half on top of him is obviously human, and he's pretty sure that it isn't Morty. They are too long and, especially, they have breasts.

Besides, it isn't like the little shit has the habit of sneaking into his room. Not without a good reason at least.

That last detail also rules out Jerry, thank fuck. He will not deal with another of the idiot's sleepwalking adventures. He has been very clear on that the last (and first) time it happened.

Rick debates for a little while whether moving to find out his unexpected bed mate's identity is worth the effort or not. Curiosity and annoyance wrestle with tiredness and laziness, and eventually he decides for a compromise.

With a grunt, he turns his head just enough to be able to catch a glance of the woman, the glow of the device he has left on his nightstand allowing him to spot an essential detail.

Blue hair. Fish.

"...A-Are you fuckin' shitting me," he huffs out, incredulous, but he is already shifting to give her a little more space on the narrow coat.

His arm wraps around her waist, pulling her as close as physically possible. She's warm, both soft and firm at the same time, and he hasn't bothered to grab a blanket before letting himself fall on the mattress.

He knows that she will never let him hear the end of this, but that's a problem for the morning. For now, all he cares about is reaching the oblivion he was seeking before the interruption. And if he gets to be cozier than he had initially been? That's one good damn added bonus.

[johnbazley]

I can see how time has passed, I haven't been myself

On consciousness of change and Bellows’ “Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter”

There isn’t very much sunlight in the new apartment. The windows in our new place face east, with maybe four feet of alleyway separating our windowpanes from our next-door neighbors’. All of the natural light in our little place is gone by ten AM or so. Once the sun peaks in the sky, the apartment grows dark. One morning a few weeks ago, I got out of bed at three in the morning, as soon as I had accepted the fact that I wouldn’t fall asleep at all that night. I rubbed my eyes and put on a pot of coffee and sat on the couch and I watched the sunlight as the hours past, as the sun rose, shone briefly in through the windows and sheer curtains, and finally vanished.

Bellows’ 2016 album Fist & Palm is my favorite album. I think I’ve listened to it more than any other. The first song that got me was “Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter,” a lush pop track as square as the bedroom where it was recorded. My favorite enormous tiny song. All of the drums are mixed low in the instrumental, which makes every big moment sound soft. It feels massive without sounding threatening. There is a homemade-sounding trap cymbal that stutters beneath the lazy plucking of guitar strings in the chorus, while the baritone Kalb sings “Through spring, summer, autumn into winter, / I’m not comfortable at home, / or relaxed around my friends.” 

One facet of my anxiety that I often wrestle with is the impulse thought that every year of my life has been worse than the last. Surely, I think, my life used to be better. Surely, at some point, I used to be happy. I see the new lines on my face every few months, the new notches on my belt, the declining balance of my bank account, and I remember some imagined past where I wasn’t worried about the way I looked, my direction in life, how many good friends I had left, or how much money I wasn’t making. Sometimes, in the early mornings especially, I think about the person I used to be, all of the jobs I’ve had, every college I attended, every party I’ve been to, everywhere I have lived. I think about past miseries and consider my victories. The other day, at the start of August, I put my favorite pair of jeans on and thought about how much time has passed since COVID-imposed quarantine began, how it was at one point cold enough to go out for groceries in jeans, a sweatshirt, and a mask made from an old dinner napkin. 

That’s the part of me that “Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter” activates.  It is a song about the consciousness of change, about growing into a new self with each passing season. There’s a slight unease, a small pang of anxiety in Oliver Kalb’s voice when he sings, “Through spring, summer, autumn into winter, / I can see how time has passed, / I haven’t been myself.” In the video for the song, which Kalb filmed over the course of a year, he invites you to watch him change along with him. He stands in the same part of the same park at different times throughout the year, the camera cutting to a shot of each new season with each word that leaves Kalb’s lips: spring, summer, autumn, winter. The weather changes along with Kalb’s clothes, the length of his hair, the number of leaves on each tree in the background and their colors. 

When quarantine started, I needed a haircut. My girlfriend cut it for me at the end of March, buzzing off everything but the thick, overgrown flap of hair on top of my head, a DIY undercut. In the four or five months that have passed, my hair has grown back out, almost back to the length it was when all of this began. I’ve grown a beard, which I do every year or so when I need  to see a different version of myself in the mirror each morning. I’ve gained twenty pounds or so, and my body looks different, my chest broader and more pronounced, my waist thicker at my belt line. 

“Spring Summer Autumn Winter” offers no reassurance. There’s no point at the end of the song where Kalb returns to a former self, or accepts that former selves are simply lost to annals of time. The chorus only offers a brief admission of discomfort and an acknowledgement of change. 

Still, I’ve been wearing jeans lately. I’ve been taking long walks on the boardwalk, around the lake in Spring Lake, through the woods at 80 Acres Park. When the motivation strikes, I go for a run around town, listening to old favorite albums like Fist & Palm in my headphones to distract me from the burn in my calves. I’ve been trying to make coffee the way I used to, before I resigned myself to the ease and price of the grocery store variety. I haven’t shaved my beard yet, but I’m sure I will soon. I haven’t cut my hair again yet, and I probably won’t.

Most importantly, I’ve been waking up earlier. I try to catch the sunlight. Sometimes I oversleep, exhausted by the daily grief of the current moment. Sometimes, I catch a ray of light through the window, and I watch it as it rises, extends across the floor, and eventually disappears.

[peepeepotter]

Late Night Encounters Part 3

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT!! Female receiving oral, unprotected vaginal penetration

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: It’s my birthday so I didn’t proofread this!! I’m sorry!!

Once again, Fred had a date. He woke up that morning and remembered every bit of what he had said, and stood by his words. He told Y/N he still wanted to see the ring on the table when he got home. He wanted her to think about it for at least 24 full hours before she made a decision.

Y/N and Fred had narrowly missed each other that morning. He was off running errands for the day and she had only just woken up. He was home for lunch and she was out with Hermione. Y/N felt her heart sink, feeling guilty for wanting to see him. Why guilt, though? She didn’t feel like she had a valid reason to feel guilty. After she got home from lunch Fred had already left for his date, so she fell asleep on the couch in the living room, figuring it was a good way to pass the time until she saw her new best friend again.

“Why was this on the kitchen table?” George asked, waking Y/N up out of her sweet, dreamless sleep on the couch. He was holding the ring.

“I can’t sleep with jewelry on.” She shrugged, getting up and going to grab the ring. He held it up higher. She almost laughed until she saw the look on his face.

“I’m serious.” She sighed heavily at this.

“I know, George.”

“You know what?” The audacity that men have.

“I know you’re sleeping with her again.”

“W-what?” He almost dropped the ring.

“I just don’t get it, George.”

“I w-wouldn’t do that again.”

“Except you are.”

“Why are you accusing me right now?”

“Because I’m not dumb! Just because I trust you doesn’t mean I’m dumb! I’m not naive. The first time, sure. This time, no! It’s the same as last time, but you thought I’d stay with you just because you proposed this time! Maybe I won’t, did you think about that? What if you get her pregnant? Did you just expect me to stay around and raise the kid? Or what if we both get pregnant, who are you leaving alone with their child?”

“I cannot believe this right now--”

“Stop that! Stop it! You’re gaslighting me! You know I’m right! Stop lying!”

“Fine!”

“How long?”

“A year.”

“So immediately after we got back to where we were.”

“Yes.”

“Why? What did I do? Why am I not enough for you?”

“Maybe if you--”

“Actually, no, fuck you. I’m enough for me. I’m enough for so many people. I gave you a second chance and you fucking blew it! I’ve done so much for you, for Fred, too!”

“I--” He sighed. He was speechless. It was the first time you’d really fully stood up for yourself. It was on him, he knew that. “I think...I’m going to spend the night at the Burrow, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Go, spend the night with her, but don’t lie to me and say you’re staying with your mom.” She spoke bluntly, tears streaming out of her eyes quietly. It was a silent cry, the only way Y/N ever allowed herself to cry in front of people. He hesitated, but he turned around and left the living room. Y/N entered the kitchen, starting to grease pans for baking.

-

Fred came home that night, mostly confused. Y/N wasn’t in the living room tonight, which didn’t make him feel great. That wasn’t the worst of it though. The date was great. She was perfect, but...he hated it. Something was missing. As she listed off interests, favorite movies, her favorite quidditch team...all he could think was that something was missing. When he got home, and Y/N was missing, it dawned on him. It was her. She was missing. The girl had listed off all of Y/N’s favorite movies, her favorite songs. She liked to bake. Her favorite quidditch team was the Holyhead Harpies, the team his little sister played on. Suddenly, Fred felt rather sick. He can’t have feelings for his brother's girlfriend--no, fiance!

With a pit in his stomach, he walked into the kitchen, where he opened his eyes wide. The entire kitchen table and window sill were covered in baked goods. There was one clean counter, where Y/N sat staring off into space, waiting for her next round of cookies to finish.

“Oh! I forgot! I’m sorry, how was the date?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing--”

“Don’t, please don’t close yourself off. We’re close now, just let me in. What happened, what’s with the baked goods?” He asked, leaning with his arms crossed and his back against the island counter across from where she sat. He noticed the ring was missing, it wasn’t on Y/N’s finger, it wasn’t on the counter or the table where he’d seen it last.

“He admitted it. He’s cheating on me with her again.” She sighed, looking to the ceiling and holding back tears. “And it sucks so hard to know he wasted all this time of mine again. He proposed to me. I know he’s your brother, but that’s just so...crazy. Who does that?” She paused, and just as Fred was about to talk she kept going. “And the worst part is that I don’t...I don’t feel anything. The first time he cheated with Angelina it was like my whole world came crashing down. He was my best friend, my boyfriend, and my roommate. Now, it barely even feels like we’re roommates. I thought I could love him the same way after it all, and maybe he cheated because I couldn’t.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Cheating is always a decision. If he realized you didn’t love him the same way he should have communicated with you. Broken up. Not proposed and delayed this.” Fred sighed. Y/N wouldn’t make eye contact with Fred, assumingly because she was upset.

“I--” She paused, chest tight. She looked up at Fred, making blatant eye contact. “What if I’ve been emotionally cheating?” Fred’s eyes widened and his heart sank. He felt awful, like his feelings for her would just have to go away again. Right as they were getting close.

“W-what? With who?”

“You fucking idiot.” She sighed, pushing herself off the counter. She went to walk away, but Fred put his arms on either side of her on the counter, pinning her where she was.

“Don’t walk away.” He whispered, so close to her face. Her heart pounded.

“I--” She sighed. “Fred, I’ve felt more for you in the past five days than I’ve felt for George in the past year and a half. I waited all day for you to be here, and I kept feeling guilty for it. I’ve felt so guilty, and then I find out he’s cheating and I’m so numb to it because you’re all I can think about.” She paused to breathe before she continued her quick ramblings. “Also, the idea of having feelings for you is so weird, because we only just started to like each other, but you’re standing so close to me and all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears. I can’t stop thinking about all the girls you used to bring home and how I don’t want to be just one of those girls you sleep with. But obviously I can’t just be with you because I think I just broke off my engagement with your brother and also because you haven’t said anything--” So Fred, in his overwhelmed state, pushed forward and pressed his lips against hers. She grabbed both sides of his face as he grabbed her hips. After a few moments, he quickly pulled apart, moving one of his hands to keep her hand on his face in place

“I couldn’t tell you the other night, but I had feelings for you that summer before the war, but you were with George. I couldn’t...I couldn’t just confess then, and besides you were so happy with him. Then we didn’t like each other, and the night before you got engaged I couldn’t stop thinking about you all over again. And...George made us spend all that time together and you’re the only thing I think about. The girl I went on the date with was so perfect, but I couldn’t get you off my mind and I realized she was just like you. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t you, no one will ever be you.” Fred spoke in a hushed tone with his eyes closed, as if speaking any louder or seeing her would make Y/N evaporate into thin air. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see her with tear tracks down her face.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything that nice to me before.” She whispered, taking the hand that wasn’t trapped by his and wiping her face. He giggled, letting go of her hand and using both of his hands to hold the sides of her face. He leaned forward and kissed the tear stains on Y/N’s face. “You’re like this perfect man, it’s so wildly different from George.” She mumbled.

“I can’t account for where he went wrong, and I haven’t always been great. But if you give me the chance, I will love you better than anyone else could dream of.” With tears streaming down her eyes she pulled him in to kiss her again, he smiled against her lips. He held the small of her waist as she rested one of her hands on his chest, the other sat at the back of his neck playing with his hair. He moaned when she pulled it gently, causing her to smile into their kiss. She almost missed being able to see him rolling his eyes at her smirk.

“Love me, please. Tonight, tomorrow, every day. Just--love me tonight.” She whispered against his lips as they panted for air. 

He leaned down, kissing her again as he grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her back to a sitting position on the counter. Y/N threaded her fingers through Fred’s hair, one of Fred’s hands was on her thigh, the other rested on her waist. Finally, she bit his bottom lip in an attempt to get him to do anything. In response, he gave a noise that sounded between a groan and a growl, moving to her neck to leave bite marks. He licked the shell of her ear and bit the lobe as he moved down to the length of her neck, sucking hard. She moaned softly, whimpering when he used he grazed his teeth over her neck. 

She started grinding her hips against his in an attempt to get some friction. He grabbed her hips, pulling her closer to him to aid in her plight for friction. After he felt satisfied with the bruises he’d left on her neck he went back to her lips, sucking on her bottom lip briefly before licking it in a silent asking of permission to use it. She gracefully licked his tongue, granting his own tongue admission to her mouth. Their tongues wrestled messily, Y/N playing with Fred’s hair and occasionally pulling softly to hear him moan. She was starting to feel frustrated with just grinding, so she moved the hand that was on the side of Fred’s face to gracefully feel all the way down his body before she started palming him through his slacks. He gave a harsh groan this time, pulling apart from her mouth briefly.

“You’re so beautiful, so sexy.” His voice was deep with pleasure and she moaned at the sound alone. Her heart swelled, she hadn’t been praised like that sexually...ever. Fred took one of his hands off of her hips to thread into her hair, pulling gently to hear her moan. He swore to himself that he could hear that every minute of every day and never get tired of it. While Fred knew he was going to fuck her, his intentions were pure-- he wanted to make love to her. Y/N, however, was getting frustrated with his politeness. She started to unbutton his slacks and he broke off their kiss again. “Hold on, I want to take care of you.” He whispered, flush against her lips.

“I appreciate that, but I want you inside of me.” She whispered, her hand that had been unbuttoning his pants was now tangled in his shirt. Fred felt his heart drop to his cock when she said this, groaning at her lack of restraint. Y/N started unbuttoning his shirt as he separated her thighs and pulled her completely to the edge of the counter.

“You’ll just have to be patient, princess.” He grinned as he went to crouch, kissing her knee on the way down. He left kisses all over the inside of her thighs, leaving her soaked to the core before he had even really touched her. Both Fred and Y/N were thankful she was wearing a dress that day, making his access considerably easier as he rubbed her through only her thin panties. Kissing the inside of her thigh as he looked up into her eyes, he felt like the luckiest man alive. He almost grinned when he saw she was adorning another pair of fruit covered panties.

“You know, I wasn’t kidding when I said the cherry panties were sexy,” He smirked up at her, rubbing circles into her clit through peach covered cotton. “These are sexy too, but I think they’d look a lot better on the floor.” He grabbed the cotton on her hips and pulled them down, leaving them on the floor like he promised. Y/N’s thighs were shaking from all the teasing he had done already. He licked from her inner knee to where he promised to take care of her, latching his mouth onto her clit. She gasped at the feeling of his warm tongue, closing her eyes. He used his tongue to create figure-8’s against her clit, and slowly pushed one finger into her. At this, she threw her head back, resting the crown of her skull gently against the cabinet behind her. She laced her fingers through Fred’s hair, now pulling hard. He groaned in his own pleasure, creating vibrations against her clit which in turn made her moan. He pushed a second finger into her, slowly pumping them as he worked her clit. After adding a third finger, her legs were shaking violently, showing she was nearing the edge. He quickly swapped his fingers and tongue, using his thumb to rub circles against her clit and sticking his tongue as deep as he could inside of her warm pussy. He had his other arm wrapped around her thigh, one of her hands reaching to hold the hand there as she neared her end even faster than before.

“I want you to say my name when you cum, baby, can you do that for me?” He paused briefly, looking up at her, she nodded vigorously. His tongue returned to it’s warm reserve inside of her. The motions he made with his thumb against her clit became faster, and soon enough she was squeezing his hand and nearly screaming his name. Fred waited for her to stop squeezing his hand to stand up and kiss her on the lips again. “You did so good, baby.” He whispered against her lips.

“Freddy,” She whimpered against his lips. “You haven’t even fucked me yet and I don’t think I’ll be able to walk.” She almost laughed at the thought. He grinned, happy with his work so far. He tucked a strand of her behind her ear, kissing her ear as he spoke.

“You won’t need to, baby. I’ll fuck you right here,” He started licking and kissing her neck again, making her whine. “And I’ll take care of you so you don’t have to walk.” He whispered against her quickly bruising flesh. She whined again, reaching to finish her job unbuttoning his shirt and unzipping his already unbuttoned pants. He let her continue as he wrapped his hand in her hair once and pulled back, exposing the front of her neck to him where he continued his attack. When she finished unbuttoning his shirt he helped her pull it off his shoulders, exposing his freckled and scarred skin on his chest to her. She rubbed her hands against his chest, feeling every individual scar and wondering where each of them came from. He watched her eyes dart around, a small closed-lip smile adorning her face as she felt the raised white scars. He rubbed his thumb against her cheek softly, loving his own view. Using the same hand that was petting her cheek, he lifted her face to look up at his. He pulled her face close to his own and kissed her softly.

“I love you, Y/N.” He whispered against her lips with his eyes closed. She smiled, reaching her face up to kiss his eyelids. Angel kisses on his blonde eyelashes. It was a sweet moment, to remind them both that not only was there no going back after what they were about to do, but also to remind them that this wasn’t just fucking. This was real, unadulterated love. He opened his eyes, looking deeply into hers as she pushed his slacks and boxers down as far as she could with her hands, using her bare feet the rest of the way. He lifted her dress over her head, tossing it somewhere behind him, inevitably landing on some type of baked good. She rested one hand against his jaw, pulling his face close to hers, her other hand pumping his cock and gently rubbing the tip. He closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath at the feeling of her small hand around him. He rested one hand on her jaw, mirroring her. His other hand rested on the small of her back to push her closer to him. They kissed gently, feeling like this moment was fragile and could be broken. Y/N moved the hand that was on his cock and squeezed his bicep, quietly communicating that she was ready. He moved his hand from the small of her back to line himself up with her entrance, and as he pushed in the both gasped quietly at the feeling. Fred rested his forehead on Y/N’s shoulder, eyes closed as he waited quietly and politely for her to adjust to his size. After a few moments she tapped him to tell him to move, her eyes squeezed tightly closed for preparation of any pain that would come from his movements. He moved slowly, truly taking this moment to get to know Y/N’s body. He felt every groove inside of her, every dip and small raise in her skin, memorising her inside and out. As they both started to get used to this puzzle-piece moment in which it felt like the clicking of soul-mates finally coming together, they started kissing again. Fred’s tongue entered her mouth, exploring, dead set on memorising her entire body. Her hands found themselves resting on his back, nails digging in every so often. If this had been her sex dream, she would’ve been wondering how many girls had dug their nails into his back, but in person all she could think about was him. He filled her every sense, she could smell him, feel him everywhere, taste him, his freckled skin stuck on her eyes even when they closed, and their shared moans overwhelmed her ears. If this was what making love was, she definitely had never shared that with George.

Fred lowered his hand, rubbing her clit gently as his pace got faster. He wasn’t sure if he had ever felt so good so quickly, he was almost positive he hadn’t ever felt his high come so quickly. As he pounded into Y/N’s g-spot and rubbed her clit, she found herself loudly moaning. Her nails were now leaving deep marks into Fred’s back, and Fred hadn’t even noticed.

“Fred,” She moaned his name loudly, the sound of which made his own high come even faster. Set on finding their highs together, they were flush together. Y/N nor Fred had never been so close to someone, their entire bodies touching. Her legs were wrapped around him, her torso flush against his and her face buried into his chest. His face was buried into her neck, leaving occasional kisses to avoid his own moans. Quickly, they found their highs together. After hitting her g-spot so many times, she warned him. He quietly thanked Godric, his own high coming as well. So as they came together, panting, completely embraced, they felt loved. They’d both felt fucked-out before, but this felt different. This felt simultaneously heavy and weightless on their hearts, and they stayed together for a long time. They kissed quietly, Fred not really wanting to leave her, and she not wanting him to leave her either. Before he pulled out she spoke.

“I love you too, Freddy.”

Tag list: @fredshufflepuff @melonoptimist @phelps-weasley-twins @maybeisthemoon @groovynachos @katllol @manuosorioh @brownieparker @superblyspeedydragon @packmentalityx @missryerye @p0gue420 @hogwartshomiehopper @skarlettmikaelson @seppys-return-to-madness @fandomscombine @wzardweasley @eattheboat @mgchaser @borhap-boiiii @gabiconstellation @hardpartybasketballshepherd @superpowereddonut @sukunas-cult-leader @whysoseriousssssssss @skateb0red @urgingforyou @lookscutebutwillfight

permanent tag list: @potters-heart @0x0spunky-monkey0x0

[huggybug]

idk if its more apt to request this on dilf day but just imagine the chaos when either the hughes or tkachuk family with all the children go camping. all the works: campfire, building the tent and making smores. who builds the tent the slowest and gets chirped for it? will there be a recreation of that parent trap scene where meredith floats on her mattress? if so, who would be on that mattress? will it be possible if the reader is a tkachuk or a hughes? ❣️

gonna try something new cause i wanted to write for both lol (which i still might) but not a whole fic rn.

the tkachuk’s

brady is an absolute menace (that’s all.)

you use your status as matthew’s favourite sibling to get him to set your and taryn’s tent up for you. nobody is surprised when he does it without complaining but brady does get mad at him. “You left me to set ours up but you can go do the girl’s tent?”

you and taryn team up to bother your brothers during the entire trip (and succeed)

taryn gifted the disintegrating swim shorts for brady last christmas so that gave everyone a good laugh during your first day on the lake

you play that frisbee game that they played for stuck with the tkachuk’s; you and matthew absolutely demolish brady and taryn

you have paddle boards but there’s only two so there’s a lot of fighting when it comes to those (usually between the boys, you and taryn just share one most of the time)

the boys wake you up every morning loudly, connecting their phones to your speaker inside your tent and blaring music

you already know brady would be the one floating away on an air mattress (or maybe it’s because of my bias against him whatever) he pouted about that for a solid four hours afterwards

keith joins in on the games and pranks while chantal is just happy to have all the kids together again

matthew and brady wrestle and fight like all day long, it’s honesty like they’re 14 year old boys

every night ends gathered around the campfire

you probably go through four bags of marshmallows and way too many bars of chocolate which doesn’t fit in any of your diets but you’re on vacation so who cares

the hughes’

you’d definitely just have one big tent for all four kids

jack relaxes while everyone else tries to set the tent up and quinn gets frustrated with him which leads to him ignoring jack for the next few hours. quinn goes from taking charge to just giving up, throwing all the poles and everything down in a pile. you and luke try to take over but it’s mostly luke doing the work and both older brothers are chirping him. quinn eventually takes pity on him and helps finish setting it up

the sibling dynamic is very different compared to the tkachuk’s, maybe since there’s only one sister

the boys are all early risers which means you get woken up far too early for your liking but whenever you complain, all they do is mock you

jack and luke try to pull pranks on you and quinn but they never really go right, always falling apart before they can actually happen

everyone is competitive. spike ball is like the olympics, throwing the football around is almost dangerous and you can’t even count how many times luke has almost ran you over during a game

both jim and ellen watch on as all the kids compete for whatever the prize of the day is but they aren’t afraid to join in. ellen won a round of beer pong which earned her a new lamp for the living room!!

when y’all are making s’mores, jack gets it all over his fingers and proceeds to chase you around the campsite, trying to not choke on his s’more while laughing at your screams for him to stop

you get him back though, teaming up with luke to flour bomb him which sends everyone into hysterics

gonna be real i haven’t rlly gone camping so idk what else there is to do but i tried my best! also if i do write a fic for this… i wanna do matty with the 3 boys kinda au i did for dilf day (x, x) or quinn from the family au? and obvs w the whole hughes/tkachuk family as well

[slasherholic]

synopsis: you reflect on a few incidents in your relationship with asa that really should have tipped you off as red flags while you wait for him to come back and torture you some more.

contains: gender neutral reader, graphic depictions of violence and torture, psychological torture, death, kidnapping, rib trauma, referenced abuse, current abuse because it’s fucking asa, I’ll throw in manipulation and gaslighting just to be safe.

note: quite a few scenes and tidbits in this were heavily inspired by a chat I had with the brilliant and lovely @sanguine--honey, so thanks again for letting me include those in this fic c:

word count: 4k

(Part One, Part Two)

Asa Emory / The Collector x Reader | Loose Ends | Part Three

When he finally unchained you from the pole he dragged you violently up several flights of steep stairs. His strength seemed tireless no matter how much you struggled.

You were bruised and battered and smearing blood on the floor behind you when he got to where he was taking you. He ignored the desperate way you were still screaming at him and threw you violently in a black trunk in a room with bright white lights and steel lab tables. He had slammed the heavy door shut so hard the force of it knocked a painting off the wall. Many locks turned on the other side. You clutched your stomach with both hands and doubled over and began to dry heave.

You sat crying in the dark. When the tears wouldn’t come out anymore, you looked for a way out. Tried to feel around the edges. Your arms burned terribly and you could smell your own body fluids lingering among the overwhelming smell of disinfectant loitering in the air. Your face ached from where he’d held your mouth to silence you when he plunged the needle in. There was a perfectly round hole in the side of the trunk, the size of your pinky nail, that appeared to have been made with a drill. An airhole. Or a peephole.

But the trunk itself was locked up tight. There was no getting out.

 You studied the room through the peephole. There were four other trunks sitting upright on the floor to the left of you, at least that you could see, lined up one after the next to form a semicircle. Each was a different color—red, blue, green, brown, in that order.

You called out very softly and asked if anyone was there.

Silence.

Sniffling again, you sat with your knees curled tightly into your chest, and allowed your mind to romp.

There had been signs, red flags abound, and you had ignored them, made excuses for him in your head, filed every uncomfortable incident away to be rationalized at a later date. You might not have known until the very end that he was this. But you had known enough. Asa, beneath his carefully manufactured charm and suave, was the coldest man you had ever met.

So you arrived at the crushing conclusion that you had nobody to blame for this but yourself.

There had been one instance, close to the start of your relationship, or whatever it was you had with him, where you found yourself very inebriated in his expensively furnished living room.

Asa had implied over dinner that he would like to go upstairs and have sex after you were finished, and he’d cleared the plates off his dining table nearly twenty minutes ago. You challenged him to arm-wrestle first.

“Please?” You spread your legs out on his blue persian rug, intent on staying awhile. 

Asa sat across the room from you in the cushioned chair closest to the hall, his hands folded in his lap. The look on his face was growing rather unamused.

“I already said no. Can we move along?”

“Come on, have a little fun.”

His expression grew more dour still.

“You’re drunk. Very drunk. I thought I told you to go easy with the drinking.”

“You, Dr. Emory, are being a total stick in the mud.”

You pestered him about it until he humored you.

He took you by the hand and set your arm up on his nice coffee table which he had cleared delicately of a stag beetle specimen in a spotless glass display.

“Count of three.” You slurred, a smile growing in your eyes, one he didn’t care to return.

“One.”

He adjusted his grip dexterously around your fingers. His arm was bigger than yours by far.

“Two.”

The thick tendons in his wrist jumped out. It would be no contest. You wanted to try anyway. You thought it would be fun.

“Three.”

You fought against his hand with everything you had. You laughed. Asa let you struggle against him for a few moments, regarding you with an utter lack of concern on his face. For all your efforts you couldn’t budge his wrist by a centimeter. 

Then he smashed your hand so quick and hard into the coffee table your knuckles throbbed and you yelled.

The laughter fell from your face like a stone. You jerked in his grip. His hold moved down to your wrist where he held you tightly and didn’t let go. Suddenly, you didn’t like the way he was looking at you.

Asa, leaning forward, spoke to you very slowly, and made you linger on every syllable, as if you were stupid.

“Are you finished? Shall we move on? Or would you like to go again?”

He squeezed your wrist a bit harder. You could feel the pulse in your arm quickening, throbbing in his grip, which was getting tighter every second.

You let him take you upstairs without suggesting any more games.

In the morning, you hardly remembered the sex, but your hand was bruised. Asa didn’t mention anything to you about it as he got ready for work. It was the last time you had ever been drunk around him.

You jolted awake in the trunk. Your arms burned in a way that sent vicious chills through your extremities. There was a wet stain on the wall where you must have fallen asleep at some point. Resting a hand on the trunk, you stared cautiously through the peephole.

Asa wasn’t there. But the painting that had fallen was back in its place on the wall.

Your stomach sank. You thought some more to try and distract yourself from the pain in your arms and your aching body.

There had been that one night in the park. The night you stayed awake many sleepless hours trying and failing not to remember what you witnessed.

The sunset had dissipated and the only light remaining in the park was what filtered down from the black street lamps towering like spires all along the sidewalk. Asa had touched something on the bench he didn’t like, and had gotten up to wash his hands in the nearby bathroom. 

You watched a pair of moths fluttering around each other near the lamp across the path and noticed someone approaching from the corner of your eye. Assuming it was Asa, you turned to ask him what species he figured they were.

It wasn’t Asa. 

The mugger shoved you forcefully off the park bench. You spilled onto the cold sidewalk, knocking your head on the concrete.

“Give me the fucking wallet.”

The man must have thought you were alone. He wore black jeans and a grey t-shirt. He brandished a short switchblade at you which you stared at with wide terrified eyes. You were shocked to silence, frozen in place.

The mugger made a grab for the wallet in your shaking hands.

And Asa had tackled him from behind with such force that both men went spilling into the grass on the opposite side of the path.

He was back on his feet by the time the mugger was still clambering to his mud-stained knees. You watched Asa’s hand go somewhere beneath his olive jacket as he pulled out a knife you hadn’t known he carried. He flipped it in his grip and held it with the blade angled down toward the grass. His face had become profoundly unreadable. 

His movements dripped with practice and polish as he sized your mugger up. The muscles in his legs were spring-loaded as he stalked back and forth along the grass. Every step had a purpose.

He dove in for a slash across the man’s stomach. You saw blood spray in a wide arc and heard the man make a painful strangled sound. Asa ducked beneath a clumsy swipe for his face, stepping away again. He passed his knife from one hand to the other; now, he was circling the man. Not adjusting his stance. Circling him.

The man lunged at him with a grunt. The switchblade raced for his chest. Asa caught his wrist and slashed him deep across the thigh.

You’d always known his reflexes were astonishingly quick. Once, you dropped your expensive camera while photographing the exhibits at the museum, and he had grabbed it before it hit the ground, lecturing you in a more-or-less jesting manner about getting a lanyard for it as he stood to hand it back to you, an incident which at the time had made your cheeks warm.

Asa planted his shoe squarely in the man’s abdomen and kicked him away hard. The man made a guttural sound as he tumbled back on the grass, gasping for air, and Asa let him clamber to his feet again, still circling. The look on his face was no longer indifference. It was something far more intense.

The man turned, staggering, and tried to run.

Asa was faster. He tackled him again, wrestled him brutally to the sidewalk. The man swung blindly, got lucky in his desperation—and clipped him across the shoulder.

Asa snarled. Not a grunt, it had been a snarl, low and throaty, like an animal.

He slashed violently at the man and his knife flashed sharply in the lamp light. Blood erupted from the cut in a heavy mist. The man fell back on the ground, dropping his own blade, clutching his throat. Asa straddled him on his knees, and grabbed him by the face, wrenching his head up. You heard the crack of the man’s skull meeting the concrete from where you sat.

The man started shouting desperately for help.

You watched Asa raise his knife. His arms and shoulders flexed and strained the sleeves of his jacket. You knew by the look on his face alone that you were about to witness a murder. Before you knew what you were doing, you were yelling at him to stop.

Asa didn’t hear. Or he ignored you.

He drove the knife hard into the man’s stomach.

The man made a wet strangled sound, bringing up his arm to try and block the onslaught, because Asa was already raising his arm again.

He stabbed the same spot. Every stab that followed was faster. The man’s yelling became screaming and you saw Asa’s hand shift to cover his mouth. The man’s muffled screams fell to thin whining. Then ragged wheezing. Then, stopped. 

A cricket chirped beyond the reach of the street lamps. The moths fluttered near the bulb across the path.

Asa straightened up his posture. His nostrils flared heavily with breath. He seemed to take in the gored body on the concrete beneath him, which had gone motionless.

Five seconds hardly passed before he stood, slowly, rising to his full height, carefully side-stepping the body. The man’s blood trickled off the tip of his wet knife and dripped on the concrete next to his black dress shoes. His jacket sleeves and the sides of his charcoal pants across his thighs were stained with long dark swaths. He rolled his shoulders. The breeze tousled his disordered hair.

There had been a few moments you could recall when it really occurred to you how big Asa was.

He wore flattering clothes often, and your eyes were sometimes tempted towards the wide muscles in his chest, but the way he talked to you was very ensnaring, as he always seemed to have something interesting or intelligent or just plain sarcastic in a dry but not-to-be-taken-seriously way to say; so when he spoke, you found it difficult to look anywhere but at his handsome face. You only really witnessed the scope of his strength when you slept with him. The ways he was able to handle you when he wanted made you feel, at times, incredibly vulnerable around him.

Asa had turned his whole body toward you when he considered you where you sat huddled on the sidewalk, reigning in the hot breaths which broadened his chest and spiraled into the chilly night. The man’s blood had gotten on his cheek. You started to shiver. He regarded you with a look that read staggering disapproval, as though this, and what would inevitably follow, was not worth his time, as though it might as well have been your fault, as though he was currently considering very strongly doing something about it later in private.

“You should call the police.”

Before you knew what you were doing or why you were really doing it you scrambled for your phone in your pocket and tapped on the screen with very shaky fingers, “9-1-1.”

The ambulances pulled up to the street corner first followed shortly by two squad cars. Asa stood up slowly from the green park bench to meet them, and you stayed kneeling on the cold sidewalk.

He introduced himself to the officers as Dr. Asa Emory and dealt with their questions very professionally. At one point, he had pulled a neatly folded paper out of his wallet, which the questioning officer took, shined her flashlight at, and returned to him, nodding her head. The story was very apparent: a couple walking in the park had been assaulted at knife-point, and a registered concealed-carry weapon had been used to dispatch the aggressor.

The officers came over to question you. Asa, standing off to the side, removed his bloodied jacket, which he hung neatly over the park bench. He watched you closely. The look on his face was like the prick of a thorn.

You diverted your gaze away from him and nodded at the officer’s questions dumbly, staring at the medical workers as they bagged up the body on the sidewalk. An EMT was called over, who concluded that you were in moderate shock, and that you should go to the hospital.

“I won’t be riding along with you.” Asa was down to his tan sweater, rubbing his newly cleaned fingers together at his side, which he had been given bottles of water to wash off at his request. The indifference on his face didn’t lift as they strapped you down to the gurney.

“The officers have a few more questions, so I’ve agreed to go with them down to the station.”

His words were factual and rhetorical, as if your input on the matter wasn’t at all needed, so you didn’t say anything back to him.

It was the last you heard from him until he showed up in your hospital room several hours later. Your stomach lept a little when the door opened and he came in.

He was wearing a change of clothes, his hair groomed back into place, looking very much the part of respectable Dr. Emory again. He had brought you dinner from the lobby downstairs. 

He sat in the only chair in the room as you picked at the warm mashed potatoes in the black tray, and made conversation about how you were handling things, and if there was anything he could get you, and though it all felt very shallow and obligatory you found yourself playing along as best you could, because sitting in the room alone with him was giving you very obvious goosebumps.

Asa drove you home later that night. You got out of his car without a word, went to your door, and quickly did the lock behind you.

After falling into bed, you were afraid of him. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit it then; you tried to cling tightly to the parts of him you still thought you loved. But from then on, you were, genuinely, afraid of him.

What made it worse, you suspected he saw it, too.

His holds on your wrist when you turned away from him before he had quite finished lecturing you about something very irresponsible or just plain ignorant you had done were firmer. There was the way he moved his jacket occasionally when he shifted his posture, and you caught a glimpse of his holstered knife for a moment too long. And how, when he asked you a question—one to which you didn’t immediately have an answer—he turned all his attention on you, and began to approach you, boxing you in, cutting off your escape, slowly repeating the question. 

He’d known. Without a doubt, he had known.

Sobbing started in the trunk next to you and it jolted you harshly out of your thoughts.

It sounded like a man. A younger man. You tried to talk to him.

“Hello?”

Sudden silence fell. You repeated yourself.

“Is someone there?”

“-Yes.”

The voice came out very quietly. For a moment, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what there was to say.

“What’s your name?”

Silence for another moment.

“It’s Noah.”

There was rattling as Noah shifted in his trunk.

Noah told you he’d been taken on a Tuesday. A horrendous sinking feeling settled in your stomach at that.

Tuesday was six days ago. Asa had come back very late that night smelling strongly of disinfectant and nitrile, as he did sometimes. You figured he'd stayed past closing hours at work for something important but asked him about it anyway, in the name of making casual conversation, an occurrence which had been growing steadily more reclusive between the two of you. His response had been clipped and curt. You didn’t ask him any more about it.

Noah seemed to hear Asa coming down the hall before you did.

“Stop. Stop talking.” His voice was suddenly desperate, laced with terror. “He’s coming back. He’s coming back. Please don’t talk. Don’t say anything.”

But that wasn’t part of the plan.

The locks clicked open on the other side of the black door.

You started pleading at him with your raw hoarse voice the second he stepped into the room.

“Asa, please! You know I didn’t tell anyone! I’ll do anything you want, you know I will! Asa, please!”

You weren’t even sure what you were begging him for. Please let me out. Please clean my arms before they get infected. Please don’t hurt me anymore.

He shoved your trunk so violently as he walked past that your head knocked against the wood and everything went dizzy for a moment.

Through the airhole, through your fresh, blurry tears, you watched him squat down, and unlock the brown trunk next to yours, the one the young man was in.

Noah couldn’t have been older than his early twenties but his face was exhausted and gaunt. His shirt was gone and his red sweatpants were soaked through with sweat or something else. The shackles around his wrists and ankles rattled as Asa’s arm darted into the trunk.

He wrenched the young man out by his tangled brown hair. Noah made an anguished sound, but didn’t struggle much as Asa hauled him swiftly towards the operating table. 

It occurred to you then what Asa had drilled the peephole in your trunk for. 

The young man begged desperate things while Asa locked his shackled wrists and ankles down to the fixtures on the table. No. Not again. Stop. Please don’t do it again. You looked closer, noticing the long row of stitches running down his side, the skin around them still red and puffy, and thought you might be sick.

Asa grabbed him roughly by the face, and leaned in very close, settling his hand on his bare abdomen. He said something next to Noah’s head too quiet for you to overhear. Noah’s chest heaved rapidly. Asa stood again, and gave the side of his ribs a light stroke before he walked away.

The young man on the table had paled fast. He lay staring at the ceiling with huge unblinking eyes, trembling, looking very much in shock at what he had just heard.

Asa took his time choosing the surgical tools from his cabinets. You watched him prepare the room, too afraid to look away. Maybe it was all a bluff. Please god let it be a bluff. He laid out two separate trays on the stainless-steel countertops, putting his tools in one, and set an extra out near the sink.

It wasn’t a bluff.

Noah was very awake when Asa began to cut his chest open. 

His body obscured your view of the table but you knew the exact moment the scalpel sank in because the young man made a horrible screeching noise and began thrashing violently in his chains in a huge clamor. His body seized and his eyes rolled back in his head. He seemed to try to vomit; nothing came out. 

Asa did not carry out his work hastily. Finished with the bloodied scalpel, he set it in the tray adjacent to his clean tools. When he turned away from the counter, you glimpsed his face.

The look of steady concentration he wore was no different from the times he’d let you watch him process an important specimen or sketch or paint. He clamped Noah’s skin back with pairs of forceps, and peeled off his wet black gloves, beneath which he was already wearing a fresh pair.

You took in the sight on the table while Asa went to the corner of the room to discard the gloves. Noah’s wet red ribs glistened beneath the long hanging lights and you could smell the slippery viscera from where you sat. You watched them expand as his lungs inflated with tortured breath, which was no longer anything but a bloody gurgling deep in his throat.

Asa came back, going next for the surgical pliers, ghosting his hand along his options until he seemed to settle on the proper one. When he looked up, pliers in hand, he was deliberately, unmistakably, casting his gaze across the room at your trunk. As if to make sure you were still watching.

Your heart nearly stopped. Air wouldn’t come in.

Then he returned to his work and started clipping Noah’s ribs off.

You could hear the bone snapping every time. The young man passed out more than twice on the table and that was the only time there was silence in the room.

Asa deposited the rib clippings in a third tray, and went to wash them free of blood and tissue in the steel sink while the near-corpse on the table made awful rattling noises, struggling to breathe; Noah seemed to be watching Asa, too, trying at least, but the immensity of his struggle had burst capillaries in his eyes.

Asa laid the ribs out on a pristine white cloth, organizing them from shortest to longest, toweling them individually off, and went about measuring them lengthwise with a yellow tape, then again around their circumference. He placed them gently in a bin, sealed the lid tight, went for a pen, and wrote something in his neat handwriting on the label.

You watched him take a curved needle and load it carefully with fine black suturing thread pinched delicately between his finger and thumb. Noah screamed and squirmed weakly with all he had left as it went in, which wasn’t much at all. Asa pulled the needle in and out, bringing his skin back together until his gaping chest was shut again.

The young man was still alive when Asa hauled him back into the trunk, a fresh row of black knots holding his ruined flesh closed.

Or at least he was still twitching, blinking, drawing shuddering agonized breaths through his wide-open mouth from which there ran an endless trickle of saliva and blood. The bottom of his stitched-shut chest was concave where his lower ribs used to be. He didn’t look like he’d live another hour. You hoped he wouldn’t.

Asa shut the lid and did the latches.

He went back to the counter for the ribs, taking an indirect path around the table, which carried him right towards you. You scrambled back from him as fast you could. The trunk didn’t let you get very far. You felt his fingers rap along the lid from one side to the other and couldn’t choke back your broken sound.

He left through the heavy door, doing up all the locks, and this time, you heeded Noah’s advice. Your mouth stayed utterly, obediently, shut.

After a few minutes of hopeless wheezing, Noah fell silent in the brown trunk, and never made another sound after that.

[enigmawrappedinhypocrisy]

*Request* Okay. Thanks! Could the reader be in to wrestling and her and barley are best friends? And something happened and they find out they’re falling for each other? And Ian is always teasing the reader? And a kiss at the end? Sorry if it’s a bit confusing.. again thanks!

 Okay I’m not sure how to do this… and I’m not into wrestling… And i’m really bad at this getting things done thing… sooo… I’m sorry, I know this has been in my asks for 100 years. But excuses… And i’m tired of this being in my drafts sooo… However, Hopefully it's decent enough. 

Fandom: Onward

Pairings: Barley x Reader (mention of grandchildren once but nothing that indicates gender... I think...) 

Warnings: Bad writing, Quick Mention of drunk idiots harassing reader, I don’t know a thing about Wrestling, Fluff, very bouncy thoughts... a tiny little bit of almost angst. 

❀✦ Master List✦❀

You met Barley at a wrestling match when a few drunk idiots decided to hassle you. As they tend to do… 

You ran into the first, seemingly safe person you saw. You looked at him with puppy eyes and were grateful he understood your silent plea. 

Barley smiled warmly and put his arm around you. He pretended to be your boyfriend until the guys lost interest in you and left. He made some jokes to lighten the mood and struck up a casual conversation with you, as if you really did know each other. You found yourself amazed and feeling better, it seemed this elf boy radiated security and gentleness.  

Then, with a simple thank you, you’d parted ways; only to run into each other again at the local diner after the match. It was there you had sat and talked well into the early hours of the morning. 

You learned he was interested in many things you were, and you just felt… content around him. By the time you had to part, numbers were exchanged, and he’d texted you before noon that day. 

You began hanging out shortly after that. You were nearly always at each other’s house, and quickly became close with his family. His mother adored you and his brother felt comfortable enough to joke around with you. 

All in all you and Barley were quite close.

But not as close as your family's seemed to think you were… or maybe hope would be more appropriate…  

*

The weekend had finally arrived and you made your way to Barley’s house, as planned, after work.

There was a big wrestling event in the evening and you and Barley had plans to hang out and watch it together. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to spend a lot of time at the Lightfoot house so no one batted an eye when you showed up a little early. 

Ms. Lightfoot welcomed you and let you know that Barley had called saying he'd be a little late, and she was going out with friends. As she was leaving she turned to wink at you telling you, with a knowing look, to have fun. 

You thanked her as you felt your cheeks flush with warmth and made your way to the familiar living room. You didn't mind waiting for Barley, in fact, you'd be willing to wait all night if it meant spending time with him. Not that you would tell him that...

Lost in your thoughts about how dumb and sappy that sounded even in your mind, and the implications therein, you hadn't noticed Barley's brother come in.

You had spent a fair amount of time with both brothers since you’d first met Barley. So by this time Ian was pretty comfortable around you, sometimes even coming to you for help or advice. Especially when it entailed something he might have been too embarrassed about to ask his mother or brother about.  

 Ian had decided to take a break from homework, and get a snack when he found you lost in thought on his couch. When he came back from the kitchen only to find you with the same dazed expression several minutes later he decided to tease you a little. 

"Barley late for date night?" Ian asks, his tone even, leaning against the wall an apple in hand. 

"Yea- wait no! Why would you say that?" You blink taken off guard by the sudden question. 

Ian raises an eyebrow in a ‘really?’ expression. 

“Shut up” you try and fail to keep the blush from your voice. "We're just… eh… hanging out!" You defend a little too enthusiastically. 

“Interesting that’s the part you chose to respond to…” Ian chuckles, before heading back upstairs. If you weren't ready to admit your feelings, who was he to do it for you… besides, this was  far more amusing.

*

It wasn't much longer until Barley arrived home, a little disheveled. The match wasn't due to start for another hour, maybe more depending on how things went, and yet it looked like the elf boy had rushed home. 

Why? 

The only thought that continued to creep into your mind was you… he rushed home to see you. The idea of It warmed your heart, and filled you with a longing. A longing for a potential life where Barley was coming home after work each day to see you. 

He'd find you cooking… reading… working on some project… and kiss you. 

You'd ask him about his day… and he yours. 

You'd share a pleasant dinner and end the night cuddled on the couch… 

You’d be happy… 

Ian's words run on loop in your mind and you don’t notice the way Barley’s face lights up upon seeing you. 

Did Barley think you were dating? That this was a date? 

Did he want it to be? 

Did you? 

You hadn't noticed you were staring until Barley brought attention to it. 

"What?" You jump. 

"I asked why you were looking at me like that?" he gives you his charming little half smile as he repeats, what you assume was, his earlier question. 

"Oh, um… nothing… no reason" you blush and desperately avoid looking at him. 

Barley watches you for a moment, clearly not believing your answer, but gives in with a shrug. 

"I'm just gonna go put my stuff down and get something to drink… you want something?" He asks. 

"Okay, um… no thanks" you try to sound casual all the while you're incredibly aware of your quickening heartbeat. 

Barley nods before leaving you, calling to you from the kitchen. He asks about your day. You give a non answer in response and ask him about his. 

He goes on to tell you about some funny thing his boss said in response to an irate customer, and soon returns to the living room. He hands you your drink before flopping down next to you. 

You scold him as you nearly spill. Not really realizing he brought you something even though you told him you didn’t need him to… not only that, but it was definitely your favorite… why would he… how… 

"Sorry my love" he smirks, clearly not sorry. 

You roll your eyes giving him a little shove in response to the nickname. He often called you sweet things. Things you previously attributed to his personality or teasing but now they had you wondering.

When he called you those things, sweetheart, darling, dear… was he actually hinting at what he really felt? 

You look at him out of the corner of your eye and quickly squeak noticing he was watching you with an indescribable emotion.

"W-what?" You try to act casual. 

"What's wrong with you?" He asks, blunt and to the point. 

"What do you mean?" You try and play it off, as if your mind wasn’t playing that little game with the levers and ball… and see you can’t even remember what it’s called… and it’s your analogy… 

PINBALL! Your brain was playing pinball… the dinging buzzing things the ball hits against being the sudden and many thoughts… which makes you the ball? Or was the ball the thoughts… bouncing around… there goes the analogy again…  

"You're being all quiet and…” he indicates you vaguely,  “did my mom say something to you? She's been teasing me about grandchildren lately, she didn't say something like that too you did she?" 

Your eyes widen and you suspect Barley didn't mean to let that slip out by the blush now coloring his ears. 

"No… but um… what-what do you tell her when she asks about that kind of stuff?" Yeah super subtle… 

Barley scratches the back of his neck, “I tell her we haven't discussed that…" 

Wait…

"Why would we… Um Barley?" You push away your insecurities, fear that you’d read the situation wrong, and decide to just jump in with both feet. 

Or tip over the machine? Does it work now? The analogy? 

He 'hmms'. 

"Do you think we're dating?" You try to phrase it gently but cringe when you hear yourself. You don’t want to come across rude, like you’re making fun of him… but also don’t wanna let on how much you’re starting to suspect you want him to say yes… 

Barley looks away from you, practically purple at this point. 

"Uh… no of course not…" It sounded small, nervous but... hopeful? 

"Do… do you want to?" you manage to force out, slightly proud of your mostly even tone.

Do you?

You’re still not sure at this point yourself, you’d only just realized the way you feel about the elf boy that was your best friend. Did you want to risk that? What happens if this was just a little puppy attraction, lust thing… and whatever relationship you begin quickly sizzles out? 

Barley is looking at his hands as he nervously fiddles with the zipper of his vest. He bites his lip and tries to avoid your gaze. 

Oh… 

You soften, “It’s okay if you do… I mean… wanna… um…” Now you can’t find the words, which becomes more difficult when Barley looks up at you, hope shining in his eyes. 

“What are you saying?” he prompts, heart pounding in his chest. He hopes you can’t hear it. 

You shift, turning towards him slightly. “Well… if you wanted to maybe go on a date or something…” 

“Yes?” 

“I’d probably be okay with that… I mean… if you want to” you add the last part, now desperately hoping this wasn’t some awful joke. 

Barley smiles, reaching forward to brush a piece of hair from your face. “Do you wanna go on a date with me?” He asks softly, apparently having gained some confidence back. 

You nod, leaning into his touch before you realize you’re doing it. 

“Tomorrow night?” he suggests. 

Again, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

Barley smiles, his attention turning back to the tv. The match was starting soon, the announcers already talking about what they expect to happen. He leans back, his arm resting behind you on the top of the couch. Not an uncommon thing for the elf boy. What was uncommon, however, was you relaxing against his side and how right it felt.

Without a word, perhaps because he wasn’t sure he could trust his voice either, Barley brings his arm down around you, holding you against him. 

If you had the courage yourself to look up at him, you would have seen the flushing upon his cheeks. But either way this was comfortable and you weren’t in a hurry to end it any time soon. 

*

A few hours later Barley's mom returns home. Maaaybe a little drunk which results in her cooing loudly when she finds you and Barley asleep and cuddling on the couch. 

This, and her half stumbling up the stairs, manages to rouse you and Barley from your comfortable nap.

Barley yawns, and slowly gets to his feet. 

"Come on, I'll drive you home" he offers another yawn soon follows.

"Don't worry, I can drive myself" you stretch, not really pleased with the idea of making the trip home yourself.

"You're too tired- not safe" Barley half murmurs. 

"You're too tired" you retort. 

"You should stay here… on the couch… or I can take the couch" he stumbles over his words. 

You nod in agreement flopping back on the couch. When Barley doesn't leave you raise a brow in question. 

"I was just thinking…" he shuffles from one foot to the other.

You watch him with patient eyes, now a little more alert. You'd let him say what he needed, when he needed not wanting to rush him. 

"I mean… if I don't drive you home I can't kiss you goodbye…" 

His ears were a dark maroon by now and you can't keep the smile from your eyes. His sweetness, his bashfulness, just how God damn cute he was. And most of all… how much you wanted to kiss his pink tinted face. 

So you did. 

You stood, quicker than he could react, grabbed his face on either side, and brought his lips to yours. After a moment of shock Barley’s arms come around you, keeping you too him. 

You can't say for sure if the head rush you felt was from the kiss or standing too suddenly, but you chose to think it was the kiss as you give him several more little pecks before eventually breaking apart with a yawn. 

"Better?" You ask, your head falling forward to lean against his shoulder. 

Barley nods before pulling back, calling a good night to you, and hurrying to his room. 

You chuckle softly before flopping once again on the couch… there'd be time tomorrow to deal with all this… but for now… sleep was calling and the old couch was far too inviting… 

*And that’s all folks*

[dollslayer]

Shots or Dare

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: A drinking game goes one step too far. Or does it?

W/C: 1,551

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, drunken antics, hangovers, swearing

A/N: Just a quick little oneshot for y'all! I'm working on some bigger stuff but wanted to put this out there just for kicks. If you like it check out my other stuff and reblog/comment! Cheers!

Main Masterlist

____

‘When will yo finally jsut go on s date with me?’

You sent it before you could even really register your actions. This is why you should’ve volunteered to be DD. Drinking on Girl’s Night always lands you in trouble. Trouble in this case, comes in the form of a dare and the persuasions of an equally drunk and far more excited Wanda.

“You finally DID IT! YOU DID IT!” Wanda hollers as she jumps from the booth in celebration.

Your hand shot up to cover her mouth, noticing several tables in the bar were looking towards you. You wobbled a bit and held the table for support with your other hand. You shushed her and sat back down.

“Did what? What did I do?” You asked, seeming to be the only one not in on the joke.

“Check your texts, lover girl” Paling in fear at her words you swipe up on your phone and read. Oh, God.

‘When will yo finally jsut go on s date with me?’ Read: 1:19AM You felt the blood rush from your brain to your cheeks in sheer humiliation.

You tried your best to recall a few minutes ago when Wanda was practically typing out the message for you as Nat looked on in amusement. You were playing Shots or Dare, a very dangerous game you now realized. Wanda dared you that you wouldn’t finally say something to Steve, whom you’ve had a crush on since you joined the team. You were always so much bolder when you were drunk.

Now sobered in an instant having seen that not only had you actually sent the text but that he’d read it. Your superior officer, your teammate, your friend. God, I must seem so sloppy. How do I even solve this? What do I even say? How soon could I realistically transfer out so I never have to see him again?

Your phone sat shakily in your hands as your thumb hovered above it, unsure what to type. Before you could Nat snatched your phone from your hand and put it in her pocket. You were about to protest when she just shook her head at you.

“It’s too late and you’re too drunk. He probably thinks you’re kidding. Just sleep in my room tonight we’ll fix it in the morning” She offered.

Even though Nat herself was 4 or 5 drinks in she always seemed to have her head on straight. You swallowed and nodded before hiding your face in your hands.

“Relax, I’m sure he thinks it’s hot you’re just going for it! My turn! I choose dare!” Wanda changed the subject with a clap of her hands and eagerly awaited her dare. You didn’t know how you were going to get through the rest of the night without freaking out about it so you ordered yourself another drink and got to forgetting.

____

Staying out until almost 3, the group of you stumbled your way back to the tower and into Nat’s room. You promptly passed out in full makeup and without changing your clothes. You’d wake up to a hangover but that was tomorrow you’s problem.

And a problem it was, not six hours later you awoke to loud knocking from down the hall. You groaned and turn into the couch cushions hoping to fall back asleep. The knocking came again and you ignored it, sighing in comfort when you heard whomever it was retreating back up the hall.

Unable to sleep, you got up slowly and tried to gauge the severity of your hangover. Deciding you’d rather deal with this in the comfort of your own room you wrestle to get your shoes off your feet and carry them in one hand while you open the door with the other. You do your best to sneak down the hall to your room, only being a few doors down from Nat.

You make it just in front of your room when you drop your shoes and wince at the sound it makes. You steady yourself on the door to pick them up when you hit your head on the handle. It stings and you cringe at the feeling of the long handle getting stuck in your hair. Surprised, you hiss at the pain and drop both your shoes again as you desperately try to untangle yourself.

You could not be more of a mess if you tried. Maybe if you puked right now but all the willpower you had left was preventing that from happening. After a moment of all but ripping your hair from your head you’re free with one final jerk forwards, which of course, causes you to lose your balance and topple forward.

You put both your hands out and brace for the carpet burn of the collision but it never comes. Instead you’re being held steady by two large hands and all you can think to do is pray that it isn’t who you think it is. No God would be that cruel.

You slowly look up and find yourself eye to eye with Steve. No God except this one, apparently. He looks concerned as he helps you back up slowly to your feet. He picks up your shoes and opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. He looks you up and down, taking in your appearance trying to assess how best to approach the situation.

You’re suddenly very aware that you’re still in last night’s clothes and that the mascara on your eyelashes is smudged from where you fell asleep. If the Earth could swallow you whole right now you’d have no objections. You feel sweat from your nervousness mixing with last night’s too. I am a literal human disaster, this could not get worse. Please, please don’t bring up the text.

He clears his throat. “I, um, I saw you texted me last night.” Fuck. “I knew you were out with the girls, just wanted to make sure you made it home okay.”

You hide your face with your hands and huff out a breath of embarrassment.

“Yeah, um, thank… you… Yeah I’m good” You were not good. On top of the trainwreck of an encounter this already was your knees are giving out on you. You need to lay down now. Maybe get some food in you.

Steve rushed forward to pick you up again when you caught yourself against the door and fumbled to unlock it.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” He moved you gently aside to fiddle with the door before opening it and ushering you inside.

He set your shoes down by the door and helped you out of your jacket.

“When’s the last time you ate something? Or maybe you need some water?” He offered.

You shook your head at him and stuck your hands out to feel your way to your bed. This was already so embarrassing, Steve didn’t need to continue to see you like this.

Steve shook his head slightly and tsked at you. He helped you into bed and then looked at you with his hands on his hips, like he was contemplating his next move.

“I’m going to make some breakfast, do you think you could get a shower in that time or do you need to rest? Regardless after that you’re going to eat what I made and drink a whole glass of water, no protests.” He spoke gently but firm as he walked towards the door.

“Steve, please you don’t need to do this, I’m so sorry jus’ lemme get some sleep you don’t have to do anyth-”

“I said no protests. Now if I come back here in 15 minutes and you’re not in that shower I’m gonna be upset, do you understand?” He was using his Captain voice now and you rolled your eyes before giving him a lazy salute.

“Aye aye, cap” He chooses not to respond to your smart ass response, only chuckles as he closes the door behind him.

____

One very woozy shower later you managed to only kind of puke your guts out and put on a clean pair of clothes. You exited your ensuite to the smell of bacon and eggs. Having gotten all the puke out of your system your mouth was now practically watering at the prospect of food.

Steve was sat on your couch with two plates and he stood to greet you.

“I didn’t know what you like but I figure you can’t go wrong with the classics. I figure while we eat we can watch one of these so-called ‘classics’ you’re always on my case about watching?” He grinned at you and waited for a response.

You shuffled over to your couch and plopped down beside him.

“Why’re you doin’ this for me, Steve? You don’t have to do any of this, I’m good” You kept trying to insist, feeling guilty that you were so hungover earlier and messy in front of him on top of your very infamous drunk text.

“Well this is a date isn’t it?” He smiles down at you with a boyish smirk and all you can do is return his expression and think of what movie to pick. Maybe Shots or Dare isn’t all that bad. This time at least.

[mooniefics]

unforeseen circumstances [ 1 ]

pairing : porco galliard / fem reader

word count : 4.3k

tags : porn w plot, angsty lol, porn w feelings, doomed love

warnings : nsfw

summary : at first it had been necessary, a consequence of getting more and more information out of your target, but now you realize that the time spent with him had developed into a bond that was undeniably something more.

— originally posted 12 / 29 / 20 on ao3 —

intercept, infiltrate, escape.

that was the mantra you'd been repeating over and over again in your head for days. your squad was counting on you—paradis was counting on you—to do your absolute best out on the field, behind enemy lines. and you would definitely say that you had been doing well. you'd picked out your target just fine, maintained your cover effortlessly, gathered a hefty amount of intel that would mark your mission as a success when you delivered everything the commander back home.

in the same vein, you could admit, there had been a few hiccups here and there; a couple slips of the tongue that would've spelt certain defeat if you weren't so good at lying through your teeth, accidentally doing things that weren't in character of a diplomat's daughter, mostly small mistakes, nothing that wasn't easily rectifiable.

but, what was happening right now had to be the biggest hiccup of them all.

your hands were tangled in the thick mess of blonde hair, mussing it out of its usual brushed back style, lips moving fervently over his as you arched off the bed to press your body closer to him. you'd found that kissing him always left you breathless, thrumming with warmth and only wanting more. it was no different this time around when he pulled away, your chest heaving like you'd just run a mile as he pressed a messy line of kisses down your cheek and jaw.

"do you really have to go home after tomorrow, princess?" he murmured between pecks, hands beginning to work on unbuttoning your shirt.

"i told you i'm a countess, not a princess." you giggled, tugging your arms free from the sleeves and replacing your hands in his hair, "there's a difference, you know?"

"countess, princess, whatever, royalty all the same." he mused, giving a soft nip to your shoulder, "can't you ask your father to leave you here with me just a little longer?"

your face flushed at that, feeling a flutter in your heart at his earnest words rather than his impatient hands. it was those little requests, playfully delivered but nonetheless inviting you to really stay in liberio even if for just a day more, that reminded you of the weight of your duty. a small pang cut through the fog of arousal, your fingers tightening their grasp the slightest bit, guilt bubbling up behind the light airiness in your chest.

"you know i would if i could, porco." you replied softly, "but i've got business back home. my family's counting me for a lot of things."

and you weren't lying when you said that. you did have business and family back home, there was so many things that had to be done, and the only chance you had to get back home with the rest of your squad was tomorrow night, leaving this as the final evening you'd probably ever get spend with him like this. you tried not to think about those complicated details, but he made it easy to focus on him as his hands squeezed your breasts, rolling his thumbs over your nipples through the padded fabric of your bra.

"then i'll just have to make sure you remember me, huh?" you could feel him smirking against your skin, "give you plenty of reasons to come back real soon."

you let out a heated sigh at the feeling of him sucking at the crook of your neck, thighs clenching unconsciously from the low pulse of arousal stirring between your legs. you could tell that there was going to be a bruise in the morning, already hearing connie's vehement protests and sasha's prying questions in your head. screwing the enemy once was already bad enough, but this was now the fourth day he'd managed to get you in his bed.

this first night could've been excusable, seeing as you were both quite drunk after a carefree tour of the city, courtesy of him and his overconfidence, despite you knowing every nook and cranny of liberio from your time spent tracking his comrades' schedules. but you couldn't help feeling drawn back to him, and under the flimsy excuse of being able to get more information by being in his dorm, you had ended up back in his room within the next few nights as well. you technically did get a bit of work done, rifling through his belongings when he ventured downstairs to get you both a cup of coffee, but there was nothing of substances to be found besides some explicit magazines under the bed and a picture of his older brother tucked away deep in the drawers of his desk.

you knew you shouldn't get attached to him, you knew that you should just write these evening ventures off as meaningless sex to drive away the homesickness that had begun to set in. but you'd started to find yourself wanting to be around him more and more even before that first night, missing his scent of faint cologne that you could only smell when he held you close to him, memorizing everything from the flustered smile that broke out across his face when you'd kiss his cheek to the fuck-drunk grin you saw from your side of his bed the first time you'd slept with him. sure, he was arrogant and standoffish on the surface, but under that exterior there was so much more, more than you could ever hope to discover in the last twenty-four hours you had left in your stay. so you decided to let him bring you back here again, not even feigning protest when you both fell back into the comfort of his messy sheets and made out like two teenagers after their first date.

you could feel his hands trying to work their way under you, prompting you to arch your back off the bed so he could unclasp your bra. you gave a soft whimper when his teeth grazed over the fresh bruise, letting your eyes fall shut as he lavished your neck and shoulder with teasing, half-pressured bites and firm kisses. his fingers rolled your nipples between them, clearly relishing in the tiny whines and moans of his name that each pinch earned him. he turned out to be much more generous in bed than you'd first anticipated, always giving and giving without any expectation for something in return, seemingly content with just watching you fall apart in his hands, something which he made so ridiculously easy to do.

the moon outside cast a silvery glow through the window, illuminated his figure above you and making the more blonde locks of his hair glow golden. you let your hips roll up to meet his, earning a low groan when they pressed flush against the tenting bulge in his trousers. the places where he left his mark ached in the best way as he made his way down to your chest, earning another stifled whimpered when sucked at the valley of your breasts, fingers not stopping their slow routine that sent heat arcing up your spine. you muffled another whine when he bit at the soft flesh, tongue laving out to soothe the sting.

"ah.. p-porco, that..!" he didn't let you finish before he repeated the action to the other breast, firmly enough to print his teeth into your skin but not nearly enough to be entirely painful.

you were sure he could feel the way you were trembling now, how your shaky hands were tugging meekly at his shirt in a futile attempt to get it off. he pulled away with a chuckle, yanking it off of himself in one fluid motion and tossing it aside, planting a brief kiss over your lips before returning to his previous actions. this time his mouth descended over your nipple, tongue flicking over the pert bud and drawing more small whimpers out of you.

you were only keeping quiet out of the thought that the other warriors were in the dorms, and that they might come knocking eventually to tell you to shut up, but porco seemed more than happy to force more heated pants and moans out of you with little care for their volume. you squirmed under the power of his tongue, already feeling yourself practically soaking through your underwear as he swapped his attention to your unattended breast, hands smoothing down your waist to work at getting your skirt off. he managed to wrestled the lacing free more quickly than you thought he would, touch immediately delving under the loosened waistline and into your underwear.

"fuck," he groaned, thumb rubbing over your clit and making you up buck into his hand, "so fucking wet."

"stop t-teasing me.." you protested, feeling him move to nip and suck more marks at the underside of your breasts. you hadn't thought the skin would be so tender, but you couldn't help the moan that slipped from your lips at the sensation.

"makes sense that you're used to calling the shots," he spoke in a low tone, giving an apologetic lick to one of the larger bruises he'd left behind before proceeding further down your body, "but just trust me, alright? i'll make sure you'll never forget tonight."

you felt your heart skip at his words. "as if i could ever forget you."

you caught his small smile your own words garnered in the dim light, an expression that was boyishly shy yet prideful all at once, another image of him that you wanted to burn into your memory forever. after tossing your underwear aside to join the rest of your forgotten clothes, he guided apart your legs, pressing a soft kiss over your thigh before taking some of the pliant flesh between his full lips, sucking at it with enough pressure to make you whimper.

you knew what he was doing, littering your skin with bruises that would darken by the time morning came, leaving reminders of himself that probably would stay etched into your skin for the next few days, but definitely not more than a week. you assumed that he saw it as better than nothing, considering that the first time he left a mark on you he would always smirk to himself when he caught a glimpse of it, thumbing over it and kissing it when he could— figures that the prideful soldier loved to mark his territory. he took his time with this area, squeezing at your thighs and giving the occasional bite just to watch you squirm and whine, hazel eyes drinking in your visage as he teased you with the prospect of being so close to where you needed him.

"god, you look so good." he muttered after leaving the final mark, deciding that he'd drawn out his torture long enough, "i wish i could keep you like this forever."

you flushed brilliantly at that, your sheepish look garnering another quiet laugh from him before he settled your thighs onto his shoulders, fingers sinking into your soft hips and gently pulling you against him. the first lick was deliberately slow, laving up the entirety of your dripping cunt and stopping just at your clit, taking it into his mouth to draw small circles over it with the tip of his tongue.

you pressed one hand firmly over the lower half of your face to catch to moan that you couldn't swallow back and muffle the sound of your quick breaths through your nose, the other finding his hair and urging him closer. his mouth was exceptional, knowing exactly which places to lick and kiss, applying just the right pressure over you to make your toes curl and your legs shake, each low groan and mutter sending the delightful vibrations of his voice echoing across your skin. you did your best to not clench your thighs too firmly around his head, but your already vain efforts fell apart completely at the feeling of his tongue working its way into you, lapping up at the wetness that was now most likely dripping down his chin and making a mess of the sheets beneath you.

for all his hotheaded hubris, his smart mouth was good for much more than just spouting out arguments to defend his pride and dropping mediocre pick-up lines that would've been terribly cringeworthy from anyone else but were somehow endearing when he said them. one hand moved to replace the stimulation over your clit in his mouth's absence, the other sliding under your writhing form to find the small of your back, offering more support to the way your body arched into his mouth. the heat ebbing out over every inch of your flushed skin was overwhelming, leaving you drowning in the feeling of his skillful tongue and fingers, moans pouring out into the palm of your hand as you tugged at his hair and rolled your hips up into his touch.

"f-fuck.. c-c-can't.. i th-think..!" you could barely form coherent words, but you were sure he knew exactly what you were trying to tell him based on the way he redoubled his efforts over you, drawing out one last muffled whine before you came against his mouth.

you had expected him to let you ride out your high like he always did, eventually guiding you down with a steadily slowing rhythm and soft kisses to your trembling body, but he did neither, not even faltering as urged you even closer to his unrelenting attention.

"p-porco..!" you mewled, having to pull the hand at your mouth away to gasp in sufficient breath, "please—f-fuck—l-let me rest for a m-minute!!"

you met his gaze from between your legs, barely steady enough to match the intensity, not able to see his mouth but knowing he was grinning from the way the corners of his eyes creased. when you tried to unclasp your thighs from around his head, his hands quickly grabbed them and held your legs apart just enough to accommodate his place between them, his low chuckle at your desperate expression sending another jolt of pleasure sparking up your spine.

you couldn't stop the incessant trembling of your body, every muscle wracked with an uncompromising heat that drove breathless, unrestrained whines out of you as his tongue drew you back to that familiar peak in under a minute. each shaky clench on your hand in his hair earned you more low groans into your overly-sensitive flesh, your head craning back as far as the pillow allowed it to and heels digging into the firm muscle of his back as your lids squeezed shut, entirely immersed into the all-consuming heat that was fervid enough to bring tears to your eyes. you felt more than overstimulated as he finally let up and allowed you to fall back down onto the bed in a panting heap, pressing soothing kisses across the skin of your bruised thighs.

"do you need a break?" he murmured, not at all hiding how he was admiring your debauched expression.

"just a little one." you barely whispered back, still struggling to catch your breath and slow your heart.

he took mercy on you, slipping your legs off of his shoulders and stepping off of the bed to wrestle off his pants and boxers, giving you until then to regain your bearings. you let your wandering eyes settle on his dimly lit figure, the shadowed contour of the muscles lining his chest and arms looking even more defined in the faint radiance the window provided.

you would miss feeling the way they would flex under his warm skin when you smoothed your hands over the expanse of his torso, how you could feel his heart thud steadily against your fingers or hear it when you rested your head on his naked chest. just the thought of your departure was sobering in it own right, but remembering what you would have to take part in just after you would give your final farewell made you feel a lump knotting its way into the center of your throat. you tried not to let that dismay show on your face as he took his place over you once again, letting you pull him down into a kiss that was softer, less lustful than all the others that had come before.

"c'mon, getting sappy on me already?" he teased playfully. you didn't even have to open your eyes to know that he was grinning. you huffed, earning a small laugh and another gentle peck.

"no! just.." you met his gaze, suppressing your own smile at the sight of his cocked eyebrow and lofty smile, "just thinking about the next time i'll be able to come back."

another lie, but he didn't know, face softening at the pleasant thought. "you'll hear about it at the play tomorrow, but lord tybur's inviting all of marley's new allies to join hands against that island. things are gonna get busy from now on, and who knows? maybe you might have to come back and make another visit."

"here's to hoping." the hands on his cheeks wandered away to lace under his arms, forearms resting on his solid back and fingers gingerly grasping his shoulders, "i wouldn't mind spending a few more nights like this.."

"no need to be shy, princess," he smirked, punctuating the phrase with a more heated kiss that made your heart pick up its pace once more, the taste of you still discernible on his tongue, "you can be more honest than that, i won't tell on you."

you didn't correct him on your false designation this time, starting to enjoy it as more of a pet name than an official title. you felt the heat of arousal that had been dampened by your foresight flicker back to life when he dipped his head down into your neck, nipping and kissing at the array of marks he'd left behind, shifting his position so he could line himself up with your drenched cunt. you didn't realize you'd been waiting with baited breath until he eased himself inside of you, your shaky exhale drawing out into a low moan, the desire to be quiet completely forgotten as he started out at a slow, deep pace.

"fuck, i'll never get tired of this." he muttered, each thrust driving little pants and whimpers from your parted lips.

he seemed to want to draw out your intimate exchange as long as he could, knowing that you wouldn't last all night but wanting to savor this time nonetheless. and you were grateful for that, just as you were grateful for how he paid such special attention to make sure he always left you satisfied, or how he'd always managed to slip in those stupidly sweet comments that made you feel alight with a carefree airiness you hadn't felt in so long before you met him.

so the evening drew on, a cycle of whispered words and messy kisses, his grunts and groans mixing with your own breathy whimpers and whines, limbs tangling together to hold your bodies close and hips rolling to meet the others'. you came apart in his hands more time than you cared to count, more focused in how he would moan against your mouth when your nails raked down his back hard enough to leave reddened scratches over his tanned skin or memorizing the hazy look in his eyes when he stared down at you with that fuck-drunk grin, clearly spent but not wanting to throw in the towel until he'd given it his all.

satisfaction only came after you'd both finally reached the point of complete exhaustion, sticky with sweat and greedily gulping in gasps of the room's hot air, somehow still finding enough energy to breathily giggle at your tired expressions when you turned in bed to face each other. you waited until your skin had cooled off before you moved over to him, humming contently at the feeling of his strong arms doing most of the work of pulling you closer.

"come to the festival with me tomorrow." he said, voice low as it reverberated in the ear that was pressed to his chest.

"was that not already the plan, soldier boy?" you hadn't expected for your murmur to sound so tired, eyes already too heavy to keep open, the hand that was carding through your hair not making it any easier to cling to your waning alertness.

he let out a small chuckle, whether it was at the snippy remark or the new moniker you couldn't tell. "just making sure, princess."

the silence that settled around you both was natural, almost comforting, allowing you to hear the way his breathing had begun to steady out, and the slow beat of his heart that had just been racing alongside yours minutes ago. despite all your physical fatigue, you found yourself unable to fall asleep with him, the weight of all your thoughts keeping you anchored to consciousness. it didn't feel like tomorrow was the end, you weren't ready for the finiteness of reality to settle in just yet.

you nestled your face closer to his warmth, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to keep in the tears that had begun to well within them. it wasn't right, it wasn't fair, you deserved better than to have this happiness ripped away from you just as fast as you'd found it, he deserved better than the deceit and never-ending series of lies than you'd been stringing him along with.

"porco," you breathed, so quietly that you could barely even hear yourself, "i lo.."

you stopped. you couldn't say that. you couldn't think that.

you felt the tear that had slipped down the side of your face drip onto his chest, your arms around him hugging him tighter as you drew in a few deep breaths to calm yourself. you eventually forced yourself to sleep, knowing that you'd need it for the long day ahead of you, and hoping you'd find an escape from the unforeseen circumstances of your guilty conscious in your dreams.

the next day came and went so quickly, filled with loud music and chattering crowds and so much laughter, a happiness that allowed you to lose yourself in the fun of it all as you and him ate and drank from as many stalls as you could find. there were foods and desserts that you'd never seen before in marley or in paradis, curious instruments and street performances that he obviously wasn't used to either based on the eager sparkle that gleamed in his eyes. your feet were sore by the time the sun had begun to sink below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the entire city as you exited the avenue that had been bustling with life all afternoon now steadily emptying out as everyone readied themselves for the show that lord tybur would be hosting in the square.

you didn't let go of his hand as you both wandered down the city streets towards the square, worried that your palms would sweat or your fingers would tremble, giving away how much you were dreading reaching your final destination. you kept the smile that had been entirely genuine up until minutes ago plastered on your face, unable to come to terms with the inevitable end that was just a few meters and a side street away. and when the lines of wooden benches and large stage finally came into view, you felt that sinking feeling of your heart give way to an cold emptiness caving a hole in your chest, only able to follow him along as he guided you out of the walkway and onto an empty place on the sidewalk.

"i have to go sit with the rest of my unit, but i'll see you after the show, alright?" he told you without a second thought, entirely sure of the fact that he might have the chance to sneak you away for a few more indulgent moments before you had to return to your home country.

you swallowed down the lump in your throat, lips struggling to maintain their shaky smile as you answered. "definitely. we'll meet again here?"

he nodded, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. you tried not to make the deep breath you took to steady yourself obvious, balancing up on your toes to press one last lingering kiss across his lips. it didn't last nearly long enough, only able to catch a hint of ginger and lime from the last drink you'd both shared before he released your hand and started on his trek to his seat, turning to give a wave and a smile over his shoulder before he disappeared into the crowd.

as soon as he was out of your sight, you pushed down all the conflicting emotions that had been threatening to smother you, not allowing yourself to cry even as you ventured away from the stage. the show would be starting in less than five minutes, and it wouldn't probably take more than ten for eren to give his cue.

you couldn't get that last image of his face out of your head, eyes bright, smiling widely down at you, so entirely unaware of the chaos that would unfold just after the curtain call. buildings would be destroyed, people would die, people he most likely knew and spoke to longer than he was aware of your existence, and a portion of the fault fell on your shoulders. and even from a block away you could hear the vibrant cheers of the crowd as the curtain rose, your brisk pace turning into a near run as you tried to escape the sounds of the townspeople, tried to forget the impending doom hanging over you as the go-time for the operation to lay siege on marley drew nearer and nearer with every step.

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 16.1)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8) (GUESS WHAT? IT AIN’T SATURDAY TODAY! LMAO)

CHAPTER 16

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: The best part has finally come to an end, life aren’t all smiles and rainbows. Now, here comes the negativity that will surely eat you whole with the life you have with the witcher. 

Warnings: Fluff! Kinda’ Dad! Geralt? Slight. Cirilla being such a sweetheart? Jaskier being Jaskier. Mention of blood. Insecure and overthinking reader. Mention of Yennefer and Renfri. 

Words: 8k+

A/N: This should’ve been posted last saturday. But, life happened so here it is. I should’ve been taking a break but I think I’ll have my break next saturday instead. Think of this as if I just gotten late to post this chapter for you, bb’s! Though, there will be no update on June 27 instead! 

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW. It was the day where Geralt was back on his wild hunt. He'd procrastinated more than he can ever plead for; taking him days with his family was better than having none as the lone witcher would leave with nothing but his horse and sword like the good ol' days.

Other times, he'd have Jaskier in his trips when the bard was too restless to stay and guard Cirilla---it has been two years for doing so---and he would complain about how tedious Geralt would tell his stories about slaughtering such a specific beast. The toubadour wanted to experience and see everything happen before his eyes regardless of his fear for such. 

Which leaves Cuthbert and his family for taking care of the princess. Besides, Geralt thought it would be better that people wouldn't see Cirilla living in their home from time to time, as it can also complicate how she would be found because she didn't need to be.

But, with you around; there has to be somebody that was needed to guard and take care of his child of surprise; leading the preferable options down to you because you knew how a girl works and how their mind moves rather than with Jaskier who always welcomes him home with arguments about nonsense things together with his child of surprise. Complaining how she'd intentionally stomped on his foot because of how she was confined in their home all the darn times till how his cooking was abnormally awful rather than Geralt's.

No matter how uneasy Geralt was with leaving everyone alone, he needed to sacrifice the worries away for his family and choose the safety for the people. Even if it would take him days to bask in his solitude with Roach whom he would have as his silent companion.

The witcher was getting ready for his hunt today. He was checking on stuffs that were utterly important not to forget. Elixirs. Herbs. Equipment. Weapons. Geralt continued to place his things inside his bag before a soft piece of parchment has brushed off his fingertips, making him stop from rummaging inside his bag to snatch it out.

It was the drawing he retrieved from the gallants he'd fought. The broken sketch of you and him together, taken from being scoured by the royal guards because he was needed for a favor that could help the kingdom and its heir.

Fucking people who kept on needing him all the damn time. He silently spewed blasphemy over and over inside his head for making his life more complex than it ever was with Destiny laughing on his side.

Especially that he was finally accepting what it brings to him. You.

He'd taken one last look on the paper before tucking it inside his bag; in a safe place where it wouldn't be destroyed before he'd heard familiar stealthy footsteps padding closer to where he stood beside his horse.

"Geralt,"

Jaskier has taken what the witcher has fetched him to, showing the contents of what laid on his palms before his brooding friend has taken it with a begrudging look that says he woke up on the bad side of the bed today.

Though, the bard was sure he did because of the perception that he needed to leave you alone in his chambers.

Geralt has given him a sharp look which has taken aback Jaskier who seemed to be surprised in such the break of dawn, ceasing his yawn when he'd received such surprising antagonism. He saw the blank stare he'd given him, thoroughly stupefied from whatever sauciness he was trying to give.

Jaskier could even notice how he was more quiet and grumpier than usual first thing in the morning. An unusual state of the witcher when you came along because he was finally talking more after getting some sleep.

"What’s going on, Geralt? Did something happened? I thought friends trust each other! You know you can trust me on this---anything! Is Roach dying? do you need another horse?"

The monster-slayer raised a sassy brow at his friend, looking away as he went on to obtain the items that laid on Jaskier's hands. His hands abnormally heavy as their hands grazed each other; letting the bard know that there was something more to it other than the idea that you would be away from him.

"Should I ask you the same thing?" he deeply grumbled, sounding like a snarl that has caught Jaskier off guard.

His talkative friend appeared to be wounded from his silent grudges that he held out for him. Jaskier couldn't help but scrunch his face in utmost perplexity, feeling aggravated for what attitude Geralt has been giving him when all he had been doing was help him in such a crazy, early hour of the morning.

He won't be taking his attitude when he was still heavy-eyed from trying to get his sleep last night. Reasons why he couldn't was because his room was beside yours and the insatiable witcher. Technically, his suggestions that have been approved sometimes hit him in the head like a boomerang; he didn't think it through that his advice can bring him results where he would suffer.

Geralt and his shitty, overly developed libido.

"But, I don’t have a horse! Why are you---Oh! Ohohoho. You were being sarcastic! I know you---know the differences of those monotones of your verbose timbres. Everybody should applaud me for it," Jaskier scornfully laughed, annoyed by how the witcher has been acting. He held onto his hips, shoulders rolled as his head fell back while he sarcastically laughed, feeling the swift breeze of the morning fog giving him a whiplash as Geralt walked pass him to fix Roach's reigns. The toubadour has turned on his heels to see the subtle swerving of topic by staying silent and minding his own business.

"---I'm utterly not in the mood for your grouchy attitude, Witcher! You sound like you are accusing me of something I shouldn’t have done!"

Roach gave a nicker as she heard two friends share their squabbles; being immature over not sharing what one has a problem over the other.

"You sound guilt-ridden." Geralt bluntly stated, ignoring the bard who has sauntered in front of him with an offended face. His friend seem to be lost at words from where ever his hostility is coming from. 

Jaskier tried thinking it through, cocking his head to the side as he stood before the brooding witcher. He hadn't been too intrusive the past few days nor did he try and get his patience boiling. In all honesty, the bard has set a good amount of space around Geralt when you came in their lives. Reaching to the point that Geralt spends his time with you and Cirilla a lot more than him.

Though, there were the times where Jaskier gets to spend more time with you than Geralt when he was being the complicated mutant he is, sharing banters with you that ends up in a wrestling match because of how he kept on spitting jests that rattles the kindness you ought to have.

The witcher knew Jaskier blushed when he’d accidentally tackled you to the ground from choking him with all your might as you used your arms. The bard’s weight bringing you down when he tried battling with your physical blitz of ripostes. Geralt couldn’t help but purse his lips at that as he watched you wrestle with his annoying bard who had a palpitating heart from being flustered over you. 

Jaskier likes you and he was sure about that.

"W-What---Oh! what a fuckin’ crass you are! What do you even mean?!" he bellowed and stammered, sounding and looking utterly lost. Pretty ocean blue eyes demanding for answers over what grudges he was holding; dramatically raising a hand for thespian gestures.

"Does she look like Booker? No. I suppose not. The cavalier you were fond with was horrible," Geralt sounded too straightforward, never known to sprinkle his words with flowery vernacular that would consider him kind and nice. He gave out a loud, audible sigh; giving him a nonplussed look.

No matter how rude he sounded, his eyes had a look of defiance and understanding. The witcher wasn't mad at the fact that Jaskier has taken a liking towards his midget. No. Geralt knew better than to be enraged over feelings he couldn't control; much so to himself despite of hating the strong feelings he was having over you.

Besides that, Jaskier was his friend. He respected you and Geralt because he knew what was coming forth between the both of you. Like a masochist, even to the point of helping you and the white wolf build the relationship that was bound to happen sooner or later.

Julian Alfred Pankratz just knew you were both endgame from the moment Geralt of Rivia have saved you from those scoundrels. What stated his facts correct was the subtle glimpses that the witcher has been giving you whenever you were around or near their presence; staring when you least expect him to and caring when you needed to be fostered.

Your existence had Geralt thoroughly interested for what and who you were and his friend could visibly see that.

Hence, right at this moment; it was his time to look obvious towards the ivory haired witcher over his one-sided attraction he had for you.

"I should've known, Jaskier. Your gestures aren't exactly subtle."

Geralt shook his head when he lately realized that, clasping a hand over Jaskier's shoulder to give a firm pat; respecting whatever he felt for you. If he wanted to continue those unrequited feelings, it was fine. But, the gesture from him was a silent discussion that he won't be backing down nor stepping away to give the him the opportunity to become what Geralt is already to you.

"I beg your pardon---? Shouldn't you be attacking me with your little tricks already?---I mean, right! Yeah." Jaskier started and stammered at the same time, but was cut off by a terse statement.

"Never leave her side as much as I would."

Geralt gave another light pat to his shoulder before he walked around him, treading over the front door to retrieve two flasks of water and your special Ale that he somehow needed to bring because it reminded of you. The bard trailed behind him, following his footsteps till he was hunched over to get them.

"Geralt, if I may ask---but I hope you wouldn't punch me in the gut after this. The Djinn, obviously was a snake in the lake. What will happen to her now?"

Jaskier just couldn't help but shut his mouth now, does he? he thought at the back of his mind, silently cursing for even bringing it up for him to remember.

The witcher stood up with a long drag of his breath; sounding surfeited by how his mind worked. He was in deep ponder over knowing that his friend had taken the hots for you too, yet he appeared to sound like he was pushing you away soon that he knew Geralt was thoroughly enamored.

"Now, you want her to go." he deadpanned, nettled by what he was suggesting. His eyebrows tightly crossed together from how cretinous it sounded, "---I've been told by a daft of a bard to keep the rat when I was finding a shitty Djinn,"

Geralt couldn't accept what he was hearing. He didn't need to hear this question especially when he was leaving for a hunt. The latter was finally trying to accept what destiny holds out for him, testing what would happen with you around; thinking if it was even a smart decision for him to not challenge fate for the second time around.

It was probably for the better before any sacrifices can happen. Though, why was he even being questioned when he's finally having momentous moments with you?

Geralt gravelly hummed in displeasure, walking away from his friend as he said out loud with a brooding demeanor, moon over by what questioned he received when he'd only done what everybody wanted from him.

"You smell of heartache, rejection and bewilderment, bard."

Jaskier looked utterly wounded from receiving such spiteful words.

"O-Oh! You just didn't quote me that, witcher! You are beyond frank and hilarious when you are being verbally challenged!"

He heavily marched towards Geralt, stopping in front of him with his arms dramatically wide open; indignant of how petty he sounded for being asked over a question that was bound to be inquired soon enough because you were a person who came from another dimension that truly exists.

"I was simply asking what you would do when the rat finally needs to come home from where she rightfully belongs! What will happen to her?!----especially, to you, huh?!"

Geralt's eyes were heavy as it landed on him. Brooding. Crestfallen. Enough to say that the concept of it made him even more dejected and disgruntled. The witcher kept his mouth tightly shut, snapping his eyes away to mule over what he said.

You were already a part of his home besides his original family and Geralt didn't know what to do when one person leaves. Again. He was already done with leaving people and it wasn't surprising when karma hits him back as it'll use you as a pawn.

But, he does not opt for it to happen.

Jaskier brought his arms down to his sides. Baby blue eyes narrowed and his eyebrows pushed together to elicit his worry for his friend despite of the real deal that he also had with you.

"----Because apparently, you are in the risk of heartache when the time comes for her to leave. Isn't that right, Geralt?"

The break of dawn is nigh; dark and light colliding to meet the sun as they were finally reaching daybreak from all the fusses that was happening. He should've left before you even woke up, knowing you would be slightly upset as you weren't used to what life he had nor did you exactly have the vivid idea of everything.

You knew nothing at all and soon enough, Geralt was sure it'll kick him in the butt for not saying anything more about their world and for what it holds.

"You aren't just fond of her anymore. It's beginning to grow more than that," Jaskier honestly convinced his theories and observations, pausing to look at Geralt who has given him a tiny quirk of his brow for what he wanted to say, "---Before you tell me that it's because of something the Djinn has cast upon you both, it must be wrong."

Geralt went completely silent; letting Jaskier share his opinions laid out for him to understand, "You risked to appear in front of that wandering vampire that the queen has kept around---" pause. "---risked everything we had, trying to lay low from everyone because our lives are at stake here,"

Jaskier's weight fell on one foot to the other, raising a hand to point at himself as he continued to conclude, "You can fool anyone but me, Geralt. I can see who she is for you,"

"What do you want me to say, Bard?"

He brought a finger up to the witcher, ceasing his temper from bursting out of nowhere, "All I'm saying is that you shouldn't let her go." pause. "---Keep her, because I know you'll think of the greater good and try to fix everything according to your treacherous and foolish plans. Don't let her leave you---don't make her leave us,"

Geralt cocked his head to the side, forehead creased in confusion for the sudden contrast of his advice. His friend was technically not sounding forthright after asking him what his decision was with the involvement of you.

The latter started again, "Choose---" Brusque and impatient. His harsh, clipped tones cut him off. Geralt stated as a matter of fact, "---the lesser evil. So, I've been told."

He rounded up and dragged his feet away from the bard, walking the path back to his horse with a vexed Jaskier who angrily marched to where he was.

"No, you fool!" he ungraciously exclaimed, standing beside Geralt who took Roach's reigns, tugging at it as he motioned for her that it was time for her to gait, taking heavy steps away from their home while Jaskier followed close.

"---choose the greater good; even if the decision makes you selfish, Geralt."

The witcher looked up at the sky, seeing the beautiful sunny color paving its way to greet them a good morning. It wasn't a good morning to him based on how irritating the start of his day began. He stopped his mosey with an evident sigh, letting Jaskier continue to talk.

"---Stop challenging fate before it's too late---you deserve to be happy---surprising isn't it? From a bard who keeps on blabbing horse shite all the bloody time---well, I'm tired of being with a brooding witcher! If it means to be with a rat forever just for you to stop being cantankerous then I'm accepting the sacrifice!"

The bard's voice echoed across the meadow, combining along with the chirping of birds and the strong breeze of the morning wind. Roach was sniffing Geralt when he'd heard that soft padded footsteps jumping down their stairs in a hurried manner. He'd given Jaskier a disappointed look of his golden peepers; his plan now ruined that he would leave without bidding goodbye because of one bard that could always get under his skin for no reason.

"You were saying, bard?"

You were out of the threshold in no time. Hair in a tangled mess from your previous nightly adventures; along with your painted skin that had witcher bites, looking gauche from wearing Geralt's large tunic that ended on your knees with nothing under and a pout drawn to your face as you ran barefoot along the meadow, wildly screaming his name.

"Geralt-of-fucking-Rivia!" you panted and whined, never believing that he was leaving without any form of goodbyes, "---Don’t you dare step a foot! I swear to God, I will cut your majestic white hair when you walk away and I’ll never make you my special ale anymore!"

The threat was loud enough for him to cease his footsteps; plans of irritating you further would never be a good idea especially that he was leaving for a hunt. 

Palms upon your knee, you stood in front of the frowning witcher wearing his black, leather full gear armor; heaving deep pathetic breaths as your hauled over yourself, raising a hand to stop him from leaving.

When you've finally caught your breath, you promptly straightened your back; letting him see your swollen eyes due to sleeping late with probably morning dew slipping a few off the ends of your eyes. He affectionately caught sight of your upset ones; displeased from his sudden flee.

"How dare you leave when you know I don't wake up early like this?---and leaving without a hug!? Seriously, Geralt?!" you declared, obviously unsettled from being fucked the night after without waking you up to say that he was about to leave you for days in a world you hardly know about?

"---What if I don't get to see you again?"

Questions after questions, you demanded answers from Geralt in which it shall never be received based on how he simply watched you raved, feeling the discomfort and worry of leaving his family alone, "What if you never come back?" it sounded like you were thoroughly agonizing over the idea. You started to fret, toes feeling the moist pasture land over the soles of your feet; bringing you more concern.

"---What if I've been kidnapped or something?!"

Geraly shook his head, mouth in a tight thin line as he interrupted, "You're never leaving the house, midget. You need to take care of Cirilla," he let go of Roach's reigns to place his arms on either side of him, his tone more passive than yours, the words he told held more meaning as if he was giving a lot more trust than he can ever do by letting you handle the responsibility for his child of surprise even just for days.

The point simply tells you that he wasn't treating like you were his possession after admitting his feelings. Geralt was acting like a father and a husband for making you feel that way over supporting what he does for a living.

Just the act itself made you reach out for Geralt's hand, tightly clutching it in both of yours like you didn't want him to leave because you were feeling a little agitated for no reason. Overthinking always does take a toll on you. But often times, these female intuitions you have were correct for whatever bad feelings you were having.

Geralt closed his fist to subtly caress the back of your hand as Jaskier tried to convince and pour ice to your anxiety filled head, "Small rat, those are only predictions. He won't die yet. You're talking to a 100 year old witcher and you're frightened that he wouldn't come back alive?"

You face suddenly morphed into confusion, giving Jaskier a look of puzzlement. 100 years old? Geralt never looked that old to you, maybe his face was pretty much mature than yours but his features tells that he was around 30'ish and above, a lot more older than you nevertheless.

Geralt was still quiet as he continued to brush his thumb over the back of your hand. No objection was received and so, you believed Jaskier's words were true. Yet, his age never made you uneasy nor made you want to run for the hills. He was still Geralt. Your mean looking, soft-hearted witcher. More human than any other man can ever be.

He was yours. Only yours; and you needed to bite your tongue from saying words that would taser your heart from being unanswered.

"Wait---what--- you're a 100 years old?!?!----anyway, Geralt---!!" Geralt only hummed in dissatisfaction for Jaskier's existence in their world.

You peered up at the witcher with a fretful beam, your nose scrunching from feeling too worried for him when he goes out to hunt for his monsters; remembering what stories he told and the scars you've seen on his body. It was making your heart feel heavy, and Geralt wasn't a simpleton to not know nor feel how concerned you were for him.

It's been a long time since he's ever had someone making him feel all sorts of things and the doubled up emotions was making it more uncontrollable for the feelings he had for you.

"In our world, when a person leaves, they always bid their goodbyes!" Geralt drowsily blinked back at you, an utter soft flicker in his eyes that made your heart turn to mush.

Your eyes were hopeful as you asked, "---now, where's mine?"

You've let go of his hand, timidly standing before him with your frail arms on either side; wiggling your bare toes on the grass as you shyly waited for his reaction. Was it too much to ask even just a kiss before he goes?

"Goodbye, midget." the white wolf gravelly rasped, insincerity dripping in his tone because he didn't like bidding goodbyes to people he would still get to see again. The words seemed to be bitter for his taste, his farewell totally feigned because he was never going to leave for good. You've seen a tiny slip of his fangs as he talked and tried to regret what he said.

"---though, I doubt I meant that because I am not leaving for good,"

His reaction made you want to jump in a hole and just talk to yourself instead. Your face fell at that and Jaskier was found silently wincing from what the witcher has interpreted. He would rather bask in his own laughter and silence by himself than be punched by Geralt. So, he did; snorting a chuckle as he continued to eavesdrop and watched you both in a conversation.

Though, the bard's laughter was momentarily ceased when Geralt sent him a scowl.

"Why am I---why are witchers idiots? why are you an idiot sometimes?!"

Jaskier was known to be brave for even deciding to be Geralt's travel companion before; having the freedom to annoy him and never gotten the chance to end up beheaded or served as a meal for monsters. He was the only person who Geralt could handle no matter how he brings problems and for how annoying he can become.

However, at some point; they've gotten into a huge fight and it was intense. Luckily, they were on good terms right now after being separated.

"I second the notion, small rat!" the toubadour jested with a grin; Geralt's lack of knowledge about romantic gestures entertaining him.

You palmed your face in fluster and from the frustration; seeming more difficult to say what you truly wanted because Jaskier was close enough to hear what you could ask. A frown etched your face, grouching before the witcher like a kid that has never been given a big swirling rainbow lollipop.

"I didn't meant that! I meant---I meant---!"

You were stammering as you stood rooted on the ground, glancing up at Geralt while subtly pointing to your pouted lips. He calmly breathed out his frustrations from not understanding you prior before. But, the way his golden eyes lit up, sparkling beneath the sun's rays made you see that he knew what you meant.

His eyes were like diamonds twinkling under the sun and it always leaves you bewitched.

He has given Jaskier another grimace before humming back at you in comprehension, "A buss." His mouth curled in a small smile before you've seen him give you a gesture with his hand; urging you to come closer.

"Come ere'. You should've been more specific, midget."

Geralt slung an arm around your hips, his armor hitting your skin with soft clungs; pulling you closer to him as he leaned down to your height, catching your ajar lips in between his as he puckered to give you the most tender kiss you've received, taking you breath away like how he always does.

He'd kissed the tips of your vermillion, feeling like the other piece of your heart has been put together; making you feel complete. Satisfied. With the sudden life that was given to you when you woke up in the middle of the forest, having no idea how you've been transported.

But, experiencing no obstacles in their world from the time being was making you feel jittery because you knew life didn't work that way. It always leads you into an ocean, making you drown in impediments that can assuredly take the happiness away from you in just a flash.

You knew something was about to happen because fate always leads you in that position. It was like it wanted you to taste what contentment in life would be before snatching it out of your hands.

What would your fate bring you in their world?

Geralt has pulled away in the slightest amount. The tips of your vermillion brushing against his as your heart felt heavier to feel his warmth around you; not liking the concept of your witcher away because of certain reasons you couldn't explain. Faint voices has woken you up from your slumber, forewarning about him leaving you; urging for Geralt not to go which took you to run out of the door in your disheveled state.

He lightly gave you a kiss on the tips of your nose; your mouth frowned at that no matter how your heart slightly fluttered from the soft gesture. Geralt straightened his back as he has given Jaskier a knowing look. Jaskier unconsciously has given him a subtle roll of his eyes, feeling that he was being cocky for showing that he had the freedom to kiss you like that. It was how Geralt could define his repartee and Jaskier swore that he got one point of having the upper hand from the surprising physical display of affection.

"Difficult...to be lovers with a 100 year old witcher, won't you say?" he sent the message to you and sounded like he wanted to sulk but he covered the tone with a feigned cough.

Light hurried footfall came falling behind. The Ashen haired child announced her appearance with a look of nausea; her nose twisted in distaste for what she saw because she had already been watching you three in a distance.

"Ugh, gross." she joked, quickly replacing her abhorrence with a genuine smile, "---Is this how disgusting it is to see a child's parents kiss?"

Everybody turned to look at her, the arm that has snaked around you was now gone as you also looked at the princess with a bewildered expression for what she'd said. Nobody dared to object nor concur to what they've heard, only reticence.

But, not for Jaskier. He'd called Cirilla out for saying those words unexpectedly.

"So, you're calling them your parents now? Mother? Father?---and me?"

The lion cub of Cintra raised a sardonic brow as she tightly crossed her arms over her chest, tone all jest and playful as she commented, "---Which leads to you, bard." she abruptly paused to make it sound more intriguing as she spat, "---a dust mite in the household."

Cirilla took several steps closer to Geralt, making you fall back to give them time together. You've given them both a loving smile to indicate that you loved seeing them interact all the time because of how compassionate he was over his child, such a fatherly thing he appeared to be like, with the princess finding comfort and protection in his arms as she stepped closer to give the witcher a big, bear hug that he certainly didn't think twice to accept.

"Take care, Geralt. More than ever--please do come back,”

You eyed Geralt who was hugging Cirilla, your smile turning wider than ever as you lively jested among the affectionate scene you were seeing from a father and daughter.

"Is this the part where we should give you a group hug?---Okay! Okay! I'm joining!" Cirilla wholly accepted the idea of that and pulled your arm to surround beside her and Geralt; his hand immediately falling on your side, grabbing you closer once you were pulled by the pretty child.

The giggles that he heard from you both has lifted a smile on his brooding, sharp features. He lowly hummed in content before lifting his eyes off his girls in his arms to glance at Jaskier who seemed to suddenly be out of humor.

"Bard." he gruffly called out, amused from how the troubadour was despondent from the whole thing happening. Geralt gave an audible huff, alarming Jaskier because he knew what he was thinking. The witcher was thinking how pathetic he was looking to be so withdrawn over the abrupt embraces under the newly emerging morning sun.

"A dust mite mustn't interfere with a family group hug---oof! This is harassment!"

Jaskier was strongly pulled by Geralt who took no complaints over the embosom he was in, puffing out a frustrated breath as he tried to pull back from the embrace but had no choice when the witcher was using his strength, his hand behind the poet. His slight struggle painless for him. He gave the bard a strong pat on the back that made him cough out on how his lungs hurt from the sudden attack.

His grapples were cut short when you've placed your palm just below Geralt's; giving Jaskier a hug as well. Your touch felt unexpected as the white wolf heard his sudden heart palpitations over the subtle brush of your fingers on his friend.

Geralt knew, but not you.

Jaskier will be fine. If this was the only affectionate gesture that he could get you in, so be it. His unrequited affection will go away slowly, he hoped.

The white wolf's departure haven't lasted for a day till you were low spirited enough to stare out onto the windows, sitting on the stoned sill of the windows. Your viewpoint giving such reverence over how immeasurable their world could offer. From trees to the core of their land certainly looked earthy to you. A facsimile of what your world has been. Do they have oceans too? Noodles? Oh, you definitely wanted noodles for thinking about it.

Kaedwen. It was what their kingdom is called. You've also heard about Nilfgaard. Novigrad. But, you have no idea as to what it looks like rather than the kingdom of Kaedwen that looks no good like how you imagined Switzerland to be if you were talking about how the government treats their people.

Humans were treated poorly and even to the point of selling themselves as slaves; remembering what you have heard and saw while walking around the marketplace back then. They were living in dirt and striving to live with the ones who were abundant, seeing like they could never surpass to be cared for like they were humans.

Their government are treating them like garbage. The medieval movies you've watched were real because you also remember how you were close to being sold by a nobleman because no one knew who you were; having no name or a bloodline that could save you from being abjected.

Except for Geralt who needed to create a bloodbath just for you to live. The act alone has probably given him a violation against their law because of how he'd killed knights or people. Or was it legal for it happen?

You were staring far too long out in the open; waiting for your witcher to come back. What if he was away to probably find the sorceress that could bring you back home? Or better yet, what if he did find Yennefer and comes back choosing her instead because you're too dependent over him. His tiny mortal who always needed saving?

What if he gets tired of you? will he throw you away just like how people treat their lovers in earth when they're bored of each other?

What if you've just existed in their dimension because you were needed to fill the empty gap of Geralt's heart until he finds the sorceress?

You've asked Jaskier about it the past few days ago which has left your heart in a disgruntled mess when you've had answers over his relationships he never tells about.

"So, Yennefer, huh?" you've followed Jaskier out of the house. Nightfall was about to come by soon and Geralt wasn't around as he left with no words. The bard jogged through the end of the meadow till he'd reach the edge of the vast forest, twigs and branches breaking apart from every step when you've trailed behind him with a bothered heart.

"What?---Oh! You're asking me who she is?" Jaskier crouched to pick up blocks of wood that will cover up the whole night full of brisk as darkness was bound to visit soon. You hugged yourself to calm down the goosebumps that rose your skin when the cold hits you,"---Would you want a simplified explanation or a detailed one?"

You thought for a moment before feeling your heart beat ringing in your ears. It was that loud for the anticipation running in your veins for how curious you were about Geralt and a vision of his past, "The simplified one,"

Jaskier continued his rummaging, picking up woods after woods as he nonchalantly tittle-tattled, "She's a strong, fierce sorceress. Nice too because she's helped me out of a curse but also kind of rude to me---I am not biased just because of the whole crow’s feet ordeal---they've shared quests and I've been there to witness how they connect with each other. However, their relationship has lots of ups and downs. They've somehow find each other no matter what happens back in the decades except for now."

Your throat felt like there was some phantom hands trying to choke you; constantly bickering back to tell how strong and powerful she was that they've shared tales and adventures. It was downing over your head about how much of a burden you have been to Geralt, the constant feeling of your relationship with him being the cause of the responsibility he had for taking you because he had no other choice that he was the first person you've encountered.

You were definitely the most useless amongst his prior lovers.

He shrieked when a large bug has flew over his face, flicking them away with his hands as he threw his arms around; trying to hit the bug with a block of wood as he continued to talk, "---Move away, you shite of a bug!---Geralt stopped finding her due to reasons I have no clue about and because he needed to avoid people at all costs---but---oh, gods. It’s quite difficult to explain,"

Jaskier has gathered all the wood he needed. You've reach out to help him carry the blocks but before you could even touch them, he'd stepped away and walked around you as he continue to speak, "Oh, and about Renfri; don't bother nor think about it."

He heard your footfalls following him back to the meadow and even heard you exclaim, "Why?"

"She's reached her demise. Explains why Geralt has a moniker named the 'butcher of Blaviken'. Ended up killing her to save an ignoble child named Masha---Martha---Marilka?! Oh, whatever! He chose that to save the innocent lives of people instead. He never told you that?"

Your felt the needles poking through your chest because of how naive it felt to know nothing about it, also feeling sad about her early demise. You've remembered how Geralt ceased his stories when he'd reach the part where he went to a town named Blaviken; not even bothering to tell you that he has met a woman named Renfri and somehow had such hapless fate between them both.

You felt foolish. Ignorant over a story that was never told. Hence, it was enough to turn that smile upside down as you quietly muttered, "No."

Jaskier stopped walking, waiting for you to catch up as you stood beside him with a frown. He'd given you the twinkle of his pretty baby blue eyes with a sympathetic smile as he uttered, "That's never new, though. It's understandable. I've experienced it too, don't worry. Geralt has always been Geralt. He rarely becomes loquacious,"

You've crossed your arms behind your back, your fingers fidgeting; nails scratching your palm from how you were feeling the tiny prickle of your nerves telling that you weren't in the best part of your brain. The dragging feeling on your chest adding more weight from the start that Jaskier has opened his mouth to chat.

"He does that for anyone, huh? Saving people, I mean."

Jaskier was oblivious about how you've turned your head away to anxiously nibble on your lower lip. He was incognizant over your disappointed mental breakdown of your own self because he went on to simply tell, "No matter how he says that he doesn't want to be involved nor desires for anyone needing him. He still saves them because---"

You immediately cut him off, swallowing the tight knot in your throat, looking at him in the eye with a disheartened gaze, "He doesn't want people needing him?"

"Geralt never liked it. But, guess what brought you here! You! Even had the chance of needing Geralt because you were lost and vulnerable. Was it out of pity? I---I---No. No. Definitely not out...of...pity?"

When the moment he'd seen your eyes, Jaskier was quick to know that he made the wrong choice of words and even the topic to tell. He gave an awkward grin, instantly regretting what he said when you've shifted those eyes to look away.

"Why did they never see each other again?"

The bard has cursed himself repeatedly inside his mind, praying to the gods that you won't be mad at Geralt when he comes home because him and Cirilla didn't need another chance of being surrounded by the silence eating them up when you both are having misunderstandings or issues about each other.

"The witcher has made mistakes. He let her slip away. They've parted after a pretty intense fight."

He'd pretty much simplified everything, sounding like he told it to you in bullet form and left you alone in the middle of the field as he ran back inside. Though, it was too late. You've heard what is needed to know and the discomfort that dropped inside your stomach felt like these feelings you had for Geralt was already serious.

It was definitely too late because you've lately realized that liking him wasn't the correct term. Love felt better and deeper.

Soft knocking has pulled you off your reverie which has made you blink as you swiftly turned your head to see a child whom you also have a soft heart for. This child that has no idea why she was being persecuted---or maybe you were the person who had no thought again as to what reason and purpose does Nilfgaard want from her because honestly, all you could see from her was a child who had nobody left behind for her to console. If it wasn't for Geralt, she probably would have been taken by the people who want her.

You narrowed your gaze and gave her a bit of your scrutiny, angling your head in a way that tells the child you were trying to look through her. Did she have some sort of magic too? Was she a mutant too?

"Mum'?---will it be alright for me to call you that? I--I---I don't want to call you rat or midget," she tried to call you for the third time. Her bright cobalt eyes buoyant as she wend one's way, ceasing before you with a tight-lipped smile.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" you softly pardoned with a sweet smile.

The princess couldn't help but bashfully give a beam, conscious if you've said that because you didn't want to be called that way. But, she gave no second doubts and repeated her questions again; anxiously and hopeful to undertake.

"Can I call you Mum'? Everybody has a nickname for you and also considering how you've started taking care of me---with---with Geralt now deeming as your beloved..." she trailed off in the middle of her sentence and you waited for her to continue but it was intentionally left to be dithered.

Heat traveled towards your cheeks. The princess wanted to call you 'Mum'? you silently questioned yourself. Your heart beat was racing from being accepted by his child of surprise, sounding like she wanted you to be her mother and seeing her fret before you made you think that she would gladly be your daughter as long as you were comfortable.

"Beloved? Right! Right! You can call me anything you want, Ciri."

The affirmation made her give you a toothy grin. Cirilla didn't think twice and merrily cajoled with a small hop of her feet that were close against each other, "Great, Mum'! Can you teach me how to bake?---maybe a cake---oh! Or a very scrumptious bread!?"

Your sullen features have been promptly lifted on the spot. You've grasped onto what she wanted, a distraction from how apprehensive she seemed to be like from the way her heels tap on the stone floor and to the way her forehead was slightly creased like she was on pins and needles. The princess was even worried because Geralt wasn't around to guard anyone in the household.

Her wrist was quickly snatched by you, pulling her out of your chambers and running through the hallway, towards down the stairs with heavy, excited thumps.

"Of course! would you like me to teach you how I'd baked blueberry muffins from the other night?"

The lion cub of Cintra hummed in mirth, nodding behind despite of knowing you couldn't see her as you pulled her around. Your eyes scanned the first floor of the house to see Kolby snuffling the front door with Jaskier no where to be seen.

You passed by the newly fixed table; knowing that Geralt ended up fastening back what was ruined. Trying to whisk your head away, you did you best not to feel the warmth spread over your face. Toes were lifted up to the highest as you reached for the door of the cupboards to see the bowls all gone when the last time you remembered; the white wolf has changed the position of plates in a much lower level for your sake.

Jaskier was just intentionally doing it right now and it made your blood boil for his constant teasing.

"I'm going to strangle that bard. I swear to Thor; I hope he hits Jaskier with a lightning---where did he even place all the bowls again?!" you complained more so to yourself as Cirilla was left standing on your side, waiting for your next command.

You've gestured with your hand, making her stay inside the kitchen while you walked away. The Hirikka suddenly howling out of the blue when you jogged towards the front door, stepping out of the threshold as Kolby followed suit.

"Jaskier?!" a loud yell echoed as you called at the top of your voice; seeing no bard anywhere.

Kolby unexpectedly sprinted, running off your side as he turned along the path around the house where the back door lead to.

You groaned out loud, strolling to where the Hirikka went, "Jaskier! Will you please tell me where---Jaskier!"

An ear-piercing shriek left your lips. Heart stopped from beating, your blood running cold as you were filled with panic and fear from seeing Jaskier hunkered down in the middle of chevaliers circling him like he was being tyrannized.

Armored gallants sat on their horses, their helmets taken off their faces which has given you images of what they looked like. A mixture of different ethnicity that you were well aware of back in earth. But, they've shared gazes in their eyes that placed you in a horrified position that tells everything was about to go down and it wasn't just Jaskier hunched on the ground.

When he heard your footsteps, he was pleading that you wouldn't actually visit the back part of the house but seeing Kolby safeguarding as he stood in front of you; thoroughly feral and livid for visitors that weren't invited at all, Jaskier knew all hell was about to break lose.

"A liar, bard." you've heard that voice back in the marketplace, a timbre you didn't wish to hear ever again as it haunts you with memories that he was a mystical being and the person who has stabbed you to bleed.

"The witcher didn't bring his little woman all along," Tybalt's breath fanned your ears, making you hastily step away from the vampire with your eyes all wide from the spine-chilling memory that gets you shunning away. Kolby was rapid enough to slip in between the uncomfortable space that Tybalt has locked you in, all predatory and wild as the movement made you stumble down beside Jaskier.

You've coughed out from being accidentally pushed to the ground, the knights of Kaedwen stepping back to include you in the tyranny of hopeless pleading. The bard's lip was wounded. Broken. Bleeding. Claret colored liquid painting his teeth which tells that they've been bashing him for quite some painful minutes. His doublet untidy and disordered from their constant forceful pulling.

"Rat," he weakly groused, holding onto his battered stomach. Jaskier tightly blinked the dirt out of his eyes as he spitefully spat the blood, wiping the blood off his busted lip with the back of his hand. His golden dagger tightly on his palm as he ceaselessly jested. The words coming out of his lips sounding familiar as you remembered you've said it to him before in the middle of being taken.

"---You had one job."

NO UPDATE FOR THIS UPCOMING JUNE 27, BB’S! I’mma take a break! (Or not because I always end up opening my drafts and try to write lmao) I’ll probably write the future chapters for everyone and so, I won’t get stuck on procrastinating before school starts in about after 2 months. LMAO. I get anxious when I think about this fic being unfinished due to random reasons because I don’t want that. FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! (Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you)

Taglist for WOTN: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @winter-moons @cheesecakeisapie @silverkitten547 @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks​, @raynosaurus-rex

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza​

General taglist: @agniavateira​, @iloveyouyen​, @rahdaleigh​,

[georgemackayhey]

Rules For Falling In Love: #2

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: The love for this fic has really made my heart ache in all the best ways! I hope yall love this update and I look forward to all your feedback of any and all kinds, as always ♡

w/c: 2k

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You had a week from hell, one where you seemed to live and breathe your work against your will. When you were free to do as you pleased, all you wanted was to do was absolutely nothing.

When you got home to find George seemed to have been waiting there all afternoon like a puppy, you rolled your eyes, entirely too exhausted to consider having fun. But before you had the chance to give that speech, George ushered you to the sofa.

"The last season, it's starting right now." He explained, turning the volume up on the telly that was already on. The show in question was one of those horrifically trashy ones. A silly little show you both got hooked on when you had the same cold, nowhere to go, and nothing else to watch. Now you needed to know what happened next.

The days weren't always like this. Between the years, you'd drifted apart from each other, floating back together for odd dinners and weekend getaways. It wasn't even like this when you started living together. But it seemed like in the blink of an eye you were spending more and more free time side by side, planning more than a few shared breakfasts and rainy afternoons.

Nights like these were expected by now, and you realized you'd be amiss if they ended anytime soon. George had called off dating some year or two ago, shaken by the Hollywood scene and the popularity contest he seemed to be in on, during films and even off set, in local shops he'd gotten recognized in. You'd forgotten that dating was a part of social life, far too preoccupied with your work and the plans you always had with George after hours to get to know anyone new.

It all made too much sense. So when the first commercial break kicked in and George passed the snacks he was holding over to you, as if he just remembered you were there, you spoke up.

"I'll do it."

You took the snacks, holding George’s eyes as his searched yours. You knew that he knew what you were agreeing too. Just when you thought he was about to speak, the show came back on and both of your focuses shifted entirely on the screen. You hadn't known what to expect... But the way everything seemed so vastly normal, sort of jarred you.

And for the next couple of days... neither of you talked about it at all. Sure you're busy with work and George had been fretting over a couple of important telephone interviews. But you thought surely he'd be more anxious to discuss logistics, or bring up the subject he invented, at all.

It wasn't until the next weekend, that the conversation picked up where it left off, again.

You'd spent the early Sunday morning roaming through the storefronts of an overpriced market. You ducked inside to relish the air-conditioned sales before dipping back out every few feet to admire the booths full of flowers, handcrafted gifts, and expensive decor. You'd buy absolutely everything here if you could.

You did have a mission. It was to pick up something to bring to dinner, a Sunday evening tradition with George's family. You'd been invited for as long as you could recall, and you'd never shown up empty-handed. Usually, flowers and desserts did just fine. But you were entirely too indecisive over what to purchase, this morning.

You'd become lost in a conversation with a woman who sold soaps and lotions, locally and expensively made. You rambled with her for so long that you'd lost sight of the person you'd come here with.

When you spun away from the lady selling soaps as new customers flocked closer to inspect her products, and you went on the hunt for George. You spotted him from behind, leaning in to speak with a vendor nearer inside. And just as you start to drift in his direction, he noticed you, too, through the crowd. And as the people part and you're nearly toe to toe, George doesn't greet you like usual.

There is no jab about where you'd been missing for so long, there isn't even a hello. Instead, you watch as George's smile grows mischievous, before bending at the knee.

Between his thumb and finger is a ring, just your unique style. It's from the booth he knelt in front of now, where hundreds of other delicate and novel jewels were displayed.

"What's all this then?" You laughed, standing in front of the guy you'd known longer than how to do simple maths.

"Marry me?" George asked, for the hundredth time, it seemed. You hadn't ever expected the question. But after this week, it came again at long last. You wondered if he'd ever bring it up again. But this time was different. This time, he smiled softly and held a real promise in his hand, looking up to you with a squint to block out the sun.

"I suppose I will." You grinned, answering quietly as George beamed up at you.

A couple of old ladies gasped from a couple of steps away, turning to watch on as George rose to his feet, grabbing your hand with both of his.

"Thank you, y/n. I cant wait." He said as if he'd been planning this for longer than he'd been pestering you about it.

"Why, we're practically already married." You laughed, mocking the statement he kept returning back to over the weeks. You watched as George slid the ring on your finger, with a pretty little design you couldn't have chosen better if you tried.

"Kiss her!" One of the elder spectators demanded like she was watching a wrestling match and coaxing on the fighters.

"I suppose I should," George remarked, mocking you, from moments ago. When he dipped down to place a teasing, chaste kiss on your lips,  the old ladies cheered. When you swatted his arm with a playfully furrowed brow, the old ladies grumbled, completely let down by the way you ruined the moment.

"Don't blow it, Mackay. Go pick one for yourself, now." You warned your friend who was already giving you a playful smirk as you pointed to the collection of rings he was meant to choose from.

He found the perfect band, with specks and flecks that matched your own. And he liked it, best of all. The two of you walked out of the shoppe with matching rings, in fits of laughter as you imagined all your friend's reactions.

To celebrate, you stopped at a stall selling frozen yogurt and ordered one big container; because it was extremely overpriced, and George didn't mind sharing, because according to him-

"We're official." George boasted, digging into the dessert as you walked back toward your neighborhood, enjoying the perfect morning weather.

"Not quite." You reasoned. "We've still gotta get the worst part over with."

"The worst part?"

"Throwing a faux wedding. Lying to our guests. Drawing far too much attention to ourselves. This feels so much more like a business interaction than an event. Not that I'm not glad to do business with you, of course." You laughed, stepping in time with your closest friend.

"We don't have to make it a whole big thing. I only asked to be married, not for a garish wedding. We could stick to signing a few papers and call it a day."

"Are you serious? I want you to be explicitly clear about what you want because whether we make it one or not, this is a big deal."

"I'm okay with it." George chuckled, forcing the frozen treat in your grasp for a turn. "Either way, we'll need some witnesses."

You grumbled, remembering he was right. You weren't ashamed to marry him. Only embarrassed at the slightest bit of misjudged attention, and worried that your decision would be mistaken for something it wasn't, by anyone you explained it too.

///

"I've forgotten to get something to bring! I've never not brought something to dinner." You panicked, feeling your pockets in a last-ditch effort to find something to keep the tradition alive. George let out a little chuckle as you stalled in his parent's driveway. You reprimanded him for not being just as panicked as you, but he just laughed harder as he reached for your hand.

"Well how about this time I bring you."

A new set of nerves danced on end when you remembered the ring on your finger. You'd walked into the entry of his parents lavish countryside home like clockwork, without a gift but with very big news. But even in the strange twist of events, the familiar setting and George's calming presence meant nothing was out of the ordinary. You were only making the decision to keep it that way. Surely everyone would understand.

As you waltzed further into the home, there was no grand greeting. His father was sat in the living room, focused on a game that flashed across the telly. He turned his smile to the pair of you just before shouting back at the team he was rooting for. George's mother was in the kitchen, and upon hearing the pair of you come in, started rambling about how dinner wasn't quite ready and how hectic her day was.

You and George stalled in the entry of the kitchen, sunbleached wallpaper and worn old furniture welcomed you. When George's mother turned from the stove with a huff and a hand on her hip, she glanced between you and her son and asked why you were both just standing there.

"Has something happened?" She asked in a grave low tone.

George glanced to you as if to ask you for permission to say something. Or maybe to warn you he was about to, anyway. You knew it was best to rip the bandaid off. So you gave the smallest nod and held your breath.

With a look across the way to his father clicking the telly off in perfect time, George made his announcement.

"We're getting married!"

Despite George's sound excitement and the glowing smile on his face, his mother let out a breath with a hand to her heart.

"Oh thank God, I thought someone had died." She explained, reaching back to turn a knob on the oven. Her relief was comical, and just as she spoke up, you realized all the excitement you'd expected, was stored away in the girl bounding down the stairs.

George's sister nearly tripped over herself as she squealed into the room. You might have wanted to plug your ears, but the girl bound your way, babbling incoherently, grabbing your hand to see the ring she expected to see there.

"I knew it. I can't believe this day has come but I knew it would." She gasped like she'd just become a billionaire, as if her very own dreams had just come true. George's father sauntered closer, glancing at your ring with a pleased hum, offering a simple and pleasant congratulations on his way to steal a bit of dessert before dinner.

"So now I can finally expect some grandchildren, yeah?" George's mother shuffled toward the cabinet full of wine, a place she only searched through when the very best and worst news hung heavy over your weekly dinner parties.

"I don't think that's possible." You choked out in a hurry, as George's sister dropped your hand, spinning to face her brother who was holding back wild laughter at your expense.

"You can always adopt, dear." His mother pushed, spinning back to the oven when it dinged. George was in the middle of explaining your plans to his sister, who was shaking her head in disapproval.

"No! No way will I stand by and watch you get married without throwing a party. Can't we talk about a big white wedding? Oh please." She turned to you with big pleading eyes.

"No, no no no. I can't do that. I'd pass out before saying I Do and what's the point of that? We're just gonna get it done." You pointed.

"I'll just see about that." She stormed deeper into the kitchen at the sound of her mother asking her for help finishing your traditional Sunday meal.

"I'll try and thwart her plans to decorate the register's office with rose petals." George brought his hands to your shoulders with a smile you shared, as he led you to the table. His parents argued over what bottle of wine to open, while his sister went on making plans of her own, just for you. Normalcy remained.

///

"You two cannot be serious." Dean sat slack-jawed across a high tabletop in your very favorite pub. He'd barely touched his scotch, but you and George were on your second round of drinks you'd been downing while waiting on your friend to show up to tell him the news.

"Who else would we ask, Dean? You're our third wheel." You laughed, leaning in to shout past the music overhead. You'd already told George's family and asked his sister to be one of your witnesses. The girl was more excited than you and George for your big day. Dean was the only other person you could imagine inviting along, whose presence wouldn't make you break out into a nervous sweat.

"No, I mean you can't be serious about getting married!" Dean laughed, keeping his wide, dark eyes boring into yours.

"We've already worked most everything out. Will you please come?" George leaned in closer, taking his turn at coaxing his best pal into being there for the two of you.

"Yeah, fine," Dean softened, his smile reaching his eyes. "But I'm bringing a cake. Not to celebrate, but to stress eat." The fellow raised his glass in a silly toast. You laughed as you clinked your glasses together, then swiftly ordered another round.

"Well I don't want to steal your thunder but I've been meaning to tell the both of you something..." Dean shifted in his seat as you and George settled into a quiet focus on your friend.

"I've been seeing someone. Only been out a couple of times, but I quite like her already" Dean explained, a blush creeping under his eyes. George encouraged his friend to tell everything about the girl he'd been dating. You urged Dean to bring her around some time, thrilled at the prospect of having a fourth wheel to join in your nights of fun.

As Dean went on telling the tale of his first date with his new girl, your drinks came.

"Won't you miss dating around?" Dean seemed to worry, after thanking the waiter for his drink.

"I haven't missed it this far." You shrugged, sipping your fresh cocktail all the while. As free as you'd been till now, the thought of getting to know someone new, letting your guard down, building trust, just thinking of it all exhausted you.

When George leaned over you to accept his new drink, he flashed the waiter a tipsy smile.

"We're getting married!" He chuckled, and you did too. As you two broke into drunken giggles, the waiter offered unimpressed congratulations. Dean slammed back his new order in time to ask for another; either to catch up with you and George or to deal with the pair of you, you couldn't tell.

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[armandyke]

Let the world turn without you tonight

Summary: At 16, Luther is sent on an academy mission with his brother. And of all the people to find out about his fear of thunderstorms, he really didn’t want it to be Diego.

Word Count: 2210

Square Filled: Crack

Characters: Luther Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: The third of nine entries for @tuacreatorsbingo!

You can read it here, or on my AO3

“This is bullshit.”

Luther took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to block out the sound of Diego’s incessant whining. Their mission was simple enough. They’d been bundled into a car and driven to a park at the edge of the city, with strict instructions to set up camp and watch for “suspicious activity” in the apartment block across the street. So they… Well, he, had set up a small tent in the grass, and now they… He, was keeping watch, while Diego, as usual, did whatever the hell he wanted. 

Apparently all Diego wanted to do right now was be as irritating as possible, which seemed to come naturally to him. For the last thirty minutes he’d been alternating between long winded speeches about his plans to leave the academy, and throwing small pebbles at the back of his head. As if on cue, another stone hit him and he clenched his jaw, looking over his shoulder at him. Diego, who was lying on his back in the tent, one hand beneath his head and the other rolling yet another pebble between his fingers, smiled innocently at him. 

“Stop it,” Luther muttered. 

“Stop what?”

“Throwing stuff at me.”

“I’m not.” Diego chuckled as he flicked the pebble at him, hitting him in the centre of his forehead. “Must be your imagination.” 

“Look,” He said, exasperated. “I get that this is all a big joke to you, but can you please just let me concentrate on our mission.”

Diego smirked at him and shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure. You get back to saving the world.”

“I will.”

“Fine.”

“Good!”

“Great!”

An hour passed in blissful silence and night began to fall, with only the dim glow of a streetlamp at the edge of the park lighting their camp. It was starting to become apparent that the apartment block Luther had been watching the for better part of the evening was unoccupied. The windows remained dark, and he had yet to see anyone come or go. In fact, he hadn’t even seen anybody walk past. Maybe that was the “suspicious activity” dad had been talking about. He’d been pretty vague in his mission briefing, which was unusual for dad, and although he wasn’t about to admit it to Diego, he wasn’t entirely sure what they were actually supposed to be doing here.

He heard a rustling noise behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder he saw Diego rifling through his bag and pulling out a pack of chips. 

“You want some?” He asked when he noticed Luther watching him. “I packed loads.” 

They’d been sent off on their mission before dinner, and it hadn’t occurred to Luther to pack any food while he was getting ready. Still, despite the growling in his stomach, he shook his head. 

“You shouldn’t have those,” He muttered. “Dad doesn’t like junk food.” 

“Dad doesn’t like junk food,” Diego mimicked. “Do you hear yourself when you talk? It’s embarrassing. If dad didn’t want me to eat junk then maybe he should have fed me before he sent me out here. I can’t stab people on an empty stomach. Messes with my concentration.” 

“We’re not here to stab people,” Luther argued and Diego cocked his brow curiously, leaning back on his elbows. 

“And what are we here for, exactly?” 

Clenching his jaw, Luther looked down at the grass. “Our mission is to-” 

“There is no mission, you moron,” Diego cut in. “This is just dad’s not-so-subtle way of getting rid of us for a few hours.” He pointed at his face, where the black eye he was sporting was still clearly visible, so swollen that his eye was half closed. “This is why we’re here.”

Luther cringed. He hadn’t meant to hit Diego that hard. It was easy to forget that for all his talk, his brother was a lot more fragile than he was. Unfortunately it seemed that nowadays they spent more time throwing punches at each other than anything else, and that morning it had gotten so bad that Pogo and Grace had to physically wrestle them away from each other. He couldn’t even remember what they’d been arguing about anymore. Probably something stupid. They both knew exactly how to rile the other up until even the smallest disagreement escalated into a fight. Still, he didn’t see what that had to do with their mission. Dad had been pretty mad at them earlier, but he still seemed to trust them enough to send them out on their own. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He said quietly, frowning when Diego rolled his eyes at him. 

“You and me got into a massive punch up and suddenly dad sends us out into the middle of nowhere on a super vague, completely pointless mission. You really think that’s just a coincidence? He wanted us out of his hair.” 

“That’s not true.” Luther scowled at him. “He wouldn’t have sent us here if it wasn’t important.”

“He sent us here because he’s a psychopath who wouldn’t know what good parenting was if it smacked him in the face.” 

“Shut up.”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he decides to leave us here forever.”

“I said shut up! ” Luther snapped, clenching his fists furiously. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Shrugging, Diego tossed a chip into his mouth and stayed silent. There was a low rumble in the distance and they both sat upright, looking around for the source of the noise. Diego was the first to relax, sliding his knife back into his belt. 

“It’s just thunder,” He said as the first spots of rain started falling. “Relax.”

The two of them scrambled over to their tent as the rain started to get heavier, Diego tucking himself up in the far corner while Luther sat at the edge, determined to continue his surveillance of the building. 

A sharp crack echoed around them as lightning streaked across the sky and Luther flinched at the sound, hugging his arms tightly around himself and drawing his knees up to his chest. They didn’t get many storms in their town, but Luther hated them. The thunder claps and the cracks of lightning and the sound of the rain hammering down were all overwhelming. It felt like he was back on another mission, surrounded by the chaos of guns and fighting and breaking bones as they all tried to fend off men twice their size. He tried to disguise the way he flinched with each roll of thunder, but eventually Diego noticed, and Luther could hear him snigger behind him. 

“Quit being a baby,” He teased, prodding him with his toe. “It’s a storm, not the end of the world.”

Luther could have made a jab about Diego passing out when Grace explained how his T shots were gonna work, but he kept his mouth clamped shut as he tensed up in preparation for the next explosion of noise. Thunder boomed above them and he whimpered, digging his fingers into his arms and squeezing his eyes shut. Why did this have to happen now? There was no way Diego was gonna let this go, and there was no way he was going to cry in front of him. He felt Diego prod him again and braced himself for more teasing, but his voice was softer this time. 

“I was just joking, Lu,” He said quietly, shuffling over to him when Luther didn’t reply. “Seriously, are you okay?” 

Luther nodded, sniffling and wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. 

“You don’t look okay.” Diego was quiet for a moment before turning towards him again. “The storm’s ten miles away,” He said confidently. “You don’t have to worry.”

Perplexed, Luther looked up at him. “How do you know that?”

“Easy. You count the seconds between the thunder and the lightning. Five seconds for every mile. That was fifty seconds so… Ten miles.” He grinned proudly at him. “I read it in a book.”

“Wow,” Luther said quietly. “I didn’t know you could read.”

“Ass.” Diego elbowed him in the ribs and they both laughed. 

Letting out a sigh, Luther tucked his knees up against his chest and rested his chin on them. Outside the apartment block, two people were huddled together under the canopy, trying to get some shelter from the rain. Last time Luther checked, that was neither evil or suspicious. Diego was watching them too, wrinkling his nose up periodically as water dripped from the edge of the tent onto his head, but stubbornly refusing to move a few inches to the right to avoid it. 

“Who names a team ‘The Umbrella Academy’ and then doesn’t even give them actual umbrellas,” He muttered and Luther sniggered. “The man’s a lunatic, I’m telling you.” 

Another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by another crack of thunder. Luther flinched again. Diego didn’t say anything this time. 

“It’s getting further away,” He observed quietly.

Luther nodded, though he wasn’t sure whether to believe him. The noise sure didn’t sound like it was getting further away. 

“Do you really think dad’s gonna leave us here?” He asked after a few minutes. The storm seemed to have washed away all his resolve, replacing it with a niggling sense of doubt and uncertainty that made him question if maybe Diego was right about him. 

For a moment Diego was silent, shaking his head and turning away from him. 

“Nah,” He said, picking at the grass by his feet. “You’re our Number One. No way he’d kick you out.” 

The rain seemed to be dying down, and the thunder was nothing more than a low rumble in the distance. Apparently Diego knew more about storms than Luther gave him credit for. 

“You should really eat something,” He said out of nowhere, nudging Luther’s arm. I’ll keep watch for a while.”

Luther frowned. “I thought you said-”

“Forget what I said,” He interrupted. “Just… Eat something, please. There’s stuff in my bag.”

Hesitantly, Luther turned his back on the apartment block and crawled across the tent to Diego’s bag, rifling through it until he found a bar of chocolate. Diego glanced over his shoulder at him, relaxing and leaning back on his elbows once he was satisfied that he was eating. 

“Sorry about your eye, by the way,” Luther said between mouthfuls and Diego shrugged. 

“I’ve had worse.”

Luther’s eyes fell on the cut across the side of Diego’s face, now a faded pink colour, and frowned. 

“Klaus said it makes me look cool,” He said, as though he could feel Luther looking at the scar. “When I leave, I’m gonna pick up so many girls with this baby.” 

He tapped the side of his head and grinned at him, and Luther gave a halfhearted nod, unsure of how reliable Klaus was as a source of information. 

“Are you really gonna leave?” He asked, because for all Diego’s talk about his plans, it was hard to imagine him actually leaving. 

“Yup,” Diego said without a second of hesitation. “As soon as I’m eighteen. I’m gonna get a job, buy a car, and get as far away from this place as possible.”

Luther blinked at him. “As in leave the city? ”

“Leave the city, leave the state. Whatever. Hell if I’m staying here for the rest of my life.” 

The two of them fell into a solemn silence as they both considered the reality of that. Whenever Diego talked about leaving, which was a lot, Luther always imagined he would just live a few streets down, stopping by for breakfast or dinner a few times a week. Not leaving as in actually leaving. Not leaving as in never seeing him again. Diego didn’t seem to have considered it before either, suddenly looking a little less sure of himself as he shifted uncomfortably. 

“You could come with me if you want,” He said quietly, folding his arms. “Not just you, obviously. I’ll ask the others too. We’ll all go.”

For a moment, Luther found himself genuinely considering it, but the idea of abandoning dad, abandoning the academy, abandoning his duty, was too much and he shook his head. 

“I can’t.” 

“You can’t stay here forever, Lu.” Diego scooted over to him, his expression turning serious. “That asshole’s gonna control you for the rest of your life if you don’t stand up to him.” 

“Don’t call him that,” He mumbled as he hung his head. 

“Surely you realise that he-”

“Don’t,” Luther warned, and Diego backed off, slumping his shoulders and turning back around. 

The storm had circled back around towards them, the thunder growing louder again and the sky lighting up with bolts of lightning. 

“You okay?” Diego asked and Luther nodded, wrapping his arms around himself. 

Diego didn’t look convinced, grabbing his coat from the corner of the tent and folding it into a makeshift pillow. 

“Try and get some sleep,” He instructed, guiding Luther’s shoulders until he had no choice but to lay down. “I’ll wake you up when the storm’s over.” 

Luther closed his eyes, the sound of the storm a little less overwhelming with Diego’s hand resting on his shoulder, reminding him that, for now at least, he was still there.

[star-birthmark]

Dear Mother: Melone x Reader

To the anon that requested a “letter thingy”, something similar to my “Oh Brother” Risotto piece, here we are. This one hurt to write, and I might have poured too much of myself into it, but isn’t that where true angst lies? Anyway, here’s a flowery Melone piece

It was a hot summer night, spent lazily in your and Melone’s study, reading and discussing recent scientific studies. Late into the evening, he suddenly sat stiff in his seat, his mouth closed into a thin line, his gaze vacant. Asking twice for his attention, the heterochromatic eyes flicker over to meet yours, a newly discovered exhaustion within them. Not long after, Melone left the room to go to bed while you remained there, sitting at the desk. A piece of dirtied stationary wedged in one of the books caught your attention, seeing an old letter in Melone’s hand writing. Underneath remained an old document, detailing Melone’s acceptance to Sapienza University, dated 1996. Your curiosity peaked, your mind flashing to the lifeless expression he had given you only an hour before, you draw your focus to the words of the handwritten note. The dirtied letter read as follows. 

“Dear Mother, The first time I ever held an encyclopedia, I felt the world melt itself into the palms of my hands. Grandpa had given it to me. It was the day before my fourth birthday, the day he and I sat on our back porch and he asked me if I could have one wish, what would I wish for. With ill-thought-out eagerness, I told him I wanted to know everything. 

And he laughed at me, mother, with his big, hearty, toothy laugh that only arrives to a man after he’s circled the world a few times. Fortunately for him, his world was small. It was a street corner where’s he’d buy fresh produce and gossip with a friend. It was playing cards with other veterans. It was solving problems with his hands and yelling at my uncle to get off the couch. It was smoking cigars to hasten his terminally ill end.

So when his toothy grin hid behind his aged lips, and when his heavy chest had stopped heaving from his cackles, and after I’d tackled him onto the grass and wrestled him like David had wrestled Goliath, I asked him carelessly what he would wish for. He stared into my eyes and told me he wanted to see Nonna again. The very next day, he gave me the encyclopedia, a 1966 edition, ripped at the corners, darkened with stains, more paralyzed from old age than he was. And he told me that was as much everything as he could go his hands on. A week later, he left us and went home to Nonna.

Oh mother, how does it feel? You’ve spent your whole life telling me that my everything must be less than other people’s. You’ve turned our peaceful cottage into a desolate breeding ground for sin. You’ve stared down at your husband’s grave, having invited your lovers to the funeral. You’ve burned your father’s clothes in a bonfire in our backyard, and whenever I would fall silent, you would pull on my hair so hard, a cry would escape my lungs and enter your ears and you would tell me that you wished I hadn’t ruined you. 

I can write with both my hands. I can hold my breath underwater for 10 minutes without getting light headed. I can solve a Reimann Sum in a minute and a half. I can speak in Italian, English, French, Spanish, Greek and Latin. I can recite off the top of my head the first 35 base pairs encoding for the receptor gene that it’s corruption caused Grandpa to die. It goes ATTATGCCATGACTAGACTTACCCATTGGATCGGA-see! You laughed at my attempt to impress you with my knowledge, your laugh shrill and mocking.

I killed one of your lovers in cold blood the night after my eighteenth birthday, and it was the first time you ever took me seriously. 

Oh mother, how dare you think so little of me?! How dare you choose to stay blind during those nights that I called out to you for help?! How dare you choose to stay blind when all of your men lavished you in affection while they beat me to a pulp?! How dare you lay on your back, deeply rooted into your silk bed sheets, complacent to them while they desecrated my home?! You were the only thing holding me back from learning everything, mother. You’re the only one who regulated me to a simple life devoid of advanced thought, devoid of love. You don’t deserve the inherent nurturing connotation of your title. The woman I love, our baby has not yet breathed one breath on this Earth and she has already become a better mother than you. I see the way she smiles as her stomach jolts with every kick of our child, and I learn, for the first time since Grandpa died, what real love is. When I hold her in my hands, when I learn of her flaws and creases and desires, I feel as if I know her like an encyclopedia. I feel as if I finally know everything. 

I ask you now, how can she so easily accept me as a killer, when you didn’t want me when I still embraced life? Sincerely, your Son.” 

You slowly set the letter down, rushing out of your chair, your breath shuddering weakly from the your tears spilled. You made up your way up the stairs to your bedroom, your head pounding with exhaustion, your lungs aching for you to slow down. Finally you stopped in the doorway to your bedroom, seeing Melone’s back facing towards you, his head in his hands, his shoulders hung low. In the pungent silence of the room, you heard your lover’s small whimpers and sniffles. Drawing closer, you stepped in front of him, calmly taking his head on your hands instead of his, and forcing him to look up at you. The two of you took each other in, neither remember how to speak for a brief moment. 

His eyes shown brightly from the light of the bedside lamp, their contrasting colors reminding you of the first time you ever saw them, when Melone first made his way to you with an arrogant confidence that you saw through easily. You had allowed him to buy you a drink, only on the condition that he act like his true self, and you’d been in love with him ever since. 

Finally, you broke the silence, leaning in close to his ear and whispered, “I want to know everything too.” Eyes wide after having realized what you’d read from his desk, Melone finally broke down the last of his walls around you and nestled into your chest, his gaze flooding once more as he couldn’t hold back any longer. 

Turning to look up you once more, Melone whispered to you, trembling, “I never want to see her again.” You laid him down on the bed, resting yourself next to him and holding him in your arms, reassuring that he never would as long as you were around.

With such a thought in his mind, Melone was finally able to fall asleep. The next morning, he set off to go kill a man, pulling him one tally farther from his goal of saving life, not ending it.

[epic-ash-and-sora-fan]

Circumstances chap 1: A Mysterious Reunion

When a seemingly random Riolu wakes Clemont up in the middle of the night and led him out into Lumiose City in the pouring rain, the last thing he expected to see was Ash Ketchum and Pikachu sitting in an alleyway, completely soaked and with no memory of how they got there. What happened to them? And why does Clemont's heart skip a beat when Ash smiles at him?

Clemont wasn't sure what woke him up. It was still dark outside save for the numerous streetlamps. No sounds were heard aside from a dull roar of a rainstorm outside. Clemont checked his alarm clock. It was nearly 2:30 AM. The blonde groaned, but he put on his glasses and pulled himself out of bed to check on Bonnie. His big brother instinct seemed to always know if his little sister had a nightmare. He trudged out of his room and down the hall. It has been a little over a month now since he resumed his duties at the Lumiose Gym. A month since his journey through Kalos came to an end. A month since Ash went home. After everything that happened, it was almost boring to be back home. Even with the daily gym challengers requesting a battle either against him or Clembot.

Clemont peeked into Bonnie's room. She was sound asleep with Dedenne sleeping right next to her. Clemont smiled to see that his sister wasn't in any sort of distress, but it still begged the question of what woke him up.

That's when he heard it. A quiet scratching sound. So quiet Clemont was surprised he even heard it. He followed the sound to the front door of the gym. Perplexed Clemont moved to open the door. Surely no one in their right mind would challenge the gym at this ridiculous hour.

The door swished open. At first, Clemont couldn't see anyone except for rain and the streets. but just as he was about to write this off as a prank by some immature delinquent he felt a small pressure on his leg.

"Rooo"

Clemont gazed downward to see a very wet Riolu looking up at him with sad and worried eyes.

"Whoa, what's wrong, little guy? What brings you here?"

Clemont knelt down so that he was at eye level with the Emanation Pokemon and scanned it for any injuries. Once satisfied that the pokemon seemed fine albeit soaking wet he looked around for anyone who could possibly be its trainer. However, it soon became clear that Riolu was alone. Where did it come from? And why was it scratching at his door in the middle of the night? Fair questions, but neither had an answer at present.

"I'm...afraid that I can't have a gym battle with a pokemon." Clemont joked. "And even if I could it's the middle of the night."

The Riolu seemed uninterested in Clemont's attempt to lighten the mood. It began barking and pulling on Clemont's pyjama pants and pointing out into the rain.

"You....want me to follow you?" Clemont guessed, receiving an affirmative nod in response from the Riolu.

Clemont sighed. He really didn't want to go out in the pouring rain at 2:30 in the morning. Yet, the Riolu seemed extremely upset about something. From the way it was staring at him, Clemont had a feeling it wouldn't leave him alone until he investigated.

"Okay...just...just give me a second."

Clemont rushed back into the gym and back to his bedroom. He went into his closet to grab a blue raincoat and an umbrella and put his trainers on. Then picked up one of his pokeballs from his night-stand and called out Helliolisk. The Generator Pokemon let out a huge yawn.

"Sorry to wake you Heliolisk, but something....came up." Clemont apologised, unsure of how else to word this current situation.

"Could I ask you to watch over Bonnie for me in case she wakes up, I won't be gone long."

Heliolisk gave an enthusiastic nod, showing no animosity over his rather rude awakening.

Clemont thanked his pokemon and rushed out of his room. He raced back to the front door where the Riolu was anxiously waiting. It seemed to have the common sense to wait inside.

"Alright Riolu, lead the way."

- - - - -

Riolu led the blond gym leader around another bend. Heavy rain hammered down against his umbrella. Clemont's feet splashed into any and all puddles that were in their path as he tried his best to keep up with the pokemon in front of him.

"Maybe I should get in to shape more." he panted to himself, happy that Bonnie wasn't here right now. He'd never hear the end of it.

After about five more minutes of winding through the complexity that is Lumiose City, -and the poor visibility thanks to the rain didn't help matters- Riolu began to slow down near an alleyway. It let out a bark as if signalling someone. Clemont nearly dropped his umbrella when he saw a very familiar and very wet Pikachu come out of the alleyway. Within two seconds of seeing Clemont, Pikachu bolted over to him and began pulling on his pyjama pants just as Riolu did before.

"Pikapika, Pikapi Pi Pi Pikachu!"

"Whoa, Whoa, Pikachu calm down." soothed Clemont as he knelt down, and put his hand on Pikachu's head who looked close to hyperventilating. "What's wrong?"

"Pikapi, Pikachu!" Pikachu cried pointing at the alleyway and then bolted back into it.

Clemont followed Pikachu down the alleyway wondering what could have caused him such distress.

This time he did drop his umbrella.

Right in front of him, sitting against the alley wall a few feet away was someone Clemont was sure he saw off at the airport a little over a month prior.

"What in the...? Ash?!"

Clemont rushed over and practically fell onto his knees in front of Ash. He didn't care that they were now getting wet. Pikachu was already beside him with great concern etched on his features. Ash didn't show any indication that he heard Clemont. He just sat there cross-legged, staring at the ground. Clemont put his hands on his friend's shoulders.

"Ash, are you okay?!"

Ash's clothes were completely soaked through. He's certainly been out in the rain for some time. Clemont also felt him shiver under his hands, but other than that he didn't move.

"Ash, look at me! Tell me you're okay!" cried Clemont frantically, giving his friend a little shake. His heart began hammering against his chest. What happened to Ash? Why was he just sitting there? Was he hurt? Millions of questions were racing through his head. Any possible answers just made Clemont feel sick.

Finally, Ash slowly looked up and his brown tired eyes stared back at Clemont. He managed a small smile, clearly recognising the friend in front of him. Clemont looked him over. He couldn't find any obvious injuries save for a small cut on his forehead above his left eye. The cut wasn't too deep and has since stopped bleeding. Clemont could already tell that it wouldn't need any stitches and was thankful for it.

"Ash, what happened? Why are you just sitting here in the pouring rain?" he asked worriedly.

Ash shivered. He wrapped his arms around his body as if just now realising he was completely drenched.

"Don't know." came a hoarse whisper.

"Chuuu..." Pikachu whimpered placing his paws on Ash's leg. Ash put his hand on Pikachu's head as if trying to reassure the worried Mouse Pokemon.

Clemont knew exactly what to do next. It wasn't even a question. He took Ash by the arms and pulled him to his feet. Ash stumbled a bit but remained standing. Clemont took off his raincoat and placed it over the raven-haired trainer's soaked and shivering frame. Not that it made much of a difference now. He doubted Ash could get any wetter.

"Come on, let's get you somewhere dry," he said kindly as he placed an arm around Ash and began to lead him out of the alleyway.

Y...you're getting w....wet." Ash noted making Clemont smile. It was just like his friend to worry about someone else's well-being above his own.

"I'll be fine. Worry about yourself for now. Besides I have an umbrella.....somewhere."

With a quick scan of the area, Clemont located the forgotten umbrella. After wrestling with it for a moment he got it open and held it over both his and his friend's heads.

"Here we are. Let's go."

With his arm around Ash, Clemont made his way back to the gym. Pikachu climbed on to the blonde's shoulder. Riolu who had been watching the whole scene followed behind. Clemont didn't object to either.

- - - - -

Heliolisk happily greeted Clemont as he and Ash returned to the warm and dry confines of the Lumiose gym. He took one look at Ash then gave his trainer a bemused look.

"Liisk?"

"Your guess is as good as mine Helliolisk," said Clemont, guessing his pokemon's question. He closed his umbrella and placed it down by the door. Pikachu and Riolu shook the rainwater off of their bodies. Clemont flinches as the water splashed on him.

"Pika..." apologised Pikachu with a contrite look.

"I was already wet anyway," said Clemont with a chuckle, wiping the rainwater off of his glasses. He was definitely gonna need to change his pyjamas. A sneeze beside him made Clemont remember why.

"You okay?" he asked Ash placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Y...yeah, just c...cold," said Ash as he gave Clemont a brave smile.

"We should get you out of those wet clothes," said Clemont as he led Ash down the hallway. "You can borrow some of mine for now. We're about the same size." Clemont turned to Heliolisk. "Could you get me a change of clothes, a towel and the first aid kit please?"

Helliolisk nodded and dashed off towards Clemont's room.

Clemont led Ash to the spare bedroom. It was normally reserved for when his dad, Meyer came to stay for whatever reason. The room was pretty basic with one single bed, a night-stand and a wardrobe. Riolu sat on the bed. He seemed happy to finally be somewhere comfortable. Ever faithful Pikachu refused to leave Ash's side, clutching at his trainer's pants.

Helliolisk returned with the items Clemont asked for. He also had some dry pyjamas for his trainer.

"Hey, thanks Heliolisk," said Clemont, gratefully receiving them. He then gave Ash the dry clothes and a towel.

"Here Ash, we don't want you getting sick again." Especially since Serena isn't here to bail you out this time.

"Thanks, Clemont," said Ash.

They both turned away from each other for privacy's sake and changed out of their wet clothes.

"Pikapi?"

Clemont had just finished changing when he heard Pikachu's concerned tone and turned to Ash. He was already wearing a dry pair of trousers with the towel still over his head. He was staring at his bare arm looking troubled.

"Everything okay?" asked the blonde.

"Y...yeah, I guess I must've knocked my arm into something, that's all. No big deal."

Clemont felt a little unnerved by this. He was sure Ash had no other injuries besides the minor cut on his forehead. Though his first priority was getting out of the rain, so maybe he missed something?

"Let me see."

Clemont gently took Ash's arm and noticed some sort of abrasion. It's no wonder he didn't see it. It's where his shirt sleeve would've covered it up. The abrasion was relatively small and had some bruising. One strange thing about it was that it formed a perfect circle. Not something that can happen easily by accidentally knocking your arm into something.

"Does it hurt?" he asked Ash.

"Not really. I didn't even know it was there til now."

"Pika!" Pikachu cried pointing at Ash's other arm. Clemont switched to said arm before Ash could protest. He found the exact same abrasion, in the exact same place and the exact same shape.

"What in the world..." Clemont in a quiet voice. Ash just stared at his arm looking as disturbed as Clemont felt. He started looking over his friend again and found two more of the same...injuries? on his back. Only slightly bigger which only added to the teen's concern.

"Ash, what the heck have you been doing?!" cried Clemont.

Ash visibly tensed and suddenly seemed very interested in his feet.

"I.....I don't know. I can't remember." he said in a slightly panicked voice.

Clemont frowned, then led him to the bed and sat him down.

"Well, for now, let's get them cleaned up."

Clemont opened the first aid kit and started cleaning Ash's injuries. Ash was surprisingly submissive throughout. Clemont was sure Ash would at least try to insist that he was okay and didn't need to be fussed over, but he stayed quiet. It didn't make Clemont feel any more at ease.

I guess this must've freaked him out a little he thought.

Ash, hissed in pain when Clemont started cleaning the fresher wound on his forehead.

"S...Sorry, I'm trying to be gentle." apologised Clemont.

"It's okay," said Ash.

With the injuries cleaned and the bandages in place. Clemont closed the first aid box. By this point, Riolu and Helliolisk were fast asleep. Pikachu, was still wide awake wanting to make sure his trainer was definitely okay.

"So what's the last thing you remember?" asked Clemont, hoping to shed some light on this mysterious event.

Ash who had just finished pulling a grey hoodie over his head seemed to think for a moment before replying.

"Just....our battle, then saying goodbye and heading to the aeroplane I was supposed to take." Ash placed a hand on his head. "After that....nothing. It's just a huge blank. Like there's a scene missing or something."

Clemont frowned again feeling his body tense up, his concern starting to reach its peak. Clemont sat down on the bed next to Ash.

"Ash...." he started, unsure of how to break this to his friend. "That was over a month ago now."

Ash's eyes widened.

"Are you serious?!" he cried. He stood up and started pacing. He wrapped his arms around himself in a very uncharacteristic manner. "What in the world is going on?!"

Clemont stood up and placed a hand on Ash's shoulder to try and calm him.

"I'm sure we can figure this out," he said more confidently than he felt. "There's got to be a scientific explanation for this."

Ash smiled and nodded.

"Yeah."

Clemont looked at the clock on the night-stand and found that it was now 3:45 AM. Have they really been here for over an hour?! Funny how time flies.

"We should try and get some sleep.," he said.

Ash nodded and sat back on his bed looking ready to crash. Clemont picked up Ash's wet clothes.

"I'll get these dry for you."

"Hey....thanks Clemont. I don't know what we would've done without you." thanked Ash.

"Pika Pikachu" Pikachu thanked Clemont as well, jumping onto Ash's lap.

"Anytime," said Clemont with a smile. He then left the room to let Ash and Pikachu get the rest they needed, opting not to disturb Helliolisk at this point. After checking on Bonnie again, who was still fast asleep, Clemont put the first aid kit away. He placed Ash's clothes by the radiator to dry. Clemont returned to his room and sat on his bed. After everything that happened, he doubted he would get back to sleep tonight. Why was Ash here when he should be back home in Kanto? Why was he unable to remember anything? Could he be suffering from a concussion? Or is something else was at play here? There was also the strange abrasions on Ash's arms and back to consider also. There was no doubt about it. Something happened to his friend. Something sinister. That made Clemont's stomach turn and his blood boil. His hands curled into fists. His vision blurred at the very thought of someone causing his friend any sort of pain.

"What happened to you?" Clemont asked aloud.

T.B.C.

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 17

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.  This chapter contains an 'active shooter' scenario.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 5k

Parts 18, 19, 20 & 21 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

One Month Later

“Hello, earth to Y/N.” Millie’s hand is waving in front of your face as you snap to attention. “Jesus, what is going on with you?”

“Nothing.” You shake your head, tapping the mouse to wake up your computer. “I’m just tired.”

“You don’t have to tell me, but don’t assume I’m an idiot.”

You’ve shared a little, she knew you were seeing someone, now you’re not. But you’ve never gone into details. She guessed once that your mystery weekend guy was some married man with a wife and kids. You let her live with the assumption. It’s easier that way.

Millie tilts her head, eyes flicking to Lexi’s empty desk. “Did Lexi tell you she’s working on some super secret project for the boss man?”

You want to throw up. Of course she is.

“She told me,” you confirm, typing in your password twice before getting it right.

“What do you think it is? I mean I love the girl, but she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.” Millie looks at you, frowning in concern.

You have a pretty good idea what kind of special project Sam’s assigned her to, the same kind you worked on. He was bored fucking you so he moved on to someone younger, firmer and dumber. As much as you try to fight it, your mind can’t help but conjure up images of her on her knees sucking his cock.

“Seriously, are you okay?” Millie places a hand on your shoulder and you flinch, looking up at her. “You’re all over the place.”

“No,” you shake your head, sitting back in the chair. “I don’t think I want to work here anymore.”

“Seriously?” Millie hunches down, getting close to whisper, “did Max do something again? Is someone bothering you?”

“No, he’s actually been really apologetic after he was put on his corrective action plan,” you snort. “I’m just fucking done. This place is a black hole and I need to move on.” You look at Lexi’s empty seat. “I’m gonna go talk to Pepper and put in my two weeks. Then I’m gonna let you take me out and get me drunk.”

--

After a few shots of tequila, you sit at the open window of your apartment, sipping a bottle of water and watching the city lights at night. For the better part of a year, life was focused around Sam, when you’d see him next, what would happen. Now that excitement is nowhere to be found and you're left with the realization that you’ve let the other parts of your life fade into the background. There’s a kind of emptiness that you’ve struggled to fill, a void that you’re learning to live with.

Above all else, you feel foolish. While you want to feel betrayed, you simply can’t. He was always up front. He told you time and time again it was nothing more than sex. But your logical mind and your heart aren’t always working together. Developing feelings for someone like Sam Winchester was bound to end badly, you knew that from the start.

If nothing else, Sam taught you a lot about yourself. Sex with him was eye-opening. He showed you how to openly desire all the things that you hid for so long. Not only do you know what you like, now you know how to ask for it and you’ll never be ashamed of what turns you on again.

It’s been one hell of a rollercoaster but it’s time to leave. Not just W & S, but Boston as well. It’s time to start over. In a couple of weeks, you’ll be in Chicago, a place where you know no one and no one knows you. It’s for the best, here your memories are haunted, little pieces of Sam everywhere. At least you learned a lesson.

As you lay down to go to sleep you glance at the bedside table. There’s a small vibrator in the drawer. You’ve tried to masturbate several times since your final goodbye but you can’t quite get there. All your fantasies somehow morph into Sam at the end and it pulls you right out of the moment. Perhaps more distance will help you get back to normal.

You fall asleep dreaming of a new life, somewhere far, far away.

Two Weeks Later

Juggling a comically tall stack of folders you head to the conference room.

You’re late for your last meeting as an employee of W & S. It’s your project hand-off, going over all your active cases with Pepper and Millie. Only a few more hours and you can kiss this place goodbye for good.

It’s as you open the door and flick the light switch, you’re met with a chorus of happy voices.

“Surprise!”

You jump back, breaking out into a smile at the room full of colleagues in party hats. There’s a sheet cake in the middle of the table with We’ll Miss You! scrawled across in blue frosting.

“You scared the shit out of me!” You laugh, dropping the files onto the table.

“That was the idea,” Pepper smirks, sliding a paper cup of punch across the table. “It’s not a surprise unless you shit yourself.”

“Honestly I didn’t expect this. I didn’t think anyone would care that I left,” you confess, looking at an envelope with your name written across it.

Millie is already cutting the cake, handing you the first piece. “Are you kidding, we all love you. It’s gonna be boring without you. Don’t get too excited about your gift, it’s only an Ikea gift card.”

“I never thought I’d say this,” Pepper leans in, dipping her finger into the frosting on your plate. “But I sure wish you were staying, Lexi is a nightmare.” You both look up at Lexi who’s babbling on in the corner of the room clad in a skin-tight pink dress. “I long for the days of your slow walking and crappy notes.”

“Good to know I’m appreciated in hindsight,” you force a smile, trying to focus on anything other than thoughts of Lexi and Sam.

There’s a faint, repeating noise in the distance, it’s out of place but you’re not really paying attention.

“Hey,” Max slides in beside you. Millie sighs but backs off. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, for you know, saying that stuff about you. I was a dick.”

He has been making an effort, there’s a subtle hint of that nice guy you met before he turned into a full-fledged bastard.

“Yes, you were.” You roll your eyes, offering him a smile. “I forgive you, but only if you don’t do it to anyone else again.”

“I swear,” he nods, a hand over his heart. “Lesson learned, I-”

He pauses to listen to the popping in the distance. The room falls silent.

“Is someone setting off fireworks?” Pepper stands up, moving toward the window.

“That’s not fireworks,” Tim Bellamy from accounting stands up, walking to the door of the conference room and looking out into the hallway. “That’s gunfire.”

“What are you talking about?” Your heart speeds up to gallop, a low simmer of panic setting in. Right on cue, all the lights shut off, the whirl of the air conditioning stops.

There it is again, closer than before. It sounds like it’s coming from a few floors down.

Pop

Pop

Pop

Pop

“Someone’s shooting,” Millie whispers, looking to you with eyes the size of saucers.

“Security will stop whoever it is,” Pepper’s voice is broken as she wrings her hands together, staring at the open door.

“What do we do?” You look at Tim. You don’t know much about him, but you do recall that he’s a combat veteran, a Marine if you remember correctly.

“We run,” he confirms, taking off his suit jacket and throwing it on the table. “If you're wearing heels, take them off. Get rid of anything that’s going to slow you down or make noise.”

You reach down, slipping off your pumps, bare toes sinking into the carpet. You’re sweating now, listening to the burst of gunfire coming in rapid succession. For a moment it’s getting closer then there’s a break, silence.

“Follow me.” Tim inches toward the door, peeking out into the hallway. “If you get out into the open don’t run in a straight line, zig-zag back and forth. Doesn’t matter if anyone’s shooting at you, make yourself a hard target to hit.”

“This isn’t happening,” Millies cries behind you, her hands on your hips. “Oh my god, this can’t be happening.”

“Quiet,” Tim turns back, looking at each one of you. “Stay silent. Follow me now.”

You trail after him down the hall, everyone moving in silence, grasping each other’s hands. The hallway opens up into a sea of cubicles. You’re headed toward the red exit sign at the other end of the room, it’s the door to the stairwell.

Without warning the door slams open, hitting the wall with a thud. Millie yelps, Lexi screams from somewhere in the back. Trevor from IT comes sprinting toward you, sweating, in pure panic.

“He’s coming!” He yells running past you in a sprint.

“Who’s coming?” Max yells.

“Brent!” Trevor calls back, his voice faint as he disappears around the corner at the other end of the room.

Brent.

“Fuck,” you breathe, remembering the day he was fired, how it took multiple security guards to wrestle him out of the building. “Where do we-”

Your voice turns into a scream as Brent appears in the doorway. He’s holding some kind of huge rifle, the kind you’ve seen in movies as he jams in a fresh clip. He looks up spotting your group.

“Run!” Tim shouts, stepping in front with his arms spread wide.

Time slows down and you have a thousand thoughts at once.

You should have called your mom this morning.

You’re not wearing matching underwear.

You should have told Sam how you felt as soon as you felt it.

You’re going to die on your last day here, you should have left last week.

If you’d have gone to college, none of this would have ever happened.

There is an ear-shattering pop and Tim’s body jerks back, careening into you before he hits the wall and his knees give way. He’s clutching his stomach, blood pouring from a wound. You’re frozen in sheer terror, a scream erupting from your throat as Brent advances.

There’s a shout from the other side of the room, a woman you’ve never seen before shrieks drawing his attention. There’s a spray of bullets in her direction and you watch in horror when she sinks behind one of the cubicles.

Turning back to you Brent looks calm and focused as he takes aim and shoots off another round, hitting Max in the upper thigh. One more step and he shoots again, the bullet hitting Max’s chest and this time he falls to the floor.

Brent is close now, his eyes narrowing as he hones in on you.

“Please,” you whisper, shaking uncontrollably as you raise both hands in front of your face. There is no sight or sound, everything comes to a halt as you take a final breath.  “Please don't kill me.”

Brent just snorts, raising the gun and pointing it at your head.

Sam comes out of nowhere moving with a speed and power that you would have never known he was capable of. He drives the heel of his hand up into Brent’s chin, snatching the rifle from him in the same move. Swinging the butt of the gun around he whacks Brent in the head hard enough that it makes a sickening crack. Blood begins to pour from the wound as Brent’s knees buckle and he collapses to the ground.

With a series of methodical movements, Sam disassembles the firearm as if he’s done it a million times before. In ten seconds flat it’s lying in pieces on the carpet. He kneels next to Brent, patting down his unconscious body and pulling away two handguns that are tucked into his waistband. Sam takes those apart as well, leaving the pieces on a nearby desk.

“Are you alright?” he asks and you realize he’s talking to you. You blink, your mind a blank slate looking from Brent to Sam who’s standing in front of you, one hand on each shoulder. “Y/N?”

“I think so,” you mutter, staring at him in disbelief. All that fear is suddenly gone and you’re numb, physically and emotionally, save for the nauseous feeling in your belly. You explain calmly, “I think I might throw up.”

“That’s okay,” he cups your face for a moment, both hands under your jaw, giving you his undivided attention. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head no, turning away from him to vomit onto the floor.

“Oh my God!” You hear Lexi’s high pitched shriek coming up behind you. When you look up she’s throwing herself at Sam, wrapping arms around him. “You saved us!”

Sam just looks at you, his arms dangling at his side as she presses her head over his chest.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” Millie’s arms are around you, trembling as she squeezes tight. Wiping your chin you heave again, the last of your stomach contents coming up. “You’re alright, you’re gonna be alright.” She keeps repeating, rocking back and forth as she strokes your hair.

It’s not exactly soothing for you, but it seems to be what she needs, so you let her cradle you.

The next few minutes are a blur. Every moment melts into the next. There’s a swirl of activity, police and swat officers swarming the room. Several people are talking at you but you can’t hear them, your ears are ringing and you’ve got tunnel vision. Someone moves you, there’s a hand on each arm and you’re walking but not sure where or how.

The next thing you know you’re in Sam’s office, sitting on his couch. He’s standing near his desk and you’re surrounded by a dozen agents with ATF and FBI emblazoned on their clothes.

The voices come in and out of focus. There’s a man sitting next to you, his mustache is untrimmed, creeping over his upper lip and for a moment it’s all you see.

“Y/N?” he asks, leaning closer. “Can you hear me?”

“She’s in shock.” A female voice comes from somewhere in the background. “We have an ambulance on the way. We needed to get the critical cases out of the building first. We can have someone drive her-”

“I can hear you.” You clear your throat, feeling like you’ve been shot with a tranquilizer. A hush falls over the room and you look from the man in front of you to Sam. “I don’t wanna go to the hospital. Please don’t make me.”

“Okay,” Sam nods, walking over and sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “She can wait until tomorrow, can’t she?” He looks at the officer next to you.

“We don’t recommend it.” Another voice answers.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” You look around at the strangers staring at you like a zoo animal. “Sam, I want to leave.”

“She shouldn’t be alone in this state. Once we have her emergency contacts we’ll send a car to take her home.”  

“That’s not necessary she’s going home with me.” Sam reaches out, squeezing your knee. “We can set up a time tomorrow afternoon for interviews.”

-

You sit in silence next to Sam as the car makes the drive to Newton. The world whizzes by as you look out the window, your mind a blank slate devoid of any real thought. Sam doesn’t say anything, you’re vaguely aware of him looking at you from time to time. By the time you reach his house, your mind and body are starting to equalize. You follow him into the house, looking around at the all too familiar surroundings. Nothing's changed since the last time you were here.

Sam walks directly into the kitchen, opening up a cupboard and pulling out an empty trash bag.

“Take your clothes off.” He instructs calmly. You snort, eyes widening, unsure of how he can even think that you’re going to comply with his commands- “You have blood on your clothes,” he explains and you feel instantly sheepish. “Undress and take a shower.”

You look at him, a combination of betrayal and exhaustion. There’s a lot you want to say, but instead, you pull your blouse over your head, then shimmy your skirt down your hips. He holds open the bag and you place both inside, then strip the rest of the way, peeling off your panties and bra.

Naked, you pad down the hallway to his room, leaving the light off as you find the way to his shower and climb inside. You sit down on the tile under the warm water, pulling your legs up to your chest. You stay just like that until the water runs cold and you have to get out.

When you finally get out, you halfheartedly dry off, leaving the towel on the hook and a series of wet footprints on the hardwood of his bedroom floor.

Sam is sitting on the edge of the bed but stands up the moment he sees you. He must have used the guest shower because his hair is wet and he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue and white striped pajama pants.

You just stand there in the nude, staring at him, a million thoughts colliding at the same time.

“Why am I here?” you ask quietly. You’re not sure if you want the answer, you’re still upset with him, raw over your last conversation.

“Because I want you here.” He responds evenly. “You were traumatized and I-”

“I’m not the only one who was traumatized,” you interrupt. “I don’t see anyone else here.”

“No, you don’t.” He raises his chin, jaw locked in place.

“How did you know how to do that? What you did to Brent, I’ve only ever seen people fight like that in the movies.”

“My dad,” he explains, running his tongue over his teeth under his upper lip. “Winchester 101.”

“Right,” you nod, feeling water dripping from the end of your hair, down your back and over your breasts. “You’re a hero. You came to save us. Guess you’re not a total asshole.”

“I am a total asshole. I don’t give a shit about anyone else.” This confession comes out just as simple as everything else while you stare at each other. “I came for you.”

“Why?” you ask imploringly, stepping forward. “Why didn’t you come for Lexi, she’s your ‘special project’ now.”

“You think I’m sleeping with her?” He raises an eyebrow, letting out a humorless chuckle. “Well, that’s what I hoped you’d assume. I wanted to hurt you because I am an asshole. I wanted you to move on. But I’m not fucking her. I have her reporting back me on Peter Kelson. He’s leaking information. He wants to fuck her, so he drinks too much and tells her more than he should and then she tells me. That’s all.”

“I don’t understand you,” you sigh, defeated. “You said you were bored with me. You cut me out like I was nothing and now you’re telling me you put yourself in front of a bullet for me?”

“I lied.” He shrugs, looking to the side before forcing his gaze back to you. “I was, I am, uncomfortable with the way I feel about you. I want to be with you, I care for you. That’s not something I know how to do anymore. I gave up on that concept a long time ago.”

Your heart does a little skip in your chest, first the worst day of your life and now this. Whatever this is.  

“You can’t just...do this. You walked away from me like I meant nothing to you.”

“I wanted you to hate me,” he confesses, eyes transfixed on yours waiting to see if you’ll bolt.

“I did.” You shrug, stripped bare of pretense. There’s no room for anything to be left unsaid, not anymore. “I do, hate you. The way you treated me made me feel small...insignificant.”

“I know,” he nods, blinking twice, before looking at the floor to gather himself. “But you’re not.”

“I care about you.” You look down at your hands. “But how can you say that? You were going to let me leave. Let me move halfway across the country.”

“You would have been fine.” He steps closer, face tightening in displeasure. “You were hurt, and pissed at me, but you would have moved on. I was going to let you go but I couldn’t let you die, I couldn’t go through that again-” His voice wavers and he pauses, searching your face. “I make a shitty partner in every sense of the word. I’m selfish and impatient. I don’t like relinquishing control. I don’t like to talk about how I feel or my past. I’ll hurt you and you may end up hating me in the end...but I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay in Boston, to stay with me.”

“You haven’t apologized yet, apologized for hurting me like that.” You swallow, watching his jaw set wishing you could just read his mind. It would make this so much easier.

“I’m sorry.” He implores and for the first time you see a side of him you would have not imagined existed. He looks vulnerable, sad and desperate, completely out of character.

“Will you try?” you whisper, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. “It’s one thing to say that you’re terrible at relationships but it’s another to accept it. You put so much energy and commitment into your work, Sam. Are you going to give me at least some of that? Because if you’re not going to try, then there’s no point.”

“I’ll try,” he nods. “I give you my word.”

“Then I’ll stay,” you murmur as his hands cup your face, sliding along either side of your jaw.

He leans down to kiss you, lips meeting gently for the first time. As adept as he is in the bedroom, you wonder if he’s kissed anyone like this since his girlfriend all those years ago. He’s hesitant, the gentle press of his mouth to yours growing more passionate as you slide your tongue forward. That first kiss grows, hands pulling and grabbing, anything to be closer to one another.

He’s naked before you hit the bed, whipping his shirt over his head and stepping out of his pants before he picks up and spreads you over the mattress.  For all the sex you’ve had, all the spanking and groping and sucking, you’ve never felt him like this. The heat and heft of his body take your breath away. This much skin on skin is like a drug as you wrap your legs around his waist, holding him tight as he kisses you long and deep.

His cock is thick and hard, poking your thigh as you whimper and moan underneath him. Your fingernails dig into his back holding on, desperate to have him just like this. You could drown underneath him in this bed and die happy here and now.

You’re both making up for lost time, his mouth sealed to yours as he moans against your lips, pulling back only long enough to suck in a breath before tasting you again.

Spreading your legs wide you watch as he notches of the head of his cock in your pussy. That first push inside makes you gasp as he stretches you open. Your mouth opens wide against his as he slides home, filling you to the root.

“Fuck, Sam,” you whine, fisting one hand in his hair as he strokes in and out, setting an easy pace that’s far from the usual. “You feel so good like this.”

“Gonna make you cum so hard,” he mumbles against your lips. Grabbing a fist full of hair he tugs your head back, slowly pulling your neck taught. “Look at me.”

“I am,” you promise, eyes opening as his cock moves inside you. It’s a full feeling that sends a tingle up your spine and then fans out in all directions. While you can’t orgasm from just this, the stretch of his shaft feels incredible. For a long time, he fucks you just like this, the weight of him pressing you down into the bed, his chest laying over your beasts, and his mouth sealed to your lips.

While he’s not exactly gentle, he’s also not as rough as he has been in the past. His breath is hot as he buries his face in your neck, grunting and panting with every stroke. Tonight is about pleasure and connection and you’re practically humming on every level as the world fades away and only this moment exists.

Sam props himself up on his arms, breathing heavy as he rocks strong and deep. One hand cups your breast, just holding you as you stare up him, his hair hanging down, swinging with the movement of his body. He dips down for one more kiss before lifting himself up enough to wedge his hand between your bodies in search of your clit. His mouth seals shut in concentration as he thrusts steadily, making gentle sweeps over your bud.

It doesn’t take long, you’re already drenched in pleasure and with the addition of his touch, you swell with satisfaction.

“Can I cum?” you pant, mouth falling open as you hold back, waiting for his permission out of sheer force of habit.

“Yes,” he gasps, pressing forward, holding his cock deep and rubbing your clit and you come undone, clenching and pulsing around him.

“Oh God,” is all you can muster, twitching and jerky underneath him.

He knows what you like, you prefer when he keeps his cock buried in your cunt as you cum instead of fucking you through it. It makes everything better, perfectly stuffed and stretched as you pull him inside, muscles tightening with each wave of pleasure.

He waits for you to come back down, letting you fall limp as he picks up the pace fucking you quick in a half dozen hard thrusts before he cums with a series grunts and groans as he fills your pussy, spilling thick and warm until you feel his seed leaking over your ass.

“Fuck,” he groans, collapsing on top of you.

You wrap yourself around him, holding him tight while he’s still inside you. The first time he tries to pull away you don’t let him so he settles between your hips and you kiss and touch each other until you finally release him.

Rolling off you he lies on his back, breath quick with one hand on his chest.

Everything is sticky, not just the mess between your legs but every inch of your skin is covered in sweat, most of it his. It feels claustrophobic, a rising crescendo emerging from somewhere deep inside. It starts as panic in your gut but twists into something else, an overwhelming sadness. An instant snapshot of your own mortality.

You almost died. Other people did. You were this close. So close.

All you can think about is the vast nothingness of not existing. The concept of simply being snuffed out is overwhelming and terrifying. You want to think about Sam, this new stage of your complicated relationship. You’re desperate to focus on the man lying beside you, the person you’ve missed for months who’s just confessed his feelings for you. But all you see in front of your open eyes is the image of Brent with that gun.

An unexpected sob tears from your throat and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise. Sam actually jumps, jerking up into a sitting position as you wail, suddenly in hysterics. The panic returns, tightening your chest as your vision blurs and you roll onto your side, curling into a ball.

“Hey,’ his hand is hesitant, patting your hip. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you blubber, body shaking like a leaf. “I just feel...everything. I can’t breathe.”

“You’re in shock,” he speaks calmly from somewhere above you. He touches you with fleeting hands, out of practice with a gentle touch. “I should have taken you to the hospital. We can go-”

“No,” you sob, reaching out for him. “Just stay here with me. Don’t leave.”

You cling to him, burrowing into his neck as he lies back. His arm hesitating before wrapping around you. This is arguably the most intimate you’ve ever been with each other and it’s the truest test so far. You don’t need a doctor, you need something to ground you, make you feel safe.

And right on cue Sam fills the need as if you’d told him what to do.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispers, a big hand stroking up and down your back. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“People died,” you close your eyes, pressing your nose over his rough five o'clock shadow. “I almost died.”

“But you didn’t.” He reaches down, pulling the blanket up over you both. “And you’re not going to, not for a long time.”

“Are you sure you want this?” You ask softly, fingers curling into the sparse hair of his chest. “All I can think is that you’re going to walk away again.”

“I won't,” he breathes, both arms tightening around you. “Try not to worry about that now. There’s going to be plenty of time for us to talk about this. Just close your eyes and try to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You stare across the room at the open door of his closet, listening to his heartbeat.

“Everything is going to be different now,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs, already on the verge of sleep. “That’s how we move forward.”