visions from the edge

I'll Always Write Back [Connor Murphy x Reader]

Title: I’ll Always Write Back

Pairing: Connor Murphy x Reader

Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen

Requested: by the lovely @the-murphy-family

Summary: Connor and the reader are friends online, but then find out they’re neighbors too. The reader is homeschooled, so she has no way of hearing the rumors about him. They become best buds and hang out with each other everyday and eventually fall in love

A/N: This was waaaayyy longer than I wanted it to be, so my apologizes in advance. Thanks again to @the-murphy-family for such a fantastic prompt, I’m sorry I rushed the exposition so much. I had so much fun writing this! (If you aren’t already following their blog, I highly suggest it).

Warnings: Connor’s potty mouth | First person reader | Fighting Murphy siblings

It was almost bedtime by the time I’d messaged him. I hadn’t planned on it, by any means. We talked after I’d finished my lessons for the day–he’d skipped school, I saw, which I always thought was off considering his mother was home.

I’d changed into my pajamas–just an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts–and had begun to tuck myself into bed when I saw him.

He’d left his blind open tonight, and through the window screen I could see him silhouetted perfectly, all the lights in his room blazing. It was nearing 9:30, so I wasn’t too shocked to find he was still awake. The houses were so close together on this side of town and, from the second story window, there was nothing but a four yard distance between our windows–and a drop nearly twice that length.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring straight ahead, giving me a view of his profile, the sharp angle of his jaw, the thin slope of his nose, and the hard jut of his adam’s apple.

 What startled me enough to give pause was the fact he was unnervingly still, unblinking, staring at something I couldn’t see. He wasn’t working on homework or painting his nails or playing that silly candy crush game on his phone. He was just staring.

Too far away for me to make out his expression, I instead rolled over onto my bed, clicking the lights back on and pulling out my phone, opening up the Chat app we used on the daily.

To: Connor
From: Me

What’s up, buttercup?

I wished I could see him–there were certainly nights we sat by the window and messaged back and forth, but starting out that way would mean he knew I saw him lost in whatever pensive state he’d been in, which more often than not would mean he’d be less than willing to talk. In my lap, my phone buzzed to life.

From: Connor
To: Me

Isn’t past your bedtime or something? 

I snorted, starting my own reply before:

From: Connor
To: Me

Are you having trouble sleeping again?

Swallowing thickly, I immediately replied:

To: Connor
From: Me

No, I’m fine. Just bored, checking to see if you were too :)

I tried to wait, give Connor a moment to compose whatever turmoil he’d been sitting in before I asked how he felt, otherwise I’d get a swift ‘okay’ and the conversation would take a dive bomb south at ridiculous speeds.

From: Connor
To: Me

If it’s nudes you’re looking for, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not in the mood tonight, kiddo

I choked, lunging forward in the bed to muffle my embarrassing squawk into my fist. Thank goodness my bed was out of sight of the window, or I’d have to watch Connor chortling at my less than appropriate reaction to his less than appropriate joke.

Connor and I had only been talking for about two months now, after I’d moved out here five months ago. Well, we’d been talking for nearly the entirety of the five months, but I’d only realized it was Connor not all that long ago.

To: Connor
From: Me

Oh no, whatever will I do without seeing your sculpted, rock-hard abs??? ;)

From: Connor
To: Me

Shut up, jerk off

I cackled into my fist, careful to not wake my siblings that slept in the next room over. It had taken a large amount of time to get used to Connor’s rather blunt personality, to put it pleasantly.  He’d always been candid, of course, ever since the first contact I’d had with him on the Chat app (“You swear you aren’t a pedophile, right? Or my dad? That’d be weird as fuck.”) and it had been thrilling to be with someone so open and ready to talk about things. The way he felt. The things he thought. The fact he was afraid.

We didn’t exchange photos for a long time–and I’d never seen Connor outside the house, other than the on and off times he’d flit across his bedroom window like a haunt, never knew his name–but the second his photo flashed on my screen, I knew. Even in the photo he hadn’t been smiling, the same stoic countenance he always wore.

He’d recognized my photo immediately, and had been less than thrilled. It took convincing–a lot of me showing up at the fence between our yards, very nauseous, promising it hadn’t been a mean joke–but he came around.

From: Connor
To: Me

You sure you’re good? You’re quiet

I smiled softly at my phone screen. It was a rare night when Connor had enough energy to be so concerned about others–it wasn’t his fault, I knew, he was just in a bad spot right now. The fact he could consider my feelings for more than a few moments felt remarkable, flattering. But, most importantly, it meant he was doing okay.

To: Connor
From: Me

I’m fine, pls don’t worry :)

To: Connor
From: Me

Are YOU okay?

From: Connor
To: Me

I’m fine, chill out

I rolled my eyes, unsurprised. Deflect and distract, his usually strategy.

From: Connor
To: Me

Can’t see you rn

From: Connor
To: Me

Come to the window

I sat up quickly, going over to shut out the light to blur my image to him. Combing my messy hair with my fingers, I tugged on my oversized shirt so that it covered my mostly exposed legs before throwing open the window and leaning out.

Connor, across the way, had already thrown his window open and was halfway leaning out, his face scrunched in confusion. He tapped something out on his phone, pausing every so often to tuck back the dark locks falling into his face. His other arm was braced on the window ledge, the sleeve of his hoodie pushed up to expose his bare forearms to moonlight, glowing a soft snow hue in the dark. My phone buzzed as he glanced back up at me with an open expression.

From: Connor
To: Me

Turn on the light, dumbass, I can barely see you

I smiled up at him, putting my phone aside to shake my head ‘no’. He frowned, slumping down a little more against the window, his chest pressed to the ledge, before holding his arms up in a 'why not?’ and flipping me the bird.

I typed out a quick response to let him know that my parents thought I was asleep. I watched him read the text, watched his eyebrows furrowed over his deep-set slate eyes, saw him frown, heard him swear under his breath. I bit back a chuckle as he carded his hand through his hair in frustration several times.

I vaguely wondered why this made so little sense–most of our conversation up to this point had been centric of me, but Connor was visibly frustrated (not that he wasn’t frequently) and earlier he’d seemed much to absent to not be upset about something. My phone buzzed to life, casting a blue glow across my face, and I saw Connor’s face stretch in recognition, pleased to make out my expression in the dark.

From: Connor
To: Me

Meet me in the pool house

My heart jackhammered in my chest at the thought of it–sneaking out. He was crazy, he had to be. He knew my parents would murder me for being up this late, let alone sneaking out, and worst of all, meeting a boy.
Not just a boy. Connor.

I felt him watching me from across the divide, at the edge of my vision and could make out where he leaned against the window, propped up on his elbows and head in his hands, hair hanging in his face. Glancing up, meeting his stony gaze, I nodded.

It was immediate, earning a reaction from him. Biting back my chuckle, he scrambled up from where he kneeled against the window ledge, his whole face smiling as he ran from his window without looking back. He was already standing in his backyard, waving wildly before I’d even departed from the window.

I decided against redressing or doing my hair–Connor was waiting and the quicker I got out there the quicker I got back without alerting my parents to my absence. Besides, it was probably too dark in the pool shed for Connor to make out my bare face and frizzy hair anyway, let alone the hair on my legs and the stretch marks on my thighs. As if Connor had the nerve to look to begin with, I snorted.

Sneaking out was surprisingly easy, and Connor had left the gate cracked just enough for me to slip in between. The door to the pool shed–just a small building, hardly smaller than my bedroom, at the edge of the yard–was slightly ajar, and I saw quick movements coming from inside.

Once in the doorway, clicking the door shut behind myself, I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me.

“Connor?” I called, spinning in the dark so that my back rested against the door, ready to exit if necessary. My eyes searched the dark frantically–in vain. There was a small window, vaguely fogged from years of neglect that allowed a slim moon beam to shine in on a small pile of towels and blankets, a little bean bag chair. Connor had told me not too long ago he and Zoe hadn’t played in here for years, which meant it held secrets long forgotten by either of the Murphy children. I felt honored to be inside it.

“Hey,” he breathed, and though I could see him, I recognized his soft voice just to the right side of me, breathy and soft. It’s too dark to make him out, and I noticed he’s careful not to touch me, but I can feel his breath against my ear, warm despite the fact it’s chilly for a June night. I felt goosebumps pimpling along my legs, making the hair stand up on end. I silently thanked the universe for giving me the gift of darkness to veil myself in.

“Feels like it might rain,” I sighed, turning toward the sound of him, the warmth. My bare arms brushed something–maybe cotton, maybe not–but it pulled back immediately away from me, accompanied by a quick intake of breath.

“Christ, don’t talk about the weather,” Connor hissed into the dark, a hard thunk resonating through the shed where he must have leaned his head against the wall, a bit too forcefully. How very Connor of him. “That’s the kind of shit my dad says in the car when he acts like he’s uncomfortable to be near me for more than ten minutes at a time.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, leaning away, and turning to gingerly pick my way across the shed–it was getting late now and I was already beginning to get tired. Connor may be able to stay up until the early morning hours, but I definitely couldn’t be trusted to be awake at eleven.

“Fuck, don’t be sorry, I just meant–shit,” he growled, and I heard another sharp pang against the steel inside of the shed–he’d hit something with his fist, if the metallic clink of what I assumed to be his ring against the sheet metal was any indication.

I stumbled my way to the beanbag chair, collapsing, and letting myself sink into. It smelled a little like chlorine and sun-in hair dye, but it was soft and warm, almost the size of a double bed. I wiggled upright, squinting again to see Connor in the dark now that I took up the only patch of moonlight in the building.

“You aren’t feeling alright, are you?” I asked softly, resting my cheek against the faux suede of the chair, struggling to keep my eyes open. There was a pause.

“That’s not why I asked you over,” he sighed in his tennor, stomping across the room, picking his way, until he flopped down beside me, displacing the insides of the chair and nearly rolling me out of it.

He reached forward with another soft swear, grabbing my shoulder blades to yank me back onto the bean bag bed, rolling me close so that I wouldn’t fall again. I laughed, unsure what was so funny–maybe it was the fact I’d nearly catapulted out of the chair due to all five pounds of Connor “Ribcage” Murphy, or the current situation, my face pressed against the soft cotton of his hoodie, his heartbeat steady and strong against my cheek. I didn’t move away.

To my surprise, Connor didn’t move away either, just kept both arms wrapped around me, hands firmly in place of my scapula as if scared to dip any lower. I felt the dip of his chin against my temple, felt his lips against my scalp.

“Aren’t you freezing?” He whispered, rubbing quick circles between my shoulder blades.

“Quit dodging my question, Con,” I hissed, beginning to pull away before Connor tightened his grip–surprisingly strong for a boy with such lithe wrists.

“But you are cold,” he muttered, slipping one hand down from my shoulder to my bare arms, rubbing in quick patterns there, attempting to make some sort of friction between us.

God, my parents would kill me if they saw me now.

I want to he clear I wasn’t under any pretenses–this wasn’t, er, Connor hadn’t called me out here so that we could, well–

“I’m fine, Connor,” I promised, taking advantage of the moment to fold my arms against him, trapping them between the heat of our bodies, letting my cheek rest idly against his chest. Connor didn’t like me, I knew, but in the dark shed…well, it was easy to pretend.

It was always easy to pretend to be someone else with Connor.

“You wanna talk about what’s going on with you right now?” I said with a false bravado, thumping his chest lightly with my fist. “You can’t hide anything from me, Connor Murphy. I know you too well.”

“You don’t know anything, dumbass,” he grumbled half-heartedly, and I felt him lean forward to press his face into my hair. “You don’t know shit.”

“So you’re lying to me?” I baited with a smile, tapping his chest, feeling his frustrated sigh and rewarding him with a light laugh. “I didn’t think so. I’m here for you, you know.”

“I know,” he growled, sighing heavily, taking one hand off my back to push his hair away, before letting me go entirely to roll onto his back. His thin fingers covered his face, the black fingernails scratching frustratedly against his pale face. “I just–I don’t, I don’t know how to–shit.”

I leaned forward to tap his chest again, letting him know I was here. “Just talk it out. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

He shocked me by reaching forward with one hand, knotting his fingers with my own and letting them linger against his chest. I was grateful he couldn’t make out my expression from his position, grateful for the fact he couldn’t feel my face flush. I’d never been this close with a boy in my life, and Connor knew that. He wasn’t being fair, and I was sure he knew that too.

Unless he didn’t. Connor had a bad habit of selling himself short. I bit back the urge to press a kiss to his bony knuckles.

“I know,” he whispered, voice suddenly hoarse. He was worse than I thought. “Um, it’s harder now? I guess. I trust you–I mean, I always trusted you. It’s um, it’s harder because the anonymity is gone, I guess? I’m worried now that you know who I am–what I am–you’re gonna get bored of me?”

I didn’t laugh this time. His voice was thick and rapid as if he couldn’t hold back the word vomit, like he’d been holding it back for a while. My own throat felt thick, and I couldn’t contain the guilty feeling in my stomach. I rolled forward, wrapping my arms around his thin waist, feeling his hip bone press against mine sharply. I was careful not to look at his face–it’d shut him down for sure.

“Connor…I need you just as much as you need me, you know that right?” I whispered, trying too hard not to let him hear the panic in my voice.

“I know,” he rasped shallowly, sounding oddly wet. He was crying, I realized stupidly. My heart constricted in my chest, my stomach dropping. He was in pain and I had barely noticed. This was all my fault.

“And even if I didn’t need to vent, if I didn’t need your support, I’d still talk to you because I like you, Connor. You’re my friend. You’re a good person,” I whispered.

“Shut up.”

“You are,” I continued. “You’re a great person and you’re always looking after me, even when you’re hurt. I’m so sorry you’re hurting, Connor, I’m so sorry I didn’t notice–”

“I’m not hurting! Shut up!”

“Shhhh,” I hushed, sitting up to remind him to be quiet. “You’re parents are gonna–”

His face was red. His nose and lips were swollen, wet, and his cheeks, flecked with silver freckles glowing lightly in the moonlight beam he laid in, and there were tear tracks running from the corners of his eyes.

“Connor,” I cried softly, reaching up to wipe his cheek. “Please–”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he sobbed wetly, hands folding up to cover his face. “Just fucking get out, okay? This was a mistake.”

“Hey, hey,” I soothed frantically, reaching up to pet his hair, hoping that it might make him unfold himself. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong. I’m gonna help, Connor, whatever you need. I want to help you, please.”

“I’m not your responsibility, kid, okay? You can leave. Stop looking at me, Christ.”

“No,” I sighed. “Look, if you don’t wanna talk, that’s okay. That’s okay. Just, let me stay, okay? I’m not judging you, I’m not gonna leave, I promise. I’m here for you. Let me be your friend.”

He shook underneath me, holding in sharp sobs. I wondered how long it’s been since he let himself fall apart like this, let himself have some kind of catharsis, let himself feel, period.

This relapse was good. It was under control. I was here. I had him.

“Okay,” he whispered finally, reaching up to tangle his hands in my hair. “Christ, just–don’t tell anyone, okay? Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “I’m not. I’m here, okay? You don’t have to talk.”

“Okay. Okay…thanks.”

I might have imagined it, as I lowered my head back to his chest, might have imagined in between the soft presses of his fingers as they moved in and out of my, might have imagined, just briefly, the feeling of his lips pressed against my hair.


The next morning was awkward. My parents and siblings showed no knowledge of the fact I’d snuck out to see Connor last night–it wasn’t as if they weren’t aware we were friends, to my parents chagrin and the Murphys’ delight, but I didn’t need them to think we were involved in some sort of torrid tryst, especially one we weren’t even having.

I left a few hours after Connor had slowly ceased his wet and much needed lament and his breathing had turned into a soft snore. I untangled myself from his arms, and leaned back for awhile to watch him sleep, tried to ignore how angelic he looked, red faced and weepy with silver freckles glowing mutely in the patch of moonbeam.

I’d sent him a quick text to let him know I wanted to return before my parents woke up, let him know I’d be by the next day. Told him to  message me if he wanted to talk again.

Now I was waiting for my mother to finish grading my papers for the day so I could to see Connor, who didn’t have school today thanks to some silly teacher institute, lucky loser. The American school system was a joke, to be quite honest.

“You’re jumpy,” my mother noted, scribbling something in the margins of my paper without looking up at me.

“I was gonna ask if I could go over to the Murphy’s? I haven’t talked to Zoe in a long time,” I asked sheepishly, scratching at my arm.

“And Connor, hmm?” My mother hummed thoughtfully, giving a smirk to my workbook.

“Connor’s cool,” I said honestly, nonetheless feeling a guilty lump rise in my throat.

“He’s a good boy,” she mused. “He always helps me with groceries if he’s outside.”

“Which is never,” muttered one of the younger kids, earning a kick under the table from me. My mom just smiled softly.

“Go ahead, honey. Call if you’re going to be longer than an hour.”

I thanked her, nearly sprinting out the door, my twin braids slapping against my back as I skipped between the yards. Zoe was at the door before I knocked, leading me into the kitchen, announcing me loudly in a way that would’ve earned a talking to at my house.

Cynthia appeared in the doorway, looking radiant, albeit a bit tired. Her face smiled brightly at me.

“Honey! It’s so good to see you, it’s been so long since you’ve stayed for dinner–Larry, tell Connor she’s here!–Zoe’s missed you, you should stay the night, right Zoe?–Larry, call Connor–Would that be alright with your parents? Stay for dinner then stay the night? I can run out and rent some movies and snag a pizza–Larry!

Zoe just rolled her eyes, yanking me down the steps past her mother and into the basement. Her grip on my arm was vice like, almost painful and definitely excessive. Her pretty red hair blew up in my face, making the already dark room even harder to see through the haze of her auburn locks. She practically shoved me onto the couch, following me by slamming down beside me.


“I saw you last night.”

My pulse hammered in my throat, and I felt all the blood rush swiftly to my face, making me dizzy.


“I saw you. I told Mom. I don’t think Dad–”

“What do you mean?” I gasped, throwing my hands between us. Zoe blinked rapidly.

“You and Connor. In the shed. Last night. Christ, it was only ten, you could’ve been sneaky about it–”

“Zoe, we didn’t do anything,” I pleaded. God, if the Murphys knew, they’d tell my parents–

“You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you?” She sighed, pushing her hair back out of her eyes. “Whatever, okay? You don’t have to tell me, I don’t give a shit as long as you aren’t pregnant. Just–because you’re my friend, I want you to know some things. Are you gonna listen?”

I thought better than to argue with Zoe, so I nodded shyly.

“Look, I know you and Connor are friends. That’s fine, whatever. But you don’t see Connor at school. You don’t see Connor here, not really. Not what he’s like when you aren’t here.”

I felt my heart constrict. She was going to try to convince me to stop talking to Connor.

“He’s mean. You don’t think it’s weird you’re his only friend? He’s a bully. He’s lazy. He’s violent, Christ–he’s my brother, I love him. But you shouldn’t…you shouldn’t take him seriously, okay? One day his temper is gonna flip and you’re gonna be in his way.”

I blinked, stunned that Zoe would say something so slanderous about her own brother.

“I don’t understand,” I said softly, staring across at her. It was no wonder Connor was so upset, why he had to reach out to strangers on the Internet to vent. His own home was a war zone.

Zoe sighed heavily. “You aren’t at school. You don’t hear the rumors. You don’t see the things he does. If you wanna be friends, fine, but…be careful. I wouldn’t let him anywhere near your heart.”

I didn’t argue with Zoe–I thought better of it. So I just nodded.

“Thanks for, um. Thanks for the warning,” I said with a thick voice, struggling to maintain sincerity.

“You’re welcome,” she sighed. “Mom thinks you’re dating. She’s over the moon. It’s disgusting.”

“I thought you thought we were dating,” I pried, raising an eyebrow. Zoe rolled her eyes, hitting me with a deadpan expression.

“As if Connor could ever get someone like you. As if Connor could even feel something remotely close to love–I’m half convinced his chest is an icebox,” she laughed dryly.

“Talking about me, are we?”

We both spun, wide eyed to see Connor on the stairs, arms folded.

“No, go ahead, I’ll wait. I love hearing stories about myself. Tell me again Zoe about how I’m in love with her?” He hissed, making my face burn red in shame. I felt awful for letting Zoe talk about him that way–worse because Connor made it painful clear he didn’t reciprocate any feelings I might’ve had for him.

Wait. I didn’t have feelings. Connor was a friend. A good friend. A friend who needs me and who doesn’t deserve to be taken advantage of, not until he’s okay. Not ever.

“Never said that,” Zoe said with a smirk, rising from the couch gracefully. “But keep digging your grave, it’s fun to watch.”

“Fuck you,” he growled.

“Fuck you,” she grinned. “I’d love to watch your train wreck love admission, Titanic is on, and at least that story has a happy ending.”

Connor kept a white knuckled grip on the banister as she passed, as if holding in an urge to push her. He kept his blazing eyes downcast, and noted his pale cheeks were burning red.

“What’d she tell you?” He whispered once the door slammed.

“Nothing true,” I promised, leaning forward on the couch to make room for him, patting the seat beside me. “Nothing that changed my mind.”

His head snapped up, and I watched his expression go from rage to disbelief to awe before he descended the stairs, shaking. He stopped before the couch, as if scared to come near me, staring down in awe.

“What did my mom say to you?”

I shook my head. “Not much. She asked if I could spend the night. Only if you want me to, though.”

He laughed, but the smile didn’t quite reach his face. “Only if I want you to, Christ, where did I find you?”

“The Internet,” I reminded, earning another laugh.

“Of course I want you to,” he sighed, finally coming to sit beside me. “Of course I want–”

He cut himself off, surprising me, before slinging an arm around my shoulder. I stiffened, but eventually melted against him, reminding myself that it was just Connor.

“You wanna watch a movie? I hear they’re playing Titanic or something.”


It’s two am when I wake up, taking a quick mental assessment of where I am. There’s a soft blue glow burning my eyes, shining over what appears to be a nest of blankets piled roughly on the floor.

The Murphy’s basement, I realized with a jolt, I’m just at the Murphy’s.

I’m in a pair of Connor’s pajamas–Zoe’s clothes don’t quite fit me right–an oversized black shirt and a pair of sweats Cynthia brought down in a laundry hamper. My braids have long since come loose, the desperate curls tangling wildly around my head.

Beside me, Zoe is snoring, almost comically, every so often a nostril whistles in time to the soft sound of Dexter’s Lab playing on the tv.

There’s a hand, dangling just above my head. The pale fingers were curved artistically, the nails too short as if they’ve been bitten recently and the black nail polish chipped hopelessly. It’s attached to an arm, long and thin, almost angular, and up farther is a shoulder, bare, pressed against a red coffee stained couch.


“You’re awake,” he whispered in a conspiratory voice, but when I sat up to make contact, there’s no sly smirk. He’s frowning. “You are having trouble sleeping.”

I shook my head. “Stop worrying about me, Connor.”

“No,” he rasped, sitting up on the couch. I avoided looking too long at his bare chest, but regardless indulged nonetheless.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” I noted, coming to sit by him on the couch. He immediately opened the blanket, giving me room to slide in beside him, before throwing it around both of us so we could settle back against the couch. His bare skin was warm, and I let him take both my hands between his, letting him rub my hands between his in an attempt at some warmth.

“Been thinking too much,” he sighed softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

I swallowed, beginning to feel the effects of sleeplessness and helplessness melt together in a fatal concoction.

“I can’t help if you don’t let me, Connor,” I reminded him, pressing closer. “Let me help. What are you thinking about?”

He leaned away, as if I’d burned him, dropping my hands into his lap and looking away, the thin muscle of his cheeks hollowing as he clenched his jaw. “Can’t say.”

“Connor,” I pleaded. “Please let me help. I want to. I’m begging.”

“No,” he growled. I felt tears beginning to build, to my own horror, behind my eyes.

“Connor, can you just–”


It was an explosion. We both froze, turning in horror to glance at Zoe, waiting to breathe until we heard the soft whistle of her nose again. I turned slowly, terrified back to Connor. His eyes were wide, and if I didn’t have my fingers wrapped around his knee, I swore he might try to run.

“Me?” I asked softly, careful not to wake Zoe. Connor pursed his lips, his jaw twitching nervously.

“Fuck, yes, you, just–shit, I didn’t wanna say that–”

I leaned away, watching Connor’s face contort farther.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered heatedly. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong. You want me to go, right? I’m really sorry, Connor–”

“What?” He nearly yelled. “You think–fuck.”

His head ducked, to my great surprise, against my shoulder, pressing his face into the crook of my neck and, of all things, began to laugh.


“You think–Christ, it’s like you aren’t even real. You think I’m mad at you?”

He pulled away, his face no longer red or swollen, just smiling softly at me, almost awe struck, and staring intently with his slate eyes.

“I…I’m not sure?” I whispered, but not feeling at all nervous when Connor snaked his hands gently up my arms again.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered suddenly, shocking me. “And you have no idea that you’re perfect. Christ.”

I frowned. “Connor. I don’t…I don’t think I understand.”

But he was still looking at me–eyes scanning slowly over my face, landing suddenlyhalf-lidded on my lips, and it suddenly all clicked into place. Why Zoe would warn me. Why Cynthia acted the way she did. Why Connor was so scared in the first place.

I remember Zoe saying how over the moon Mrs. Murphy was at the idea of Connor and I dating–because that meant Connor would have me. It meant Connor would be happy.

It meant I would have Connor.

It was like a sudden dam had broken open inside me, filling me with more revelations as Connor’s hands lifted to cup the back of my head, his eyes soft, scared, and asking as they met mine. I let a quick exhale before I surged forward, slamming out mouths together much too forcefully, and not at all enjoyably.

I laughed–much too loud–but Connor kept back to the task at hand, his eyes closed in concentration, swallowing my outburst and folding me against his (very, very bare) chest and kissing me deeper, slower. It was painfully obvious he didn’t know what he was doing, but so much about the kiss was still tender and important, warming me from my core outward until I was scratching to wind my arms around him, getting him as close to me as I possibly could, kissing back to make sure he knew how much I wanted this. How much I wanted him.

How much I needed him. Anything he needed, I’d give him. Now and forever and–

“If you two are gonna fuck, can you do it in the bathroom or something? I’m trying to sleep.”

Connor and I pulled apart–causing me to stumble backwards against the arm of the couch gracelessly and staring at Zoe as she rolled over with her back to us.

I dared a peek back at Connor, whose lips were pink and wet despite their dry skin splitting with the force of his wide, wide smile.  His eyes were glowing brightly, almost burning as he raked them over me. The flannel blanket was pooled behind his back where it had been wrapped around us, and he just simply opened his arms again, inviting me back. His pale chest–pock marked with freckles, clusters on his ribs–was striped with pink lines from where my fingers had raked in a desperate attempt to give him validation.

I crawled forward, pressing my face against his neck in a hazy attempt to bring my breathing back to a normal speed.

“You okay?” I asked, running my fingertips over his shoulders, fighting the urge to word vomit an unholy collection of questions about who and what we were. Connor Murphy, post kiss. Connor Murphy, still life, smiling with wet, swollen, bloody lips. Connor Murphy standing at the edge of happiness, jumps over the ledge.

He nodded against me, fighting with his own dark curls where they made an attempt to cloud my cheeks in an adoring way. Cute, I decided.

“Okay? I’m,” he sighed, laughing and wrapping his arms around me to squeeze tightly. “I’m…you have no idea.”

“Better than nudes?” I teased. He snorted, embarrassed.

“I’m positive. Although–”

I hit him.

“Okay, kidding! Jeez…” he pulled away, cupping my face lightly, pushing the hair back out of my eyes like I was a child. It felt fantastic, he was right, as I searched through the galaxies in his eyes, his pale skin illuminated by the hazy blue glow of the television. It felt so far past amazing, being held like I was the only person he knew how to see. He cleared his throat, and I saw his eyes were brimming with an emotion I couldn’t name.

“You, uh,” he laughed nervously under his breath. “You have to know I love you.”

It was a startling blow, knocking all the air out of me and forced a bubbling laugh to fly out of my lungs. Connor’s smile wavered slightly, so I popped up to press a soft kiss to the cleft of his chin.

“I know,” I sighed, giddy with the realization it was true. “I know. And you know I trust you more than anyone. You know I love you.”

It was like watching him crack open, the way all the uncertainty was cleared from his face, a wave of joy and triumph.

“You love me?” He asked so softly, so awestruck, I felt my heart shake in my chest. I’d barely started to nod before he surged forward to kiss me again, small and chaste pecks across my face and neck, the bridge of my nose, my temples.

He was okay. We were okay. We were going to be just fine.

Phil fucking Dan from behind, holding a belt around his throat to keep him in place. Dan’s been on edge for so long he’s boneless, settling his weight entirely on his spread knees and the leather around his neck, relaxing into it even as his breath comes shorter and shorter with each thrust from Phil.

Eventually Dan sinks his teeth into his lip, the sting providing some sort of sharp sensation to focus on, or else he feels like he’ll drift away like an untethered balloon. Phil’s cock is hot and hard and filling him up just right and so, so good and Dan’s vision is crackling at the edges, his head swimming from the intoxicating mixture of too good and not enough. He doesn’t realize he’s bitten through his lip until he tastes copper on his tongue and moans with it. Phil’s answering growl is loud in his ears, reverberating through his chest and making his insides twist deliciously.

Phil slides the belt up from his neck, ignoring Dan’s whine of protest, instead settling it between his teeth.

“Stupid whores don’t bleed until their masters tell them to,” Phil bites, and Dan’s head spins even farther out of orbit from that one sentence alone. He cums all across his own chest and the bedspread, his lips stretched around bloodied leather and a silent scream as he feels Phil release inside of him moments later.

[send me kinky requests!]


SPN FanFic

~Things are so much easier in the movies.~

Jensen x Reader, Jared

2,406 Words

Warnings: Excessive misuse of classic movie quotes

A/N: This is for Arie, @bringmesomepie56​. I have no idea what the hell this is, but I think it’s adorable. Hope you like it. 

“Tonight is the night,” you told yourself as you took a deep breath and followed Jared into the pub. “I’m gonna tell him how I feel.”

“What’s that, Y/N/N?” Jared asked over his shoulder. He could hear your voice over the symphony of noises that engulfed you as you moved towards the bar, but he couldn’t make out your words.

“Nothing,” you hollered back, lifting your chin to push your words up towards his ears. Too damn tall.

Jared gave you a quick once over with narrowed eyes and a playful smirk. “You’re up to something.”

“Am not!”

“Y/N,” he said, pulling you with him as he sank onto a barstool. “You didn’t take your makeup off, your hair is down and… quite nice actually, and that tank top…” Jared shook his head and bit his lip, trying to avert his eyes from your ample cleavage like the good friend he was.

“What about my tank top?” you defended, pulling your shoulders back and pushing your breasts almost into his face.

Jared laughed, “You look amazing, is all I’m saying. But I know what you’re up to. Just fuckin’ tell Jensen how you feel and be done with it.”

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the sin of sacrifice, Part 1

His breath catches in his throat, his world goes icy cold and he hardly avoids choking on air.

No one is listening.

Lance loves to talk.

His love is not a spectrum, he loves with everything that he is, he loves passionately, intensely, fiercely and will pour his heart into anything that earns it. This isn’t limited to just people, it can be anything from hobbies to items to anything that falls in between. Talking is important to him, he has so much to say, his head feels so full, like it’s filled with cement that will dry if he doesn’t spit it all out fast, so fast sometimes he fumbles, so fast sometimes it turns into one raw, stuttering mess of indecipherable language. The silence feels so wrong to him, and if he has so much to say, why not fill it gleefully?

He loves to talk. So, he talks and he talks, talks, talks, talks, talks.

He talks enough to sustain an entire conversation all in his own words, all by himself, he’ll talk circles around anyone willing to listen, but the people he could always count on to listen when he spoke and not shut him out was his beloved family. In a house so noisy, it was impossible to block it all out, especially since Lance happened to be the loudest one, naturally, as the baby of the family. He loved that attention, loved that he could feel it positively and not negatively, even if sometimes when he’s hungry for more that line is blurred.

There’s a few things he understands about what it means to talk as much as he does. Teachers, they don’t like him, <i>shut up, Lance, be quiet, Lance, move to the back, Lance, you’re too loud, Lance</i>, but that didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have. Students, they can’t stand him, <i>you’re annoying, Lance, stop talking, Lance, this is why no one likes you, Lance, piss off, Lance</i>, but his friends and family could always be clung to. They would never hurt him like that, to disreguard something he loved because he can only love deeply. He loves being a Paladin, his family, Voltron, his friends, <i>talking</i>. He knows he’s a little much, but a returned love was an ear that was always open, right?

There was so much to talk about! You would think he’d run out like a car on empty that needed a refill every once in a while, but all the Blue Paladin needs is to pause for just a moment to collect his thoughts, take a deep breath, and keep talking. No, space was interesting, especially when you’re surrounded by people you respect so much. Have you seen Allura’s new dress? She’s lookin’ <i>so fine</i>. Hunky’s latest kitchen creation made Lance nearly cry, it tasted exactly like chocolate milkshake! The stars are really stellar today, right? It’s not just him?

One unfortunate day, he finds his talking has become… an issue.

He’s rambling; he rambles a lot and he knows it, the conversations he’s holding up all by himself, they just spiral out of his control, the dam has burst and everything rushes out like it’s a race to see which sentence can make it past his mouth the fastest. They’re eating dinner, which is blander than usual, Hunk’s been a little too busy to really work on new foods. Everyone’s a little on edge, he thinks. What with the lion switching and what not.

“Don’t even try to tell me that new Marco’s bread twists are anything compared to the old Marco’s bread twists,” Lance’s dinner is probably getting cold in front of him, he tends to do that a lot, get so distracted he forgets it’s even there, one time Coran said that was probably why he was so skinny, but no, that’s just how his body is and the conversation spiraled like most do. “Like, she tried, she failed, and I don’t want to hear a debate. I don’t remember the distinct flavors that much, jeez, how long have we been in space? I don’t even know, but let me tell you, I’ve been craving a taste I don’t even really remember from a pizza place that closed down for like, quintents, it’s driving me nuts!”

He doesn’t know why, but he decides to pause right there to collect himself and take a breath, but his eyes begin to wander. There’s always this stretch of quiet, stretched like the tales he pulls too tall sometimes, and Lance doesn’t really like quiet if his ever running motor mouth is anything to go by. It feels… cold and wet, like icy water pouring down his vertebrae. Lance, like most people he assumes, had thought about what death is like. He thinks it’s that brief space between breathes, except stretched out to an eternity.

It’s… pretty dark in the backwoods of his brain he won’t let people hear.

His breath catches in his throat, his world goes icy cold and he hardly avoids choking on air.

No one is listening.

Not one person at the table is even glancing in his general direction.

No one is even acknowledging Lance’s existence.

Shiro and Allura are ogling at each other with admiration glistening in their eyes, Keith is stabbing at his food like it was the one that killed his parents (he’s an orphan, right?), Pidge and Coran are talking animatedly about some new piece of technology in the works, and Hunk is fiddling with his mobile device, a polished plate before him.

Maybe… it’s an anomaly.

“So that Marco’s, bomb b- bread twists,” his voice cracks and he wills his smile to stay firm even as it wobbles on his lips, color draining from him, the edges of his vision becoming charred like someone had rubbed them with charcoal, “but it closed down and no one could explain why. My sister said rats, my Mama said the owner got arrested. They argued about it for six whole days, which is a long time to hold a grudge in my house. Women, am I right?” He chuckles weakly at his own joke, expression falling slowly.

No one spares him so much as a flicker of their attention.

His heart sinks further when Keith announces he’s finished with his meal and immediately, everyone looks up from their tasks to respond. Don’t train too hard, get a good nights rest, don’t be stupid, good night, Keith.

“And so, I’m pretty sure the Marco’s got closed down because the owner’s daughter didn’t clean the bathrooms for an entire six months.” Lance finishes with lackluster, eye balling the food he didn’t finish. “So, I guess I’ll head out? Going to complete my skin care routine and get that beauty rest! All for you, princess!” He gives an enthusiastic wink and blows a kiss towards said royalty, receiving little more than a snort from Pidge in return.

“Yeah, night, man.” Hunk responds, still invested with his device.

A wave of emotion rushes hit through his veins as he anxiously makes his way to his room. This was an anomaly, but they seemed so indifferent to Lance’s talking that they didn’t look up even when he was loud? They responded generously to Keith? They interacted with each other and not Lance? Surely, this… was no anomaly. Most people wish they could ignore Lance the way the others had tonight. How long had they been in space again? How long did the others have to develop that skill of not hearing a word he has to say? Was… the real reason they weren’t as annoying with Lance now because they just stoped listening to him? He collapses into his bed, spilling hot, sad, conflicted, frustrated tears onto his brown cheeks.

How long had he been ignored without even realizing it? And how could he be stupid enough to believe his friends would want to hear him?

Grazing the Fire | Nathan x Reader

disclaimer: i know nathan is not a good person. i am not putting a blanket over his actions in this fic. i, the writer, understand he’s not an innocent character and has made many terrible choices. im just answering people’s requests, please dont put me under the fire for it.

thank you.

Anonymous asked: please can you write about the reader meeting nathan for the first time? maybe they can become friends?

woohoo my first fic! im so excited to post this despite knowing it probably wont get much attention… either way to the people who DO read this i hope you enjoy the read! reblogs and replys are more than welcomed (it would make my entire life, god bless).

put under a read more for length. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: Language

The first time you saw him was in the dead of night, sitting on top of a picnic table with his head in his hands, a rather expensive looking camera residing next to him. He wasn’t moving much but you could tell he was stressed; shoulders hunched and his fingers occasionally pulling at his brown hair. The street lamp above him illuminated his figure and if you hadn’t already heard the rumors of the infamous Nathan Prescott you would’ve had some mind to reach out. Though this was the first time you’d actually seen him you knew it was the asshole rich kid your friends had gossiped about. You being new to Arcadia Bay seemed to grace you with not knowing him or his family, and maybe it also offered a second opinion as well. You hadn’t talked to him, seen what he’s ‘capable of’, so seeing him looking like he was seconds away from a breakdown made you wonder if he was truly the evil bastard everyone painted him out to be.

While you wanted to talk to him the fear of being yelled at was too much. Instead to sat where you always were in cool nights- at the edge of some hefty rocks and hoping Principle Wells wouldn’t find you outside your dorm. It wasn’t smart to be out after hours, especially so close by, but usually you didn’t care. You valued your alone time.

Nathan left barely 20 minutes after you saw him and to your dismay he noticed you too. You couldn’t see his eyes from how far away you were but you could feel them- that cold stare. He probably thought you were watching him. Still, he seemed to spare you an argument, and disappeared into the night.

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I hate everything about you (Part 1 of 2)

Pairings: Roan/ Reader

Warnings: Violence (lots of it), Blood, Hate, Sexual Situations. 

Request:  Roan and the reader being from skaikru. She stays in polis with O after Alie is destroyed and when O goes to help Gaia the reader bumps into roan and winds up in his chambers (based on the song I hate everything about you by three days grace?)

A/N: Here you go Anon, hope you enjoy the first part (yes i did find inspiration and turned it multi part) 


“Octavia we have to go” you hissed, not at all comforted by the reassuring look she threw your way. You could hear the sounds of shouts from down the corridors and the thundering pounding of feet.

They were looking for Gaia, and somehow you had found yourself one of the only people still around who were stupid enough to put yourself between the warriors of Azgeda and the girl who had stolen the flame from King Roan.

“Octavia” you snapped once more “get her on her feet. We have no more time”

“Alright” Octavia looked apologetically at Gaia. “Y/N’s right Gaia, we have to move and quickly. They can’t find us here”

Gaia got to her feet swaying a little with the effort of staying upright. The girl wasn’t looking so good, and it didn’t look like she was going to be able to keep up with the pace needed to get her out of the way. Octavia and you exchanged looks “We need a new plan O”

“I’m thinking” she insisted as the sound of shouting came even closer. “Wait” she went to the corner of the corridor listening closely “Y/N that’s not ice nation”

“What?” you went to listen as well leaving Gaia pressed up against the wall. “But Indra said…”

“I know what Indra said, but listen”

You did as Octavia asked. She might be right as the voices filtered through to your brain. You didn’t recognise any of the people shouting. “Looters” you guessed. Octavia turned with a small smile on her face, one that you recognised as not having any good consequences for those involved with it. “What are you plotting now O?”

“We can’t get Gaia out of here, not without being seen or being stopped”

“I know that” you hissed “that’s the big problem”

“What if we don’t get her out?” Octavia asked she placed a hand over your mouth to stop your next question “Think about it Y/N, what if Gaia loses the flame?”

“I’m not giving it up” Gaia instantly protested but you had started to catch on with Octavia’s plan. It was risky but hell it might just be the only choice you had left right now.

“We need a scape goat O” hand going to the sword resting on your right hip you griped the pommel. “Get Gaia out and hide that flame, I’ll find us a head to hang our problems on”

“Y/N, you don’t have to” Octavia protested “I can…”

“Indra trusts you more than me, for that matter so does Gaia. Take her Octavia”

The crashes from around the next corner put paid to anymore conversation as Octavia grabbed Gaia’s arm instructing her to lean on her as they moved down the corridor. Octavia stopped at the end turning to look at you, your eyes met as you pulled out the sword. She nodded at you once before vanishing leaving you standing before a suddenly swelling crowd of looters.


There were a lot of bodies on the floor in front of you, a lot of blood covering your hands, smeared over your arms and dripping from the tip of your sword forming a growing puddle on the floor. There was still shouting coming from other areas of Polis and you weren’t sure how much longer your luck was going to hold out and you would remain unfound.

Looking down at the floor you quickly checked the bodies, for this plan that you and Octavia had hurriedly put together you needed a scapegoat, a trophy head. With Octavia leading Gaia out of Polis that left you in charge of finding said head.

Taking a deep breath you knelt randomly beside one of the dead thieves. You couldn’t look at his face, couldn’t see features that only moments before had been alive. You quickly placed the blade of your sword against his neck and pushed. You weren’t squeamish as a rule, the blood covering you a testament to that. Sawing someone’s head off though was a new low even for you. The only way you got through it by humming in your head a nonsensical song your father used to sing to you at night, what felt like a lifetime ago on the ark. Once it was done you grabbed the hair of the head picking it up and getting to your feet just as the next pack of looters came charging around the corner into the corridor. The leader stopped dead upon seeing you stood there, sword in one hand and severed head in the other.

“Skaikru demon”

You weren’t about to hang around and find out exactly what this group of looters were planning on doing with a Skaikru demon so turning you ran.

It didn’t take long for you to get completely lost in the warren of corridors and rooms connecting Polis. You had never been to this section of the camp without Octavia to lead you and with the mass of shouting and pounding footsteps you were utterly lost.  

In your confusion unfortunately it seemed that you had managed to trap yourself. Shouting could be heard from in front of you and from behind you. You were effectively sandwiched between two groups of people who didn’t seem to be feeling particularly friendly towards you at the moment. There were only two options that you could see, stand and fight. A stupid notion when you were hopelessly outnumbered. The other was a small nondescript door just down the corridor on your left.

Taking option number two you grabbed the handle of the door praying it was unlocked. Luck apparently still favoured you as the door opened with little resistance. You tumbled through it slamming the door behind you and leaning against it breathing hard.

You looked around where you had found yourself. The room wasn’t large but more chambers came off this one. You could hear footsteps outside of the door yet none of them tried the handle of the one you were leaning against.

Still gripping the head and finally noticing the multitude of small cuts and abrasions on your body you moved to check the other rooms, needing to know if you were alone.

You stopped frozen only moments later because it seemed that your luck had finally deserted you and god had it chosen a bad time to do so. In front of you still dripping water from a very naked chest stood the King himself. Roan of Azgeda, the one man in the world who you both loved and hated equally at the same time.

He noticed you at about the same time, eyes first taking in the blood on your body following the trail down to the head still clutched in your hand. You followed his gaze down noticing for the first time that it had blonde hair. Not ice nation then.

“Your thief my king” your voice returned in a mocking tone as you threw the head down at his feet. You wouldn’t say it but you were relieved to not have to hold onto it anymore.


“The flame is gone. That is the culprit”

“The flame is gone?”


Roan didn’t seem overly inclined to believe you. Roan’s thoughts though weren’t your main worry at the moment. It seemed one of those minor cuts hadn’t been so minor because your eye sight was starting to blur around the edges in a dangerous way. Black spots dancing around the edge of your vision.  

You felt yourself suddenly sway alarmingly, arm reaching out to balance yourself against the wall, stopping you falling to the floor. Roan kicked the head out of the way coming to grab your elbows roughly. He took the sword you still held in one hand and dropped that down to the floor as well.


You thought the blood might be coming from a cut on your stomach. If you concentrated that was where the main source of pain seemed to be coming from.

“It’s my stomach” you hissed, pressing one hand against it, the minimal pressure caused you to gasp in pain. Yes, it was definitely the cut there that was the problem. “Shit” 

Somehow the wall had gone from your main source of support to a very minimal one. Roan was taking more and more of your weight as you wobbled dangerously.

“Y/N?” he tried again louder as he gently shook you.

It was no good though you weren’t going to manage to answer him. Your body was no longer under your command. You must have lost more blood than you thought because the blackness was moving from the edges of your vision to the middle. The last thing you heard was Roan’s curse as you passed out like some sort of helpless damsel in his arms.


You woke slowly, your brain felt coated in cotton wool and you were struggling to make your vision focus on any one specific place. It was like floating in clouds.

“So sleeping beauty awakens”

You turned your head at the sarcastic voice coming from the far side of where you were laying. If nothing else Roan’s ice blue eyes would always make your brain suddenly concentrate and the world snapped back into vision. You were laying in a bed, his bed your brain supplied. In a bedroom that wouldn’t have been out of place in an old world elegance novel, apart from the multitude of weapons laying around and mucky leather clothing.

Roan was sat lounging on a chair across from the bed looking over at you, he’d found a shirt since you passed out but you apparently had lost one because you could feel the cool touch of sheets on your naked skin.

“What happened?”

“You lost a lot of blood” his nonchalance was both worrying and frustrating. “Nothing that won’t heal”

You pushed up to your elbows happy that nothing in the room started to spin at the movement. You then realised that the sheet had moved with you displaying your naked breasts to Roan, you quickly grabbed it pulling it back up to cover you. Roan simply rose one eyebrow at you.

“Relax, after all I’ve seen everything you have before”

“I hate you” you hissed at his cocky smirk. “I truly hate you”

“No you don’t” he crossed over the room leaning down over you face so close to your own that you could feel his breath on your skin. “Where’s Octavia Y/N?”

“How should I know, I’ve been unconscious”

His hand came up to wrap around your throat squeezing dangerously. “Where is Octavia?” he repeated voice low. “Tell me Y/N”

Roan didn’t scare you though, he may incite many other different emotions in your body but fear was definitely not one of them.  “And what are you planning to do if I don’t?” you flicked your eyes down to the hand he had at your throat “are you going to hurt me Roan?”

“What’s the point” He snorted, disgusted taking his hand away as he sat down beside you “you’d like it if I did”

You sat up completely noticing the bandage on your stomach. He must have put it there, he wouldn’t have let anyone else into his rooms to undress and tend to you. If nothing else Roan was possessive and in your two’s twisted up relationship you had somehow ended up, in his mind at least, his.

You’d met Roan initially when Lexa was still alive and then again when he’d arrived in Arkadia with a bullet wound and desperate desire to help rid Polis of A.L.I.E, neither of those times had ended…well. In fact they had ended with you both naked and in bed together cursing each other for the whole episode. Roan was like a drug you were utterly addicted to. You knew he was bad for you, knew he wasn’t allowed and would probably get you killed but you just couldn’t stop taking hit after hit.  

“You bandaged me up?”

He grunted. “You brought me a head, you get that from finding said head?”

“Looters, they destroyed the flame Roan. He destroyed the flame”

“Even if we pretend I believe you, then where have Octavia and Indra vanished to?”

It was a question you couldn’t answer, even if you’d wanted to which you didn’t. So after your brain did a quick fire check of its choices you made probably the stupidest one. Leaning another inch forward you placed a hand on the back of Roan’s head and pulled, your lips met his and sparks exploded between the two of you.

Roan stiffened for a second before cursing and launching himself forward pushing you to your back underneath him.

@georgiagrl1990 @angelaiswriting

New Additions

Here’s a short, fluffy drabble written for the incredible norbertsmom. Sending much love your way.

When Peeta hears the jingle of keys in the front door’s lock, he slips a bookmark into the binding of the novel he’s halfway through, depositing it on the coffee table. It’s not entirely rare for Katniss to come home a little late from work – her hours at the lab are relatively flexible, so sometimes she’ll be home early in the afternoon, while other times, it won’t be until dinner.

But tonight, one-half of the grilled chicken breast and asparagus he prepared sits cooling under a coverlet of Saran Wrap in the fridge. It’s now eight o’clock – three hours after she shot him a punctuation-free text alerting him that she “might be late.” Being married to her for five years, and dating her for three before that, Peeta has long since learned to not worry over Katniss’s occasional truancies. Although she’ll give him a scare now and then, she’s never let him down.

So, wiping his hands on his jeans, he pads through the living room of their townhouse, ducking into the front hall just in time to see the door swing open.

And there stands Katniss, paused in the threshold. A cluster of plastic bags with the PetSmart logo splattered across them dangle from one hand, while the other arm awkwardly cradles a small, hazelnut-colored tuft against the inside of her elbow.

Oh my god.

“Whose puppy is that?” Peeta asks, both excited and afraid of what he anticipates the answer to be.

She gives him a guilty smile, dumping the bags on the floor so she can hold the thing up Simba-style with both hands.

“Ours,” she replies.

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prompt - fading

They’re almost gone, he notes with dismay: the bruises.

He stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, at the barely-there marks of Daiki’s lips and teeth dotting the line of his neck, along the breadth of his shoulders, down the planes of his chest, at the even fainter outlines of Daiki’s fingers around his wrists and on his hips.

He sighs. It’s barely even been a week, and all the proof Daiki has left on his skin from their night together has all but disappeared. Even the scratches on his back have stopped stinging under the spray of the shower. And the soreness… that’s always the first to go.

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Unwavering [Part Two]

Author: smutandahalf

Characters: Reader x Stiles x Void x Pack


Word Count: 2795

A/N: Here is Part One. This is the last part of this story.

Originally posted by alevlightwood

           The first thing I notice is the cold, and how absolutely unbearable it is. But it’s more than just cold, it’s a damp chill that you can feel seeping into your bones and settling into your soul. The kind of cold that makes you crave the release of just curling into a ball and fading away.

            I open my eyes slowly, blinking a few times to shake the black haze from the edges of my vision. The room is dark, and the dull, aching, soreness of my arms draws my attention to the cold, heavy, chains binding me the metal pipe running along parallel to the ceiling. I pull at the chains slightly, and it feels like my shoulder is being torn out of its socket. I bite my lip to silence my cry of pain, quickly deciding that any attempt to free my arms will be completely futile.

            I drag in a deep breath through my nose to calm myself, but almost gag on the inescapable smell of death and decay that seems to fill the room.

            “Honestly, I’m disappointed,” A cold voice says from the corner and I flinch slightly, the sharp movement jerks the chains and a small whimper escapes my mouth before I’m able to clamp my lips shut again, “I thought you would have at least tried a little harder to get out. Especially considering how if you die you’ll just wake up right back in the same place and can try again.”

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anonymous asked:

Chanyeol angst where his gf fainted in his arms!! Thank you.


genre: angst (with a little bit of fluff at the end)

word count: 782

summary: You hadn’t been feeling well all day and when your boyfriend Chanyeol came to pick you up for your date, things went downhill. And fast…

Originally posted by porkdo-bi

If you were honest with yourself, you hadn’t been feeling well all day. You’d felt queasy and lightheaded. You had taken a nap and made sure you drank a lot of water but you still couldn’t quite shake your symptoms.

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mermaid!percabeth au where percy is a deep ocean mermaid and annabeth is an explorer with white scars running down her arms and eyes that reflect the storms

anonymous asked:

Can you do some smut? Like anything I just want to read some of your writing in smut form. Please and thank you!

This request caused some controversy for me… I really wasn’t sure if I could/wanted to do it. But there are a lot of things I post on my tumblr that I don’t upload on other sites like or AO3. Because if I did that…. why would anybody follow me… 


Anyway, I gave it a try. Shoutout to Nick Swardson for the inspiration. 

Nico had been friends with Jason Grace since they were both thirteen years old. He had moved into Nico’s neighborhood and had never stopped bothering him since. So when they both were accepted into the University of Chicago, it made sense that their relationship would only strengthen over time. It took all of Nico’s energy to convince the man that they should most definitely not be roommates during college. Which is why when Jason got crazy ideas, Nico tended to make up any excuse he could think of. However, on one late January night, Nico was cornered like a newborn calf. 

“Let’s get messages.” 


“Why not?” Jason whined through the phone. 

“Because I don’t want some stranger rubbing me up with rose oil, that’s why.” Nico answered while balancing his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he unloaded his dish washer. 

“But dude. These massages are amazing. They jerk you off at the end.” Nico felt a wave of disgust roll through him. The image of some doe-eyed girl trying to jerk him off made him want to hide back in the closet he had just came out of. 

“Why would you ask your gay best friend if he wanted jerked off by a girl during a massage?” Nico hissed into his phone. He could practically hear Jason’s eyes roll through the speaker.

“Dude, I checked. They totally have a same sex option. Come one. It’ll be your early Christmas present.” Jason reasoned.

“Just what I wanted.” Nico deadpanned. “Anonymous sex. How did you know?” 

“That’s the spirit! I’ll pick you up in an hour! I have reservations!” 

Before Nico could point out that his answer was clearly sarcasm, the call ended with a click and Nico groaned in frustration. He briefly considered the pros and cons of getting a message/hand job from a stranger. The words of his other good friend, and old crush, Percy Jackson rang in his ears. 

“You gotta get out there, Neeks. Make out with random people. Sleep around. It’s college!” 

Nico groaned again. Since when did he take advice from Percy fucking Jackson. Nico was rounding twenty and he still hadn’t been with anybody…. sexually yet. He was a little embarrassed to admit it at this point and often took on the ruse that he was a sex god in all sense of the word. 

He was not. 

Nico glanced at his phone and bit his lip. He was so sexually frustrated he might stab himself before his twenty first birthday. Maybe…. this would be good for him. After all. Nobody besides Jason had to know. And Nico had a ton of blackmail material on the boy to keep him quiet for a lifetime or two. 

“This is sketchy as hell.” Nico forced out through chattering teeth as he stood next to Jason starring up at the seemingly abandon building. Windows were boarded over, and bricks were falling out from the walls. 

“It’ll be fine.” Jason proclaimed and walked toward the clearly haunted structure. 

“I honestly don’t think it will be. We’re going to be drugged and sold into sex slavery.” Nico noted. Jason laughed and opened the door that was surprisingly unlocked. 

“No way. My friend told me all about this place. It’s legit.” 

Nico swallowed the growing lump in his throat and cautiously followed his friend into the building. There was electricity so at least Nico had to give them that. Abandon offices filled with boxes were carpet bombed throughout the building. Nico looked up and noticed that the ceiling lacked… well, a ceiling. There was no tile to cover the water and gas pipes that formed a labyrinth above him. The pipes groaned up the pressure of the building and leaked a suspicious looking yellow substance. 

But the worst part, Nico decided, was the door at the far end of the hallway that Jason had led him to. 

“This is it!” Jason said motioning to the door like it was his third grade art project that had won third place. 

It was a plain, office door. But taped to the front with duck tape was a single piece of notebook paper with the word SPA written in pencil. 

Nico shot Jason an unamused look and Jason ignored it, pulling open the door and shoving Nico down into the buildings basement. 

Nico staggered down the stairs and made his way toward a well lit room at the bottom. When he finally made it, his jaw fell open with a small pop and his eyes widened to take in the ridiculous scenario. 

At the bottom of the clearly haunted, run down building was an entirely new, renovated, Japanese spa. There was a waterfall that ran along the far wall, a giant aquarium full of fish, soft, white carpet, and Japanese print wallpaper. At the far end was a huge receptionist desk. 

Jason shot Nico a knowing look and walked toward the desk to check them in. 

“Hello.” Jason said as if he were in the grocery store. “We have appointments under ‘Grace’. One standard for me, and a special order of man meat only for my pal here.” Jason slapped Nico on the back and Nico felt his face turn red. 

“Okay.” The receptionist responded not blinking an eye. Her long red nails clacked on the keyboard in front of her as she looked up Jason’s last name. Nico stood in awkward silence as the girl pulled up their reservations. The lobby only had two other guys in it. One in a suit and another who looked like he just wandered in from the street on accident. 

“Oh…” The receptionist muttered. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Jason asked, his hand hauling as he pulled out his credit card. Yes. They took credit here.  

“It seems like our only male worker hasn’t shown up for work.” She explained. Jason nodded understandingly and put his credit card back in his wallet. 

“Oh well. Let’s go Nico.” Jason answered. A flash of panic crossed the receptionists face. 

“Hold on! We have a stock room worker who said he would be willing to do it if it’s an emergency.” 

“It’s not an emergency.” Nico muttered the same time Jason exclaimed, 

“Sounds great!” 

The receptionist smiled and lifted herself out of her fancy desk chair. 

“Let me just go and double check with him than.” And she disappeared into the back room. Jason had helped himself to the pure, white fluffy robes that the women had left for them. 

“I am going to kill you.” Nico muttered. Jason shrugged. 

“You gotta get some action some time.” Jason reasoned. 

Nico heard voices from the back like a hushed argument. Back and forth like a tennis match. Nico’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the doorway the receptionist had disappeared into. The hushed voices paused and a mop of blonde hair peaked around the door and glanced at Nico only to disappear again when he noticed Nico was watching. 

A few moments later the receptionist came back out followed by a girl who looked to be about twenty something with caramel skin, auburn hair with a feather tied in, and a sweet looking face. The girl flashed Jason a smile and motioned for him to follow her to the back. 

The other person following the receptionist was a blonde man who looked a year or two older than Nico himself. He was tan, blonde, and freckles dotted his face. His steel blue eyes regarded Nico nervously. 

“Hi.” he said wringing his hands nervously. “If you uh- wanna follow me this way.” the blonde boy had a pleasant sounding voice. Not too deep or too high. 

Nico followed the poor boy to the back room where he led him into a smaller room with a message table, lit candles, and loads of scented oils. 

“I’m Will. I’ll be… taking care… of you today.” Nico almost rolled his eyes. This guy was more of an awkward virgin than Nico was. 

Will instructed Nico to lay down and Nico didn’t put up a fight. He was having a very, ‘this might as well happen’ day. Not that the boy wasn’t cute. He was. But Nico would rather his first hand job be more romantic and less… paid for. 

Will massaged his lower back, moving his thumbs in a circular motion as he worked his way up toward Nico’s shoulder. Nico melted under his touch. The man clearly knew what he was doing when it came to massages. 

He worked his way up Nico’s shoulders and back down his spine. Nico felt him massage his ass gently but hesitantly. It almost ruined it but before Nico could dwell on it, he had moved onto his thighs. Rubbing oil dangerously close to his crotch. 

Nico groaned and Will leaned down. 

“Uh- you can… get on your back now.” Nico lifted his head and regarded the blonde with half lidded eyes before turning over and resting on his back instead of his stomach. Nico watched as the boy messages his collar bone, his chest, and inched his way down toward Nico’s fast growing member. 

God, that blonde would look great on his knees. 

It was going great. Nico’s body warmed up like it was made for it, and his dick stood at attention painfully. 

This boy, Will, was teasing far too much. Why didn’t he just do it? Nico was about to go insane until he glanced up and realized that Will was nervous. His eyes clouded with uncertainty, his hands were hesitant and his body language screamed uncomfortable. 

Nico rolled his eyes and sat up pushing Will away gently. 

“Move.” Nico growled, half agitated by the constant pressure building in his groin. Will glanced at him, somewhat shocked. 

“No please. This is my job. If you don’t get off… I may get fired.” Nico didn’t really feel like fucking around with this guys nervousness and let his hand travel down to his aching dick as he grasped it tightly at the base. 

“Than watch and learn.” Nico muttered. Will’s eyes widened as Nico gazed at him through lidded eyes once more. His vision blurring at the edge from the instant relief. If this boy was gonna watch, he might as well take advantage of it. 

Nico began moving his hand along the underside of his shaft, his body arching in response. He hooked his fingers exactly how he knew he liked it and gave slow, even strokes. Nico let out a breathy moan with each stroke. 

Will watched him with fascination and adjusted his pants. Nico felt a surge of courage as he grasped the base of himself and teased his entrance with a stray finger. With ran his free hand through his hair and glanced up at Will. The other boy was watching him with a glassy expression and was palming his own dick through his jeans. 

Nico smirked and motioned for the blonde haired boy in a ‘come hither’ motion. 

Nico saw the boys breath hitch and glance toward the door before walking toward Nico and placing his hand on his hips in a way that held more confidence than when he first started the message. 

“You’re so hot.” Will muttered as Nico worked his pants down with his feet and began palming Will through his boxers. The other boy groaned and buried his face in Nico’s neck. 

“Fuck.” he said with a shaky breath. He looked down at Nico, and moved his hands toward his dick. 

“Let me help.” Will whispered. Nico groaned and took one hand and placed it on his member and took his other hand and led it toward his ass. Encouraging him to let a stray finger or two slip inside. 

While Will was playing Nico like a finely tuned instrument Nico busied himself with relieving the incredibly attractive boy in front of him. 

He grasped Will firmly and got right to work. Working his hand fast and steady as Will began to finger him harshly and stroke his dick with the same pace. 

Nico threw his head back and moaned loudly. Arching into the boy as he came. Will jerked him off through his orgasm and Nico felt his own hand get splattered with warm seed as Will came in his hand. 

Both boys gave the other a few more gentle, lazy strokes before collapsing on to the massage table, panting harshly. 

“Holy shit.” Will muttered. 

“You’re gonna have to get used to that.” Nico responded. 

“I’m just the stock room boy. I don’t do this. But I owed Lou Ellen a favor.” 

I gave Will a curious look. 

“Lou Ellen is the receptionist and the owner. Also one of my best friends.” 

Nico nodded and tried to pull himself back to his senses. 

“So you don’t jerk off strangers?” 

“No.” Will answered with a chuckle. “Unless you count just than. But… you were too hot to resist.” he admitted. 

Nico laughed and rolled off the table, reaching for his robe. 

“So… can I get your number?” The blonde boy asked. Nico looked up in shock and studied the boys face. 

“Really?” Nico asked. Will nodded and Nico smiled. He grabbed a pen off the table and scribbled his number on Will’s arm considering his palms were dirty. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Nico. Nico di Angelo.” 

Will smiled like he had just passed the hardest test in the world. 

“I’m Will. Will Solace. 





Priority level

Pairing: Nyx Ulric/Noctis Lucis Caelum (Nyxnoct), implied Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia (Promnis)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Swearing, heavily implied sexy times, Prompto really should know better, Ignis and Gladio mentioned in passing, crack is crack is crack and should not be taken seriously, the Skyrim AU nobody asked for
Chapter: 1/1

Doors are usually closed for a reason.

Prompto learns this the hard way.

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Daily Dose of Led


Word Count: 1348

Category: Fluff

Rating: G

Character(s): Kili

Pairing(s): Kili x Reader

Warnings: Nothing really, could possibly be one swear, but most likely not. Total Fluff and Classic Rock if those are even warnings.

Author’s Note(s): Okay, so this was probably one of my favorite one-shots to write EVER. It was really fun, and through the whole thing, I listened to Classic Rock. Which wasn’t that hard saying that I do that almost every day hehe. But I truly hope you enjoy, and please, please, PLEASE, give feedback. Have a good read!

Overall Summary: You are relaxing after finally coming back to your home on Earth from being in Middle Earth. Of course, things happened and the Company ends up being tagged along. While you are, Kili comes in and stumbles upon you listening to some strange music.

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i-wanna-shelter-y0u  asked:

You got some proposal drarry layin around???

There really is no excuse for why this is so late except for my procrastination and I am so sorry.

The World Cup

It was absolutely pouring. Raindrops hit the grass relentlessly, making a muddy mess of the quidditch pitch and soaking the raucous crowd to the core. This fact, however, did nothing to deter the hundreds of thousands of World Cup spectators who sat huddled together against the cold, waving British flags or wearing Irish hats. They watched in wonder as the British and Irish teams flew out onto the pitch, rain soaking them the second they were out in the open. The British team was eye catching in their blue and white uniforms, doing complex tricks on their brooms and taking a lap around the pitch as the crowd cheered.

Draco Malfoy sat, completely dry, in the Minister’s box, omnioculars pressed firmly to his face. His attention was fixated on the British team, even as the Irish made their grand entrance. He took a moment to put the omnioculars in slow motion; for the single reason that he would be able to make out the name ‘Potter’ on the back of what looked to be just a blue streak on the pitch.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” Hermione yelled into the blonde’s ear, trying to make herself heard. Draco grinned and nodded, turning his attention to the minister.

“Extremely. I can’t believe Harry made it to the World Cup-” I tell her, nearly shaking in excitement.

“His life’s really been something, hasn’t it? First, vanquisher of Dark Lords, now, vanquisher of IRISH ASS!” Ron excitedly bellowed next to him, wrapping an arm around the blonde’s shoulder and shaking him with excitement. Draco elbowed him gently with a laugh.

“Careful, Weasley, this suit is worth more than your entire business.” Draco joked, and Ron smirked.

“Doubtful.” Ron replied rolling his eyes, and turning his attention back to the pitch where the match was about to begin, Draco following suit. Hermione rose to her feet, visibly shaking with what could either be nerves or excitement; it was hard to tell.

She walked out onto the balcony, rain sticking to her bushy hair, but her not having a care in the world. She put her wand to her throat to magnify the sound of her voice so that everyone in the gargantuan stadium could hear her.

“As Minister of Magic, it’s with honor and delight that I welcome every single one of you to the four hundred and thirty second Quidditch World Cup!” Her words were met with thousands of cheers and screams; rosettes and flags of blues and greens waving through the air. “I’d like to wish both teams good luck, and with that, let the match begin!” Hermione finished with a flourish of her wand, sending a small jet of fireworks into the sky as the balls were released.


“-let the match begin!” The voice of Harry’s best friend being cast over hundreds of thousands of spectators gave the man a proud glow. The fact that hundreds of thousands of spectators were there to so him play Quidditch made him beam with happiness as he rode into the sky for a bird’s eye view of the rest of the players.

Harry looked proudly at the rest of his team, all poised to play what would be the best match of his life to date. All of their eyes darted to follow the ball that they were to be after, and in a second flat, all of his teammates and competitors had disappeared in streaks of blue and green.

Harry’s sharp eyes looked for any sign of the golden snitch, rain bouncing off his glasses thanks to a spell Hermione taught him in his third year. The announcer’s commentary was lost to the scar-headed boy, who slowly made his way around the pitch, glancing every once in a while at the Irish seeker to make sure he wasn’t trying anything.

“-and ten points to Britain!” The commentator announced cheerfully. Harry continued circling the pitch, getting lower and lower. A clap of thunder rumbled overhead, shaking Harry to the bone.

As the game wore on, Harry was becoming aware of the closing gap between his team’s score and the Irish. It was one hundred and thirty to one hundred and ten, with the British in the lead. Harry decided it was time to get sneaky.

He dove straight down, feigning sight of the snitch. The brunette heard a loud gasp from the crowd and grinned, still flying down, down, down. He could feel the Irish seeker on his tail, but he continued to plummet, only pulling up a mere five feet from the ground.

As he flew up to safety, watching as the Irishman narrowly avoided a head on collision into a pool of mud and tried to regain his composure. Harry took a lap around the pitch once again as the crowd’s roar gave him energy.

About 15 minutes later, he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught a faint flash of fluttering gold near the British goalposts. He immediately accelerated his broom, nearly flattening himself down onto it to get the most speed possible.

His hands were freezing, as was the rest of him, and his soaked robes seemed to be slowing him down. Yet Harry didn’t care. He had the wind in his hair an the snitch in his sights and like hell was he going to let a bit of rain stop him.

In the corner of his eye, he could just see a fast approaching green speck trying to catch him. It wouldn’t reach the Potter fast enough. Harry dodged an Irish chaser, and kept going, all of his being set on catching that snitch; so focused in fact, that he didn’t see the bludger that was fast approaching him.

“Fuck!” Harry yelled when the bludger made contact with his ribs. He felt a crack and knew for sure that a few were cracked, if not completely broken. Yet on he flew, chasing the snitch around the goalposts until he finally closed his fingers around the cold tiny ball, his vision turning white around the edges from the pain.

The deafening yell of the spectators encompassed Harry’s entire being, but as they cheered for him, and his teammates beckoned him to join them on the ground, Harry just turned his broom around and booked it straight for the Minister’s box.

His eyes connected with Draco’s in pure happiness, blinding pain forgotten as he looked in the blonde’s eyes which just radiated pride and joy. As he got closer and closer, a thought ran through his mind on what he would say to Draco when he reached him.

“Harry!” Draco’s voice carried above the others, even Ron’s and Hermione’s. In that moment, Harry didn’t give a damn what his friends would think, or his family or the world for that matter. All he could think of was that he just won the fucking World Cup and he was going to do something crazy on his victory induced high.

The second Harry reached the railing, he pulled Draco’s face to meet his in a tender kiss; he heard cried of joy from the spectators; apparently he was on the Jumbotron. The second he pulled back, Harry asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue for months.

“Draco-” he said, and suddenly the stadium was dead silent, with only the sound of the rain and the fast beating of Harry’s heart could be heard in the man’s ears. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes yes YES!” Draco screamed, and barriers be damned he jumped onto Harry’s broom, hugging the brunette and crying tears of joy as the crowd roared. “I love you, you fucking scarhead.” Draco cried in Harry’s ear, kissing him hard.

“I love you too, ferret.” Harry smirked, and lowered them to the ground, stumbling with pain trying to stand up. Draco smiled and put his arm around his finance.

“Let healer Malfoy fix you up.” And together they walked into the locker room, ready to start a new life.

Made of Steel

Words: 2,029

A/N: Guess who corrupted me lol (hint: it’s @redhothollyberries). Also inspired and beta-ed by said angst senpai @redhothollyberries. Please redirect any tears towards her blog. 


Time has always been a funny concept to Tobirama. It’s constant in its presence and it’s always disproportionate to the moment. It sludges like a tar during his grimmest moments, and cascades like fine sand in an hourglass during his happiest. Nothing escapes the effects of time. Sometimes, Tobirama looks at his walking companion and forgets that Kagami only used to reach his shoulder.

Now, it makes him smile to admit that he has to tilt his neck the tiniest bit upwards to meet Kagami’s eyes. He never really grew out of his chubby cheeks, but his jaw has broadened out. It’s obvious that Madara has a hand in Kagami’s growth. It shows in his skills, his values, his stubbornness. His childish optimism, his sharp humour, and his elastic intelligence – that’s all Kagami.

His insistence at kicking out Tobirama out of his office, and walking him home when it gets past ten – that’s all Kagami too.

“Concept,” Kagami announces. “I’m wearing the Hokage hat. You’re my number one advisor. We’re watching through the tower window as a bunch of kids are screeching and playing. Adults are bartering. All five major villages are allied. Shinobi fatalities is at its lowest, and our village is thriving.”

Tobirama scoffs. “Impossible.”

That curls a pout out of Kagami. “That I’m Hokage?”

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The kick of the blast shot resonated through Hera, the impact much more forceful than the sound. Then again, she could barely hear anything but a persistent ringing in her ears. With effort, she pushed out a breath of air as her knees gave out on her. Her own weight became too much for her legs to bear as she collapsed to the ground. Hera’s bloodstained clothes were tattered and torn in several places, exposing the bruised and bloodied skin smeared with dirt and dust underneath. She was struggling to breathe properly now, her throat dry and chest tight. When she tried to wet her lips, she found them chapped and dusty against her tongue.

The only thought she had was that her last shot had been aimed straight and true.

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anonymous asked:

if you're looking for prompts, maybe an exhausted Shiro with a cold who refuses to rest until his caretaker (personally i like matt but you can make it whoever you like) forces him to sit down and rest and maybe they end cuddling on a couch while he finally gets some much needed rest?

i just found this in my drafts and i’m kicking myself aaaaaaaa

[send me a prompt?]

Nobody said Garrison life would be easy.

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