#you never even knew about each other until you met

[eddieslunchbox]

desire

summary: you've never been kissed and eddie has been crushing on you since the day you met

18+ [bestfriend!eddie x female!reader]

contains: hurt/comfort, mutual pining, fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, brief mention of alcohol, swearing

word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first time writing for eddie and I'm excited to share him with you! this is very self-indulgent but I hope you like it. please consider reblogging/commenting if you do, my blog is brand new! enjoy ❤

There’s a romantic comedy playing on the television, something you picked up from Family Video for your bi-weekly movie night with Eddie. It was your turn to pick, and after sitting through a terrible slasher film he claimed to love, you wanted to get him back with a movie you didn’t necessarily have interest in, but knew would make him squirm in his seat. 

He grabbed the snacks while you got the movie, and you met up at his trailer after Wayne left for work, the sun setting beyond the horizon and leaving a cold autumn breeze in its place. A routine that had been kept for almost six-months straight.

A bowl of popcorn sat between the two of you, an open bag of sour patch kids resting against your thigh and a half-empty bottle of beer was clasped in Eddie’s hand, resting lazily on his knee where he sat on the opposite side of the sofa. 

You always looked forward to these nights, but today you felt particularly resentful about your choice of film, the two main characters falling in love mere days after meeting. It’s cheesy and cliche, and not all that realistic. You know that. But it makes your chest ache with longing for something you’ve never had. 

And now, unbeknownst to you, you’ve been watching the movie play out with a pout sitting on your face while Eddie has to bite back his smile each time the male protagonist kisses the girl that looks a little like you if he squints hard enough. 

The two of you had been best friends since high school and now you were spending most of your time in college while Eddie worked at an auto shop, which left your get-togethers pushed to the weekends unless one of you showed up at the other's place without warning after a long day. You’d also been crushing on him practically since the day you met, but had kept your feelings to yourself, ignorant to the fact that Eddie also had eyes for you for longer than he was willing to admit to himself. 

You’ve watched him go through a handful of relationships in the time you’ve known him. 

From hearing the disbelief in his voice when he scored a date with Chrissy Cunningham and seeing her hanging off of his arm around school for four months, before you all graduated and she broke it off with a voicemail left on Wayne’s home phone and headed off to university in Indianapolis; to random hookups from his evenings spent at The Hideout that you encountered in awkward meetings when you showed up at his trailer to spend the day with him, finding girls in his clothes sipping coffee that they helped themselves to while Eddie snoozed for another hour. 

Eddie has been your best friend for five years. Six in only a couple of months. And he has been with a total of nine different women. 

Not that you’re counting or anything. 

His relationships never bother you. Not really. But the nagging thought in the back of your mind every time you think about him, was that you haven’t been with anyone. 

You’ve had nothing more than a brief conversation with boys in required discussion groups in college. And other than the frequent hugs you receive from Eddie, the furthest you’ve ever gone with someone was a kiss on the cheek from one of your girlfriends that was slightly too close to the corner of your mouth, and left your body erupting in tingles. 

But Eddie had game. He knew how to make a girl swoon. How to wrap them around his finger and kiss them until they were weak in the knees and red in the face.

You had seen him kiss a handful of times and were ashamed to admit to yourself that you had crawled into your bed with your hand between your thighs more than once, wishing it was you he was kissing and touching and making crumble with one particularly smitten look on his face.

He glances at you when you haven't said a word in over an hour, seeing the frown on your face and the crease between your brows that he desperately wants to smooth over with his thumb. You never had a great poker face, unintentionally putting most of your emotions on display, and he knows you have no idea you’re pouting. 

“Did you run out of candy?” He asks suddenly, making you turn to him, the wrinkle in your forehead deepening in confusion. “You’re grumpy.” 

“I’m not grumpy,” you huff, plucking your aforementioned candy off the sofa and popping one into your mouth. 

Your knees are pulled up to your chest, body leaning away from Eddie with your legs resting against the arm of the sofa. He knows something is up when your eyes don’t return to the movie, lips pursing as you suck on the candy in your mouth and stare at the bag in your hands, pretending to read the ingredients. 

He quietly sets his beer down on the coffee table, moving the barely touched popcorn off of the sofa and clicking pause on the remote, filling the room with silence. You look up at him and he rests his arm on the back of the sofa, the palm of his hand pressing into his cheek. 

“Are you going to keep pouting for the rest of the night, or tell me what’s wrong?” He asks, brow arching in question and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I’m fine,” you mutter, dropping your candy onto the table and bundling your hands together in your lap. 

“You’re a liar, is what you are,” he accuses. 

You sigh, slumping further down into the sofa with your cheek resting on the cushion as you turn to meet his gaze. 

His brown eyes sparkle in the dim light of the room, his usually untamed hair pulled back with a bun at the base of his skull, stray pieces falling softly to frame the sides of his face. He looks pretty. He always does, but your current state of mind has you looking away as your heart skips a beat, gaze falling to his chest which is covered with a well-worn Dio shirt. 

“I want that,” you admit quietly, voice barely audible to yourself. 

“You want what?” He questions, brows furrowing. 

You flicker your eyes over to the television and he turns his head to look at the screen, the film paused on a scene of a girl lounging beside a pool with a fluffy dog in her lap, sipping on a bright purple cocktail. 

“A dog? A pool- or do you want a drink? I can try and make you something but I don’t know what we have…” He trails off in confusion and you sigh, rubbing your hands over your face. 

“Just forget it,” you mumble into your palms before crossing your arms over your stomach and tilting your eyes up to the ceiling. 

Eddie feels clueless as he tries to work out your unspoken desire in his head, gaze shifting around the room until he spots the fictional couple on the cover of the rented VHS tape. 

A lightbulb flicks on in his head. 

“You want someone?” 

Your eyes dart to him quickly enough that he knows he’s right before you give him a subtle nod of your head, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your hands as you feel your face grow hot. 

“You will one day,” he assures you but you just shake your head, that being the last thing you want to hear. 

Eddie knows about your relationship history, or rather, lack thereof, but you never talk about it. So he’s surprised with your next statement, his heart leaping into his throat and the energy in the room shifting. 

“No one has ever found me attractive… or at least not enough to do something about it. It’s hopeless.” 

He keeps a straight face but curls his fingers into a fist at his side, silently cursing himself for never telling you how pretty you really are. He thinks you’re the prettiest and most attractive person he’s ever known, but has never said a word out of fear that you’ll stop being his best friend. 

“It’s not hopeless,” he says quietly. “The guys who haven’t made a move on you are pussies.” 

His partially self-degrading comment was meant to make you laugh, but you don’t. Not even giving him a pitying laugh or a half-forced smile. 

“No one has ever even glanced in my direction,” you say and he frowns. 

“That you’ve seen.” 

“Eddie…” you sigh, unsure of why you start to feel emotion welling up in your chest. 

"Sorry."

“I just… I grew up surrounded by friends who had boyfriends, or flings, or were flirted with- kissed stupid outside of bars or on the bench behind school. And no one-” your words get caught in your chest and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat. “No one has ever even looked at me. Do you know how that feels?”

You look up at him but he doesn’t reply, his eyebrows threading together as he watches you bare your heart to him like this for the first time. 

“To have guys look at everyone around you, but never you? To never have anyone like you enough to say something about it? To… to have maybe had three guy friends who never saw you as anything more, that you haven’t even spoken to in years?” 

You know he doesn’t get it. Not at all. But it doesn’t matter. 

“God, Eddie.” You scrub at your eyes when tears gloss over your vision. “I’ve never even kissed someone,” your voice cracks and falls into a whisper. 

He immediately reaches forward to wrap his hands around your ankles and pull you towards him, swiftly maneuvering you to sit with your legs thrown over his lap and your head buried in his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, running his hand over your waist. You sniffle sadly. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” 

He knows that all of the potentially comforting words forming in his brain won’t make you feel better. Because he doesn’t understand what it’s like to be your age and never kissed. 

You don’t want to hear that it’ll happen one day. You don’t know what you want. 

Maybe comfort isn’t something that words would necessarily give you right now. 

“I know that it’ll probably happen one day but… what if it doesn’t?” You whimper, curling into him as your vulnerability takes over. He holds you tighter to him, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what it feels like to be wanted. I can’t even imagine anyone wanting me. No one ever has.” 

His heart feels like it’s going to crumble into pieces in his chest as he lets you talk out your feelings, his hand gripping your thigh tightly. You’re almost completely perched in his lap, but he can’t focus on how you feel against him when your tears are wetting the collar of his shirt. 

“God I feel fucking pathetic,” you mumble, wiping your hand over your eyes and sitting up. “Sorry.” 

“You’re not pathetic,” he says, making you scoff quietly as you dab at your cheeks with your sleeves, staring down at your lap. “You’re human. It’s pretty human to want to feel desired.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, sniffling back the remainder of your tears and lifting your eyes to find his pretty brown ones staring back at you. 

There’s something different in his gaze now. Something you’ve only seen a few times. Something loving and soft, and so sweet that it makes your breath hitch in your throat. 

Eddie figures that now is as good a time as any to potentially make a complete fool out of himself in an attempt to make you feel better. To make you feel like you’re worthy of being desired. Because god knows he’s been desiring you since the day you accidentally fell into his lap in the cafeteria after being shoved out of the way with a harsh shoulder by some prissy cheerleader on the second day of school.

“You’re beautiful,” he says so quietly that you almost don’t hear him. 

“Eddie…” you mumble, shutting your eyes and moving to climb off of his lap. 

His hand on your thigh tightens and you pause, his eyes tracing delicately over your features. 

“You want someone to look at you,” he says, the corners of his lips quivering in a small smile. “So I’m looking, sweetheart.” 

His eyes flicker down to your lips and you want to say something. To pull away and turn the movie back on, get off of his lap and pretend like you were never there in the first place. But the way he’s looking at you is something you’ve only ever seen him do with his past girlfriends or someone he’s crushing on. Never to you. 

Your cheeks feel warm as he looks at you and you can almost feel his eyes as they trace over your hairline and down the bridge of your nose, past your lips and dropping down to your chest before meeting yours again. Your stomach twists with nerves as his hand leaves your thigh to rest on the side of your neck, his thumb smoothing across the skin of your cheek. 

“Eddie,” your voice is a whisper, heart pounding in your chest. “Stop.” 

He can feel the nerves radiating off of you but he doesn’t move, one of his brows quirking up in question. “What’s wrong?” 

“I-I don’t… I-” you stumble for a reason why you want him to stop looking at you like that. 

You wrack your brain while he sits patiently for an answer, but you quickly understand that you don’t want him to stop. You’re just terrified. 

You don’t have to speak to understand what could happen, with how he’s gazing at you and touching you so softly as if you’ll break under his palms at any second. Holding you in a way he never has before. 

“Please don’t be making one of your stupid jokes right now,” you say, a plea that has his face softening and his thumb brushing across your bottom lip. 

“I’m not joking, baby,” he murmurs, the pet name making your heart stammer in your chest. “You’re gorgeous. And I was too afraid to say anything in case you didn’t feel the same and left because you were uncomfortable around me.” 

You suddenly feel like crying again, a wave of disbelief washing over you as you realize that your best friend and the person you’ve been silently wanting for almost six years wants to give you everything you were just begging for. 

“I could never be uncomfortable around you,” you say and he smiles, hooking his arm around your waist and twisting you so that you’re facing him, your knees pressing into the sofa on either side of his hips. 

“I mean it,” he said and all you can do is nod. 

The position you’ve found yourself in is foreign in more ways than one, but especially with it being Eddie who has put you there. You feel slightly overwhelmed with your shorts riding up on your thighs and your skin cold where the metal of the chain on his belt presses against you. Rough denim scratching softly at your legs and a subtle heat radiating through the fabric that makes you slightly dizzy as you get a whiff of his cologne. 

Your hands are clenched into fists around the fabric of his t-shirt and he can feel your heart racing where his palm is still pressing against the side of your neck. 

“It’s just me, yeah?” He says and you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat. “There’s nothing to be scared of.” 

He knows you need him to make all of the moves right now and he’s okay with it, even despite the way his heartbeat is quickening to catch up with yours. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

His question makes your head spin and your stomach tightens. “I… I’ve never-” 

“I know.” The gentle reassurance that falls from his lips soothes you and you give him another quick nod. 

There’s still a hint of a smile on his face when he leans forward to brush his lips against yours.

He doesn’t kiss you right away, the tip of his nose nudging yours as he pulls back just enough to gauge your reaction. Your eyes are closed and your lips part slightly with a shaky sigh, hands unknowingly pulling the neckline of his shirt down to grasp for any semblance of reality as you sit in his lap. 

He slides his hand to the back of your neck, guiding you forward an inch to meet his mouth, lips slotting against yours. His lips are soft and slightly chapped, and when a strand of his hair brushes against your cheek, you don’t bother to pull away even when it tickles your skin. 

The hand on your neck is a grounding touch and you think you’ve never felt so safe and comfortable in Eddie’s arms before.

He can feel the way you relax into his kiss, your body slumping just enough to rest your chest against his and fingers untangling from his shirt to drop into his lap. You’re not breathing so he pulls away after just a few seconds, lips parting from yours with a quiet click and you immediately take a deep breath through your nose, your eyes fluttering open. 

You think if your brain was working properly, you’d be worried that this was all a ploy for him to get your first kiss out of the way so you’d stop crying, but the only thing floating through your mind is how nice it felt to have his lips on yours. 

His face is close to yours, lashes brushing his cheekbones as he sits with his eyes closed, the hand on your waist sliding down to rest on the top of your thigh. The tip of his tongue pokes out as he wets his lips before exhaling a long breath through his nose, a tiny smirk tugging at his mouth. 

“Shit,” he breathes, squeezing your thigh before tipping his head back to rest on the sofa cushion. “I really can’t believe it took me this long to kiss you.” 

“You mean that?” You fight the urge to bring your hand up to feel your lips, wondering how long you might have to wait to feel his again. 

He peels his eyes open and looks down at you. “You have no idea.”

You feel a smile begin to form on your face and you duck your chin to hide against his chest, fingers still trembling from clutching his shirt so tightly as you lift your arms to slink around his neck. He chuckles and curls his arms around you, tilting his head down and burying his nose in your hair. 

“Don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he says, a shiver running down his spine as you slide your fingers into his hair, loosening the elastic holding it back. 

He doesn’t care about his hair as your nose presses into his neck and your breath warms the skin beneath his shirt. “Did I do alright for your first time?” 

Your face goes flush at his choice of words and he fights back a moan when you press a quick kiss to his neck before lifting your head, unable to hold back the coy grin that sits on your lips. 

You nod and he smiles, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. 

“Yeah? Think it’d be okay if I did it again?” 

“Please,” you say and he wastes no time in kissing you again. 

Your hands blindly tug the elastic band out of his hair, sliding it onto your wrist and tangling your fingers into the mess of curls at his neck. His lips drag over yours in lingering kisses that make your stomach twist with heat, tasting a hint of the candy he was munching on earlier in the evening. 

You’re consumed by the new sensation of his lips moving against yours and the frizzy curls hooked around your fingers, the thick of your thighs resting on his own with a silent invitation to scooch your hips a little closer to his if you wanted to. 

Eddie is kissing you. Keeping his advances small but addicting, pushing back a smile each time he feels you chase his lips when he pulls back. You can’t get enough. 

So you don’t really notice when he relaxes back against the sofa, resting his hands on your soft thighs with his fingers dipping just below the edge of your shorts. You let out a quiet noise against his lips as your chest comes to rest on his, your arm getting trapped beneath his shoulder and the cushion. His nails press softly into your skin at how pleased you sound, his arms erupting in goosebumps when you unintentionally tug at his hair. 

You’ve been letting out quiet gasps between every kiss he plants on your mouth, your lungs stinging in your chest, yet reluctant to pull away. It’s only when you feel the tip of his tongue nudge against your bottom lip that you pull back, resting your forehead on his and panting to catch your breath. 

“Too much?” He mumbles, sliding his hands over your skin. 

“Not at all,” you breathe, swallowing hard and letting out a soft laugh. “I just couldn’t breathe.” 

Eddie smiles, tilting his chin forward to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. You lift your head and your eyes instantly fall to his lips, now slightly swollen and a darker shade of pink. 

It’s hard for you to think straight, to wrap your head around the fact that you just had your first kiss, and second, and third, and fourth… all with Eddie who is looking at you now like you hung the moon just for him. 

As much as your insecurity is wanting to take you away from this moment, you know that he isn’t that good of a liar, and if he really didn’t want you like this in at least some capacity, you’d be able to see it in his eyes. But all you can see is the sweet, loving gaze of your best friend as he lets you settle, no matter that all he can think about now is kissing you stupid for the rest of the night. 

You’ve gotten further than you ever thought you’d get and you mindlessly pull the tangles in his hair apart, wetting your lips and taking a deep breath. “I like you, Eds. A lot.” 

You figured he might make a teasing comment at your admission, but he just smirks and lets his eyes fall closed as you play with his hair. “I like you too, sweetheart. Have for way too long.” 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and slide your hands from his hair to drag down his chest, his stomach twitching beneath your innocent touch. 

“Do you want to keep watching your movie?” He asks, glancing at you and you shake your head. “You sure?” 

You think this is the happiest you’ve ever been, and Eddie feels the same- just happy that he could be the one to make you feel truly wanted for the first time. He wishes you would’ve confided in him about your lack of romance earlier in your friendship so you wouldn’t have missed out on so many years silently pining for one another. But he thinks this will do just fine.

“I want to keep doing this,” you quietly admit and he lets out a soft groan as he brings his hands up to his face. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me…” He drops his hands to his sides. “Wanna get comfy in my room then?”

He chuckles at your eager nod, patting your thighs and moving to sit up. “Hop up then, baby. We can clean up later.” 

You get up and he follows suit, grabbing your hand and interlacing your fingers to drag you down the hallway with an urgency that makes you laugh the entire way into his bedroom.

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 04

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, bad words, drug addiction, betrayal, mentions of abuse.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Richmond, Virginia, February 12, 2015.

In dreams, life shaped itself at your will; that was the privilege of staying asleep. In them, you didn’t have to think about how you’d get by alone the next day. Problems didn’t exist when you could idealize a world where they couldn’t touch you. In your room, you were just you, and the demons were nothing more than tenants under your bed.

Demons you weren’t afraid of because you knew that the people in the real world could be worse than anything imaginary trying to haunt you.

Gradually, the river you swam in descended as if being sucked into a whirlpool, and the forest trees around you lost their leaves, which vanished into the air. The echoes of birds and the sound of the current faded when the water no longer touched your skin.

But something still weighed down on your body.

Your airway grew increasingly restricted by the pressure around your neck, and your eyes bulged in desperation as you suddenly opened them, jerking your body upright. It took exactly two seconds to process what was happening as you slept, pushing him away and curling up in your sheets, your nails clawing at the fabric in panic.

Seth, your mother’s boyfriend, erased the dreamscape the moment he forced himself upon you. In your chest, turbulence rocked your heart as you watched the man rise from the floor like a shadow.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t like it?” he sneered, stepping toward you with deliberate slowness, his belt buckle making noise each time it clinked against itself. “If it was that bad, you would’ve woken up a little sooner.”

The air in the room was so dense you could almost touch it, and you curled up tighter in a futile attempt to form a protective cocoon. Your movements were frozen, your joints stiff with shock. At that moment, one thought echoed in your mind: What if this wasn’t the first time? How many other times had he carefully invaded your dreams without disturbing the scenery?

A scream burst from your throat as Seth dragged you by the leg to the edge of the bed. He positioned himself between your legs, and your screams became muffled until your voice dwindled to a rasp. You had never felt so powerless before, reduced to something as fragile as paper in the face of your vulnerability, tears burning your cheeks.

Between his pauses, you tried to struggle, only to realize that wasn’t the wisest choice. Seth had twice your strength, and even though the smell of alcohol lingered in his breath, he remained in control.

When a spark of lucidity seemed to ignite in your brain, it reminded you that you’d always been a damned survivor since the world spat you out and forced you to live in it. Giving up was never an option.

“Keep breathing,” you told yourself in your mind.

You allowed Seth to get distracted while he adjusted himself, slowly reaching your free hand toward the nightstand. Your eyes glared at him with fury—the same fury that propelled you to grab hold of the lamp and smash it against his head, releasing all your pent-up rage.

As Seth lay on the floor, dazed and clutching his bleeding head, you wrapped yourself in the sheet and bolted for the bedroom door. The frantic pace of your heartbeat, as fast as a Formula 1 car, froze instantly when you met your mother in the hallway.

“Mom!” you exhaled, running into her arms. Her embrace didn’t come. She remained stiff, and you felt only her cold touch as she raised her hand.

The sheet had a bloodstain, and as you looked down, you saw that the same stain came from your star-patterned shorts. Tears choking your throat, you turned your attention to her, meeting her apathetic expression.

“Mom, Seth…” you began, your voice trembling. Something about saying it out loud felt shameful, making your body overheat. “Seth hurt me, and…”

Your words were cut off by the sharp sting of a slap across your face, the impact knocking you back. As your hand touched your cheek, you felt something warm mingling with your tears—it was blood. The ring your mother wore on her middle finger had split the skin.

“Cursed be the bearer of sin,” she growled, advancing toward you as you stumbled backward. “Damned for all your life!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Get out of my house!” your mother shouted, pointing toward the stairs. “I won’t raise a filthy creature like you in this holy home!”

“Mom, you need to listen to what I’m trying to tell you!” Your throat might have torn with the force you used to plead your case, but it was useless to her. “This isn’t the first time Seth’s done this, damn it! LISTEN TO ME!”

In a sudden burst of rage, she turned and stormed into her room, ignoring Seth, who groaned in pain beside the bed. Grabbing the first bag she saw, she stuffed it with random clothes in a rush. After zipping it shut, she threw it at you, yanked you by the arm, and ignored your cries of pain as you stumbled along.

“Never again do I want to see you cross this house’s path! Disappear with your profane body from our lives!”

“Mom!”

Accompanied by the shame she always mentioned sinners carried, as she liked to put it, you stood alone in disgrace outside the place you once called home.

At the back of the house, you managed to find a way to change clothes without being seen.

Jeans, a tank top, and boots.

Your stomach was growling with hunger, and it wouldn’t take long before the consequences of speaking too much caught up with you. Perhaps, if you had stayed silent like you always did when you felt his hands linger too long during his so-called affection, or when he insisted you sit on his lap, or all those disgusting looks he threw your way, you might still have a home—a place to sleep and take shelter from the rain.

That was the song half of your brain tried to convince the other was the right choice.

But it never would be.

When you found a warm place to sleep, maybe you’d allow yourself the opportunity to cry, but for now, during the day, you wouldn’t grant yourself such a display of weakness.

At Pearl’s bar, the atmosphere was mellow so early in the day. A few guys were drinking, others chatting with some girls leaning against the counter. When you sat down, you ordered a shot.

Two. Three. Four shots.

Pearl knew you well; you had some familiarity, having lived in the same neighborhood for many years, and she didn’t seem to care that you didn’t have a way to pay for it.

“Looks like someone needs a break, huh?” she joked, pulling the glass from your hand. “You’re not one to drink like this. Would it be too bold of me to ask what happened?”

“Would it be rude of me not to want to talk about it?” you replied, and she nodded empathetically.

“Fair enough. Then I’ll keep you company; it’s slow here anyway,” she shrugged, pouring two glasses of booze. “Can you believe the guy who used to sing here every night just vanished? My dad is freaking out. Our business is already awful, and now we’ve got no live music.”

After finishing your shot, you stared at her for a few seconds. Pearl raised her thick, red eyebrows, unsure of why you had paused. If your voice was good enough was a curious question; you hadn’t sung in a while, and your mom always said your singing style attracted bad things and that it was best to keep quiet.

But you really needed the $60 they paid per night.

It was simple—you’d sing for two nights, save up enough for a ticket, disappear from this place, and never set foot there again.

“Pearl…” you began, tracing the rim of the glass with your finger. “I think I have an idea.”

Six songs. You still couldn’t believe people might actually enjoy the sound of your voice, much less clap for it. Pearl was beaming, saying twice during the breaks that business had picked up, and the bar was abuzz about the new singer.

It created a strange sensation at the pit of your stomach.

“Thank you so much!” you said, trying to hold back a silly smile as you adjusted the old, out-of-tune guitar on your lap. It was from the bar’s storage, and you couldn’t expect much from the dusty instruments they kept there.

“Do you take song requests?” a voice called out from the back of the bar, loud enough for you to hear. From afar, all you could see was a male silhouette, playing with the ends of his long hair.

“Sure,” you said hesitantly into the mic.

“I want to hear Black by Pearl Jam, but there’s one condition,” he said, lifting his head. Meeting his eyes, even from a distance, made your skin burn.

“And what’s the condition?” you asked, the challenge evident in your tone.

“You have to let me sing it with you.”

The bar went wild with the supposed challenge from the mysterious customer who, not getting a response from you, rose from his seat. Tall, with a few tattoos visible beneath his long-sleeved shirt, and a disturbingly defiant smile that grew as he stepped closer.

Once he took a spot beside you, he let you keep the guitar, took another microphone, and when the music started, he locked his eyes on you. It was impossible not to mirror him. Your fingers stayed on the guitar, your voice never strayed from the lyrics, even though you were mesmerized by what was unfolding in front of you.

He didn’t sing with force; his voice was soft and acoustic, easy on the ears. When combined with yours, it felt almost surreal, like the union of two pieces lost until that moment.

It was as if embers were dancing across your skin. A smile escaped both your lips after the chorus, and he seemed to feel it too — as though his voice had finally been completed. No deity, no matter how powerful, could explain such a peculiar twist of fate.

Applause and whistles filled the room as the final note faded. You thanked the audience with a nod and noticed from the corner of your eye that he was still there, standing in the same spot, looking awestruck like a foolish creature.

“You don’t sing half bad…” you teased, putting the guitar back in its place. Around you, the crowd returned to their drinks and conversations after the performance.

“You’re really good,” he murmured, spinning his chair to face you. “How have I never heard your voice here before?”

“Well, I wasn’t desperate for money before,” you replied with a shrug, earning a laugh and a nod from him.

Something shifted in his gaze, and the smile vanished almost instantly when he noticed the bruise on your face. Pearl had cleaned the area, but the mark left by the ring was still visible. He stood up slowly, narrowing his eyes as if to confirm what he was seeing. “Who did this to you?”

His long fingers were determined to touch your face, but in a reflex of self-preservation, you slapped his hand away. Another smile appeared on his perfectly shaped lips, his teeth aligned and gleaming white.

He understood in a snap, without you needing to say a word.

“Hey, calm down, little storm! I didn’t mean to touch you without your permission,” he said, raising his hands in the air as a gesture of surrender. “Let’s start over, okay?”

Still wary, like a cat recently threatened with a bucket of water, you nodded. Slowly, he took a step forward, keeping a safe distance. With care, he extended his hand toward you.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Noah.”

[goblinontour]

Obsession With Death

part 2 | series masterlist

sickness or just human nature?

warnings: mentions of death, implied age gap, intercourse, exhibitionism, daddy’s back, inappropriateness

word count: 6.9k

Obsessed.  

It wasn’t an easy word for him to come to, much less admit. He’d never been one to dwell – well, he was but not like this, not to the point of ruin. But for days — days — you’d been stuck in his head, stitched into the fabric of his thoughts like a stray thread he couldn’t unravel.  

From the moment you’d walked away that first evening, your shape lingered behind his eyes. In the hours that stretched between dusk and dawn, when sleep came grudgingly and with little solace, you were there. And when morning dragged him back into the haze of routine, it was as though you’d never left.  

It’s only a crush, he tried to tell himself. It’ll go away. It’s just like all the others.  

But that was a lie. There were no others, not really. Or if there had been, none of them lingered in his chest the way you did, pressing against his ribs like something trying to claw its way out. Maybe this wasn’t a crush at all. Maybe it was danger.  

He knew it. But you didn’t.  

At first, he prayed it away, kneeling in the spaces between gravestones, the dirt still caked beneath his fingernails. He tried to will it smaller, to clip its wings before it took flight. But whatever this was — it grew.  

It consumed him slowly, a creeping vine winding its way through his thoughts. By the time he realised how deep it had taken root, it was too late. It was the way you moved, the way your voice wavered, the way you leaned into him on the hill like trust had been inevitable, like he hadn’t even had to ask for it.  

Every day he told himself, at the right place, the right time. That was how these things worked.  

Maybe tonight, he thought each evening, his chest tight with anticipation that never seemed to find its release.  

But the days stretched long, and the nights heavier still, and the right moment never came.  

Until it did.  

He wasn’t ready when he saw you again. He should have been. He’d told himself a thousand times to prepare for the moment, to practise how he’d act if you returned, if you dared step back through the gates.  

And yet, when you did, he froze.  

The sight of you felt like a slap to the chest, like breath pulled too sharply through his lungs. He didn’t expect it to feel like this — like fright.  

You walked in slowly, almost cautiously, like you weren’t entirely sure you belonged here. But you came anyway. He watched from the shadows, from the edge of the path, his body rooted in place as his mind swirled.  

What were you doing here again? What had brought you back to him?  

He prayed for something to say, some easy line to carry him through the moment. But his thoughts spiralled, and his hands felt like someone else’s, twitching by his sides.  

You didn’t see him at first. Not yet. But the way the dying light caught the outline of your face, the way your breath hung faintly in the chilled air — it undid him all over again. He thought about running, about disappearing into the rows of tombstones before you spotted him. But he stayed.  

He stayed because you had come back, and that had to mean something. Even if he didn’t know what yet. Even if it scared him more than he cared to admit.

“I can hear you this time, Alexander.” you called out, your voice cutting through the quiet like a soft blade.  

To his disadvantage, the leaves had fallen dry to the ground, betraying the faint carefulness of his steps. They rustled with every subtle shift, giving him away. You’d been ready this time — alert, listening.  

He didn’t answer right away, but when he wanted you to see him, he made it known. Stepping from behind a nearby tree, he was met with your gaze, and the smile on his face seemed involuntary, almost sheepish. When he noticed the faint curl of your lips in return, something in his shoulders eased.  

“Got me.” he said, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. His voice carried that dry, self-effacing humour, but his eyes told another story. They lifted from the ground to meet yours, and you caught something hanging there — something you almost wanted to call shyness.  

“Always here.” you muttered.  

“Surprised?” he asked, shifting his weight to lean against the tree nearest him. It stood at the perfect midpoint between the two of you, a deliberate placement that felt calculated. He might’ve come closer, if not for the way he wanted you to come to him. So badly it almost ached.  

“Not at all.” you said, stepping toward him. “You’re much more predictable than one would think.”  

“Really?” he asked, the faintest hint of genuine surprise colouring his tone.  

It wasn’t a challenge. He didn’t believe you — not fully — but he didn’t seem offended either. There was no sting in his words, no edge. Instead, he seemed…amused. Like he might let you be right, just this once, even if you weren’t. Like he might let you think you’d figured him out.  

For now.  

“Well, you’re-” you started, only to be cut off by him.  

“Always here.” he said, finishing your thought as his lips curved upward into something sly, knowing.  

You laughed lightly, just a soft breath of sound, and kept moving closer. The space between you felt fragile, as though neither of you wanted to close it too quickly, to risk breaking whatever strange rhythm you’d found yourselves in.  

“And why are you always here?” you asked, stopping just shy of him.  

“Why are you?” he countered, tilting his head slightly, his gaze flicking over your face like he might find the answer written there.  

You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, not to silence you but to pause you.  

“No, don’t answer that.” he said. “Not yet.”  

The weight of his words settled over the moment, heavy but not unwelcome. You wondered if he was asking for your silence or your patience. 

He leaned forward just slightly, the barest tilt of his body, enough to catch the faint chill of your breath in the air between you.  

“Maybe it’s the same reason.” he added, his voice softer now, almost careful.  

The same reason.  

His words stayed with you, even as the rest of the cemetery seemed to fall away, and you couldn’t decide if the thought was thrilling or terrifying. Maybe both.

You stilled before leaning closer, and the world seemed to follow suit, freezing in a moment suspended between what was and what could be. Alexander barely breathed, his body wound tight like a string pulled taut, vibrating faintly with an energy he was struggling to contain.  

Your hand — fingers chilled and trembling — brushed against the wool of his coat before landing on his shoulder, tentative but firm enough to hold your balance. A lifeline, or so you pretended, though you both knew the truth. He flinched — not away from you but within himself, the muscles beneath his skin jumping at the contact. For a moment, you wondered if you’d startled him, but no — he wanted this. He wanted it too much, and that was what unnerved him.  

He caught himself, of course, but you saw it. And he saw you see it. It was pointless to pretend now, but the pretence only made the moment heavier, more dangerous.  

His breath hitched again, catching on something deeper, and you felt it pass over your cheek as the cold air curled between you both. The atmosphere pressed in from all sides, close and heavy, as though the cemetery itself was holding its breath, watching, waiting.  

Your breath drifted upward as though summoned by the closeness, soft and visible in the chilled air, and he could feel the warmth of it mingling with the cold that clung to his skin. You leaned even closer, close enough now that he could see the faint dampness gathered under your nose, the faint condensation, a telltale sign of the biting temperature. The detail startled him with its intimacy. It was so small, so human, and yet it felt monumental in this moment.  

His eyes caught on it, lingered there as though to anchor himself, but it wasn’t enough. His gaze fell, unbidden, to your lips. The crack in the armour he’d tried so hard to maintain. He didn’t want to look. He knew once he let himself, he’d fall. There’d be no stopping it.  

Still, he looked.  

And there it was — his undoing.  

They were dry, cracked at the edges, with faint lines of redness where the winter air had worn at them. He noticed the faintest trace of dried blood there, too, caught in the creases of your lower lip like the aftermath of a small wound, so subtle it seemed almost imagined. Had you picked at them? Had the cold done this to you, or had your own hands contributed? Perhaps the former had caused the latter. The thought stirred something sharp in him, something protective and possessive all at once.  

You tilted forward, and your noses barely grazed, the faintest brush of skin, and it was like touching an exposed wire. His chest tightened, his breath snagged, and he couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped him — a mirror to your own. The sound mingled in the air like a single breath shared between two bodies.   

The sound of your gasp was the end of him. He wanted to pull away, to stop this before it became too much, but he couldn’t. Instead, he swayed closer, as though drawn by a force he didn’t fully understand. The faintest traces of your breath warmed his skin, and he swore he could taste it already. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, the phantom of your presence lingering on it. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He wanted more.

Your lashes trembled faintly, blinking in the space between his skin and yours. He could feel them brushing against him like whispers, fragile and fleeting. Your eyes held something unreadable that made his stomach twist in ways he couldn’t name.  

Everything around you seemed to fade into a haze. The trees stood still, their bare branches scratching against the dim grey sky like veins on pale skin. The ground beneath you felt solid but distant and the crunch of dead leaves underfoot muffled, irrelevant. 

“Please.” you whispered, and the word shattered the moment.  

It hit him like a jolt, a crack of electricity splitting the air between you. His eyes fluttered shut, as though closing them might lessen the weight of what you’d just said. But it didn’t. If anything, it made it heavier, more visceral. He felt it sink into his chest, nestling there like a seed he couldn’t uproot.  

Your lashes brushed against his again, and it was maddening, the soft flicker of them against his skin. It was almost cruel, the way you seemed to lean in, barely moving yet pulling him closer all the same.  

He should resist.

He told himself this, over and over, even as his resolve crumbled.  

“Pleasure is an art of resistance.” he murmured, his voice low and frayed, so quiet it barely escaped his lips. He didn’t dare speak louder. Not here, not with the possibility of unseen ears or spirits lingering in the periphery. If they existed, he didn’t want them interrupting now. Not now. Not ever.  

He didn’t know why he said it — perhaps to remind himself, perhaps to warn you. But it sounded hollow, even to him.  

“Is it, Alexander?” you asked, your voice soft and steady, though the tilt of your head brought your mouth so close to his that he could feel the shape of your words against him.  

His body trembled faintly, every muscle locked in place, as though moving even an inch might shatter him. His lips parted, not to speak but simply to breathe, to take in the faint, intoxicating warmth of your proximity.  

“It’s hard to resist sometimes.” he admitted, a confession torn from some deep, hidden place.  

“Then don’t.” you whispered, sinking into him and pulling him forward, letting the words fall directly into his mouth. 

And he didn’t.  

His lips brushed yours, tentative at first, like testing the edge of something sharp, unsure if it would cut. But the softness of it undid him completely. There was nothing cold about you, nothing distant. You were heat and breath and something wild that burned through the frost lingering on his skin.  

The world fell away entirely. There were no trees, no gravestones, no brittle leaves — just the faint, undeniable press of you against him. Just the sound of your breaths mingling, the electric pull between you that he had fought for so long but could no longer resist.  

And he thought, in that moment, that perhaps resistance had never been the point at all. 

The moment your giggle broke the stillness, it cracked something open between you — something both electric and unsettling. It wasn’t loud, your laugh, but it was enough to remind him of the world beyond the thin veil you’d created. You pressed your face against the collar of his coat, nuzzling into the rough fabric like a cat seeking warmth, your nose brushing against his throat with every shift. He shivered at the contact, but he didn’t move. He didn’t know how to move.  

He felt your breath seeping through the layers, warming his skin beneath, and his pulse thrummed in response. It was as if your touch was slowly rewiring him, reconfiguring what it meant to exist in his body. He swallowed hard, uncertain what to do with himself, until instinct took over.  

His hand found yours, tentative at first, his fingers brushing against your knuckles like he wasn’t sure they were allowed to be there. Then he intertwined them, threading his fingers through yours with a deliberate pressure. Your palms warmed each other almost instantly, and it was such a simple gesture, yet it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  

“Come with me.” he said suddenly, his voice firm but low, the words carrying an urgency that felt out of place in the quiet. He didn’t give you time to hesitate, to question him, though his pace was slow enough to ensure you kept up.  

He walked like a man who knew exactly where he was going, though his steps were measured. His grip on your hand tightened briefly as if to anchor himself to you, to be certain you wouldn’t slip away before he could allow it.  

You could sense the shift before you understood it — the way the air grew heavier, the way his silence seemed to stretch taut like a thread on the verge of snapping. His steps slowed, the deliberate cadence faltering. You glanced sideways, catching the faint crease in his brow, the tension in the set of his jaw.  

“What is it?” you asked, the words softer than you intended, as though trying not to disturb whatever was unravelling in his mind.  

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze moved ahead, past you, drawn to something unseen yet inevitable. It was like watching someone step over the edge of a precipice.  

“Have you ever noticed,” he began, his voice quiet, almost contemplative, “how some names linger in your head like a melody you can’t shake? Not because you want to remember, but because forgetting feels impossible.”  

The question wasn’t for you, but it hung between you like frost, delicate and threatening to crack.  

You didn’t respond, unsure of whether he wanted an answer. He took another step forward, then stopped. His hand rose, brushing along the edge of a tree trunk as if grounding himself to the present moment.  

“It’s strange.” he continued, his tone darkening. “How a place like this makes you feel closer to something — someone — and yet further away all at once.”  

You frowned, unsure of where he was going. “I suppose,” you replied carefully, “it depends on who you’re here for.”  

His eyes met yours then, sharp and searching. “Does it? Or does it just depend on what you can live with?”  

You wanted to ask what he meant, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t seeking answers — he was seeking something else entirely.  

And then he stopped, completely still. The clarity of the moment hit you like a jolt as your gaze followed his.  

You stood in front of it — the name etched into the weathered stone as familiar to you as your own reflection.  

“Do you miss him?” Alexander’s voice broke the stillness, as though the question wasn’t one that could shatter you.

Your gaze lingered on the stone, the name, the years carved there like a timeline you didn’t want to acknowledge. “Why-”  

“Do you?” he insisted, cutting you off.  

You turned to him, confusion and something sharper flickering across your face. He shifted, his boots scuffing the ground until the tips of them touched yours. He blocked your view of the gravestone, his hands sliding down to catch yours by the fingertips.  

“Sometimes.” you admitted. “Less now.”  

“Interesting.” he said simply, his head tilting as if he were cataloguing the information, filing it away for some unknown purpose.  

Your brows furrowed. “How is that interesting?”  

“I’ve always been interested in how what we can see and what we can’t see plays with our psyche and perception.” he said, his tone thoughtful, almost detached. “Barriers to gratification unlock the mind in a new way.”  

“What are you trying to say, Alexander?” you asked, your tone sharpening.  

You didn’t wait for his response. Instead, you pushed forward, your knee knocking into his, forcing him to take a step back. The motion caught him off guard, and he stumbled until he was sitting on the cold concrete of the raised plot.  

The wind picked up, tugging at your skirt as you stepped closer. The hem danced just beneath his nose, and he caught the faintest trace of your scent — something warm and almost sweet. He leaned back on his arms, trying to regain some semblance of control, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on the way your stockings stretched over your knees as you bent down. The fabric framed the barest hint of skin above them, a teasing glimpse that made his breath hitch.  

You climbed over him, settling onto his lap with a confidence that made his pulse pound in his ears. His gaze flicked upward, catching the glint in your eye, the knowing curve of your lips.  

“That you’re interesting.” he managed to say, remembering to answer your question, his voice low and strained.  

You smirked faintly, leaning in until your face was inches from his. “I’m just a girl with daddy issues.” you said, your tone laced with irony, but the truth beneath it wasn’t lost on either of you.  

His eyes flicked to the stone right behind, then back to your face. “Don’t you think it’s disrespectful? On your daddy’s grave?”  

He wasn’t sure where the words came from, but they were barely more than a breath, spoken into the curve of your neck as your hips shifted against him.  

And then it hit him — this was bad. Not the act itself, though the taste of wrongness lingered faintly in the back of his mind, mixing with the sweetness of you. No, what was bad was the fact that he wanted this too much. Wanted you too much.  

At first, it was simple — a small, flickering crush, like the faintest ember. Harmless. Something he could let burn out if he ignored it long enough. But now…now, it wasn’t a crush. Now it was like. Heavy and burning and uncontrollable, clawing its way up his chest and tightening its grip around him, making his pulse race every time you so much as shifted closer.  

He wanted you, that much was undeniable, but it was the kind of want that made him feel crazy, like his mind was coming undone in your presence. He wanted to do things to you, for you, things he shouldn’t let himself think about in a place like this, but he couldn’t stop. His thoughts spiralled faster than he could pull them back, and each one left him dizzier than the last.  

Your scent, the faint rasp in your voice, the way you tilted your head just enough to give him a sliver more of your neck — it was making him lose his grip on whatever composure he’d managed to hold onto before this moment.  

It wasn’t just physical. It couldn’t be. If it were, he could’ve brushed it off, left it behind in the cemetery along with every other moment of fleeting desire. But you weren’t fleeting. You were lingering, like the cold in the air, seeping into his skin and filling the cracks he didn’t even know he had.  

You tilted your head back slightly, your lips parting just enough to let out the softest gasp, and he swore his chest caved in.  

This was bad, he thought again. Bad, but too bad he didn’t care. Not anymore.

His hands, which had been braced against the concrete, moved instinctively to your thighs, his fingers pressing against the thick fabric of your stockings.  

“Maybe.” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a soft, dangerous thing. “But maybe not.”  

And in that moment, nothing else existed — just you, the weight of you against him, the press of your bodies and the unrelenting pull between you that neither of you could deny. 

The cold air bit at the exposed parts of your skin, but it couldn’t touch the heat building between you. Alexander’s hands lingered on your thighs, his fingers curling slightly into your flesh. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, each one a struggle to steady himself.  

“I could get up.” you teased, the corner of your mouth quirking into a faint smile. “If it’s too disrespectful for you, Alexander.”  

His gaze darted to yours, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Do you want to?”  

Your laugh was soft, almost breathless. “No. I don’t think I do.”  

“Then don’t.” His voice was quieter now, less steady, though his fingers betrayed him by pressing a little harder into your thighs. You leaned in closer, your nose brushing against his cheek. Intoxicating, like the moment before a storm.  

“Do you always think about what’s respectful?” you asked, your breath ghosting against his skin.  

His eyes flicked upward, meeting yours with a sharpness that made your heart stutter. “Not always.”  

“No?”  

“Not when I’m with you.”  

The confession lingered between you, weighty and unspoken in all the times before now. You tilted your head, considering him, and he looked back at you like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen, like he couldn’t decide whether to study you or let you consume him.  

“You don’t seem the type to care about rules.” you teased, fingers tracing the edge of his coat collar, testing the waters.

He tsk-ed softly, the sound carrying a mix of amusement and reprimand. “Now that’s where you’re wrong, love.” he said, tilting his head. “I’m very strict about rules.”  

“Not all.” you countered. “Obviously.”  

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, though the ghost of a smile played on his mouth. “I care about some.” he admitted, his voice tightening, edged with a restraint he was fighting to maintain. “But you…you make me forget them.”  

Your chest brushed against his as you leaned in closer, close enough to see the flicker of something in his eyes – something wild, barely contained. “And what happens when you forget?”  

His breath hitched, the tension between you taut. “I don’t know.” he whispered. “That’s what scares me.” 

You didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension ripple through his body beneath you. His hands tightened instinctively, moving up just slightly, fingers brushing over the edge of your skirt where fabric met skin.  

“Scares you?” you repeated, your voice soft but teasing. “You don’t seem scared now.”  

“I’m good at hiding it.”  

“Show me.”  

The challenge hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he exhaled shakily, leaning forward until his forehead pressed against yours. The gesture was intimate, almost tender, and it made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t sure you liked.  

“I can’t.” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur.  

“Can’t what?”  

“Show you what scares me.” His eyes opened, meeting yours, and they were endless. “Not yet.”  

You let out a soft hum of acknowledgement, your fingers finding his and guiding his hand up to rest against your waist. “I’m not scared of you, you know.” you said, your tone light, but there was an edge of truth that made it land heavier.  “Should I?”  

His thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles against your waist. “No…maybe,” he admitted, “but not for the reasons you think.”  

You shifted again, leaning back slightly, enough to let your weight press into his legs. The concrete beneath him was cold and unforgiving, but he barely noticed it. His focus was entirely on you — the way your eyes watched him, the way your lips parted just enough to invite him closer.  

“Tell me something real.” you said, your tone suddenly more serious.  

“What do you want to know?”  

“Why you’re always here.”  

He hesitated, his grip on you tightening slightly before loosening again. “I don’t know.” he said after a moment. “It feels like…like this place is the only thing that makes sense sometimes.”  

“And me?”  

“You don’t make sense.” he said quietly. “But I don’t need you to.”  

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. Your lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, you leaned in again, your forehead brushing against his as your fingers found their way to the back of his neck.  

“You’re strange, Alexander.” you whispered.  

“And you’re trouble.” he replied, his voice low, almost a growl.  

“Maybe we’re both.”  

“Maybe we are.” he admitted. His eyes stayed on yours, steady, calculating, but less guarded.  

The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but charged. Then he spoke again, his voice quieter, almost pensive, like he was voicing a thought he hadn’t meant to share.  

“Sexuality is powerful,” he said, his gaze flicking downward for a second, before locking onto you again, “and difficult. Morally ambiguous. Rarely easy or safe.”  

You tilted your head slightly, considering him, and then asked, “It’s just a sexual reaction?”  

He studied you for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching, as if he was weighing whether to answer you honestly. “You and me?”  

You nodded, feeling something twist and coil in your stomach as you waited for him to respond.  

“That’s…” he began, his voice dropping lower, rougher, like gravel sliding over silk. “Animal attraction.”  

“Yeah?” you asked, the word slipping out of you, softer than you intended, like a challenge laced with curiosity.  

He paused, his lips parting as if to say something else, but then he shook his head slightly, leaning forward, closer than ever before. “You can shut up now.” 

Before you could respond — or disobey — he closed the remaining distance, his mouth capturing yours in a way that left no room for questions, only answers whispered through the heat between you.

His hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and the motion sent a shiver up your spine. You let out a soft sound against his lips, and it was all the encouragement he needed to deepen the kiss, his other hand threading through your hair as though trying to memorise the feel of it.  

He let the strands curl between his fingers, pulling just enough to draw a gasp from you. The noise unravelled him further, and his grip tightened for a moment before he forced himself to stop, his breath uneven as he tugged lightly instead, teasing the edge of his own restraint.  

“You want me to fuck you here?” he whispered against your ear, the words raw and low, sending a spark through you.  

Your nod came fast, almost desperate, as you melted into his touch. His hold shifted, steadying you, his hand slipping from your back to your throat. His fingers curled around it like a collar, possessive but not cruel, applying just enough pressure for you to feel his strength and his control.  

“Do you want me to be your Daddy?” he asked, tilting your head back until your eyes locked with his. There was no escaping him, no escaping the intensity in his gaze or the sheer weight of the moment. He was everywhere, consuming every piece of you.  

“Please.” you whimpered, your voice trembling as it escaped, the sound vibrating against the palm of his hand.  

He felt it — felt the shiver in your tone, the fragility in your plea — and something inside him shifted. He let out a soft, dark chuckle, his thumb brushing over your jaw.  

“I can be your Daddy.” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, soft enough to contradict the roughness of his grip on you. The contrast made your knees feel weak, but his hold kept you steady. Kept you his.

The tension between you seemed to hold the entire world still, time itself pausing to watch. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he added, “But if I am, you’re mine.” 

His free hand drifted to your hip, the rough pads of his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. He guided you against him, letting you feel how much control he was losing, how much he wanted to lose it.

“Say it again.” he demanded, his voice more forceful now, less a suggestion and more a command.

“Please, Daddy.” you whispered, a soft plea that sent a surge of heat through him, making him bite down on his own restraint.

“Good girl.” he growled, and his lips crashed against yours again, rougher this time, more desperate, as though every kiss, every touch was sealing the words you’d exchanged in something far darker than a promise.

“Fuck, I need you.” he said, his voice breaking as though the admission cost him.  

“Show me how bad.” you whispered, your breath shaky, barely audible.  

His eyes darkened further, a flicker of something feral flashing across his face. “Get on your knees.” he ordered, sliding out from beneath you.  

You obeyed without hesitation, sinking to the cold, unforgiving concrete. The loose gravel bit into the bare skin of your knees through the stockings, but you didn’t care. His hands were already on you, pulling your skirt up, exposing the flushed skin underneath. You felt the sting of the cold air, but it was fleeting, because his touch followed, hot and insistent.  

Your heart thundered in your chest as one of his hands moved to tug your panties aside, the fabric stretched taut against your skin. The other worked quickly, fumbling with his belt, the clink of metal sharp in the still air. His zipper hissed as it came undone, and then his pants were lowered in haste.  

There was no pause, no hesitation. He pushed into you all at once, a sudden, overwhelming invasion that knocked the air from your lungs. You gasped, a sharp, desperate sound that echoed faintly around you. 

“That’s it.” he groaned, his voice thick with want. “Take it all for me, princess.”

Deeper. He pushed deeper, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. Your knees scraped against the concrete as he pulled you back onto him, setting a punishing rhythm that left no room for thought, only feeling.  

You dropped further, your forearms pressing into the cold as your body yielded to him completely. He seemed to take it as permission, his hips snapping harder, his breathing ragged. Somehow, impossibly, he sank deeper still, the stretch of him almost unbearable, almost.  

He paused for a moment, stilling inside you, his chest heaving against your back. You felt the heat of his breath on your neck, but it was drowned out by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.  

Something wet dripped beneath you, darkening the grey concrete. You blinked, trying to make sense of it — drool, tears? It didn’t matter. Your face was too cold, too numb to tell where the wetness was coming from, but the sensation of him inside you burned hot enough to block out the chill.  

“You’re perfect.” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice low and reverent as his fingers dug into your hips again. He started moving once more, slower this time, like he wanted to brand the feeling of you into his very bones.  

He shifted, his knee pressing firmly onto the grave ledger, unbothered by the risk of scuffing his trousers. His hips rolled, steady and deliberate, and you felt every ridge and vein of his cock dragging against your walls. The sensation was overwhelming, electrifying. He hissed through his teeth, his grip tightening.  

Reaching forward, he caught your wrist, guiding your hand back to your own body. “Hold yourself open for me.” he ordered, his voice low, raw, each word laced with possession. He pressed your palm against the soft curve of your ass, forcing you to pull yourself apart. His eyes darkened as he stared, transfixed by the sight of himself disappearing into you, again and again, his thrusts deep and unrelenting.  

“Fuck-” he groaned, his words roughened by desire, his gaze glued to where your bodies joined. His movements became harder, more erratic, driven by the wet, obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin — hips against yours, balls slapping against your soaked pussy. The sharp cadence of it echoed in the cold stillness, a lewd symphony that made your stomach tighten and your legs tremble.  

The intensity built faster than either of you expected. You gasped, trying to shift forward, to pull away even slightly, but his grip was iron.  

“No, no-” he groaned, the sound almost desperate, his voice breaking with need. His hands caught your wrist again, both of them wrapping around it, his fingers engulfing it completely. Your hand looked so small, so fragile in his grasp, and the sight sent a new wave of hunger coursing through him.  

“You’re not going anywhere.” he growled, pulling your hips back toward him, sinking deeper, harder. “You hear me? You’re staying right here, taking everything I give you.”  

You whimpered, and the sound only spurred him on, his hips snapping forward with a force that left you breathless. His control frayed with every thrust, every cry you made, his nails pressing into your skin, leaving half-moon imprints as he held you steady.  

“Look at you.” he rasped, his voice full of dark admiration. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”  

You nodded, barely able to form words, your body pliant and trembling under his relentless pace.  

“Say it.” he demanded, his voice sharp now, desperate, as though he needed to hear it, to solidify the bond between you in this moment.  

“I’m yours-” you managed, breath hitching. “Yours, Alexander.”  

The last fragile thread of restraint snapped. Whatever boundaries might have existed between you dissolved completely, leaving nothing but raw need in their place. He moved faster, harder, until your chest slammed against the cold, hard surface beneath you. The impact sent a dull ache spreading through your body, but it was quickly drowned out by the intensity of his presence — his hips slamming into you, his hand claiming your mouth.  

“Shh…” he murmured into your ear, pressing his lips against the curve of it as his palm muffled the sounds spilling from you. “Quiet, princess. Let me hear it. Let me hear how wet you are for me.” 

Your muffled cries were swallowed by the graveyard silence, but the obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into you were deafening. His hand covered your lips tightly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. The other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he buried himself deeper with every thrust.  

“You hear that?” he rasped, his voice low and hoarse, more to himself than to you. “That’s you, soaking me. Taking me. Every. Fucking. Inch.”  

You whimpered against his hand, the vibrations travelling through his palm and shooting straight to his core. The sound drove him crazy, made him lose control, made his hips snap forward faster and harder, chasing the feeling of your body clenching around him.  

“I can feel you shaking.” he growled, his lips brushing against your temple. “You like this, don’t you? You like being used like this?”  

You tried to nod, but his hand kept your head pressed down. Instead, you whimpered again, and he chuckled darkly.  

“Say it.” he demanded, pulling his hand away just enough to let you speak.  

“I-” you gasped. “I love it. I love the way you feel.”  

He groaned, his head falling forward until his forehead rested against your shoulder. “Fuck, you drive me insane.”  

His free hand left your hip, sliding up your stomach and under your shirt to palm your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. “So soft,” he muttered, as if the sensation overwhelmed him. “So fucking perfect.”  

You clenched around him at his words, and he cursed, his pace faltering for a moment before he recovered, thrusting into you even harder.  

“Al-” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his hand slid down, pressing against your stomach, holding you in place as he drove into you.  

“I’ve got you.” he said, his voice rough and possessive. “You don’t go anywhere. You don’t get to pull away. You’re mine.”  

You turned your head slightly, enough to meet his eyes, dark and burning with something primal. “Yours.”

He cursed again, leaning down to bite at your shoulder, his teeth sharp even through the thickness of the barriers. “Say it louder.” he demanded, his voice barely controlled.  

“Yours.” you cried, louder this time, and it was all he needed to lose himself completely. His grip tightened on you, his movements growing erratic as he chased the release building between you, pulling you with him into the abyss.

The shiver that ran through your body had nothing to do with the cold anymore. It was from him — his touch, his voice, his weight pressing into you. Every part of him surrounded you, consumed you. When he felt you tighten around him, his control finally gave way.  

“Come on, come on Daddy’s cock.” he muttered, his voice breaking into a rasp as he moved with deliberate, devastating slowness now. “Just like that- shit-”  

Then came the stillness. Blissfully thundering toward death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. An inexplicable poetry to the moment, as he buried himself fully inside you. You felt him tremble against your back, his breath hot on your neck. His hands, once so demanding and possessive, now softened their grip on your body, lingering reverently. His body tensed, every muscle trembling as he let himself go, spilling into you with a groan that sounded like surrender.  

“Stay still.” he commanded, his voice softer but still firm, his hands keeping you in place as his chest pressed against your back. He lowered himself over you, wrapping you in his warmth.

“Okay.” you whispered, though your voice cracked, rough — whether from the cold or from the aftermath of your cries, you couldn’t tell.  

One of his hands slid under your cheek, cradling it gently, cushioning it from the hard surface beneath you, as if it had suddenly become intolerable for him. The gesture was tender, almost jarringly so after the intensity of everything else.

“Close your eyes.” he murmured. His words were a request, not an order. There was a softness now, something stripped raw and quiet in him. He stayed inside you, unwilling to move, unwilling to let go. His body still pressed against yours, his arms bracing you, holding you close.  

“You’re so lovely,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. His lips found your hair, pressing against it softly, an excuse to inhale your scent, to keep you closer than he’d ever thought he’d need to.  

His hand smoothed over your hair, tracing the curve of your jaw before resting on your shoulder. “Stay with me a little longer.” he added, almost pleading. You understood.

You nodded against his hand, the tension in your body melting under the warmth of his. 

“Do you feel safe?” he asked finally, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.  

“Yes.” you whispered, barely audible but enough for him to hear.  

He sighed, a sound heavy with relief and something else — something you couldn’t quite place. Then he pressed another kiss to the crown of your head, lingering there as though reluctant to part from you, even for a moment.  

“You make me crazy.” he muttered against your hair, and though it sounded like a complaint, the warmth in his voice betrayed him.  

“I think I like it.” you replied, your lips curving into the faintest smile.  

“Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head just enough to catch your eyes when you opened them.  

“Yeah.” you murmured, and his smile mirrored yours, soft and secret, meant only for you. 

a/n: Heavily based on the She Wants Revenge songs in the playlist, you can tell :) I think the smut went a bit too long, but I still have a hard time knowing how much to describe things. Like, I want to make sure you can envision exactly what I had in my mind. And yes it ends a bit abruptly, I guess, but I think it’s a good point. The birds will return in the next part. And it won’t come as fast as this part because I haven’t even started it, but I don’t have self control so I’m just going to post this one and go with it.

[megumishousewife]

Gojo's Pussy Pink Lips

Description: Gojo gets the day off to be with you, his lovely wife as he reflect on how much you mean to him. As well as annoying you

A/N: I might do a part two if this does well. There's a little bit of smut in here towards the end. Thank youuu!!!

Gojo was surprised when Yaga gave him a day for himself. As the strongest sorcerer, you always gotta be light on your feet and ready for the next call because you will never truly know when you gotta save Japan or the world. Gojo was about to leave Yaga’s office so he could make his rounds to his students that class is canceled when, but his boss obviously had to make a smart remark.

Yaga yelled behind him, “Make sure to do something with that beautiful wife of yours. I can’t believe she married someone like you.” Gojo groaned at Yaga’s comment, but he isn’t far from the truth. Gojo was a lot of things: annoying, hard-headed, egotistic. You were the opposite and he still doesn’t know how he managed to find such an intelligent, gentle, and well-minded woman as yourself. Gojo thought about how thankful he was for you he dazed off while driving.

He met you in Kyoto when the two of you were in high school. Gojo was out in Kyoto, looking for the spot that Yaga told him had suspicious activity, but you and Utahime were already on the scene since it was the Kyoto’s branch area. Utahime scolded him for coming when she was supposed to be helping the rookie (you) with executing curses. Gojo still walked up to the second floor of the building, joining the two of you.

Utahime screamed, “Gojo, what the hell are you even doing here?!” 

Gojo smiled, “Yaga didn’t mention anything about the Kyoto branch taking up this mission so I was sent over. He must have gotten word back last minute but I can stay just in case you weaklings can’t handle it.”

Utahime continued bickering in the dark hallway with Gojo, but they didn’t even notice that you had gone missing until they heard clashing and banging from the door down the hallway. They stood quietly, wondering what you have gotten yourself into. Gojo had already turned limitless when he entered the building just in case things went south. Gojo left Utahime down on the far end of the hallway, taking long strides over to the door. He ignored Utahime yelling at him for leaving her, but just as he was about to open the door, you breezed right past him and went straight to your partner. 

“Utahime, I exercised the curse. It seemed to have been a human at one point and had some connections to this building, but I made sure to cleanse the room and I already did the rest of the building when I was looking around earlier.”

Utahime gasped,”Wow, you’re better than I thought! The Kyoto division is proud to have you on our team. Gojo?”

Gojo still stood on the end of the hallway by the door, still shocked that you even ignored his presence. Coming back to reality, he turned back and went over to introduce himself.

“Sorry I didn’t greet you earlier! Gojo Satoru, Tokyo division and not to mention the strongest.”

He seemed to be flirting with you but you dismissed him with your cold expression and short greeting.

“Name’s Y/N, pleasure to meet you.”

You turned on your heels and walked away to the stairs and Gojo was left in shock again. He only interacted with you once and he loved it. Maybe it was because of your cold and aloof attitude or because you weren’t swooned over by his good looks. Gojo also admired that you were fresh to this new life of yours and you handled business all on your own. He knew he had to know more about you. After months of begging Utahime and Shoko for your number (yall all had a gc with each other), they agreed to set him up on a date with you as long as Gojo didn’t act like an asshole. 

You waited for him at a cafe in a short floral dress and he was taken aback. You dressed differently than your attitude but maybe it’s because you two met on a mission. You smiled warmly at him and handed him a menu when he sat down.

“Hi, Gojo. I heard you liked sweets so I made sure to pick this cafe because they make the best desserts. I’m  ready to order whenever you are,” You said in the nicest voice.

Gojo thought that he had to win you over but you caught him first. The way your voice was as smooth as butter but sweeter than honey made him want to melt in his seat. The two of you ended up ordering the same thing and just laughed at the strange convenience. You guys hit it off pretty well and he didn’t even have to ask you for another date because you texted him when you got back to your dorms about the upcoming fair and you’ve grown closer to him ever since. By the end of your 1st year at Kyoto, you and Gojo started dating. He fell for your kind hearted personality as well as your perspective on the world and having deep connections with others. You made Gojo realize that he doesn’t have to close off his heart from everyone. When he lost Suguru twice, to them splitting and death, you were his shoulder to lean on when he had to cry. You reminded Gojo that he was still human despite what the sorcerer world has to say. He even appreciated your patience for him still holding a spot in the jujutsu world while you sat out until Tokyo or Kyoto needed your services. Gojo also loved how gentle you were with Megumi when he was younger, noticing that the boy and his step sister opened up to you a lot more because they saw Gojo as an annoying uncle. Even as a teenager, Megumi will come to you if something is deeply troubling him (or Gojo pissed him off again).

His phone buzzed as he was taken out of his deep thoughts, seeing the call was from you and he picked up immediately.

“Hey honey, are you break right now? I can come up there and we can eat together,” your soft voice came over the speaker. 

“Actually, I’m on my way home right now. Yaga gave me the day off.”

You smiled, “Ah, that’s great! I was just making that mochi you wanted so bad and we can just stay in the house today. You deserve this.”

“I should be home in 10 minutes, look sexy for me,” he said.

“You’re insufferable.” 

You hung up the phone and began to make the mochi that Gojo has been whining to you about eating for the past few weeks. It’s the least you can do since you only get to see him on the weekends if he didn’t get an important call. You sat your wedding ring in the counter and began kneading the mochi dough while watching a movie you had on the tv. After finishing kneading, you covered your dough and sat down to watch the movie because you were starting to get deep into the plot. You almost didn’t hear the door open, but you did hear your loud mouth husband yell when he saw you.

“MY DEAREST Y/N, IT’S BEEN AGES SINCE WE SAW EACH OTHER!” 

He ran over to kiss you, but you swatted at him.

“You act like dogs when they greet their owners when they come home.”

You gave him a quick peck, but ended up turning into a longer kiss than anticipated. Gojo laid across the couch in your living room, allowing your soft hands to run across his face as he told you about his students, but something felt missing. 

He shot up, “My sweetest little mochi, let me see your hands.”

“You and this weird nickname. What is wrong with my hands?”

You still held up your hands for him and he gasped at the missing spot on your ring finger.

He wailed, “Are you trying to tell me something? WHO IS HE?”

“Gojo. stop being a big baby. I love you very much and I would never do what you’re implying. My ring is in the kitchen, I didn’t want it to get sticky because of the dough I was making for you.”

You kissed him on the cheek and made your way to the kitchen to make the filling he requested as well. Your whiny husband followed you into the kitchen, standing behind you as you assembled the mochi balls. After making your first one, you held it up for him to eat and he took it with his mouth. You rolled your eyes and finished making the rest of them. Once completed, you took a plate of them with you to your bedroom and put the rest in the fridge. You waved your finger for Gojo to follow and of course, he wasn’t too far behind you. You sat on the bed and he laid on his respected side as you fed him so mochi you already bit off from.

“I made dinner reservations at 7, but I have a request for what I want you to wear,” Gojo said with his mouth full.

You smacked his arm, “I thought we were staying in! I could have cooked here. And it’s already 5:30, now I have to get ready fast.”

“Okay, Nara Smith but you were basically drooling over that restaurant you passed after a mission so I wanted to take you. Now, my dress request for tonight is the one that I bought you for our second wedding anniversary. The black one with the slit on the side.”

You ignored his comment and went to the bathroom where your walk-in closet was. On your side, you went towards the back where all your formal dresses were and grabbed the dress Gojo described. In the mirror in the middle of the closet, you held the dress up to your figure and sighed. You felt as though you put on extra weight so Gojo might not see the same woman he saw those years ago, but you would still wear the dress, knowing it would still make your husband happy. You took a shower while Gojo contemplated what suit would match your silk dress. You wrapped your towel around you and saw your husband in a black dress shirt and black slacks. He actually took his blindfold off and replaced it with his signature glasses.

“If you saw me…standing outside your door, licking my lips and then say ‘Ma’am, you look like you need some di-’,

“I see you took that musty ass blindfold off. Put it in the laundry basket,” you counter him.

If nothing can hurt Gojo Satoru, that would be a lie. The thing that can hurt him the most is his wife’s rude comments. He went out the bathroom, defeated as you began to slip your dress on and put on your earrings. Gojo reappeared in the mirror when you were putting on your lip gloss and lotion.

He spoke in a soft, feminine voice, “My husband and I are eating out at dinner today because we both have the day off. I must say, my husband looks striking as usual.”

“Gojo, I am not Nara Smith! If I was, I would poison your food everyday. You do have Lucky’s eyes though.”

“You know, Nobara said the same thing but she said he looks better.”

He stepped behind you in the mirror and caressed your body, feeling the smooth fabric over your curves. The perfume you used was the one he had bought for your birthday and he was tempted to just throw you on the bed and fuck you enough for you to forget about reservations. 

You chuckled, “Are all those years of you making me try new desserts with you catching up on me?”

Gojo leaned down to kiss your neck, “I would still love you no matter what you looked like.”

He flipped you around and lifted you onto the sink. Slotting himself between your legs, the passionate kisses had you ready to gasp for air. Gojo stuck his tongue in your mouth, swirling his with yours, making your head go woozy. You pulled him away and looked at him with a flushed face.

You gasped, “I know where this is going and you’re going to make us late.”

He ignored you and carried you over to the bed anyways. Plopping you in the middle of the bed, he opened your legs and slid off your panties. Gojo looked at his watch on his wrist before bringing his face close enough to where you can feel his breath on your clit. He looked up at you and smiled.

“I have an hour to do what I want, but I already know you’re going to be begging for more. So what’s it gonna be?”

Your answer was tears streaming down your face while Gojo devoured your pussy, ignoring your hand tugging on his white locks. Now you’re sitting across from Gojo at the restaurant, looking at his glossy lips, knowing your juices are still covering them.  

[sapphic-kpop-fics]

i miss you (Park Jihyo x Reader)

Angst with happy ending , smut

Was going to post this yesterday but I got sick again (or well I got worse after I felt better) but here we are! That being said I wrote this in a sick ish blur so if it’s not good I’m so sorry it was a fever dream writing it.

Your girlfriend Jihyo wasn’t always distant, even with her busy schedule of performances and recordings she still found a way to make time for you, more time than she had probably but then her solo debut came around and that changed.

Missed texts, calls, dinners, pretty much everything was met with a “I’m sorry baby, practice is running late”. She left the house before you woke up, and got home after you were in bed most days, though she was attentive and caring the few times you see each other, constant affection as usual.

Tonight was no different than the last how ever many, it was seven in the evening and you had cooked dinner for the two of you as she had promised she would be home in time and she was so stressed, it’s the least you can do for the love of your life.

Of course you trusted her words when she said she’d be on time, even if that was the naive thing to do, but now she was an hour late than she agreed to and you were sat on your couch drinking the wine that was meant for dinner. Then you get a phone call.

*Incoming call*

Hyo❤️‍🔥

You sit up fast, placing your wine glass on the coffee table before answering.

“Hyo, is everything okay?” You answer, “where are you?”

“Hey baby.” She starts, you can tell it’s not good news from her tone, the way she putting fake happiness in her voice.

“You’re not coming, are you?”, Disappointments laced every one of your words.

“I’m sorry love, they want to extend rehearsal for a couple hours.” You can hear the guilt seeping into her apology, “I have to stay since it’s you know my song, so I’ll have to miss dinner and I’ll be back late.”

You let out an amused huff, figures, how could you think tonight was any different than usual.

“Right.” You pause, looking at the made dinner on the table that is now cold and her wine glass that is still full, a couple candles scattered around, flowers sitting in the center waiting to be gifted to Jihyo,tears welling up in your eyes.

“I’m really sor-“

“It’s fine. Really.” Your voice breaks slightly, almost unnoticeable except for the fact that Jihyo knows every little thing about you especially when you’re not okay.

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Jihyo it’s okay, I’ll see you later.”

She knew it wasn’t okay, from your shaky voice to the fact that you called her “Jihyo” instead of “Hyo” or some other sweet pet name but she decided not to push while in front her band members.

“Okay, I love you-“

Jihyo can barely get the words out before you hang up, teary eyed glancing once again at the set dinner table with full plates, the sink with dishes from your couple hours of cooking.

Deciding to leave everything where it is, you head back to the couch and pick the wine glass up once again, sitting there until your girlfriend got home which was about three hours later.

You hear the door unlock and close, her keys being thrown onto the table by the door, and her heavy bag hitting the floor before she walks into the living room you’re in. She finds you sitting, watching some movie or more so dissociating while staring at the screen, empty wine glass in hand with the bottle on the table not empty but close to it.

“Baby..” she says, it’s quiet like she’s scared.

You don’t answer you just look at her, eyes watery and red from crying, tears stained your shirt.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.”

No answer again.

“Let me make it up to you.”

The only noise you make is a little chuckle, a familiar promise of her making it up to you that she has been making for weeks but never followed through.

“Did you eat?” She asks, quieter than before if possible.

“Does it look like I did?” You bitterly ask while waving your hand at the dinner table in the other room.

Jihyo’s eyes follow your hand, seeing the full untouched plates with a full wine glass, then she see the flowers and candles which causes her eyes to fill with guilty tears.

“Oh..” it comes out as a choked whisper, “I’m so sorry.” She finally walks over to you, getting on her knees in front of you and placing her hands on your knees, “I really wanted to be here, but rehearsal-“

She can’t finish her sentence before you’re pushing her hands off of you and standing up to go into the dining room.

“Can you stop making excuses Jihyo?” It comes out louder than expected, as you speak you start picking up the plates to throw the food away but she puts a hand on your wrist before you can get to the trash can.

“Don’t throw it out.”

“Really? You’re going to eat the dinner I made 5 hours ago? now?”

“Maybe, if it makes you feel better.” Jihyo can feel herself getting irritated after the long day of rehearsal, she knows she shouldn’t be seeing as she’s the one hurting you.

“I don’t think it will.” Before you throw the plates in the trash, admittedly harder than necessary, the both of them shattering when they land.

“Hey! can we just talk? Instead of throwing things” she says exasperated at the new angry behavior of yours.

“Jihyo, I’ve been wanting to talk. For weeks. And you were nowhere to be found.”

“I’ve been here every night.”

“Yeah when I’m already asleep. And then you leave before I even wake up. When should I talk to you during those times? Huh?”

“Baby you know how my job is, the schedules-“

“Yeah i do. And I know i agreed to dealing with it but… I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”

“You do know me, I’m the same person as I’ve always been.”

“No, Jihyo, you’re not.” A pause. “When’s the last time we went on a date?” Tears filled your eyes again.

“I-I don’t know, a week ago?” She stuttered, taken aback by the sudden questioning.

“3. 3 weeks ago. When’s the last time you ate a dinner I made you while it was still hot?”

“I- I don’t know.” She looks at the ground in shame.

“Exactly.” You try walking to the door.

“W-“

“No. I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore.” Turning back to face her.

“Please, baby. Let’s talk about this.” She goes to grab your hands which you quickly pull away as you walk in the other direction, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Go ahead. You have 5 minutes.”

“Wh- are you serious? 5 minutes?“ The shock leaves her face as she sees the serious look on your face, “I know I’ve been distant, and truly I am so sorry. I know my job isn’t an excuse but you have to understand I can’t exactly say no to staying longer or canceling schedules.”

“That’s not ev- the problem is that when you don’t have a schedule you’re nowhere to be found.”

“Because I’m tired, y/n. It’s exhausting sometimes to do what I do.”

“Too tired for me?”

“That’s not what i meant.”

There’s silence as you look as her, contemplating your next words.

“Maybe we should break up.”

“Wh- what? N-no.” Panic fills Jihyo as you speak, nausea taking over her body.

“Hyo, I don’t know if I can do this anymore, barely seeing you when you have a comeback and when you don’t, you’re on tour.”

“But-“

“You’re losing me Jihyo. You being gone all the time, it hurts. I just want you to be around more but you can’t do that.”

“I’ll do better. I’ll make them cancel some rehearsal days, bring you on tour with me, anything. I mean I’ll even take a hiatus.”

“You’d do that?”

“If it meant keeping you.” She was genuine, in all the years you’d known her you had grown to distinguish when she wasn’t being truthful, “Please, give me another chance.” She grabs your hands, this time slowly but you don’t pull away this time which ignites a hope in Jihyo.

“Fine. Maybe not a hiatus but-“

She cuts you off with a kiss, hands going to your face, it was soft and sweet, her love being translated through it.

“I love you.” Her eyes staring into yours, hands still on your cheeks, “I’ll do better. As a matter of fact, I’m going take tomorrow off.”

“Can you even do that?” You ask shocked, but a smile returns to your face.

“I mean, I am the idol, what are they gonna do without me? And they can’t fire me, I’m too valuable.”

You push her away playfully at the last part but she’s quick to grab your hands and pull you into her.

“How can i make it up to you?”

“Well, in general a lot, but just tonight? You can start by doing the dishes and then maybe joining me in the bedroom?” Your eyes are mischievous and suggestive as you look at her.

“Can’t we just skip to the bedroom part?” She pouts as she looks at the dishes in the sink and on the stove from the day.

“If you don’t do them, there will be no bedroom part.” You answer as she push her off you and towards the sink.

“Come onnnn”

You keep walking as she pouts heading to your shared room, deciding on skin care and changing to waste the time.

As you’re standing in front of your dresser, only wearing a pair of sweatpants, a voice from behind you appears.

“I think putting on clothes is kinda pointless.” Jihyo rasps out, as you meet her eyes in the mirror on your dresser they’re dark with blown pupils and staring directly at your bare chest.

“I have eyes you know.” At which she shifts her gaze up to make eye contact, a playful smirk on her face. But you do slide your sweatpants off onto the floor causing your girlfriend to smile.

“And I love those too.” She says walking behind you to wrap her arms around your waist, head on your shoulder with her mouth next to your ear, “but.. I’ve just missed touching you so much.” You feel her lips press into your neck and leaving a few marks as her hands glide up to squeeze your chest, fingers pinching your nipples, lips moving down to your shoulder before making eye contact with you, “Why don’t you go lay down for me pretty girl?” A soft dominance wafting off of her, you of course follow her orders immediately laying on the bed and spreading your legs slightly to show the growing wet spot on your underwear. Jihyo just stands at the end of the bed, staring at you with her lower lip between her teeth, eyes slowly moving from your face down your body almost lost in the sight of you, a minute passes before you speak.

“…Hyo?”

“Hm.”

“Are you going to stop staring and join me or?”

A blush spreads across her face before a smirk takes over.

“Sorry for admiring my absolutely gorgeous girlfriend.” She teases as she finally gets on the bed and climbs up to hover over you, hers eyes shining with love and once again staring you down as she studied your face for the millionth time in your relationship. You try interrupting her stares by leaning in to kiss her but she playfully pulls away, “I’m not done looking.” A hand goes to rest on your cheek.

“Hyo, I love you so much, but if you don’t touch me after today then I’m making you sleep outside.”

“Going to kick me out of my own house that I pay for?” She smiles but that goes away when she sees the quirk of your eyebrow that tells her you’re dead serious, causing her to capture your lips in a passionate kiss her tongue swiping at your lips begging to be let in which you part your lips letting her tangle her tongue with yours before pulling away and biting your bottom lip bring it with her before letting it go saliva still connecting you and looking at you, eyes darker than before.

She moves her lips to your jaw leaving light kisses, moving to your neck where she starts leaving marks. One hand squeezing your thigh, the other sliding from your hip to your chest.

“Hyo.” You whimper out.

“I know baby, let me take care of you.”

The kisses and marks move down to your collarbones and chest, she wraps her lips around your nipple while her hand attended the other one. After your chest is littered in purple marks and little bites her hand goes to your underwear feeling the wetness and rubbing you through the fabric making you gasp and rut up into her.

“So needy. You’re so wet baby, miss me that bad?”

“Please.”

Her kissing continues down your stomach until she reaches the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down slowly making sure to leave a feathery kiss on every inch of new skin that showed, worshiping your body with her loving kisses. Reaching your knees she finally pulls your underwear all the way down and throws them to the floor, returning to her original place her face hovering over yours and you can feel the light touch of her lips on yours as she speaks again.

“I’m going to use my fingers first so I can see how much you missed me, okay?”

“Whatever you want.”

Her hand that rested on your thigh moved to your center, rubbing small circles at first. Small whimpers come out of your mouth as you close your eyes, truthfully you hadn’t really had sex that wasn’t a quickie in a green room for a performance in weeks so even her light touch had you close to finishing.

“Wait.” You say which causes her to stop and worry, “You know, you’re fully clothed…”

“Uh huh..” she says a smile on her lips, her fingers going back to making small circles on your clit now that she knows you’re not uncomfortable.

“And I am not. I don’t think that’s fair.” You can barely talk as she moves her fingers, but you get out the words even if they’re shaky. You didn’t want to tell her the real reason you wanted her clothes off is because you loved the sight of your nail marks and scratches on her back the next morning, you would trace them with your fingers as she laid down or in the shower.

Jihyo makes a show of sitting up on her heels and pulling her baggy shirt over her head, too slowly you think, her abs showing from her countless hours of rehearsals and her earlier workout. Then she unclips her bra and takes it off just as slowly, she leaves her sweatpants on though as she settles herself back, two fingers immediately going back to where they were but soon slid down to enter you agonizingly slow and were unmoving when fully inside, her thumb working circles on your clit.

“Don’t tease” Your voice is breathless and almost a whimper as you look at her heavy lidded eyes, “please.”

“Anything you want baby.” Her fingers move inside you as she speaks, the pace going from 0-100 almost instantly, after all she did promise to make up for her behavior so who was she to deny you, your playful threat of leaving her in the driveway for the night for not listening to you still present in her mind.

“Fuck.”

“Feel good pretty girl?” Her lips brush on your ear, and her warm breath causes shivers down your spine.

“So good.” It’s more of a whine than actual words.

The feeling of her fingers inside of you is dizzying, vision a bit blurred, all of your thoughts consumed by her.

“You’re doing so good. Taking my fingers so well.”

The words alone makes you tighten around her, wetness dripping onto the sheet below. You thought you were already close but then she angles her fingers up just right and it feels like you’re on fire, you hands grip her back nails digging into her skin dragging down to her waist where you pull her closer to you if possible.

“I’m so close.”

“Let go baby. You deserve it.” She whispers before kissing you but pulls away as you reach your orgasm, she just can’t miss the noises you make for her.

Your vision is white as you reach your peak, back arching off the bed and into your girlfriend’s chest, nails digging into her skin again as you moan loud enough for the whole world to hear. Jihyo’s fingers don’t stop moving inside you until you whine and put your hand on her wrist. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until she speaks again.

“Breathe baby.” A light chuckle falling from her lips while she strokes your cheek with her thumb, “are you okay?”

“More than okay.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?”

“Actually I think you might have to do a redo on that apology.”

“Oh yeah?” Jihyo’s eyes shined as she looked down at you

“Mm.”

“I think I can do that.” Before she retreats underneath the blanket with her head between your thighs.

She ended up apologizing about 3 more times that night before you were satisfied, but Jihyo didn’t mind as long as she had her girl.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 25/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3 (current chapter)

Read on AO3 (from beginning)

Tommy knew he should be more worried than he was.

He could almost hear Sal screaming at him that he was being an idiot, could picture Lucy’s disappointed face as she asked him what the hell he was thinking.

He’d known Evan was a powerful witch, even taking his banishment into account. That had been obvious from the start. But Evan had admitted that there was more to it than just the fact that he was from an old and powerful coven line. He was quite literally twice as powerful as any of the other witches in his coven—had absorbed his brother’s magic in a ritual that was so forbidden, the few people who knew about it thought it would destroy their entire coven if it got out that Evan’s parents had used it.

Mmhmm, the scary powerful witch whose family obviously knows how to use dark magic, who you just watched thrall three vampires at once, says he cast a spell when he was ten that just happened to link you two together. That doesn’t sound fucking suspicious to you, Tommy boy?!

Even in Tommy’s head, Sal was kind of an asshole.

But he wouldn’t necessarily be wrong in wanting Tommy to be suspicious. It was suspicious. He’d be a fool not to be suspicious…and Tommy had not lived as long as he had by being a fool. And yet…

And yet.

The fear in Evan’s eyes, the horrified regret—Tommy didn’t think Evan could have been faking that. There had been no lie in his heartbeat, only dread and panic.

He stood there, his hand resting on Evan’s chest, right over the thickened, pink skin of a scar that was identical to the one that Tommy had carried on his body since he was human. Evan couldn’t have known that. There was no way Evan could have known that. His witch’s skin was surprisingly smooth and soft, so warm that it made Tommy’s teeth ache anew, even with the power of more of Evan’s blood coursing through him. Evan was staring at him with a beautiful, aching trust in his eyes, a hint of disbelief in them, as though he still couldn’t understand why Tommy wasn’t running away from this. Away from him.

How long had it been since Evan had someone he could trust in his life? How long had it been since anyone had stood by his side the way Tommy so desperately wanted to?

Feeling the gentle rise and fall of his witch’s chest, listening to the conviction in his words when he promised that he belonged to Tommy just as much as Tommy belonged to him, Tommy found he didn’t care if it was a spell that had brought him to this point. The path didn’t matter if the destination was this: this man, looking at him like Tommy was something wonderful, something that he wanted and treasured; this man, giving himself over to Tommy, and taking all that Tommy offered in return. His witch—perfect for him in every way. His beautiful, beautiful witch—who he was perfect for.

His every instinct had been screaming at him to protect this man, stay by this man’s side, and never let anything separate them from the moment he’d laid eyes on him. It was madness. It was stupidity. It was dangerous.

Or perhaps it was just his body and heart recognizing what his mind hadn’t realized at the time.

He splayed his hand more firmly across the scar that bound them, that marked them as belonging to each other, his other hand coming up to cradle his witch’s jaw.

The kiss was sweeter this time, less hungry, less hurried. Evan met him halfway, his lips parting with a sigh as he reached up to sling his arm around Tommy’s neck, pulling them closer. Tommy swore he could feel the connection between them, a tether binding them together, a tie that was always going to bring Evan here, to him.

To where he belonged.

To where they belonged.

He was tempted to just sling his arm around Evan’s waist and hoist him over to the bed…spend the next few hours exploring his witch the way he wanted to, get his hands and tongue and teeth all over every part of Evan until he knew him the way he craved. But no. No. Reluctantly, he pulled back, smiling when Evan chased his lips with an audible whine.

“The hell you stopping for?” Evan panted, his pupils blown wide, his cheeks flushed delightfully pink.

“Cause like hell is the first time I get to do everything I want to you going to be in a cheap motel while people are trying to kill us.”

Evan pouted. Honest-to-God pouted. “I’ve had worse.”

Tommy had to kiss him again, though he kept it short and chaste. “You deserve better.”

The look of surprise that flashed across Evan’s face before it settled into something unbearably soft made Tommy’s heart hurt a little. But then he let his head fall back against the wall behind him with a soft thump. “Well…okay then, guess we better both fucking live through this.”

Evan smirked at him as he slid his hand out from under his witch’s shirt and stepped back, clearly seeing how difficult it was for Tommy to do so. He sobered quickly, though, running a hand through his hair as he walked over to the table and scooped the ledger he’d found in Greenway’s house up. “We should probably see if there’s anything we can use in this,” he said.

Tommy settled on the end of the bed as Evan sat down at the table. “Are you sure you don’t want to lie down for a little while? I can go through that while you sleep.”

Evan shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t actually feel that bad,” he said, a faintly puzzled frown furrowing his brow before it disappeared. “I mean—I’m going to need food soon, but other than that I think I’m good for a while.”

“All right, but let me know,” Tommy conceded. He was still concerned about the amount of magic Evan had been wielding, not to mention the (mild, admittedly) blood loss, but if his witch said he was all right, there was no reason to doubt him.

Evan hummed in acknowledgment, cocking his head to one side as he ran his fingers around the edges of the ledger, murmuring a spell. His fingers glowed with white light and lines of magic suddenly ran across the cover of the book in fractal patterns, like cracking ice.

“What was that?”

“Locking hex,” Evan answered absently. “Pretty good one—but those don’t really hold up well after the witch that set them dies. Covens used to use them to keep other witches from going through our spellbooks…but it would kind of suck if Grandpa dying meant no one could access the family spells and history.”

The ledger fell open in Evan’s hands and he set it out on the table in front of him, tilting it so that Tommy could see better. The first few pages appeared to be some kind of journal dated from several years ago—mostly Greenway detailing his training with his familiar, Victor. Evan’s eyebrow twitched upwards as he skimmed a couple of entries. “Huh. His familiar was old…I didn’t realize.”

“Howie’s never mentioned anything about the other familiars in his coven,” Tommy said. “Is that why Greenway knew how to hide all these things in the between?”

“Probably. Like I said, most witches only learn how to do the basics with it these days, but if your familiar is at least a few hundred years old, you probably know a lot more.”

“How old was your familiar?” he asked curiously. “Grant’s owl was talking like it was ancient.”

Evan did not look up from the ledger, but Tommy saw his shoulders tense. Instantly, he wanted to call the question back. Stupid. Of course that would be a sore spot—the bond between witches and their familiars went deeper than almost anything. Losing his connection to his familiar when he was banished must have been like losing a part of his soul. Even flipped to the next page, running his finger down the center of the page as he skimmed the words for anything useful.

“Sally—uh, Sally’s been part of my family’s coven since about the 1700’s. But she’s older than that. Her original coven was wiped out in the Annihilation.”

Tommy froze at that, his eyes going wide. “I’m sorry, your familiar was around during the Annihilation?”

The Annihilation was a series of coven wars that had erupted all over the world in the early 1600’s, the last conflict of which hadn’t died down until nearly a hundred years later. It had been the most intense period of fighting between vampires and witches for centuries before and in all the centuries since. The Annihilation was the reason vampires as old as Sal and Alonzo were unusual and vampires as old as Tommy and Gerrard were nearly unheard of. Vampires and witches, already declining in numbers due to the rise of human populations, had been in real danger of being wiped out entirely toward the tail end of the conflicts.

Tommy had spent most of the period drifting from coven to coven—helping where he could, but mostly trying to avoid the worst of the fighting. He’d gotten his fill of war in his centuries under the bastard’s thumb…he’d had no desire to embroil himself in more conflict. It had been during his efforts to keep moving and stay out of the hotbeds of conflict that he had first met and formed a friendship with Sal.

Evan nodded slowly, and suddenly a great deal about his magic and the way he used it made a lot more sense to Tommy.

“That’s—wow,” he said. Evan’s lips quirked into a smile that looked a little broken around the edges.

“My parents didn’t want to let me train with a familiar. It happens sometimes, but usually only if the unbonded witch isn’t showing very much potential. I don’t know how they were planning to hide…well…me. But after the, uh, the finding spell—Sally asked to train me. Well. I say asked. More like told my parents that she was taking me as her witch.”

Tommy wasn’t an expert on witch coven politics, but he couldn’t imagine that anyone would have been able to refuse a survivor of the Annihilation without a damn good reason. He wondered what this Sally had thought of what Evan’s parents had done to him and his brother—Evan made it sound like members of their coven had helped them cover it up, but they wouldn’t have been able to hide the amount of Evan was in possession of from his familiar.

He hoped she had been as disgusted as Tommy was.

He hoped his witch had had someone besides his sister solidly in his corner growing up.

“Okay, that’s it for the journal entries…the last one stops right after he joined Grant’s coven? Nothing that’ll help that I saw.” Evan flipped through a few more pages, before pausing and resting his finger in the center of a page that was seemingly blank except for a date an a set of initials at the top. “Hang on.”

“What?” Tommy asked, leaning forward. When he did, the shift in angle let him see a faint shimmer on the page.

“There’s something…” Evan said, narrowing his eyes as he tapped his finger against the page three times and said a spellword. The page shimmered again, the white light of witch magic glowing around the edges.

Hello? Sorry, can you help me? A young woman’s voice suddenly sounded in the room, clear enough that it was like she was speaking right next to Tommy. He startled, looking around wildly, but of course there was no one there. I’m from the temp agency on 12th—I’m supposed to be on housekeeping tonight? They didn’t…wait…wait, stop! Let go—let go!

The woman’s voice rose into a scream of pain and terror, and Tommy leapt to his feet. “What the fuck is that?” he demanded.

Evan looked faintly sick. He flipped to another page and snapped the same spellword, tapping his finger on the page again.

Hey are you Diego? I’m Aaron…yeah, from the temp agency. A male voice this time, one that sounded about Evan’s age. I mean, I’m down for whatever, but Mr. Greenway said it was just clerical w—

This one cut off with a cry of surprise and terrible, wet gurgling sound that Tommy was all too familiar with.

“Oh my God,” Evan whispered. Hesitantly he pointed to the initials in the corner of this page: AF.

He flipped to the next page and they listened to a girl that couldn’t have been older than eighteen or nineteen singing softly to herself before it was cut off with another horrible scream.

A man cried out brokenly for his mother before his voice cut off mid-word.

A woman begged for her life, crying out that she was pregnant, please, her baby…

Evan looked like he was going to be sick at that one, tears rising in his eyes, and Tommy finally reached over and took the book from his hands. Evan didn’t resist.

Tommy counted the pages with the strange shimmer and the initials in the corners. Eight more. Thirteen total witches that had come to Jonah Greenway for help, come to him hoping to find work for whatever reason. Thirteen witches that he’d betrayed, sending them to meet their ends on the fangs of a vampire.

“He was watching them die,” Evan choked out finally. “This spell, it’s like a walkie-talkie. You, you, you cast it on something that someone’s carrying and it records them, sends the sounds back to you. You learn how to do it when you’re a fucking kid. It’s a game. It—it was a fucking game to him.”

“Ortiz has been feeding her people witch blood for months,” Tommy realized. “Damn it. Alonzo and Mehta couldn’t figure out why so many smaller covens were folding in with her so quickly. But if she was promising access to witch blood…”

“And they’d have been motivated to keep it a secret from other vampires that hadn’t joined her,” Evan finished dully. “Meanwhile witches are going missing—but Greenway was specifically working with witches who were trying to leave their covens or their families.”

“So, they probably weren’t telling anyone their plans. Or where they were going to find work. Fuck.” A sudden dread seized Tommy, and he flipped past the last spelled page. He clenched his teeth, and knew his eyes were flaring scarlet. This page looked the same as the others, but there was no shimmer of magic to indicate that Greenway’s fucking souvenir had been recorded yet.

EB

Right there at the top of the page.

A growl ripped out of Tommy’s throat, and Evan turned startled eyes onto him. They skated down to the page he was looking at, and Evan gasped. “He…he knew who I was?!”

A good question, but Tommy couldn’t get past the initials glaring up at him from the page. Greenway had written Evan’s initials in the corner of that page, intending to record his witch’s final moments like a goddamn signature in a yearbook. He’d probably spelled something on the temp agency uniform that Evan had been wearing so he’d be able to hear when the vampires at Gerrard’s part fell on Evan. Something to look back on and enjoy like it was a fond memory. His witch. Fuck.

If Greenway wasn’t dead already, Tommy would have made it a priority to rip his fucking throat out.

“Okay,” Evan said shakily. “Okay, whoa, put the fangs away, there. He’s…he’s dead Tommy. He can’t—he can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Tommy reached for his witch, closing his hand around Evan’s wrist and tugging him to come sit on the end of the bed beside him. He pressed his fingers against the throb of Evan’s pulse, right above the makeshift bandage where he knew the marks from his bite were. He needed to feel his witch’s heartbeat, needed his witch here and close, filling his senses. Greenway’s plan hadn’t worked. Evan was here. He was here and safe and Tommy was going to make sure he stayed that way.

No matter what.

* * *

Evan thought he might throw up.

His head was spinning, the final words of the other witches that had been working with Greenway—so many witches—echoing in his ears long after the phantom screams of the mimic spell faded. Evan had almost been one of them. If his vampire had not followed him when he tried to convince Max to leave that godforsaken party, if Tommy hadn’t trusted the inexplicable pull of the spell that Evan now knew bound them together…Evan would have died there. He’d known that, of course, but looking at Greenway’s ledger fucking commemorating all the witches he’d helped kill, it all felt so much more sinister. Greenway really had planned his death.

Had planned all those witches’ deaths.

Only his vampire’s sure touch on his arm, Tommy’s fingers curling over his pulsepoint, holding him like he needed proof that Evan was still here, kept him from spiraling out of control. His magic pulsed through him, wild and shifting, searching for an outlet in response to his seesawing emotions. It was harder to clamp down on than it had been in months, surging through him in waves that felt stronger than they had in a long time. He twisted his wrist slightly, shifting Tommy’s hand so he could grasp it in his own.

“Is there anything else that can help Chimney and Grant? Grant will be able to confirm that all the spells cast on the book were Greenway’s…but that doesn’t nail anything to the vampires,” he said, taking a deep, steadying breath.

Tommy, his eyes still sheened faintly red, flicked through the last several pages in the ledger pausing at a page near the end where a series of numbers similar to the spreadsheet they had found on Greenway’s flash drive had been written. At the top of the page was a row of numbers that was too short to be a routing or account number. Beneath it was a series of letters. Tommy narrowed his eyes and hummed thoughtfully.

“That,” he said, indicating the rows, “might be a cypher key. Or a password.”

“Didn’t Chimney say there were still a bunch of encrypted files on the drive?” Evan asked hopefully. Tommy drew his hand up to his mouth to kiss the back of it before letting go to pull his phone out of his pocket.

“Let’s hope so,” he said, opening his camera and snapping a couple pictures. Then he scrolled to his contacts and selected the one marked ‘Howie.’

While the phone rang, Evan leaned tiredly against his vampire, tucking his head against Tommy’s neck. He still didn’t feel as bad as he had expected to after using a control hex, especially letting Tommy drink from him again, too. His magic still hummed steadily through him, though, and while he certainly wouldn’t say no to a nap and something to eat, it wasn’t a pressing need yet. It was confusing him greatly…but he couldn’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth.

When the crash did come, though, he was probably going to be down for a while. Hopefully he could last until they were in a safer location.

The call connected on the second ring, and Chimney’s voice came over the line. The other witch sounded a little breathless, as though he’d just been running. “Tommy, man, please tell me you have good news,” he said, a little frantically.

“I don’t know if it’s good,” Tommy said, his voice terse, “but we found something at Greenway’s house.”

“Wait, what? Athena and Bobby searched Jonah’s house top to bottom.”

“Evan found something in the between.”

“Wait, he told you about the between?” Chimney sounded shocked, but then he sighed. “Whatever. Never mind. What did you find?”

Tommy shot Evan a loaded look. “A ledger. I’m texting you come pictures right now—I think Greenway might have written his passcode down in it. And it looks like there’s more financials.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Chimney breathed. “That’s great!”

“Howie,” Tommy sighed, dropping his head so that it rested on top of Evan’s. “Listen. There were a bunch of spelled pages in the ledger. Evan opened them? I dunno if that’s the right term…”

“There were mimic bursts spelled into the pages,” Evan interrupted. He licked his lips, closing his eyes briefly. “I wasn’t the only witch Greenway turned over to vampires. He’s been doing it for months. He, uh, I’m sorry, he recorded—it’s bad. Really bad,” he finished clumsily.

There was silence on the other end, and then he heard Chimney swear softly. “All right, not dealing with that right now. Fuck. Athena’s meeting her contact on the SoCal high coven tonight. If it’s safe, we’ll set up somewhere to meet and you can bring the ledger to us. Hopefully the pages you texted are useful. Just…I dunno, keep doing what you’re doing. Just stay ahead of things. At least another day.”

Evan wanted to groan out loud at that, but he felt Tommy nod seriously. Then his vampire cleared his throat. “Will do. Stay safe, Howie.”

“You too, man. Uh…both of you.” With that, Chimney disconnected the call.

They sat in silence for a few heartbeats, before Tommy gently disengaged from him and got up. He moved over to the window and carefully edged the blinds aside, nodding to himself when he was met with the dusky purple of twilight. “We should get out of here—I’ll be fine just to get out to the car in this.”

Evan nodded and gathered the ledger back up. As soon as he touched it, though, he felt a tingle over the back of his neck. His magic prickled, swirling through him agitatedly. He frowned, focusing on the feeling, his magic surging through him. The ledger felt…different somehow. He could sense the remains of the locking hex he’d broken, could sense the echoes of the mimic spell. But there was something else—something fainter and more ephemeral.

“Evan?” Tommy asked in concern. Evan narrowed his eyes, staring down at the ledger in his hands and letting his magic wash through him. It almost felt like—

Evan sucked in a breath, his eyes flying to his vampire. He leaped up. “Now,” he barked, rushing forward and grabbing Tommy’s hand. “Now, we have to go. Now!”

[rewiringtoheal]

This Pain Is Temporary

Anna x Fem!Reader

He's Just Not That Into You AU

Summary: I was watching this movie and had a lot of what if questions. What if the main cast actually all communicated with each other? What if Anna actually had some character development? What if Reader was a variation of a female Conor Barry who got a clue? And how would these differences lead to Anna genuinely falling in love with Reader.

warnings: very slowburn, angst, worse before better, eventual fluff.

You feel used. This person that you love…loved?? You aren’t really sure anymore of your feelings toward Anna. It was never simple with her. And truthfully, you wish you could go back to your blissful ignorance.

 You had been so thrilled when she told you she was finally ready to take the next step with you. A real relationship with the girl of your dreams. Having your heartfelt love confession be returned and then making love for hours was more than you ever could have hoped for. 

You now knew it was all a lie. And that Anna was a very skilled actor. In your excitement you had raced home the next morning to tell your best buddy Alex and his new girlfriend GiGi the news. After showing them a picture of Anna and you. The night of bliss quickly turned sour; GiGi hesitantly told you that Anna was the same woman that had a very recent affair with her best friend's husband. And everything the past few months had started to make sense. How Anna would constantly ignore your calls but somehow always be available when she needed her emotional needs met. And finding out that the only reason she wanted a relationship with you was because the man of her dreams wouldn’t leave his wife was heartbreaking. How could you be so stupid? And how could you be so blind to the type of person Anna really was.

You felt a hand squeezing your knee bringing you back to the world around you. You  see GiGi’s hand retreating and her eyes filled with sorrow. You muster up a strained smile.

“Well, at least I had my dream girl for a moment even if it wasn’t real. Looking back, I kinda see now that she treated me like shit but I was so lost in her. I can’t believe I was so blind to her selfishness. And now this…I don’t think I ever really knew her at all,” you say somberly.  

Alex let out a deep sigh, “Dude I don’t really know what to say. She did really shitty things but maybe she's not a shitty person. The moments you had together weren’t all fake. The parts of herself she showed you are probably real. And you can love those parts and still be hurt that she lied about her feelings for you.”

You give a weak chuckle, “You’re right..but I don’t know how to deal with this. I do still love her even if she used me. I see it so clearly now. I’m the back up plan. The person she really wanted hurt her so she chose the safe option.”

Gigi looked at you, her eyes filling with sorrow, “Sometimes people don’t know what they have until it's gone. She is making awful decisions and it’s hurting everyone around her. Deal with this by loving yourself first. I know it's hard but she doesn’t appreciate you. And only wants you when she has no one else.”

That was hard to hear but Gigi was right. You need to take care of yourself. For months you have been putting all of your energy into Anna. Being there for her emotionally, picking up her dry cleaning, giving her rides, and loving her to the best of your ability. All to realize that she never really cared about you, not even as a friend. A friend wouldn’t play with your feelings like this.  

You continue to chat with your friends for a little while longer. Eventually you grow too sad and too tired to keep up the conversation. You excuse yourself for the night and head up to your bedroom. Not in the mood to do your night time routine you just chuck off your clothes, put your cellphone on your night stand and cuddle under the covers. 

Your mind keeps turning in circles as you lay there. The happiness you had felt earlier today has turned into a deep sadness. And for the first time since Gigi told you about Anna you allow yourself to cry. As silent tears move down the contours of your face you burrow into your pillow; just praying to yourself that you can fall asleep. Anything to stop the pain. 

You briefly wonder if Gigi’s friend Janine is in the same state you are right now. You know more than likely she is worse off than you. Janine's entire life is in shambles. Her husband is awful no doubt about it but you just can’t wrap your head around Anna getting involved with a married man. Nothing makes sense anymore but maybe you never had a clue to begin with.

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 24

Ch. 24 | Ao3

Thanks as always to @witch-and-her-witcher and @popjunkie42 for being the best beta readers and loves of my life!

[TW for violence, blood]

All morning, Feyre had known the day of her task was upon them. 

She wasn’t sure how, something in the air or her bones, maybe. Some sort of knowing that this might be her last day alive. Of course, every day here had brought some semblance of that since she’d arrived, but today, it felt palpable– something she could nearly reach out and touch. Her mortality was oozing through her veins, pushing slowly against the magic within her as though every piece of her was restless and fighting amongst themselves.

Rhys seemed to know it, too. He’d awoken with his hands in her hair, then dipped wordlessly beneath the covers to languidly taste her again. He took his time with her, as though he was savoring every single minute. Feyre was all sighs and gentle scraping of her nails down his scalp and spine, and Rhys dragged her pleasure out as long as possible, as though it might be the last time he would. 

It could be. 

She wound her fingers through his hair, both to ride out the sensations and also to touch him, to run her hands along his neck, his ears, memorizing every detail of what he felt like. If she were to die, she would remember these things as she went. The feel of him this close, the gentle, tender touches that he placed reverently on her skin, even as he pushed their passion to the forefront. 

Without words, she returned his actions, intentionally and slowly, hanging onto every moment. She relished the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips and lips. She memorized the feel of his body beneath hers, the quiet sounds he made as he let himself go to the ways she made him feel. She would hold on to these memories and all their others until she was ash in the wind. 

After, they lay together, their bodies sated but their hearts still wanting and waiting and pulsing in time with each other. She could feel his heart beating with hers, not from where she lay her head on his chest, but within her own. Every beat echoed against his, sounding back and forth like the passing of life between them. They thrummed like a rhythm, beat like a song. Maybe even when she was gone, his heart might still beat for them both. 

It’s tonight. 

He knew. He put his fingers beneath her chin and gently pressed her face upwards to kiss him deep and slow. He kissed her like they had all the time in the world, like it wasn’t ticking down around them. 

They’d said the words time and time again. Promises had been made, hearts sworn, and there was nothing left to do now but hold each other close, hoping that with enough pressure they might permanently fuse, their bodies refusing to let go with the same adamance as their hearts. He had asked once since their first day under the mountain about the bargain, but all Feyre could do was shake her head, her eyes burning with tears. She hadn’t figured out what had gone wrong, and she had accepted she probably never would. The magic was still binding her from speaking, so instead she spoke the words I love you over and over so that, even after she was gone, he’d never forget the sound. 

They had made their vows, even without a priestess, without a ceremony, but those promises meant everything. 

Unbreakable vows, both spoken and soundless.

The words echoed in Feyre’s mind. The answer to the riddle hadn’t been love, and neither had her bargain, in the end. But the words still rang true for Feyre. Perhaps marriage or promises or friendships or family might work, but Feyre wasn’t willing to hang the freedom of everyone under the mountain on her guessing at a riddle. Like Calla, it would be her last ditch effort if all else failed. She hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.

Their time was destined to come to an end, and Rhys was summoned out by the guards to attend early with the other High Lords. They were to be the only attendees at dinner tonight, some sort of sick celebration before the final task that Amarantha wasn’t even trying to hide. Feyre was sure that was intentional, a bit of gloating, a bit of torture for Feyre as she waited, knowing what was to come. 

Rhys had kissed her again, pouring every bit of emotion into it, his hands on her face like he never wanted to let go. She’d pushed every thought and feeling down that bridge between them, solid and unfailing as ever, and she felt it when he sighed into her mouth. 

“I love you. I just want to say it out loud one more time.” Feyre wanted to look into his eyes and hear the words around them. 

“No goodbyes.” He kissed her again, the galaxies of his pretty eyes lined with silver. “No goodbyes, Feyre. You can do this, and I will see you after.” She nodded, the tears gathering, their fingers touching until the last possible moment when they had to drop hands. Once he’d gone, she whispered her goodbyes into the empty air instead. 

He’d made sure to leave her dinner, but her stomach roiled at the thought of food. She paced, she stretched, she meditated– anything to prepare her mind and body for the onslaught to come. Would it be physical? Another monster to chase her into the jaws of death? Or would it be logical? A puzzle she could struggle with, this time with no one left to help. 

She breathed deeply, remembering Rhys’s mindset on it all. What was coming was coming regardless of how she worried or paced. She bathed and picked at the food and tea, stuffing down a few bites. She wouldn’t be dressed in court attire tonight, and Rhys had left out a simple but soft tunic and pants for her, a leather tie to pull back her hair the way she liked. Her heart already ached with the absence of him, but she let it fuel her. Amarantha had done unspeakable things to him, the love of her life, and she planned to continue doing so long after Feyre was dead and buried in the ground. It gave Feyre incentive to fight, to watch Amarantha die in the cruelest ways imaginable. She wanted Amarantha’s blood warm and blooming across her skin as she pulled out her still-beating, black heart. She wanted to watch as the light left her horrid eyes. Feyre wanted to dance in a pool of her blood. Feyre would fight until her very last breath if it meant Rhys would never be touched by that horror again. The thought of it alone made her want to rip the wagging tongue from Amarantha’s throat herself.

When the knock came at last, she took a deep breath before answering, steeling herself. She would not make herself look afraid today. Today, she would be brave, and she would fight. 

The guards led her down the familiar path to court, one she could walk in her dreams now. At least, her nightmares. The magic of the room rippled over her as she entered, the coppery smell of it already in her nose. What magic was being used here so strongly she could already sense it? 

She reached out to Rhys, but felt him distant, closed off to her and barely recognizable. The panic leapt into her throat.

Of course. Amarantha had already cloaked her in the spell. The feeling of magic as she’d entered had been the barrier. Feyre’s heart sank. It wasn’t the help she worried about as much as his silence. It was the inability to say goodbye if things went wrong. She still had so much to say to him. 

She should have insisted she say the words. Should have left him a note in case it all went wrong. Should have, should have…

She lifted her chin. She would say them when she won. 

The crowds parted as she entered, flanked on each side by a guard as she made her way through the crowded room to the dais. It was silent as a tomb, none of the revelry she was so used to here in this macabre, beautiful prison. The fae did not speak, and money did not exchange hands. But as she passed, some kissed their fingers and held their hands out to her. A farewell to the dead, a good wish for the martyr. Their fates rested on her shoulders, too– their last chance at freedom. There was hope in their eyes; there was reverence. She wasn’t sure, after what she’d done, that she deserved it. But she intended to do her best to fight for them anyway, for all of them. She kept her shoulders squared and her head high as she neared the throne, Amarantha poised above them all with nothing but malice and intrigue in her eyes. 

Feyre wanted to kill her. 

Her hands twitched at her sides as she stopped in front of the dais. Tamlin sat by Amarantha’s side once again, back to looking like she was nothing at all to him. It didn’t hurt her anymore, but it did confuse her. He’d openly sat forward at the task with Calla; he’d shown interest. Everyone with eyes could have seen him. What could possibly have changed? She looked away from his expression to find Lucien or Rhys in the crowd, but the angle of those surrounding her made it impossible to see. 

“Hello, Feyre.” Feyre hated her name on Amarantha’s tongue– hated that Calla had given it to her so freely. The humans had warnings about the fae learning your name, and hearing hers tumble from Amarantha’s blood stained lips, she could understand why. Feyre fought the urge to curl her lip, keeping her face neutral but making a point to meet Amarantha’s eyes. “It’s time for your last task. I do hope you’re as excited as I am.”

Feyre didn’t speak, just kept her eyes trained on Amarantha. She rose to the challenge, the disrespect in the gaze raising her hackles, though she fought to remain calm. “I don’t suppose you’ve figured out sweet Calla’s riddle, have you?” She pretended to pout, then smiled. “Unfortunate. It was such a lovely answer.” 

She thought about Rhys, then, about all the lives that hung in the balance. She was ready, as ready as she could be.

“Any last words, my dear?” 

Feyre had plenty, but she chose them carefully. 

“I am not here out of obligation. I am here for love. You speak of our sordid, fickle human hearts, but you don’t know anything about the depths of my love. I may die here today, but if I die, I went knowing I did it all for those I care about. I don’t know that you’ve ever been able to say the same for yourself.” Feyre was taking a risk, a calculated taunt, but she needed the words to be in the ears of the people. She needed the final entreaty to ensure they were more likely to take her side if push came to shove. She felt her own anger, the residual exhaustion and hate and grief, all bubbling within her. Damn the consequences now. 

Amarantha snarled at her words, drawing back in the seat but leaving her scarlet claws digging into the armrests. “We’ll see.” The words were spit with narrowed eyes, but the smile that curved across her face was grotesque in its grandeur. Feyre worried that smile meant Amarantha had one last trick up her sleeve, and she braced herself for it. 

She still hadn’t seen Lucien or Rhys, but she could feel their presence there, she knew they were watching. Everyone’s eyes were on her as the great doors to the room opened again and the guards dragged in three figures, bound at the ankles and faces covered in burlap. From their statures, it seemed to be two females and a male, though the clothes were so baggy and ragged that it was hard to tell. They moved their heads around as though trying to place where they were without sight, their moves jerky and frantic beneath their hoods. One stumbled, and the guard ripped them back up roughly as they yelped behind what sounded like a gag. Feyre’s chest ached. Would this be another fight to the death? She wasn’t sure she had it in her to kill anyone else, despite what was on the line, unless it was Amarantha herself.

The guards dropped the figures at the foot of the dais, the prisoners' knees hitting the marble painfully hard. Feyre could tell the one in the middle was sobbing, their shoulders shaking violently as they kneeled, covered head bowed as though in defeat. 

What was this?

In another moment, a lacquered, shining wooden box was thrust into Feyre’s hands by a guard standing by. 

“Oh, do open it, dear. I love gifts,” Amarantha cooed from her throne. Nausea was rising in Feyre’s throat, the confusion over what was happening forming a dense stone in her stomach. Where was Rhys? She pushed out with her mind again, finding his presence there but still distant and unreachable. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the latch, the box light in her hands and yet feeling like the weight of the world. As she opened it, she understood why. 

In the box sat two sharp daggers, one glinting in the golden lights of the room, and the other shining dully with an expert wood polish. 

One iron, one ash. 

One for humans, one for fae. Her eyes shot back to the figures on the floor, her breathing accelerating in her chest. 

Amarantha drawled as though she were reading a to do list, and not doling out a final judgment. “Stab each of these unfortunate souls in the heart. They’ve done nothing wrong, of course. But that’s a judgment for you to mete out.” Her smile was filled with violent joy as she spoke the words. “Will your tender human heart kill three for the lives of many? You certainly didn’t seem to have a problem killing your own friend. So weigh them, Feyre– their lives, your options.” She sat forward in her throne, eyes glittering. “You can, of course, always spare them. It’ll cost you your life, unfortunately, but a bargain’s a bargain.” She whispered the last bit with such vitriol that Feyre felt it cut as acutely as if she’d used knives. Her heart was pounding from her chest, her temples beading sweat as she realized what Amarantha intended. 

Two humans and a fae, dead at her own hands for everyone’s freedom. For her freedom. The math was obvious, the answer obvious, but there would be no winning here. 

Three innocents for a future. Not just for her, but for Rhys and Lucien and Tamlin and Helion and Lucien’s mother and everyone here.

A future.  

But Calla’s face swam in her mind, the betrayal in her hollow eyes as Feyre’s knife bobbed in her throat. Could Feyre do it again? Could she do it three more times? Could she hold all four souls on her conscience forever? 

Could she hold the souls of everyone else she’d be forsaking if she didn’t?

She supposed she would be dead, at least. But everyone else would still be suffering here. 

She wanted to cry. Was it worth it? The balance?

Would she ever forgive herself?

She stepped forward, grabbing the daggers in her hands and dropping the box. 

She would do this for them. For everyone. And she would suffer the consequences later, but there could be no later if she did not make this sacrifice. Her guilt would be her price to pay, her penance, but everyone would be free. 

Three lives and her soul in exchange for the lives of thousands. She raised the dagger. 

“Wait!” The trill of Amarantha’s voice darted out over the crowd. “Wait, wait, wait.” Everyone seemed to let loose a collective breath. “We must remove the hood first, of course. Guards?” Feyre thought, then, she might actually be sick. She would have to look these people in the eyes as she killed them.

They had lives, families, too. They might have a loved one, a husband or wife, a mate, a father, a mother, sisters, brothers. She imagined the lives flashing before their eyes as the guard moved to lift the hood. Who was she to make this call? Who was she to decide their fate?

Do it, Feyre. Just do it. For Rhys. 

She nodded her resolve and blinked away the tears as best she could while the guard stepped forward, ripping the hood off in one motion and tearing a hole straight through Feyre in the process. 

There, on the floor in front of her, knelt Nesta, her steely eyes filled with horror and rage and fear. 

Feyre did vomit then, the reaction entirely out of her control and she turned and spit bile onto the floor. Her vision was swimming, the roaring in her ears almost canceling all other noise entirely. 

“No,” she whispered as she turned back, taking in Nesta’s messy blonde braid, her tear-streaked face. She had a gag in her mouth that she’d soaked through, and her teeth clamped over it like a frightened animal fighting for their life. “Nesta…” Feyre moaned quietly, the word rocking through her and tearing her to shreds. 

“Oh? Someone you know?” Amarantha’s voice was filled with pep and joy, and as Feyre turned with narrowed eyes, she did snarl. “Ooh, excellent. What a small world!” Her voice dripped in sarcasm, and Feyre ached to sink her own teeth into Amarantha’s neck. 

The panic was overwhelming her, cutting even through the rage to sit on her chest like a weight. She couldn’t kill her sister, no matter the odds. If she could only talk to Rhys, if she could–

But something about Nesta caught her eye. The likeness was remarkable, down to the stubborn hate in her expression that Nesta got when she dug her feet in about something. Feyre knew that look, had grown up with that look. She could see that look in her sleep, could replicate it on canvas if she tried. It was so entirely Nesta. 

And yet, this was not. 

The edges of her crinkled, the air around her glowing strangely in Feyre’s periphery. She searched frantically, her eyes scouring every part of Nesta as she pulled from within. 

And the glamour peeled back. 

Feyre could see the guard beneath the glamour, the ones with the red skin and sunken eyes that had watched the dungeons. The guards like the one that Rhys had misted in the very room for daring to call her a whore. They were Amarantha’s personal guard, and they had been glamoured to look like her sister. It seemed the magic block did not apply to Amarantha.

“Come now, Feyre. Make your choice,” Amarantha called over her head. 

But Feyre had no choice to make. 

Feyre shoved the knife into the guard’s chest, twisting it slightly at the last minute as she remembered their treatment of Calla. Taking innocent lives would destroy what was left of Feyre’s soul, but no part of these individuals remained innocent, and she had no qualms about sending a knife through their hearts and watching them bleed. When she turned, even Amarantha couldn’t hide the shock on her face as she took in Feyre’s arms soaked and dripping in blood. She prayed she had gotten it right.

Feyre knew that when Amarantha recovered, she would use this against her, another trick to prove humans were incapable of love. She would highlight for them how Feyre would so easily stab her own sister for her personal gain, and it would prove Amarantha’s point. But the crowd didn’t look horrified, they looked hopeful. 

Feyre was already moving on to the next figure. She knew who would be beneath the bag before it was ripped off of the golden curls. She forced herself to react, to gasp and squeeze out a few tears as she beheld the sobbing figure of Elain, and the guard beneath. Feyre turned and pretended to retch again, letting her back arch and the sobs bread through while the crowd watched on. If Amarantha could use this to her advantage, then Feyre could too. 

Look how the human would put the fae before her own family. Look what she is willing to sacrifice for the good of many. 

She could only hope they would forgive her once the truth came out. She looked back to the figment of Elain. They’d captured the big, brown doe eyes so perfectly, the freckles across her nose that her long eyelashes swept against when she blinked nearly identical. Feyre was sure that if she spoke, the voice would send shivers down her spine at the likeness. Feyre noted the same uncanny mannerisms as the Elain sobbed, the smell of honey and cinnamon even permeating the air. The quality of the glamour was unreal, and even though she knew it wasn’t really Elain, Feyre’s hands shook while she shoved the iron through her sister's chest, watching the blood burble down her sternum and stain the fabric of her dress as she fell. 

She felt no remorse about the guards, but felt ill as she took in what looked remarkably like the lifeless bodies of her sisters on the floor. 

Then the reality of it hit her. 

The likeness was remarkable because Amarantha knew what her sisters looked like. She conjured the likeness of them, because she could conjure the likeness of them. The understanding was a punch to her lungs. These were not her sisters, but Amarantha had eyes on them. She knew what they looked like. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. 

She was chanting the word like a mantra, a command. Her throat closed as she swallowed the tears and panic. She wanted Rhys— needed Rhys to tell her what this meant, what to do. 

“See how easily she kills the ones she loves? See the fickle, flippant human heart?” But Feyre was fighting the rising vomit again. Where were her sisters now? 

Think this through, Feyre. Take a breath. 

Calm. Calm. Calm. 

She tried to summon Rhys’s voice in her head, tried to imagine how he would reason with her if he was here. She sighed, focusing, as though his low baritone might swim around her consciousness at any moment. 

Rhys would tell her that if Amarantha had her sisters, they would be here. If she’d had full access, her sisters would be the ones dead on the floor, not just their image. Feyre fought for breath, the air gasping in and out of her as she placed her hands on her knees. Rhys would remind her that Amarantha was true evil, and that if she’d had the ability to get her sisters in her clutches, she would delight in nothing more than watching Feyre be forced to decide whether or not to kill them.

These were not her sisters, and they easily could be. For now, they were safe. 

Thanks, Rhys, she spoke in her head to no one. She felt him there even when he wasn’t, that presence of him living within her through all reason, through all obstacles and sense.

She stood and stepped to the last figure. Would this be her father? There had been a knife meant for a fae, but who else would they bother to glamour that she cared enough about? Lucien would die with her anyway, and Tamlin sat on the dais. 

The thought flitted across her mind like the dragging of a knife. 

Rhys.

She had felt him earlier. Far away and distant, but he hadn’t seemed distressed. The magic was blocked, but the smallest hints of it had crept through. 

It couldn’t be him. The guard ripped the hood off just in time, considering Feyre was about to do it herself. 

The blonde hair tumbled out of it as emerald eyes met hers through a gilded mask. His expression was wild as he fought against the gag in his mouth. Feyre had been expecting tendrils of inky black night, pleading yet forgiving violet eyes. She gasped when her mind caught up, the shock of it causing her to stumble back.

Feyre searched to tear the glamour away. And found nothing. 

There was no glamour. 

Before her, kneeling on the ground, was Tamlin. 

She whirled to look at Amarantha and the chair beside her. Where Tamlin had been, now sat the attor, grinning ear to ear, his rotted fangs on display while Amarantha smiled and tipped her head at Feyre.

She turned back. It was truly Tamlin in front of her. There were no glamours here, only Tamlin on his knees, his life about to end at the tip of her ash dagger. He breathed deeply in, then exhaled, his eyes begging her, pleading. Not for her to not do it, but for her to end it quickly. 

At all costs. 

His words from the night before rang through her mind, rattling and catching. It had been a goodbye. He had known yesterday. He’d known and been bound, Amarantha’s last special form of torture. Had she known they’d met and spoken? Had she set him up to make it hurt one final time?

He’d all but given her permission to kill him. Permission and forgiveness. 

The sob left her before she could strangle it back, her hand coming up to her mouth in shock. She felt something hot dripping onto her arm, and realized they were tears. She was crying. 

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “Gods, Tamlin. I’m sorry.” 

He closed his eyes, as though each word battered him. 

At all costs, he had said. But the price was too high. She nearly begged him to give her something else, anything else, but in his eyes all she found was desperation and forgiveness. 

Don’t forget what I said, Feyre, a long time ago in Spring about falling in love.

He had said that before when they spoke. He’d said it again, too, as he left. 

Feyre wracked her memory as she beheld him in front of her, ready to have the knife shoved into his chest. Expecting it. Accepting it. 

She remembered the porch nights, the setting sun and the sounds of Spring around them. Remembered their laughter and their jokes, their banter and their jibes. She remembered what it felt like as she eased into their companionship, that shock of understanding what it felt like to be a part of a family she’d helped build. To belong. 

“Tamlin, do you even want to fall in love?”

“Of course I do. Who doesn't want that? But not like this.” 

Lucien raised his bottle to him. “Love is pain, my dear friend.”

Tamlin forced a chuckle. “Yes, yes, Lucien. My heart of stone and I are well versed in your feelings on love.” 

She remembered. And it hadn’t been the only time. 

“Do you love her, Tam?” 

“No,” he said finally. “I could, one day, maybe. I care for her, even when she grates against my nerves. But no. Heart of stone, remember?” He thunked a broad hand over his chest, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before it disappeared. 

Feyre nearly gasped, pulling back at the last moment, but Tamlin had seen the change in her, his eyes glowing as he beseeched her to remember, to act. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. His heart was made of stone. It wasn’t a figure of speech, it wasn’t self deprecating. Amarantha had literally turned his heart to stone. 

Just like with the glamours of her sisters, she thought around it. Amarantha wanted Tamlin, more than anything. It was the entire reason they were all here. She wouldn’t risk him just to kill Feyre. Amarantha was ancient and clever, and she did not put all her hope on humans or their actions.

Which meant she knew that, even if Feyre did it, it would not kill him.

Do it, his expression said, the slightest nod back at her. Please. 

His eyes begged. 

And Feyre shoved the ash dagger straight into his chest.

Taglist: Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

@cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog @witch-and-her-witcher @yeonalie

[nb-and-nd]

just gonna leave this here, this is a part of an addition I made to another post but I feel like it's relevant here too

I regret to inform you the middle class insecurity industry has now given us the concept of "microcheating", which is when your husband talks to people or has friends

[lunarharp]

revamped looong mermaid orufrey au :')

[potatoesandsunshine]

do you guys ever think about ruby & saccharina bc like... i'm still messed up over it

[gayofthefae]

Remindee that Mike's arc has to do with both Will AND El.

It is not going to be "revealed who it's been about this whole time". No. It is about both of them. Both together and individually.

Romantic love and the inherent payoff that comes with it does not function as a reveal for the overall meaning of the show for him. His love for El is still VERY pertinent.

To separate them in case you don't understand:

A) It's about his struggle with his queerness and feelings for his best friend while in a relationship and a homophobic town, torn and repressing until he learns that that IS something he can have.

B) His first love who grants him deep understanding and teaches him how to love and communicate and that love can survive anything, including a change in nature, and that a true lover always was also a friend and can also be your friend after they are your lover and continue to grant you that understanding because romance does not dictate closeness and you can keep that understanding and love. Things can change and YOU can change and still be worthy and emotionally safe and supported.

He is safe in his identity and he is safe in his personality. And these arcs with these people are not only coexistent but complementary and MUST both exist.

ALSO, it is a wonderful testament to lack of codependency in a relationship and showing via these arcs fulfilled in different places that YOU can be fulfilled in different places and be validated in different ways by different people rather than pressuring one person to be everything for you. His relationship with Will does not erase everyone else in his life from pertinence and so it certainly does not erase El.

Put this in the tags but loved it too much so:

Will validating that Mike is incredibly loved and doesn't HAVE to change and El validating that Mike is incredibly loved and thus is ALLOWED to change >>>>>>

Both are equal and good and not easily done by the same person at the same time! So this is PERFECT. I'm obsessed.

[ursaspecter]

Even if John and Arthur didn't consider each other to be brothers, the fact that Arthur was 22 when he met John at *12* would make Arthur super predatory for pursuing John as soon as he was old enough. Like fine. Ship what you want I don't fucking care anymore I'm too tired to care about this anymore when there are bigger problems. But you cannot tell me that morston is not problematic in that regard.

I'm not saying you're a bad person or deserve to die or whatever for shipping it or for liking something Problematic(tm). But you cannot ignore that element about their relationship unless you just pick and choose what you consider to be canon. And at that point you might as well just make ocs.

[presentlydean]

online communities are so strange because people slip away so easily. you can be on here for years, folding people you've never met into the fabric of your daily life, and then they disappear, leaving only ghost posts scattered across tumblr behind. or their blog stays dormant, for weeks, months, years, until you're only still following them because you remember that they love sunflowers or they were kind to you when they didn't have to be or the last thing they posted was sad and raw and you still worry about them sometimes.

and sometimes they come back when you least expect it, years later, even, and there's this sudden rush of relief like there you are, there you are, even though you barely knew each other.

there's a strange kind of love to it. i don't know you and i want to hold your hand across miles and time zones and oceans. i can still see the imprint of you in this community you left. you don't think anyone will notice or care when you're gone, but we notice and we care and we wish you well.

i hope you're all okay out there. i hope the sun is shining on your face and you are breathing deeply. i miss you.

[inbabylontheywept]

bad dating stories time: the shoe incident

so in highschool, my best friend wasnt allowed to go on dates unless there was another couple there to keep an eye on him. part of this was his parents being insane, but also, part of it was him being insane. in a problem with no reasonable parties, there are no reasonable solutions.

at some point in my junior year, my sorta-gf broke up with me, and i just wasnt feeling dating, which was bad for my friend, because he had a good thing going with a girl he met in court.

he kind of hounded me about it. kept pushing me to just put me feet back in the dating pool and i wasnt real thrilled about it, because i knew he was pushing me for his own benefit, not mine, so i kept telling him to fuck off, and after a few weeks of being told that i would date when i was damn well ready, he eventually said: okay. what if i paid for the date AND found you a blind date AND all you had to do was show up?

and i shouldve said no, i know, but i let him wear me down, and i will own my fault in that. a date starting on such a stupid premise could never have gone well.

but he still managed to find a way to make it worse.

i dont know how long he tried to set a blind date up. it couldve been multiple attempts. he couldve stooped to this immediately. but what happened in the end was that he called a girl from the ward he attended - a girl that he knew had a giant, mushy crush on him - and he said: hey! how would you feel about going on a date this weekend?

(you know, implying it was with him, but never actually saying it.)

and she said YES WOW I WOULD LOVE TO and he said great! and then he called me up and said he found me a date.

i did not learn about his crimes until several weeks later. i will die swearing before god almighty that i would never have allowed this travesty to happen if i had known.

that was on a monday. the date of the date rolled around that friday evening, and im sorry to confess, i really phoned the whole thing in. i showed up in my favorite comfy outfit, which was also a fashion crime: basketball shorts and flipflops and a baja hoodie. it was super comfy but it made me look kind of crazy. i picked him up first, and then i picked up his date next, and then we went to pick up my date, and thats where you're gonna get the play by play.

i arrived, walked across the yard, and knocked on the front door. she opened it almost immediately, like shed been waiting right by it, and i could see her expression go from OMG IM SO EXCITED to super disappointed, then disgusted and finally pissed. and because i didn't know about my friends sins, i thought it was from my outfit. which seemed... harsh. like, hey, im allowed to be quirky, fuck you. also its a blind date, i thought the deal was that we were both going to be sad broken sacks of mortality.

anyway, we looked at each other for several seconds before she slammed the door in my face.

i looked back at my friend. he was sweating bullets. i dont know what he expected from this, but there was this big long pause where we both tried to figure out what to do, and then the door opened up, and her dad invited me in, and he said she was gonna need a few minutes to finish getting ready, and that in the meantime we could sit and talk.

we did not talk. we did sit. i sat down on the couch, and he sat down in a chair across the couch, and then instead of talking he cleaned his pistol on the coffee table. i wasnt actually sure if it was a threat, or if it was just a fidget thing for 40+ year old republican men, but when i tried to help he got snappy so i just watched him put a pistol back together.

he was okay at it.

eventually my date came downstairs, still mad as hell for reasons beyond my ken, and i felt pretty guilty for being such a mess because i thought that was why she was so angry. i tried to make up for by walking her to the car and getting the door for her, just generally trying to be extra polite, but before i could make it back to the drivers side, her dad called me back to the door. so i flipped around, went to the door, and immediately regreted my decision.

soon as i was within range, her dad got waaaay too close to me, leaned in, and said "whatever you do to her, i will do to you," and my brain went into overdrive making three consecutive realizations.

realization one was, damn, the pistol thing was a threat. that sucks. what an asshole. realization two was, wait, im autistic and even i know theres a 0% chance me and my date even hold hands, least of all boink. does this guy actually think there's even a 1% chance of anyone in that car getting laid tonight? is he an idiot? and then realization three went through, which was wait, is this guy threatening to fuck me? and unfortunately, with my brain doing so much processing, my mouth was left to run amok, so somewhere between realization 2 and 3, i said:

"i can't get pregnant"

which, i swear, wasn't actually me trying to be a smartass, it was just me pointing out that he couldn't actually follow up on that threat. it just wasn't possible. we do not live in the omegaverse and im not scared of you.

still, it was an insanely catastrophic thing to say, and the moment we both heard it, we bluescreened. that single sentence obliterated both of our momentary streams of consciousness like a saltine in front of a sand blaster. problem was, he'd probably gone his whole life not even realizing someone could say something that stupid, and making that realization was going to cost him a lot of thinking time. me though? i had been saying shit like that for 17 years, i didnt have to rewrite my expectations of human nature, i just had to plan an exit and start striding. so i was already halfway back to the car before i heard "hey. hey come back. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY WAIT. HEY GET BACK HERE. HEY-"

and then i was in my car, and i drove away.

if this happened today, he'd have called her, and the whole thing wouldve imploded then and there, but back then, there were still a decent number of teenagers without cell phones. especially the teenagers of insane, gun toting parents. so she just said: whoa what was that all about? and i said: dont worry about it, he'll tell you about it when you get home.

and she said: ok and went back to staring daggers at me and my friend.

WHICH SURPRISINGLY isnt even how the story ends.

we went to an improv comedy show, and it was a disaster. it shouldve been like, 7/10 tops, but between my date being mad, and my friend having a good time, and me having the existential terror of knowing that a guy with a pistol was probably waiting outside his house for me to come back, it was easily 11/10. i laughed way too hard at everything. especially the jokes that flopped. id sit there in this mostly silent room and laugh until i dry heaved a little, and my date was absolutely disgusted, and even my friend was a little embarrassed, which would just make me laugh harder. i laughed so hard that night i could barely talk the next day. and then the show ended, and my friend said, you know, that was a good time, but i think we should maybe do something a little chiller? who wants to walk around the park? and his date said yeah, and my date said no, and i finally had mercy on the poor woman so i said, look, im gonna drop you off. and i am so, so sorry about this, but im dropping you off like a block away. super duper sorry.

do talk to your dad about the pistols thing if you dont want this happening more in the future tho.

and she said: okay. so i dropped her off, and she walked a block down, and that was that.

then i drove my friend and his date to a park that was good for wandering. i figured they wanted something more private, so instead of following them around point blank, i chose a park with this 30 foot rope tower, and i climbed to the top and i said: hey i can see you anywhere from up here, you are officially chaperoned from a distance. get panopticoned idiot. except my friend really is an idiot, and he didnt really get the whole 'now i dont have to third wheel so insanely hard with you guys' thing so he climbed up the tower too, and then his date followed behind him, so there are three people basically sitting together on top of a telephone pole.

and then they started making out.

i was close enough to hear it.

i didnt really know what to do so i was just kind of sitting there, dissociating, when some college kids came around and started shaking the tower. my friend's date went aaaaaaaaaa im afraid of heights :( and my friend went oh, dont worry, ill hold you tight ;) and i went hey, im gonna climb down and ask them to stop.

so i did climb down, and i did ask them to stop, and they flipped me off, which i wasnt even mad about. at that point i was i was like yeah, it would be weirder if this wasnt a mess. gods plan has been to fly this day like a 747 into my metaphorical twin towers and brother he is close enough for me to see him grinning through the cockpit window. still, eventually the college students got bored, so they climbed up the tower, which gave my friend and his date a window to climb down, and together we walked back to my car.

now, i cant explain why this is, but sitting back in the drivers seat was my carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin moment. i'd been chill about all the chaos, just rolling with the punches, but sitting down made me realize how much of a shitshow the day had been, and while i couldnt go back and fix all of it, i could go back and fix one thing.

so i told my friend and his date, hey, you two, stay here and don't do anything weird. don't. then i walked back to the rope tower, and i started picking up the shoes the college students had left at the base in order to climb.

about halfway through this, i realized that if i took all their shoes, they might think i was in it for the money, and i actually wanted them to know i was in it specifically to spite them. fuck those guys. so i put all the right shoes back, gave myself a 100 foot headstart, yelled "nice shoes, assholes", did a little jig, and started running.

my advice to everyone is that college students are faster than you think. even with the headstart, and the whole climb down the tower thing, i was still only fivish seconds ahead of them by the time i got to my car. i flung the door open, looked in the backseat, didnt see anyone, flung the stolen shoes in the backseat, heard two "ow"s, took that as proof of presence, jumped in and pealed out of the lot.

my friend and his date popped up a few seconds later. they were, uh, doing something weird in the back seat. my one request - obliterated.

they climbed up to ask where the hell all the shoes had come from, and i was like yeah i stole them from the college students, and they were like oh. cool. hope you had fun. and i was like, i did. i did. but speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?

and for the first time in my buddies life, i think he was actually embarassed.

[idontknowiknow]

HATE to attempt to introduce myself to someone only to find out that we hung out semi-regularly a few years ago and i once returned their scarf to their house when they left it somewhere -_-