the hand from beyond

If Jane Austen wrote The Empire Strikes Back:

He dueled him for many a long minute, and then trapping him at the end of a gantry, removed his hand from his wrist. Luke was surprised, but said not a word beyond his cry of pain. After a silence of several minutes, Vader came towards him in an agitated manner, and thus began,

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to offer you a place at my side to throw down the Emperor and reign over this galaxy.”

Luke’s astonishment was beyond expression. He stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This Vader considered sufficient encouragement, and the avowal of all that he felt immediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of ambition.

“You do not yet realize your importance, and only now have begun to discover your power. Join me and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy.” 

In spite of his deeply-rooted dislike, Luke could not be insensible to the compliment of such a Sith Lord’s offer, though his intentions did not vary for an instant. He attempted to compose himself to answer Vader with patience as per the training Yoda had attempted to, but the pain from the end of his arm and the longstanding list of offenses against his friends gave Luke great trouble in this manner, and he replied thusly,

“In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot – I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I will never join you.”

Darth Vader, who was leaning against the railing of the gantry with the gaze of his mask fixed on Luke’s face, seemed to catch his words with no less resentment than surprise. His fist tightened with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every movement. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not speak, till he believed himself to have attained it. The pause was to Luke’s feelings dreadful. At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he said,

“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.”

“I might as well enquire,” replied Luke, “why, with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to hand me this offer after removing my own? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my own feelings decided against you, had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the offer of the Sith Lord, who has been the means of hunting my friends across the galaxy?”

He paused, and saw with no slight indignation that Vader was listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse.

“Can you deny that you have done it?” Luke asked.

With assumed tranquillity he then replied, “I have no wish of denying it. I have done everything in my power to crush the Rebellion and rejoice in my successes.“

Luke disdained the appearance of noticing this civil reflection, but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to conciliate, him.

"But it is not merely this affair,” Luke continued, “on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Obi-Wan Kenobi. On this subject, of my father, what can you have to say?”

“You took an eager interest in that Jedi’s explanations,” said Vader in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.

“Who that knows what his understanding of the Force has been, can help feeling an interest in his worldview?”

“The Force” repeated Darth Vader contemptuously; “yes, the Light Side of the Force is great indeed. I am convinced in my knowledge that Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.”

“He told me enough,” cried Luke with energy. “You have long ago killed him!”

“No” said Vader, as he leaned across the railing towards Luke, “I am your father. Examine your feelings; you know it to be true.”

Luke felt himself growing more ashamed at this revelation, and despite his utmost efforts, a distraught denial left his mouth.

“You can destroy the Emperor,” continued Vader. “He has forseen this, and this is the estimation that I hold you in: it is your destiny. If you would but join me, together we can rule the galaxy as father and son. Come with me; it is the only way.”

Trapped as he was on the end of the gantry, it was clear what decision lay ahead for Luke, and again his intentions remained unaltered. With a calm descending upon him, Luke spoke with composure when he said,

“You are mistaken, Vader, if you suppose that your entrapment of me will mean the entrapment of my loyalty. From the very beginning, your actions, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your murders, and your imprisonment and torture of a young woman, were such as to form so immoveable a dislike that I had not known you a day before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to call father.”

To conclude his statement, and provide great shock to Vader, Luke stepped off the gantry.


@epix-elle​, this is the result of your “Darcy Vader” comment

Bristle

Prompt: 2) Hinny dueling, set anytime post-battle. Cocky harpy vs. wipe-the-floor-with-you Auror? First summer trauma coping? The angst/fluff potential is endless

A/N: so this is a combo of the prompt ^ from @julxr4 and inspiration from @blvnk-art‘s grown up hinny fan art, particularly this comic.

Also available on FF and Ao3!


Harry’s pretty capable, as far as new fathers go.  No major injuries or illnesses to report, and he thinks James seems pretty happy, all things considered.  So when Ginny goes to spring training for almost a month, he does alright.  Aside from missing Ginny like – something he would miss a lot.  Sleep deprivation is not particularly conducive to similes.  Or grooming.  Between a full workload with the Auror Office and handling James on his own every night, certain things get shunted to the side.  And it’s a pretty easy choice if he’s deciding between shaving and taking a kip for a quarter of an hour.

Which is why Ginny comes home to her husband lying spread eagle on the floor with the tiniest Potter splayed across his chest, playing with his newly grown beard.  “Alright Potters?”

James claps his chubby hands and topples back against Harry’s now raised thighs in excitement.

Quickly, Harry catches James around his middle and soon enough has his entire family wrapped in his arms.  Ginny’s warm and firm under his hands, freckles and just a touch of sunburn across her shoulders, her chocolate eyes sparkling in that way that lets him know he’s not the only one who’s been lonely.

James pitches toward Ginny, his kiss overly wet and gummy, while Harry nuzzles her damp hair.  “We missed you.”

Ginny takes James into her arms, showering him with kisses before using her free hand to scratch at Harry’s beard.  “This is new.”

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never let me go pt. 1

Pairing: Reader x Jungkook

Genre: angst, implied smut (with eventual smut)

Word Count: 10,064

A/N: This is a reworked version of the piece I had originally posted. Based on the novel of the same name.

Originally posted by jengkook

You stood at the river’s edge and stared out across the black water. Your eyes caught in a daze wondering what your life was like if you had just been born like everyone else. What your life would be like if you had come from a womb instead of test tube. You had always dreamed of crossing the other side, to see what life was like outside of the city you were placed in. But as you thumbed the folded piece of paper in your pocket you knew that you would never get the chance.

You slipped the paper from the confines of your pocket and re-read it for the 55th time. Your first donation was scheduled a week from tomorrow. You had to report to the hospital in 5 days for preparations and blood work to make sure that your perfectly created body was still perfect.

Jungkook’s smile flashed before your eyes and a lump caught in your throat making it hard to hold back the sobs that were trying to escape your lips. He was waiting for you back at the hospital. It was after all, the eve of his second donation. Even though you had been through this process almost a hundred times before, it still made your whole body shake with nerves.

And now it was your turn.

You looked at the paper in your hand and over to the black water lapping at your feet. You adjusted your feet against the chain link fence, the only barrier between you and the unknown, and leaned forward. You watched as the paper floated on the surface of the water but didn’t sink. You gripped one hand on the railing and the other reached forward.

The silver bracelet on your wrist suddenly came alive as your hand hit the floating paper. The cold water stung your fingertips as the alarm from your wrist echoed through the night. You pulled back and planted your feet back on the earth beneath you. But the beeping didn’t stop.

It wasn’t long before the sound of tires pulled up behind you. You didn’t turn around as their footsteps approached, you being the target. One of them cleared their throat and you finally turned around to the face the men that had come to collect you. “It’s time to go, Y/N. Jungkook is going to be worried about you” the man told you.

You cocked your head to the side and scoffed, “So the rumors are true, watchers do exist”

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Lying Is The Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off (Chap. 8)

Lying Is The Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off -Reader signs up for an online app similar to Omegle, but little does she know that she’s talking to the one and only Sebastian Stan.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Warnings: Angst. Oral sex (female receiving). Fluff. Sebastian being a sexy beast. Slight secondhand embarrassment. NSFW. 

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Touch | Shawn Mendes Imagine

A/N: I feel like all my spent up ideas over the past 3 months are pouring out because writing two in one day is unheard of in my world. BUT I LOVE THIS. IDK I HOPE YOU DO TOO. 

Word Count: 1,917


I was frustrated.

Shawn was gone to visit his parents and I had to stay home from the visit, unfortunately. He had only been gone for maybe five hours but I missed him already, however, my body missed him more.

I sat down on the end of the bed and checked my phone. I had asked when Shawn would be home hoping I could hold off. But when he said he wasn’t sure when he’d be back I told him to hurry home, hoping he’d understand what I wanted. But Shawn still hadn’t checked his messages yet.

I knew he needed time with his family, but I also needed time with him.

Sitting on the end of the bed I was unsure of what do. Or well I wasn’t unsure, I was very acquainted with what I could do, but I wasn’t sure if I should.

Does it matter? I finally asked myself. No.

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the purest specimen of truth

this is actually for @leiascully​‘s @xfficchallenges​: the fic you’d never write. normally i don’t write “everything was beautiful and nothing hurt” william fics, let alone fics where he’s a teeeeeen! so i did that, but i was also at the science march in d.c. this weekend and obvi i had to fic an au where scully was there so…also, all the signs mentioned herein were actually witnessed irl haha also, the title of scully’s academic paper is based in real science but to my knowledge doesn’t exist…yet.


“What about I was told there’d be pie — but it’s the symbol for pi?”

Scully sighed without looking up at him, though she did admittedly choke back a smile which she wasn’t about to reward him with.

“That is clever,” she said, tapping the capped end of a Sharpie against her temple, “But I was partial to your original idea.”

He chuckled, “At the start of every disaster movie there’s a scientist being ignored?

She does smile then, peering at him overtop her reading glasses, which have slowly but surely become a permanent fixture atop her head over the last few years.

“Well, it’s true!” He bellows, playfully slapping his hand down atop the dining room table, “The Core, Dante’s Peak, The Day After Tomorrow, Twister —  that one we saw in theaters where they did an autopsy on Gwyneth Paltrow — ?”

Contagion,” she said, uncapping a marker with her teeth, “Which was impressively accurate, by the way. Not just the autopsy scene but later, the visual showing the way in which new viruses are formed by the recombination of DNA or RNA from different species of animal hosts?”  

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, watching her squint intently down at her poster board, outlining the letters with a pathologist’s steady hand. He reached for a Sharpie, his finger grazing the back of her hand as he did. “So,” he said, flicking the cap off with his thumb, “Are you nervous?”

Her hand froze and she visibly stiffened. He immediately regretted bringing it up but as was his wont, he couldn’t help himself. 

“Yes,” she said after an agonizingly long moment of silence.“I still don’t understand why they asked me to speak,” she muttered, refusing to look up at him.

Mulder scoffed, “Scully — you fucking cured Tay-Sachs.”

“No,” she snapped, pointing her Sharpie at him, “I did not cure it. Not yet.

Recombiant Adeno-Associated Virus PHP.B Serotype for Cross-Correctional Enzyme Transfer Across the Blood Brain Barrier in Lipid Storage Disorders,” he recited on a single breath, “Sounds like a cure to me.”

She gave him a warm smile, “You memorized the title of my paper?”

“What can I say, I’m your biggest fan,” he grinned. She blushed, which of course only made him grin harder.

“I wish you’d look over my speech…” she said softly, picking up her marker again and retracing a giant letter S.

“I told you, Scully, they don’t want a speech from Fox Mulder: former FBI agent and profiler turned New York Times best-selling, National Book Award-winning author,” he said, though not unkindly, “They want a speech from former FBI agent, medical doctor, professor, surgeon, American Medical Association award-winning, guest-lecture giving, honorary degree-having, enigmatic, Dr. Dana Katherine Scully. Who also happens to be my best friend, the love of my life, and the mother of my child,” he said, “And a damn fine shot, too.”

“Oh, Mulder…” she tutted, shaking her head. As if on cue, they heard booming footfalls on the stairs and a second later Will skidded into the room, brandishing a poster board.

At 16, he was just about Mulder’s height and just as lanky and would probably be taller than him by the end of the summer; if his propensity for eating a week’s worth of groceries in a weekend was any indication of his basic metabolic rate and robust genetic profile.

Will cleared his throat, feigning seriousness, but his eyes sparkled with his father’s particular brand of indolence, “Brace yourselves for the unremitting sheen of my brilliance.”

Scully snorted. Mulder and Will threw her identical, indignant looks.

“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hands up in surrender, “You are your father’s son, Will. No doubt about it.”

Mulder nudged her foot with his under the table, “Was there ever really any doubt, Scully?”

She gave him a long look, which did not get passed Will. Not much did. 

“I detect a rather abrupt change in atmosphere,” Will said, licking his finger and holding it in the air as if to sense a gust of wind.

“Son,” Mulder said gravely, not taking his eyes off Scully, “There’s something we have to tell you.”

Scully frowned, but before she could speak she saw the faintest glimmer in Mulder’s eye and relaxed a bit.

“What?” Will said, slumping down in the chair closest to his father, letting his sign drop to the floor.

“William…Uncle Walter …is your real dad,” Mulder said, his mouth twitching around a grin.

“That explains why I find you and Mom so ridiculous,” Will said, rolling his eyes in with such form that it rivaled even his mother’s practiced art.

“No, that’s just ‘cuz you’re an angsty teen,” Mulder said, ruffling his son’s hair. Will blushed at the childishness of the gesture — more so because, even as a young man, he still craved his father’s approval and affection and was relieved to be in receipt of it.

“Let’s see your sign, Will,” Scully said, capping a nearby Sharpie that was teetering precariously over the edge of the dining room table.

Will reached for the posterboard, brandishing it high above his head. With a flourish, he turned it so they could read its words as he proclaimed them.

SCIENTISTS ARE PRO-TESTING!” He bellowed, and while he expected his father to laugh heartily and give him a high-five, neither of them expected that his mother would laugh. Certainly no so hard.

After a minute or two went by, Will and Mulder both eyed Scully with a kind of nervous fascination, wondering if perhaps they would have to sedate her.

“Have you…have you ever seen her like this?” Will said, his voice low.

Mulder didn’t take his eyes off Scully, who had lowered her head onto the table, collapsed like a pop-tent. Her shoulders still shaking and her muffled giggles getting lost against the polished cherrywood.

“Once,” he said slowly, “But she was drugged.”

This only made Scully laugh harder. When she finally lifted her head, her face was a hot shade of blush-pink and sallow with tear stains.

“I appreciate the encouragement, Mom,” Will said, “But there’s no need to stroke my ego that much. It’s a good sign but it’s not that good.”

Scully reached up to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her faded Quantico sweatshirt — which was older than Will by about a decade. She sighed deeply, then looked at them both through damp eyes and with a warm, almost cherubic smile.

“No, no, it is a good sign, Will. It’s just…” she sighed again, then drew in a long, sobering breath, “After all your father and I have been through, all that we’ve seen, the things that we’ve fought for…” she looked at Mulder, then. “The FBI sent me to your father because of my faith in science. They believed that science and reason would take him down. It didn’t, though. If anything it became an asset to his cause, and somewhere along the line I became — and so did the science I brought with me — the enemy.”

She lowered her eyes to her own sign, which suddenly seemed incapable of capturing everything she wanted — and needed — to say.

“The science helped sometimes,” Mulder said softly, “But you were the real strength, Scully.”

She smiled up at him as he reached across the table to squeeze her hand, “I guess I just find it preposterous that we have to protest this at all,” she said, shrugging slightly, “That the persecution we faced as a result of our pursuit of the truth has somehow become so much bigger than just us, than the X-files.”

“This whole political milieu is a freakin’ X-file,” Will grumbled.

“Nice 10-point vocab word there, dude.” Mulder said, clapping his son on the back.

“What can I say — my dad writes books.” Will shrugged.

Mulder beamed at Scully, who had rested her chin on her hand.

“Mulder,” she said, her voice hoarse from her laughing jag, “You never told me Skinner was a writer.”


“There must be almost 50,000 people out there,” Scully breathed, her nails digging into the skin of Mulder’s left hand. They could hear the roar of the crowd from beyond the stage — or possibly the rain, which was coming down in sheets. Of course, given that it was a crowd of scientists, they were prepared with slickers and umbrellas, upon which many had inscribed: “Science predicted rain today.”

“You’re gonna be great,” he said, kissing the side of her head which was damp with sweat or rain water or both.

“At least you’re not after Bill Nye,” Will offered, “No one wants to follow him.”

Scully groaned and pressed herself into Mulder’s chest.

“That’s true,” Mulder said, rubbing her back, “Plus, if you screw it all up, no one will remember because they’ll just remember Bill Nye and the fact that Thomas Dolby is gonna sing She Blinded Me With Science.”

“Wait, what song is this?” Will said, digging his phone out of his pocket presumably to YouTube it.

“It’s about your mother,” Mulder said, “Especially the lyric: she’s tidied up and I can’t find anything.”

“Mulder, I want a divorce,” Scully said from somewhere under Mulder’s chin.

“We’re not married, Scully.”

She pulled her head back from his coat and looked up at him, “Fox William Mulder, will you marry me?”

“Sure,” he grinned, running his thumb along her chin.

“Ok,” she said, pressing herself back into his chest again. Then, “Mulder—?”

“Yeah, Scully?”

“I want a divorce.”


The gray sky opened up over the undulating crowd.  If anyone looked up, they’d drown.  

“She looks — ” Will said, standing next to his father backstage, watching his mother at the podium.

“Brilliant? Amazing? Powerful? Divine?” Mulder finished.

Will snorted, “I was gonna say scared shitless.

Though her voice was steady and clear, from his vantage point Mulder could see what the audience could not: how Scully was anxiously lifting and lowering her stockinged foot from her sleek high heel, running the front of her toes along the back of her calf.

God, he was proud of her. God, he loved her.

“…to shed light on what has typically been sequestered away to labs and libraries and lecture halls. To put on full display the humanity that has for centuries stoked the fire of scientific inquiry, refined it, rejoiced in its revelations and more often, endured the frustrations of its arcanum.”

She looked up from her notes, then, and not out at the audience — but to her right, to him and to their son. The next words she spoke, he understood, she had not written for the masses, or for history — but for them.

“The truth exists whether we believe it or not. It endures even the most violent scrutiny and ruthless persecution. As we persist in seeking it, may we find solace in knowing that there is no person, no institution, no government, with jurisdiction over it. It can be suppressed, hidden, censored, altered or misappropriated, refuted and denied,” she paused, looking back to her audience who waited on baited breath, “What those who try to manipulate it beyond recognition, who try to eradicate it and replace it with calculated imitations, fail to recognize is that when all of those measures fail – and they will fail — what remains is the purest specimen of truth.”

She looks back at Mulder, then. At their son. And she smiles, “And it is those of us who want to believe such a truth can be revealed to us who will one day find it, and bring it into the light.”

Where Soul Meets Body- 13

Summary: Soulmate AU. Some people went their entire lives without ever meeting their soulmates. You were one of the lucky ones, to have found and fallen in love with the owner of the initials tattooed on your hip. When your soulmate’s best friend struggles to deal with a tragedy in his own life, you discover that you might not have been as lucky as you thought.

Steve Rogers x Reader; Bucky Barnes x Reader (Not MMF)

Warnings: (Series, not specifically this chapter: bad language, unprotected sex or sexual situations, drinking/alcoholism, drug use, violence, cheating, references to death, mutilation and trauma, maybe more.)

Words: 1566

Author’s Note: This chapter contains graphic depictions of death. Please use your discretion! if this at all bothers you, skipping this chapter will not effect your understanding of future chapters.

Tags at End

Master   Part 12

The snow was falling heavily, leaving the world blanketed in white despite the fact that it was late and the sun had long since gone down. The street cut through it like a snake, weaving between trees for miles. The windshield wipers were turned as high as they would go, squeaking loudly against the glass as they swept back and forth.

Inside the car, the heater was turned up high and the radio played Christmas music. Bucky’s thumbs drummed on the steering wheel to the beat, his anxiety getting the best of him. He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror for the hundredth time, taking in the bright blueness of his eyes and the laugh lines beginning to prick at the corners.

“What are you so nervous for?”

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Personal Involvement

Seth Clearwater imagine requested by anon! “Seth Clearwater one shot where the reader is madly in love with him? They’re imprints and she just loves him so much, and when he gets hurt she freaks out?” Disclaimer, it hurt me to write this. Hope you like it!

The day began as any other would have, save two important details. One, you were in La Push for reasons that would not normally confine you to the reservation, creating an atmospheric cell to cage you into the town, your skin crawling with uncomfortable chills so foreign to this environment. Second, you were without your usual companion, given his preoccupation somewhere too many miles north to fathom, running around on four legs as he pursued one of the chalky beasts from the depths of your darkest nightmares. La Push without its wolves was a strange and empty place indeed. The wind whistled through the trees, as if to illustrate through sound the vacancy you felt like a cavern in your chest, your very bones aching with the absence of your lover. All you could do was wait for his return; there wasn’t a word or promise you could make that would have kept him away from this hunt. This was the leech he’d caught a whiff of while running to your home, the vampire that had stopped at your front door before becoming distracted, they think, by the scent of blood in a house down the street. Seth wasn’t giving up on a chance to rip the monster limb from limb. He put himself in danger and held himself responsible for your close-call with venom-coated fangs.

“He must have smelled me, Y/n, there’s no other reason why he’d stop at your house. I asked Carlisle, he said you didn’t smell particularly appetizing, you’ve got too much of my scent on you to haul anyone to your house. He’s never come our way before, he’s never smelled one of us until now. He must have been curious. He could have killed you because of me,” he concluded, his cheekbones blazing in the afternoon sun, his pack mates calling to him from the edge of the woods, all of them removing their shoes in preparation to phase. A hunting party of seven: Sam, Jared, Jacob, Paul, Embry, Quil, and your Seth. This vamp was serious business, no matter how nonchalantly Seth handled the ordeal. Sam wouldn’t have called for so many participants if he didn’t think it was necessary. “C’mon, we do this all the time. I was born for this, babe. Trust me, I’ll be fine. Just gotta go rip someone’s head off. Stretch the legs, you know? It’s been a while,” at this, he laughed, his brows raised at the memory of his last hunt. He’d been with Edward Cullen at the time. He’d gotten hurt. “It’s going to be fine. Emily will be with you the whole time, and we’ve got Colin and Brady on watch. You’ll be alright.” You rolled your eyes, your fingers clinging to the hem of his shirt, attempting to anchor him to your side to prohibit him from leaving. He smirked at your feeble attempt, his hands covering yours, fingers intertwining. You didn’t miss that this action removed your hold on his clothing.

“Yeah, Seth, I’ll be fine, but you’re going tooth to tooth with something that could kill you. I’m not okay with that. Look, there’s seven of you going. You can afford to sit one out, right? It’s just the one vampire. Stay,” you pleaded, your voice dripping with emotion. He shook his head slowly, his eyes on the sky above, watching the clouds roil overhead. He sighed, his gaze falling to your face, his answer clear in his honest eyes. Damn it.

“I can’t. This is too personal. He was on your doorstep, Y/n. I’m involved when you are. Besides, I kind of want to see the look on his face when he catches my scent.” He paused, his brow furrowing in contemplation. “Is that sadistic?” You shook your head, exhaling until your lungs were deflated entirely. Seth was going, whether you liked it or not. You couldn’t help but fear for his safety, despite the cushion his pack provided. You’d heard of worse destruction from greater hunting parties. You didn’t want to see him broken on his brothers’ shoulders. His index finger tilted your face to meet his, his eyes soft, his lips upturned in a gentle smile. God, he looked so innocent like that. It wasn’t helping his case. “Hey, look at me. I’m going to be fine. I’ll be back before you know it… might even make it for dinner.” He grinned, his thumb brushing over your jawline, his lips lowering to yours. He cradled your face as his lips moved against yours, separating only when Jacob called from beyond the trees, requesting he hurry up. Seth grinned, winking as he walked backwards towards the woods, his hand holding yours until the distance was too great to maintain contact. “Time me, if you want. I’ll be back so soon you won’t even have time to miss me.” Likely, you thought, your mind’s voice leaking sarcasm like a busted shower head, I’m already worried sick. Seth’s hand raised in parting, calling a quick “I love you!” before disappearing beyond the treeline, kicking his shoes off as he went. Fine. If he wanted you to time him, you would.

That was three hours ago.

You were wondering the roads until Emily had finished her cooking. You never could stand to stay in her house when Seth was away, despite her warming company. There was nothing she could do to ease your nerves, no sweet songs she could hum, no offers to taste-test her creations, no amount of friendly conversation that could’ve quelled the rampaging pangs of dread pooling in your stomach like acid before a bout of the stomach flu. The sky’s light was beginning to fade, the clouds overhead promising rain within the hour, laden as they were with water. How appropriate. Rain to further dampen your mood. You had no choice but to return to Emily’s place if you had intentions of staying dry. If your turned back now, you could probably make it back before the worst of the rain came pouring down. You pivoted, setting back towards the nook in the woods that held Emily’s little ranch, your eyes on the pavement as you walked, your mind on Seth. There was no way of knowing if he was alright, if he was on his way back or if the situation had grown complicated. You couldn’t call him, and he couldn’t pick up the phone without opposable thumbs. You were left to linger in the silent middle-land of the waiting widow, unsure if her lover would return from battle or not.

Part of your mind kept assuring the rest that everything was going to be okay, that Seth was an experienced fighter with six of his pack mates by his side to help him dismember the vampire. He’d done it before a hundred times, and he’d continue to hunt after he returned home. He’d been born and bred to fight vampires, why shouldn’t he be okay? Because he was taking this hunt personally. He could be over-confident, he could get cocky, he could risk a maneuver if it meant being the one to remove the bloodsucker’s head. You had no grasp of how level-headed he was going to be, even with Sam and Jacob keeping him in line. He was the youngest in the pack, and his head was clouded with obscene thoughts of protecting you from a threat that never truly revealed itself to you. He just had to keep him from returning. Your feet stumbled against the rocky path down Emily’s forgotten street, passing trees too large to share the sky and countless paw prints marking the soil on the pavement’s edge. They didn’t look fresh enough to be the returning hunting party… they must have been Sam’s. A raindrop splattered against the earth, flooding the imprint momentarily before being absorbed by the thirsting soil. You lifted your face to the skies and you were instantly struck by a splattering of rain. The clouds had opened above you sooner than you had expected, weeping a heavy rain onto the ground below, muddying the road leading to Emily’s house. You broke into a run, ducking your head in a instinctual, fruitless attempt to avoid getting wet, your feet sinking into the mossy bank shielding Emily’s home from view, jumping down onto the muddy lawn, dark water splashing onto your calves. You raced to her front door, shaking your shirt as you stepped inside. She was waiting with a towel, which she draped over your shoulders, pecking a maternal kiss to the rain-slick crown of your head.

No sooner had you settled at the table that the frantic voices were heard beyond the walls of Emily’s kitchen, shouting over the rolling thunder. A dish dropped into the sudsy water of the sink as Emily sprinted to the door, her hand fluttering to her mouth to conceal the gaping shock that now adorned her lips. Your heart dropped into the acid your stomach had been storing, boiling your organ until your pulse had to actively fight to be heard over the panic in your mind. You leapt from the table, but Emily’s hand held you back, pressing against your abdomen firmly, her eyes wide on yours.

“Y/n, I need you to stay back, give them room. Stay away from the door,” she commanded you, her voice soft and stern like that of a mother, though the lilt carried in her words betrayed her terror. You struggled against her hand, rushing to the door in time to watch three faceless boys carry another on their shoulders, with Sam in the lead. You mind was alight with a single word of denial, repeated over and over again, bloating to flood your brain entirely until you could think of nothing else. No. Sam ran to hold the door, shouting for Emily to dial Doctor Cullen’s number from the kitchen before moving to secure both of your shoulders in his hands. His body blocked the scene beyond the door from view, but his figure could not silence the shrieks of pain that erupted from the boy’s mouth. Sam’s voice was loud in your ears as he walked you away from the door, Emily’s voice a quiet but strained cry in the background as she spluttered details you could not decipher into her phone.

“Y/n, look at me,” Sam advised, his brow furrowed, his gaze demanding. You cringed with the next peal of agony, closer now. Your eyes flitted to the door, but Sam’s hand held your chin in place, locking your gaze on his. “Look at me. I need you to listen to me carefully now, alright? Seth got hurt. Carlisle’s on his way. I need you to- Y/n!” You struggled free of his grasp, worming your way towards the door, Seth’s name on your lips. The boys hauled him into the kitchen, his arm and legs dangling unnaturally over their shoulders, his face twisted in unthinkable pain. You screamed wordlessly, fighting against Sam’s hold, his hands pinning yours behind your back. Jacob, Jared, and Paul set Seth onto Emily’s kitchen table, his body too long for the expanse of wood, the hand of his one good limb clutching to his right shoulder. Quil let the door slam behind him before rushing to take Jacob’s place by Seth’s side, the former werewolf approaching you, his hands on your shoulders.

“He’s going to be okay, Y/n, trust us. He got grabbed at a wrong angle. It happened to me, and I’m fine. He’s going to be-” Jacob’s words were cut-off by another ear-splitting cry coming from the table. You squirmed against Sam’s hold, barely noticing the look Jacob shot his former leader as his grip loosened enough to free you from his grasp. You rushed to the table, your hands fluttering over Seth’s body, unable to find a plot of skin that did not look ready to burst with the edges of broken bones. He choked, spluttering your name. You wound around the table until you reached his head, his eyes rolling in their sockets before somehow, miraculously, focusing on your face. He whispered your name, his voice weakened and hoarse from screaming, his face drenched in raindrops and shining with sweat. He lifted his hand, reaching outwards to you, your own hand holding tight to his palm. His fingers curled around your hand weakly, his eyes closing and opening slowly, as if even the simple action of blinking was labourious.

“Y/n,” he spluttered, his voice like gravel, almost impossible to hear over the thunder outside. Emily gave a warning of the minutes until Carlisle’s arrival, but you could focus on nothing but Seth’s face, his eyes swimming with tears. Despite his obvious pain, he managed to crack the ghost of a grin across his lips. “I got him. Told you… I would.” With those words, his eyes closed, his eyes rolling from behind his lids. Your breathing was ragged as the wolves cleared the kitchen for the doctor’s supplies, shouting order to call the other pack members, filling them in as they arrived: first Embry, then Colin, and finally Brady. Moments after Brady had stepped through the door, the atmosphere in the kitchen shifted. A frigid hand ushered yours from Seth’s, moving his working limb to cross his bare chest. You stared up into the golden eyes of Carlisle Cullen, who assured you that he would tend to Seth. With one telling glance at Jacob, you were escorted from the house, too far away to hear the sound of breaking bones, but close enough to listen to Seth’s screaming.

When you returned, Seth was asleep on Emily’s bed, his body bandaged and cast in plaster, his hand hanging limply over the edge of the bed, waiting for yours. When he finally woke from his morphine-induced slumber, you gave him no time to adjust. You fired your questions at him as soon as you saw the sparkle in his irises: how could he have been so reckless? How badly was he hurt? Why did he go? He smiled, rubbing his thumb over the backside of your palm, his words slurred by the amount of painkillers in his system, but clear enough for you to understand.

“Had to make sure you were safe. He came after you. I’m involved when you are.” You pressed your lips to his hand, watching his smile grow through the salted haze of your tears. “And I love you. There’s that too.”

anonymous asked:

Jokes about dragons are an ace thing? What vital piece of knowledge am I missing?

It’s a smaller association, but dragons have been associated with asexual culture for some time. I don’t think there’s any big symbolism behind it, it most likely started when people joked about how we’re more into dragons than sex, and it took off.

It might have also gotten highlighted by how, traditionally, dragons aren’t ‘born’ or reproduced. As reptilian non-animals, dragons exist as forces of nature, like thunderstorms or tsunamis. So their existence has no sexual energy. Depending on the dragon, of course.

It also runs on the association of queer people and monsters. The lgbt+ community has long since studied monsters and their symbolism, and compared it to our own philosophy. Monsters exist beyond the binary, and many of them were designated evil or destructive because they challenged social norms. Demons encouraged anarchy and ruling from beyond a shepherd’s hand, werewolves a transformation into a freed impulsive nature, mermaids the duality of identity, and so on.

- Fae

Not Your Ordinary White Day


Pairing: Nalu

Rating: K

Genre: Romance and fluff 

Prompts: White Day + A girl worth fighting for

Summary: It was a wedding day that ended up being quite different than how Natsu had expected it would go. Thankfully, the way it had was way better. 

Notes: Tagging @nalufever, @ff-darkshininglight, @rizzy09, @msmanga14 and @x-benihime! Happy belated White Day you guys! I hope this isn’t too bad. ^^;

He adjusted his bow for the millionth time, cursing this need for “propriety”. It may have been a special day and all, but damn was this tux uncomfortable. 

She thinks you look good in them, though,’ he reminded himself, begrudgingly.

He brought his hands up, nearly ruffling his hair - an old habit whenever he found himself even remotely uncomfortable - before he remembered that even his hair had been gelled and set in place. 

He looked back at his reflection in the mirror and saw his vibrant, spiky untamable hair. Tamed. 

With a sigh, he chose instead to adjust his too-tight collar, suddenly deeply missing the scarf that was usually there in its place, currently tucked inside his shirt. 

He was uncomfortable, and not just because of what he was wearing. He hadn’t told anyone, but this was a day he wasn’t really looking forward to. He hadn’t since the date had been decided. 

Heck, even before then.

He could see it. The decorated chapel, full of their friends and family, all brimming with joy for the couple, little flower girl Wendy, Makarov the semi-drunk Minister, the music, the food… 

Oh and Lucy. Joyful, grinning, in all-white and just beautiful. Oh, so beautiful. Even more so that usual. 

The thought created a powerful pang in his chest, one that nearly had him gasping. 

His thoughts were a mess, full of fear and doubt and a smidgen of hope, and it was smothering him. They had been doing so for days now and it only seemed to rise in a crushing crescendo now that they were at the day of the wedding.
It got to a point where he allowed his hands to ruffle his hair, a growl leaving him as he did. 

He was supposed to be happy. This was supposed to be their happy day. 

Then why was he feeling like this?

‘The answer is obvious, idiot,’ he told himself. ‘Now will you do something about it or not?’

Steeling his resolve, he looked up into his reflection and nodded to himself. He was going to do this. 

Next thing you know, he was running down the hall towards the bride’s rooms. 


“Lucy!” he exclaimed, barging into her room. Or, at least what he thought was her room, he couldn’t see her through the many women currently occupying it, all of whom were currently staring at him. 

“Natsu?” Erza gasped. “What’re you - ”

“I really need to speak with Lucy,” he urged loudly, drowning the part of him begging him to stop, that this was somehow a bad idea. 

“But Natsu, I - ”

“Let him, Erza.”

Her voice taking his side was everything he needed to hear.

Erza nodded, ushering the all the other women out of the room. Natsu watched as they left, revealing her seated before a huge dressing table. The reflection the giant mirror displayed blew every thought he was having straight out of his head. 

She. Was. Gorgeous. 

No, more than that. She was a vision. Her white dress hugged her perfectly, and with her hair pulled up in a wonderfully messy bun, her shoulders and slender neck were on show, decorated only with intricate lace.  

But more than any of that, it was the sight of her eyes, her smile - she was practically glowing with joy, and Natsu nearly gave up then and there. 

“Isn’t it inauspicious for you to be here, though?” she asked, reminding him what he had come for. 

“I think that rule applies to the groom, not the groomsmen,” he replied, still quite unable to take his eyes off her. 

He wondered if he imagined the way her back stiffened. 

Keep reading

So, Jin is the son of a CEO.

*Patiently waiting for the “50 shades of grey Jin!au” writers to come out of the shadows.“

Silent Craving of Affection

Request: “more jealous/angry newt???? i live for angst”

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Reader

Word Count: 1474

Warnings: ANGST DANG MAN I’M CRYN (might have a smutty part 2?!?!?!!?)

Originally posted by rpvisualosities


Again she was drifting further away, her lazy gaze switching between the cars that travelled through the street. Her elbow leant against the window sill, the thin fabric of her dressing gown flying as the warm breeze sifted through the orifice, erupting in a quiet sneeze as the pollen from the flowers beyond her smaller hands tickled her nose and fell onto her eyelashes.

She is perfect in every way imaginable Newt thought, his hand mindlessly sketching the curves of your figure as you dozed across the sill. He thought he might be ensnared by your ethereal beauty, and only in the coming days after realizing his love for you did he understand that he already was. Although you thought of yourself as plain on better days, Newt could barely view you as anything less than flawless, your skin glistening under the sinking sun as you began to hum a tune.

“I think I might go out dancing tonight.” You spoke softly, as if to yourself. Even so, the combined notes of your voice to make such a simple sentence made his heart race.

“Dancing?” Newt replied with a slight smirk. “You told me you hated dancing.”

You turned your face from the street, looking back to the man who lounged with his journal in hand and a rosy tint to his cheeks. It was on days such as these, so effortless and calm, that your true beauty shone. Every deep breath you took, your chest rising beneath the white silk you wore, allured Newt until he had to shake the wandering thoughts from his mind.

Keep reading

Jeff Hardy; Bar Games

A/N: This took SO LONG and I’m super sorry! I just recently got adopted by a baby squirrel and I’ve been taking care of him, making sure he’s okay. I named him Buckwheat! He’s adorbs. This was requested by @ittybittywriter. Also, can anyone tell me how to do the “read more” html on the app for the phone? I don’t own a laptop/computer

A/N Part 2, Heart Complications update: I’m working on Part 3 as we speak and BE WARNED, IT’S GOING TO GET VERY DARK. There’s going to be a few jealous men, some stalking, slight abuse, harassment. It’s going to get dark, so I figured I’d warn you first off before I post it.

TAGS: @neeadinghugs @deseraysmiththings @panic-angel3314 @ambrosegirlforever @queen-twerks-a-lot

Word Count: 2,585

Style: Reader x Jeff Hardy

Triggers: Alcohol?

Type: Smutty, Fluffy.

_________

You’ve been friends for years, but what happens when Jeff talks you into a night at the bar?

~~~~~~~~~~

Originally posted by youtappedout

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun to go out. You know, something you don’t know how to do?”

Jeff was right. You didn’t know how to go out. Hell, you barely knew how to get out of your pajama pants into jeans half the time. You were always a shy person, even after four years of being best friends with the youngest Hardy brother. You two had met at a house show where he managed to botch a move, throwing himself over the barricade into your lap. The accident started a beautiful friendship.

You look down at your half assed attire. Black skinny jeans and a normal purple cotton shirt. You roll your eyes and sigh.

Fine, you win. I’ll have to.. dig something nice looking out of my bag”.

You can hear Jeffs smile pulling from ear to ear.

“I’ll meet you at the club after the show. I’ll text you which one we decide one. See you there?”

“Well obviously, you already talked me into going out. See ya later”. You hang up with him, turning around to face the big balcony window.

You grab your duffle and rush over to the edge of the hotel bed. You begin shuffling through your duffle bags, hoping to find a miracle you threw into you bag when your packed it, half asleep, before you took this trip with him.

Throughout the years, Jeff always tried to get out into the scene, getting you out of your comfort zone of staying in your hotel room. It never worked, no matter how many times he begged you to go throw beers back. Finally, you feel the familiar, soft touch of silk. Your miracle in a duffle bag. The dress you bought before the tour. It has a low plunging neckline with a strap halter and a slit from on the right hip from the waist to the middle thigh where the dress stops. It’s a beautiful light green, which contrasts perfectly against your skin. You lay it on the bed and check the time on your phone. 9:49.

Good you think. Enough time to get ready. You waltz over to the desk, which has a giant vanity mirror on it. Grabbing the makeup bag you managed to find before leaving home, you begin putting on a little mascara and foundation, to make yourself look like you’re not tired. Your phone buzzes.

Jeff: Hey, we’re going to The Underground. Meet us there around 10:30?

You put your bottle of foundation down, picking up the phone to start typing.

You: Yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll maps it to find it.

Your phone buzzes a minute later.

Jeff: ♡

The phone reads 10:14. You didn’t realize how long you took on your appearance for something you’re not even going to enjoy. You also zoned out the fact that you put on eyeshadow. You get up and walk to the bed, sliding the pajama pants off your body to the floor. You pull your shirt up off your torso and glide yourself into this silky, beautiful dress.

Next is the worst part. High heels. You grimace at the black spiked heels, knowing you’re not the best walking around in them.

“Fake it ‘til you make it, I guess”, you mumble as you pull the heels over your delicately soft feet. You spray a bit of perfume on and off you go out into the dark streets of Chicago. Your hands clenched into your smartphone, following maps down blocks of city sidewalks. A text pops up on your phone.

Jeff: Where are you? You’re late! :P

You smile softly at the semi-worried, semi-joking text as you hit the reply button.

You: Do you know how long it takes for me to look good?

You take a left, finding a brightly lit street of neon signs and loud human activity.

Jeff: Not very long. Getting the balls to come out? Probably about 3 ½ hours of crying and telling yourself you can “do this”. :D

You walk down the street, multiple men and women turn their heads to look at you as you strut passed them.

You: Eat me, Jeff.

Jeff: ;)

Ahhh, The Underground. Finally finding the building as you quickly glance up to read the signs. You turn your phones screen off and push the door open to the night club. Instantly looking for your little party of Jeff and the gang. Multiple heads turn as your legs stride with your walk, checking you out from every angle.

Deans sitting with Jeff, along the likes of Alexa, Renee Young, and Seth. They’re around a little round table, pounding back shots of mid shelf tequila. The burn of the smooth alcohol twists everyones faces into indistinguishable looks of approval. Seths head comes back down, his eyes landing on you. Almost instantly he starts elbowing Jeff. Finally, he looks your way. He takes his swallow of alcohol in surprise before his mouth lays open, the sight of you sending his heart racing. He sways over to you, his tight blue jeans hugging his hips almost too perfectly.

“We started without ya”, ha places his hands on your bare shoulder, “buuutttt, we saved your shots”, his smile beams through the dark lighting of the venue, “you’re three behind”.

He takes your hand and walks with you over to the table, fully noticing that Seth can’t even say a word to you, let alone look at you.

Jeff chuckles, “Cat got your tongue?”

Seth shakes his head, “nah, (Y/N) does”. Bayley smacks him in the arm before laughing.

You take your first shot and instantly wince. Tequila. You wish someone would have told you, so you could have licked some salt. The burn trails down your throat. Before you know it, you’re six shots in, thirty minutes past midnight, laughing at Dean and Renee attempt drunken karaoke. Jeff struts over with another round of shots. As he reaches the table, he eyes you up and down before a light pink spreads across his face. He hands you another shot.

“What was that look for”, you ask, “impure thoughts?”

A grin cracks across his face, “very impure”. He places salt in between his thumb and forefinger. You shake your head and dust it off. “I have a better idea”.

You take the salt from his hand and smile your prettiest “almost beyond drunk” smile, then lick your thumb. You rub the wet thumb on your collar bone and pour salt on it as Jeff raises an eyebrow. You bat your eyelashes, “body shot”? He grins, almost evilly, before pressing his lips to your collar bone, sliding his wet tongue across it, before taking his shot and biting into a lime.

He brings his head to your ear, “your turn”. Jeff empties off the table before jumping onto it to sit, leaning back against the wall. You look him from head to toe, then back up, as he drunkenly pulls his white shirt tshirt up to his rib cage. He then mimics you, licking his finger, rubbing it right above his belt on his hip. He pours a little bit of salt, then hands you a lime and a shot. “Go ahead, princess.”

You smirk, cocking an eyebrow at him before slowly bending your head down to his belt. You slip finger underneath the hem of his pants and tug down slightly, before licking your tongue against his hip slow, as he bites his lip watching. Your head comes back up, to take the shot of tequila. That’s when he grabs your hands and leads you out to the dance floor as a bassy, dirty, EDM song comes on.

Before you can even blink, he’s got his arms wrapped around your hips under the darkened, strobe lit, and black light paint room, as you both begin to grind on each other. Your hips touch as he slides his hand down to the cut of your dress. When did this happen? Why is my heart going a million miles a minute? Your soaked hair pulls against your skin as he again brings his hands up from your hips to your waist, watching your lower body move against his. He spins you around, so your back is placed against his chest as you both continue to sway against each other, getting completely lost in one another’s bodies. He holds your hips so they stay connected to his, the bubble of your ass firmly pressed into the crotch of his jeans, which continue to get more strained every second.

He grabs your arm and whispers “I can’t handle it anymore”. You mouth back, “handle what?”

Bad question.

Not even ten minutes later, Jeff pushes you against your hotel room door, your mouths wrestling against each other for dominance as he scrambles to find the door key. You pull on his cotton tshirt, flicking your tongue against his lips as he nearly rips the key card from the pocket of his pants, forcefully shoving it in the slide, almost breaking the door off the hinges as he swings it open, pushing you both into the room.

He pulls his shirt off without any effort, dropping it to the floor before fumbling drunkenly with his belt. You grab his hands and pull them away, before placing your own hand on his green studded belt, pulling him towards the bed. You strip yourself of the dress with your empty hand, letting it fall to the floor as you lead him to the edge of the bed, pushing him down slowly as he sits on the edge.

You climb up behind him on the bed, pressing your breasts against his back, taking your hands and rubbing them down his shoulders, to his chest, and back up before reaching up and taking his hair of the bun it’s in, allowing his hair to fall against his shoulders. He stays quiet, quickly glancing over at you as you climb back down and place yourself on your knees in front of him. You run your hands from his knees to his belt buckle, his bulge fully straining against his pants, the imprint taking you by surprise. That’s gonna be more than a mouthful.

You undo the buckle, then work on the button and zipper, as he pushes up to allow you room to tug his pants down from his waist and off his body. You look back up at him as he begins to palm himself, the pressure from your tease barely controllable. You watch him for a couple seconds, noticing the wetness forming between your legs. You take the band of his briefs and slowly pull them down, exposing the thick, hard cock in front of your eyes.

As he helps you kick them off, you lap your tongue against the tip. Jeff lays his head back as he leans himself on his elbows. You watch him bite his lip as you fully surround the head of his cock inside your mouth, again licking your tongue around it. You hear a soft moan slip from between his lips. You slide your head father down his shaft as your face comes in contact with his lower body, fully engulfing him in your hot, wet mouth. You pull back and begin to do it again as you feel him twitch inside you. He pulls your hair slowly until he’s out of you, standing you up.

“As great as that felt, that’s not how I’m getting off when I’m with you”.

He stands up and pulls your panties down to the floor, his fingers leaving trails of fire as they run back up your body, before slowly laying you down against the bed, your legs still off of the mattress. His evil grin reappears, as he takes your legs in his hands, pushing them to your sides as he takes in the view of your body. It’s almost mesmerizing to him. He aligns the tip of his still hardened cock to your slick, hot entrance, before pushing the tip inside of you. He gives you no time to adjust as he buries himself inside you directly after. The high pitched, shaky moan you let out, instantly receives a growl from him. He begins to slowly pull out a little, before snapping back in hard, keeping your legs pinned to the bed. Your fingers grip the blanket.

He pulls out again, snapping back in harder, your moan getting louder. That’s when he begins thrusting at a bruisingly fast pace, feeling every inch of him fuck you into the mattress. The bed here’s every time he repeatedly buries his cock inside you, his own moans spilling out. His eyes lock with yours as you’re moaning out swear words, you turn your head to the side, clinching your eyes shut as pleasure completely starts taking over your body.

He scratches your thighs hard, “fuck”, he moans out, breathily. Your pussy begins to clinch around him, keeping yourself from exploding, Jeff puts a hand on the bed to keep himself from collapsing from it, continuing the bruising pace on you. The sweat soaks his hair, as he grinds his cock in you, your expletives getting louder against the blanket as your orgasm begins to take control of you. He knows what’s coming, and it’s you.

His devil grin forms against his lips as his thumb presses against your clit, tempting you to explode.

“You want to so bad, don’t you”, his words like fire from a dragons mouth, only pushing you closer, “my little (Y/N) wants to come, huh”?

Your head nods fast, biting your lip.

“Just how long have you wanted me to do this to you?”

Your head turns to him as your lust filled eyes sends him directly over the edge into his own orgasm.

Mmmmfuck, (Y/N)”, he slowly rubs your clit in circles, allowing the coil to burst inside you, pulsing against his cock, before he agonizingly slowly pulls himself out of you, catching his breath. With the little bit of energy he has left, he picks you up bridal style and lays you under the blankets, wrapping your sweat soaked body against his own, placing fiery hot kisses along your shoulder and neck before you both drift off to sleep.

The next morning you wake up, and Jeff is already awake. He’s kept you close to him as you slept, watching your chest rise and fall as you breathe.

“We need to talk”, he mumbles.

Your heart starts racing with anxiety. Those four words only almost always means bad things are coming.

“Mmh, okay, what’s up”?, you rub your eyes, taking a moment.

“What happened last night…”, he pauses, your blood runs cold, “…I want that to keep happening”.

“…Jeff what?”

“I want that, between us, to keep happening”.

You look up at him, “can I ask a reason why”? His face turns red as he looks away from you. “(Y/N), I love you.”

The breath from your lungs escapes your mouth as you stare up at this messy haired, beautiful man. He looks away again, “I just know last night you were very drunk and I know you’d never have feelings for someone li-“

You instantly cut him off by placing your lips against his.

“Jeff, I love you too. I have since I met you”. Jeffs beautiful green eyes light up like neon signs, gripping you tight in his arms.

“You’re my forever, (Y/N)”.