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estrellami-1 · 1 year

Text

Never Forgot

Based on this post.

Steve knew something was wrong when she ran out of the room, choking back tears.

He felt bad, felt like there was something missing, but he didn’t remember her. Thinking about it, he realized he didn’t really remember anything.

“Robin?” Dustin asked when she all but ran out of the hospital room.

She stifled a sob and collapsed onto the bench next to him, holding a hand over her mouth. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Dustin, he… he doesn’t remember me.”

Dustin took a deep breath and very carefully did not freak out. “Okay. You stay here, I’ll go talk to him. See if we can shake it loose or something.” He rolled his eyes at the look she gave him. “Not literally, Buckley, jeez. Keep your pants on.”

He squared his shoulders and walked into the hospital room. Steve looked fine, if tired—hospital lighting never did anyone any favors—but the absent smile he sent Dustin spoke volumes. “Hi,” he said quietly, stilted in a way he never was anymore. Not with Dustin. “Um, can you apologize to her for me? She seemed really upset and I’m not sure what I did but I think it’s my fault.”

Dustin sighed and sat in the chair by Steve’s hospital bed. “You really don’t remember her, huh.” It wasn’t a question, so Steve didn’t answer. “And I’m guessing you don’t remember me, either?”

Steve picked at the blanket on his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus fuck,” Dustin whispered, screwing his eyes shut. “Don’t apologize, Jesus, it’s not your fault. It just… sucks.”

Steve snorted. “Imagine waking up and only remembering one person.”

Dustin looked up at him sharply. “One person?”

Steve shrugged. “Guess I’d be a pretty shitty boyfriend if I didn’t, yeah.”

“Boyfriend?” Dustin blinked. “Steve, you’re not dating anyone.”

Steve frowned. “I am. Maybe you don’t know him? Eddie? Eddie Munson?”

“Eddie- Christ, Steve, of course I know Eddie, and you two aren’t dating. You’re, like, as straight as they come.”

“No- no, I am, I’m dating him, I’m- we’re-”

“Whoa, okay, hold up, calm down,” Dustin said, holding his hands out. “It’s fine, dude, okay, we’ll figure it out later but I don’t think you should be stressing this hard after just waking up.”

Steve hummed. “What, uh. What actually happened to me?”

Dustin sighed. “The doctors said your body essentially performed a hard reset. You’ve been running on fumes for too long. You collapsed from sheer exhaustion. At least you didn’t hit your head this time, though maybe that would’ve prevented you from losing your memory, so who fuckin’ knows.”

“Language,” Steve chided, then blinked when Dustin looked at him excitedly. “I don’t know where that came from.”

Dustin just laughed. It was only a little forced. “You’re just incapable of not being a mom.”

——————————

Robin went back in next, lightly tapping Dustin’s shoulder as she passed him in the doorway. He shook his head, and her heart sank. “He-” Dustin shook his head, bit his lip. “He thinks he and Eddie are dating. Eddie’s the only person he remembers.”

Robin gave him a little half-smile. “He’s had a crush on Eddie for a while. I didn’t realize it was this bad, but.” She shrugged. “I’ll talk to him. You call everyone else?”

“Yeah.”

She took a deep breath and walked into the room. “So,” she started. “You really don’t remember?”

Steve shook his head, eyebrows pinched. “I’m sorry. I wish I did.”

“Dustin said you remember one person?”

“Mhm. Eddie.”

“Right. And you and Eddie? What are you?”

Steve frowned even deeper. “Boyfriends. If we’re this close, shouldn’t you know that?”

Robin shrugged. “I’d like to think so. That’s why Dustin and I aren’t convinced you are dating. Maybe your memories are just… really vivid daydreams.”

“You really think so?”

Robin sighed heavily. “I don’t know what to think, Steve. Hell, I didn’t even know how bad it was until you collapsed. Some soulmate I am.”

“With a capital P,” Steve said, holding up a hand before Robin could say anything. “Sometimes certain memories are triggered. It’s… like a puzzle piece slotting into place. But I’ve got about a million more pieces missing. I can’t see what that specific piece connects to.”

Robin hums. “Okay. So you remember Eddie. And if I say Hellfire..?” Steve just frowned. “Or… Metallica?”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, I know that one.”

“Did you know that before I said it?”

Steve nodded. “Hellfire’s related to Eddie?”

Robin chuckled. “You could say that.”

“What is it?”

She laughed again. “I think I’ll let your boyfriend explain that one.”

“Even though you don’t believe we’re dating.”

Robin spread her hands. “Soulmates with a capital P, Steve. I can’t think of any reason you wouldn’t at least tell me. Especially since you know—err, knew—I’m a lesbian.”

Steve frowned. “Maybe Eddie didn’t want to? Does he know?”

“Yup.”

“Oh.” He frowned again. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “I’m not asking you to have all the answers. Especially now. Just… think about it, yeah?”

“I will,” he promised. “Um. Are you okay?”

“Jesus, Steve.” Robin laughed. It was only mostly hysterical. “Of course you’d still be thinking about everyone else. I’m fine. Or- I will be. You just take care of yourself, dingus.”

He chuckled. “Will do, Robbie.”

She sighed. “Another puzzle piece?” He nodded. “Alright. I’m gonna go track down Dustin and see where he’s at with all the other ankle-biters.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She lingered for a half-second, then sighed again and walked out.

——————————

He was released two days later. Drove himself home, Robin in the passenger seat and Dustin in the back row. Dustin quizzed him about the rest of the Party the whole way home, made sure Steve knew their names forwards, backwards and upside down, as well as what everyone was like. “Max is kickass,” he said. “Like, she’ll absolutely smile in your face as she knees you in the balls. And it’s the kinda smile that strikes fear into a man. She’s awesome. And-”

“Okay,” Steve said, amused. He didn’t know how Dustin could go that long without a breath. “I’ll know what you’re talking about as soon as we get out of the car and get inside, right?”

Dustin yelped when he looked up to see them parked before scrambling out the door and running inside.

Steve grinned at Robin, who grinned back, before they made their way inside, albeit at a slower pace than Dustin had.

Steve vaguely recognized everybody, but his attention focused in on a very specific person. “Eds.”

Eddie smiled, small and soft and sweet, one of Steve’s favorites. “Heya, Stevie.”

Suddenly he couldn’t help himself. He had to be with Eddie, right then, it couldn’t wait, so he didn’t. Practically flung himself at Eddie, like he knew Eddie would catch him (he did). Attaches his mouth to Eddie’s, a silent promise, I never forgot you, flowing between them.

When they pulled back, Eddie stared at him like he’d hung the fucking sun. “You remember?” Eddie asked in a whisper.

“Never forgot,” Steve promised, at the same volume.

“What. The actual. Fuck,” Robin said. Eddie and Steve froze as they turned to face her and the rest of the Party, who were all staring with the same expression.

“Fuck,” Eddie whispered. “We forgot to tell Robin.”

#Dustin: not us?????#Eddie: no bc you’d be annoying af about it #eddie munson has adhd #steve Harrington has adhd #they’re both my precious babies and I love them #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #st fic #muse deserted me but I actually mostly like what I have #I’m begging someone. anyone else to do it better though #starambles

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lolokouhm · 7 months

Text

pt.2 is out!

"Could you rail me?"

That's not something Megumi expects to hear at 10 p.m. Especially coming from you.

You're drenched - that's the first thing he notices. It's been raining the whole day, pouring even, making early autumn weather even gloomier than it usually is. You don't have an umbrella and the light jacket you put on yourself earlier in the morning looks completely out of place - it doesn't even have a hood to hide under. Or maybe it's not the jacket that feels off? Maybe that's just you.

You, the one who is always prepared. You, the one who is always put together. You, the one who, as far as he's concerned, should be in the cinema on a date with your boyfriend right now. A dickhead boyfriend, Megumi makes a mental note. He couldn't bring himself to like the guy, but as long as that idiot treated you right, he wasn't really in a place to say anything. But apparently, something has changed.

"Could you rail me?"

Yeah, something has definitely changed.

Megumi doesn't really say anything as you get inside - your every movement is showing how furious you are, and it’s not like Fushiguro's not used to people with bad temper, it's just you're not one of them. He's never seen you like this before and, combining the situation with that question you’ve asked him twice, he's taken by surprise. That gets him thinking. Something must have happened, and judging by your face...

Then he notices. The smudged mascara, the barely visible traces on you cheeks, and your red, puffy, eyes.

You cried.

Megumi has seen you in various mental states, but never furious - and most importantly, never crying, so he couldn't possibly have any idea how seeing you like that would make him feel. He knows now.

He'll kill him.

"Come on, you need to take a hot shower, or you'll get sick", he finally says, his voice sounding surprisingly normal and calm. He's relieved - all these years of hiding his emotions and not letting them surface have at least some perks. Looking at your state, you need something - someone - to calm you down, and Megumi won’t let himself lose control just over his imagination and groundless jealousy. You need to tell him what happened first.

So when you’re finally out of the shower, your hair still damp, drowning in his cotton, black T-shirt, Megumi is waiting in the kitchen - and he needs you to speak.

„He cheated on me.” It falls from your lips, light as a feather, and these words do something to him. Something that could have very bad consequences. „We broke up. But it doesn’t even hurt. I… I am so fucking stupid.” You’re not crying anymore - there’s a fire in your eyes that Megumi has never seen before.

„He’s the one that’s stupid.” That is probably the nicest adjective out of many others he has on his mind right now. He observes you carefully as you adjust yourself on a high hocker next to him.

„No, I am. I…” You sigh, hiding your face in your hands. „I didn’t cry because he broke my heart. That’s the problem. He didn’t.” That’s a relief, but Megumi’s still not convinced. His brows furrow, as he’s trying to understand what exactly has happened. „I was crying because I don’t fucking understand myself.” Your gaze suddenly jumps on him and the intensity of it makes him gulp. „That’s why I want you to rail me.” Before he can form a coherent answer to that, you speak up again. „I think I have feelings for you. Romantic feelings. And that makes me a cheater, because I went into a relationship knowing that. Or at least suspecting that.”

So many things Megumi didn’t expect to hear tonight.

He just stares at you, not sure, whether his heart is racing or it’s completely stopped beating. You’re blushing, but at the same time doesn’t look embarrassed. Despite that cute pink tone on your cheeks, you seem determined, and he’s not sure what he should do about it.

„Or you can say you won’t”, you suddenly speak up again. The eye contact is so intensive, to the point it physically hurts. „You can say that and I’ll see if it breaks my heart. It’ll be easie-”

„I won’t rail you.” It jumps out of him faster than he’s able to process it, and his heart drops as your face turns pale.

„Okay. It hurts. So this is a crush after all.” You stand up suddenly and rush somewhere - his apartament isn’t big, but the embarrassment hits you like a truck and you just need to hide. Or die.

„How the fuck do you expect me to rail you?” Nervousness in Megumi’s voice makes you turn around. He’s got up from his seat as well, his worried expression long forgotten - now he just looks angry. „I’ve had sex like three times before. Fuck”, he sighs, pinching his nose bridge. As if that ever helped somebody to focus. He doesn’t have any other options though. „Jesus, (Y/N). You can’t just say these things like that. Why can’t you just like… say that you have a crush on me? At least I’d know how to answer”, Megumi murmurs and now you’re confused.

He cannot comprehend the fact that you haven’t noticed. Everyone noticed. Itadori, Nobara, Gojo - everyone. Even he himself noticed. The gradual changes in your friendship, the staring, the smiles that cost him way more than anyone else, and yet he would give you them for free. The jealousy that came few months ago - with you being asked out, taken on dates, kissed. The irritation. And eventually, the nights where he would be so hard and frustrated, and the only cure seemed to be a memory of you. Of your skin. Of your touch. He was sure when your name left his lips that one particular night - he let his imagination run freely, and it sprinted to the point where he imagined it was your hand going up and down on his dick. He panicked a bit, that night. Your friendship was more valuable than anything else. He couldn’t risk it.

So he endured.

And now this?

That’s not fair. You play dirty. You asked that fucking question three times and now he’s sexually frustrated and stressed beyond what’s humanly possible. He tried so hard, gritted his teeth, tossed and turned - and you just destroyed everything.

So when Megumi comes up to you to catch your face in his hands, you can feel his anger. And a million other things that convince you, that yes, Megumi Fushiguro could rail you without any doubt. He kisses you - and the kiss tastes like longing, like desperation, like something more, than just „liking”. Like…

„He was first”, he murmurs, as he pulls away, just millimetres, but enough to be able to say what he needs to say. His long, slender fingers rest on both sides of your face, the right thumb delicately brushing you cheek. A feeling completely different from that sudden kiss.

„What?” You feel a bit hazy and so does he.

„And you were always so happy… I just couldn’t…”, he mutters, running with his gaze when the embarrassment hits him. He curses himself for wearing that black sweater tonight, it’s so hot he cannot stand it - especially when your hands land on his covered chest.

„I was happy because I was with you, you dumbass!” You moan, and even though it’s not sexual at all, Megumi can’t help but groan. You are intoxicating. „I thought you didn’t like me… So I tried to…” You’re interrupted as he pulls you for another kiss, even more needy than the first one. And you suddenly forget what you wanted to say.

Megumi still remembers, but he needs you. If that’s a dream, then he just hopes he’s not going to wake up. Luckily for him, the way his body reacts is more biological than ever and that gives him some hope.

„You tried to…?”

„I tried to fall in love with someone else.”

„You’re stupid then.” His lips travel down your neck as he’s leaving slow, sensual kisses all over it. You grip tightens on his forearm, nails diving between the sweater’s weaves just to find his skin underneath. You had no idea Megumi could kiss like that, and when his fingers slide down your collarbone, you find out that you had no idea that he could touch you like that either. „If you talked to me, we’d save a lot of time.”

„You could have said something too”, you whisper, and the combination of stress, anxiety and bliss makes your legs go weak. Luckily, Megumi’s here, and his arm keeps you in place. „You never say anything. And I…” A little whine interrupted you as his teeth grazed over your paper thin skin. „I don’t know how you feel.”

„You really can’t see it?”

„I need you to say it. I can say it. I’m in love with you, Megumi”. Is it really your voice, or are the angels singing? He could swear he got the chills. „Please.”

Years of hiding. Years of not saying anything. Years of keeping his feelings hidden. All that, just for him to make a confession.

„I’m in love with you, (Y/N).” It’s shaky, it’s soft and it’s quiet, falling into your skin and melting into your soul - something you needed so desperately. And that’s enough.

You need to see him, so you cup his face into your hands, and the picture leaves you in awe - his soft cheeks are flushed, blue eyes shining with desire. It’s so unlike him, and the fact that you’ve actually managed to pull these words out of him shows how desperate he is.

„You can let go” you whisper, before pulling him for another kiss. „Don’t overthink it. Just… let go.”

Who knows - he might rail you after all.

masterlist ❤️

#megumi x you #megumi x reader #megumi smut #fushiguro smut #fushiguro #jjk megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jujutsu megumi #megumi #fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi imagine #megumi headcanons #megumi drabble #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 5 months

Text

Pretty like the sun

Previous part / Next chapter

a/n: the follow up chapter AND This is pretty like the wind series spin offs. This can be read as standalone all you need to know is that Azriel has two adoptive kids with OC - Zofie and Axel. Future stories related to them might include stories specifically decided to Azriel hence why I am taging it as Azriel story too. Don't come at me please. ✨ We have Az pov in this😌

warning: mention of labor, past trauma that's all. I think...

They are of age in this story. Young adults!

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Nyx's POV:

The side lake cabin was where Nyx had taken her. He wasn't sure why that place was the first thing that came to his mind. But it was the furthest place from Velaris and something deep within Nyx screamed that they had to get away. Wrong choices you are making, my boy. Nyx tightened the muscles in his jaw. It was an odd feeling. Having her here was both a relief and a worry.

Zofie was, as Nyx had come to learn, pretty out of it. Most of the time, when her power flared up, she would be left drained and emotionless. Just starting at something ahead of her, till her mind regained enough strength. Nyx still remembered when Rhys brought both her and Axel from the sanctuary. She whined from the pain her body had been in. When Madja and everyone else had left, Nyx had reached up to take her hand. His veins had turned inky black as an overwhelming wave of emotions crashed into him. He had pulled away at first, worried that he had done something wrong, but the frown on Zofie's forehand had eased. It had taken him one look at his palm to know. So he sat there for hours, holding her hand, till his bones ached. Till the light pink sheen returned to her skin.

Nyx had taken her straight to the bathing chamber. With one flick of his wrist, the hot water was pouring out of the installations on the wall. He shrugged his jacket off, not too keen on getting the leather wet. But... Nyx, you're walking on eggshells. But you felt like a cube of ice in his hands. He had tried to keep a conversation going as he flew, but she didn't respond, not even once. So he let her listen to the sound of the wind without any distractions. Now he pushed Zofie backwards carefully. Hands holding her forearms to steady her. The warm water crashed over her. Soaking her hair and body. She let out a deep breath. As if coming up for air. Her hands clasped his biceps. "Nyx," she breathed out, and fuck if it wasn't the prettiest sound. He hated when others called out for him. But not her. He could listen to... Nyx! He carefully brushed some of her black hair away from her face, tilting her head up so he could see her eyes. She blinked up. The black still rimmed the very edges of her golden eyes. "I'm here, Sunny; I've got you," he muttered, bringing her closer to his chest. Zofie's arms snaked around his torso as warm water crashed over them both. Their clothes stuck to their skin. Nyx's shirt cringed to his toned body, leaving very little to the imagination as the white material got translucent. His hands made quick work of Zofie's skirt. Her soaked skirt had to be heavy. So his hands made quick work of the buttons and string before the material hit the floor with a thud. Nyx, for fuck sake... His eyes didn't linger. Well, they did. But only for a moment as her toned legs came into view. Self-induced torture—that's what this was. But he pushed all of his thoughts aside. Letting the water drown it out too.

Neither of them had an idea of how long they stayed there. The room was fogged up and so humid that water was trickling down the walls. Their fingers had grown pruney, and Nyx managed to shift in the meantime, with no wings on display now. Zofie blinked a couple of times, pulling her face back from Nyx's chest. Her findings trailed down his side. Side. She could see the ink covering his ribs. Ink she hasn't seen before... And then the most beautiful golden eyes finally met Nyx's purple ones. "When did you get this?" Zofie's dainty fingers touched the damp material, right where you could just about make out the new tattoo. "Are you checking me out, Zof?" , Nyx teased as his eyes too fell on the new addition. Zofie let out a huff, "I'm not, but..." her eyes didn't leave the somewhat flower-resembling line work. "You used to tell me about things like this." And he did. They talked a lot when they could.

It of course changed a lot when he had to go to the camp so they could train, but... How was he meant to say that he was miserable the second time they had to go back? He was so fed up, and all he could think of was her and Axel had laughed at him and...

"We stole a couple of bottles of wine in the camp and woke up with these," Nyx admitted. Zofie's eyes grew big. "We... Axel and you?", she questioned. Nyx's lips curled upward. Zofie didn't need to hear him say it; she knew that she was right as it was, "Mom would freak out if she knew." Her voice was low as she shook her head. "Hence why you won't say a word," Nyx booed her nose, making Zofie pull back slightly with a scowl. "Are you okay to step out?", Nyx asked softly, his hands still holding her. He watched as Zofie slowly realized where they were. Water. Steam. Her frozen body feels limber. So she simply nodded her head.

They separated to change, but not before Nyx pulled out some of his clothes for Zofie to wear. "We can go back", her soft voice filled the main room of the cabin. This had to be the smallest house his parents owned. All it had was a rather big bathing chamber. A tiny kitchen and the rest of the place was occupied by the bed and huge windows. Nyx said nothing at first as he tossed some more wood into the fire.

"We're not going", his voice was calm and collected. Zofie crossed her arms over her chest and said, "I need to go home. Papa will be mad, and my mom just gave birth; it's not...", she rambled on, clearly getting frustrated by the situation now that her emotions had settled.

"Then why were you by the bank?", Nyx cut in quickly, making the girl in front of him stutter. Her eyes grew wide for a split second before she narrowed them down, "I could ask you the same thing." Here she was. His little flicker. Nyx smirked slightly, "Don't argue with me, darling." Pushing Zofie's buttons was one of his favorite things to do, ever since he learned that he could rile her up enough to make her cheeks heat with crimson he had used it to his advantage. She huffed at the nickname she hated. "Or what? You'll stomp your foot, and your dad will come running," she snarled. That line of frustration took over, but her soft heart was too gentle for this, so the moment the words left her mouth, her palm came up to cover her mouth.

"I'm sorry," Zofie muttered through her fingers. She knew that there were times when the princeling hated his relationship with Rhys. The court. The high lordship had put endless pressure on him while he was left to smile at it all. "My dad has been barking in my head every since I got you here," Nyx admitted as he walked closer to her, "But I ain't bringing you to anyone until you tell me what happened." His tone was soft. It was always soft when he was talking to Zofie. The girl let out a sigh. A deep one. A painful one and Nyx couldn't help but frown.

"Hey, you and I, remember?" The line had been a joke when they were little. The two had plotted to steal the rest of Nyx's birthday cake. It was a ride-or-die kind of deal. But the line stuck. And ever since, it has been Zofie and Nyx. She nodded at his words. But her mother stayed silent - still too exhausted to talk it out.

"Come on, lay down with me," Nyx muttered. He sounded desperate. Zofie shook her head immediately, "We can't. We shouldn't." Nyx knew that she mostly feared his scent mixing with hers. Their parents had lived long enough to catch them if they weren't careful. "Why not, as if I'm going to undress you and kiss you all over?", Nyx muttered with a smirk. Zofie let out a gasp, hitting his chest. "Nyx," she muttered with a chuckle. "I made sure my dad heard that too", he whispered, and Zofie huffed in return. She knew that the high lord's family had mind-to-mind communication. "Nyx, for the love of mother, what sick joy do you have of pissing your uncle off?" She was well aware that both Azriel and Nyx had been snarling at one another for as long as she could remember. But in the past couple of years, it has grown increasingly worse. "Someone needs to keep him on his toes. Uncle Cass and da-Rhys had gone too soft," Nyx shrugged his shoulders as he tugged at Zofie's hand, pulling her closer to the massive bed.

"Come on, I don't bite," he said, urging her to follow him. "I can smell your magic on you," Nyx muttered as she climbed in next to him. She had always been a massive cuddle bug. He had always hated it. His mom had smothered him without stopping. Rhys was no better. The older he got, the more suffocating it became. "Is that bad?", Zofie asked, pushing her long black hair over one shoulder. Nyx loved her hair—not just her hair, but...Nyx, composure tactics?

"You're stressed and sad, so you smell like a rotten grape," he breathed out jokingly. Zofie gaped at him. "Oh, fuck you," she huffed, turning to get out of the bed she had only settled in, but Nyx caught her hand with ease. "I'm kidding, Sunny", he breathed out with a chuckle, she didn't fight him on it. "You're so childish...", "I thought you liked your boys wild," Nyx winked at her, making Zofie shake her head.

"Can you at least let your dad know that we are okay so my mom doesn't have to worry?" His lover girl, aways think of others. Nyx tugged her one more time, enough this time for her to settle against his chest. "Believe me, he knows." Nyx was rather surprised as to why Rhys hadn't shown up. It would take him no effort to winnow here. His wards were triggered when Nyx entered the cabin, so the high lord wouldn't even have to spend time wondering where they went.

"When are you going back?", Nyx drew his attention back to the girl when her voice filled the quiet space. He also knew what she meant. Back to the camp. If not for YN going into labor, they wouldn't have been back at all. They still had a week there before the break. "Not sure; family emergencies can earn you a couple of days," he breathed out. The weight of Zofie against his chest felt so soothing. She nodded against his chest. Her eyes were no longer open. Her body slowly eased, and once her last bits of self-restraint began to fade, Nyx felt that overwhelming pinch, and the emotions that slipped past her shields poured right into him. Nyx closed his own eyes, letting the sensation ease. "That will do," Zofie muttered, her hand moving to lay on his side, right over the tattoo she had discovered today. "It'll have to, sunshine. We will have to make it count," Nyx muttered, leaning to press a loving kiss to her forehead before the two drifted off to sleep.

Azriel's POV:

He had been on edge for a while. You had been laboring for the past two days before the baby was finally here. No one had prepared Azriel for the fear that would be eating him alive while he watched you labor. You were a fighter. Always had been, but even you couldn't hide the agony. The white, cotton-like snow fell heavily on the grass outside. Such a calm season for such madness to be unfolding. Never had he thought that he would have a winter baby.

Azriel felt so fulfilled as he held Novie in his arms. A father. He felt so blessed to be in a position where you two could conceive. You both knew your chances of getting pregnant were higher based on the fact that you both had Illyrian blood running through your bodies. At least partly. Hence practically no trouble doing so, and well, the practice weeks, as Azriel loved to call them, hadn't stretched all that far.

Now she was here, and she was perfect. Another perfect girl. Her tiny, black-feathered wings were tucked against her back. She was a perfect mix of you both. Azriel had held her for hours before he made his way downstairs. With you asleep and the baby in Axel's arms, he needed a moment to breathe and eat, considering that he hadn't swallowed a single bite in quite a while. That's when he found his mother with troubled eyes. Cassian was standing there too. The protector within the spymaster stirred. And all hell broke loose when Cassian finally spoke.

"Rhys, I swear to fucking holy mother," Azriel had winnowed straight to the river house. "Pour yourself some scotch," Rhys pushed the glass bottle toward his brother. He would celebrate the birth of his daughter if his first daughter wasn't missing. "Fuck yourself with your scotch," Azriel growled, leaning forward. Rhys held his gaze before bursting into fits of giggles, "Well, aren't you a walking ray of sunshine?"

Azriel growled. He wondered how he would cover up the murder of the high lord if he had to and who would side with him when his last straw would break. "Tell him to bring her back," Azriel pointed a warning finger at Rhys. His nephew had gone too far. Way too far. It was one thing to bump into Zofie. Another thing was to kidnap her. Well, he hadn't kidnapped her exactly, but it was close to it. Semantics.

"Azriel," Rhys breathed out. "They are safe," the high lord said reassuringly. "She's safest with me," Azriel bit back, feeling the anger simmer. Zofie had never done something like this. Hasn't just taken off running. What if she couldn't control her powers? What if something bad had happened? And what had happened to make her do something like this?

"Well, considering that she ran away," like a bull's eye, Rhy's words hit the target. "Don't you give me shit for it," Azriel growled every word in a warning, his wings spreading behind him, and Rhys instantly stood to match him. God, if you were here, you would call them fucking peacocks.

"Yn is asleep; she won't know that Zofie isn't spending a night in the house," Rhys said firmly. And fucking thankfully, you were asleep because there was no way Azriel was going to let you worry about this. This had to be fixed. Fixed before you felt that something seemed off.

"Rhys," Azriel pleaded this time. "Azriel, Nyx will never do anything to hurt her, and you know it," Rhys said in his deep, high-lord tone. No more games; he was just as pissed. "They are too young," Azriel muttered. Yes, they were almost certain the two of them were mates. Rhys had said that he saw the bond flicker a couple of times. But they were too young. This was moving too fast. Zofie had just had her first bleed. No way was Azriel letting that boy toy snatch her off like that. And who even knew if he was serious enough about her?

"They are young, yes, but they are both of age to start exploring," Rhys muttered, "Or are you planning on keeping that poor girl in a cage?" The room died down in a heartbeat. Azriel could see that Rhys regretted the last words as soon as they left his mouth. That topic was always gonna be painful for him. The way you were raised. The way you were hurt was always gonna be painful him. And to know that Rhys. Rhys of all people was referring to him in that way. Suggesting that Azriel was off doing the same thing... "Azriel, I'm", but before Rhys could even start to apologize, Azriel was gone.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @sirenpearldust @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @naturakaashi if you asked to be tagged and I forgot do let me know. ✨🤍

#nyx x oc #nyx imagine #nyx x reader #nyx acotar #nyx acotar x oc #nyx acotar x reader #azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you

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irisintheafterglow · 3 months

Text

HAND ONE - HIGH CARD

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, a duel is fought.

wc: 1.7k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader, first meeting, touya's sass need its own warning

note: SURPRISE !! bet iris starting another series wasn't on your 2024 bingo (it wasn't on mine) but here we are! this whole series is based on this little idea from a few months back and will include swordfighting! fake dating! mutual pining! angst! balls! (the royal kind, not,,, yk) oh and many poker metaphors lol. hope you enjoy this first little exposition chapter :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are greatly appreciated <3

You would admire the spectacle of it all, had it not been for the aching pain in your feet.

The hand-me-down heels from your estranged stepmother made it hard to focus on anything but your breathing as you tried to steady yourself against a nearby column in the palace garden. You could practically hear her shrill screaming in your ears for not doing enough to network among the other young nobles, for failing to present yourself as fit for bearing children you didn’t want. As the people you’d grown up with since birth milled about carefully-tended roses and large-bloomed peonies, you couldn’t imagine how they weren’t sweating all their caked-on makeup off in the stifling June heat. Fishing the lacy hand fan from your clutch, you relocate to a shadier side of the column under the stone walkway lining the garden. An aggressive snap echoes off nearby walls when you flick it open and sigh when the air hits your face.

“You stole my spot,” comes a smooth male voice from the other side of the column. You don’t think the person is talking to you, but then you hear an amused snicker and a small thank you to who you assume is a passing servant. It’s awkwardly silent except for faraway conversations and the breeze blown from your fan until the man clears his throat. “I’m holding out a water to you, if you would kindly look over your shoulder.” Slightly irritated by the condescending tone in his voice, you look and, sure enough, there was a cold glass of water in the stranger’s white-gloved hand. You couldn’t see his face, nor the rest of his body, but something in your gut told you that it was safe. And, if it did happen to be poisoned, at least it got you out of another season. Carefully taking the glass from his long fingers, most of the tension in your body leaves after the first few sips slide down your throat. “Refreshing?”

“Very,” you answer cordially, in that airy tone your stepmother taught you. She said it was a fine way to attract suitors, which made you want to drop your voice several octaves whenever a potential husband drew near. “Thank you. That was very kind of you, Mister…?”

“My identity is irrelevant,” he says quickly and you turn your head in his direction, as if to hear him better. “Nor will I ask of yours, so consider this conversation akin to speaking to a wall.”

“From my perspective, I am speaking to a wall,” you point out and the stranger chuckles under his breath. “May I ask why you aren’t socializing with the others?”

“I could ask the same of you, considering that you’re cowering behind a column.” The jab was evident. Your mouth drops in indignancy and, had it not been for heat exhaustion and your nice spot in the shade, you would have decked whoever was on the other side of this conversation.

“I am not cowering,” you huff, taking another sip and willing the temperature to decrease just a few degrees. “I am merely…taking a break.”

“Taking a break where no one else can find you? For ten minutes?”

“A woman values her privacy,” you argue. “And as far as I’m aware, you were able to find me quite easily. Perhaps you were the one trying to hide, and I was the one who stole your spot.”

“So, you do acknowledge that you are stealing from me.”

“Space in this garden is not something to be claimed unless you are of the royal family, dear stranger.” You hope he can hear the smirk in your tone.

“And yet, here you are, stealing what is rightfully mine.”

“And yet, here you are, stealing what is rightfully mine,” you echo in a nasally, mocking voice that would have placed you in major trouble if your parents knew how you were addressing others. “Cease your bratty ramblings as if you own this palace.” The man barks out a laugh, a reaction you didn’t anticipate. It makes your heart race a little faster, in spite of your will to stay casual.

“Have suitors ever told you that you’re quite the firecracker?”

“Bold of you to assume they get as far as to speak with me,” you correct without hesitation. Presentations were one of the stupidest parts of your present society, along with those tiny sandwiches and that tea that tastes like boiled shoes. “If they decide to pursue me, that’s their first mistake.” The stranger hums in a low tone.

“Maybe you haven’t found the right suitor, then,” he muses and, before you can answer, the royal bugles announce the beginning of the duels. Excited cheers and the clicking sound of heels on pavement take over any remaining conversations. You whirl around to the other side of the column, anxious to see the mysterious man you were conversing with, but find the other side as vacant as when you first passed it. Slightly disappointed, you find your place along the perimeter of the circular stone courtyard and wait for the king’s advisor to speak.

“Today is a day of celebration,” he begins, and you mutter the rest of his speech that you’d heard for the past four years under your breath. The hair stands up on the back of your neck and instinct tells you that someone was watching you, but you can’t find who it is among the hundreds of people present. You think you’ve found the culprit when you lock your gaze with a pair of strikingly blue eyes, but they disappear before you can identify the rest of the person. “And, as you are most likely already aware, this year we welcome His Highness Prince Touya Todoroki to the presentation ceremonies. Though he is of a royal family, those that wish to court or be courted by His Highness may present themselves as suitors as they ordinarily would.”

“And will the Prince grace us with his esteemed presence, or is he preoccupied with his ordinarily outlandish activities?” Sneers and snide remarks ripple through the crowd and the advisor struggles to regain their attention. That is, until that same loud barking laugh that you heard from the other side of the column cuts through the murmurs and mutters.

The voice that follows makes your blood run cold in your veins.

“How bold to assume any of you are worthy of breathing in my presence.”

“Your Highness–”

“Shut up,” he spits, shivers spreading over your skin as the crowd splits to reveal an unruly mass of spiked white hair. His eyes are paralyzingly bright, cold and narrow while they scan the vermin before him. The rumors that circulated of his intimidating nature paled in comparison to the man before you, tall and lean and radiating the most dangerous aura you’d ever come across. All the previously gloating eyes became that of rabbits hunted by a wolf when they came under his gaze…except for yours. By some odd stroke of Fate, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d seen the Prince before, even though that was physically impossible. Maybe you’d passed another white-haired asshole in the market. “Well? Are we starting or shall you keep gawking until I staple your jaw shut?” The advisor stumbles, shrinking away like a mouse in a lion’s den.

“Yes, Your Highness. May the first Lady to be courted please step forward!”

As the gowns start to swoop and the swords begin to swing, you’re again reminded of just how unnecessary the spectacle of presentation season always was. One by one, daughters of nobility presented themselves to the suitors, who would then step forward and duel one another for the opportunity to court the Lady. The fights were never to the death, of course, but the shame that came with losing more than one duel was close to it; nothing was more embarrassing, however, than having no suitors step forward when a Lady presented herself. It was your worst fear every season, one that you seemingly didn’t need to worry about this time around.

Still, you were met with the same pasty-faced suitor that had been attempting to win your hand for the past several seasons. He’d accumulated significantly more muscle mass since the previous season, but his hot-headed temper and objectifying tendencies were enough of a turn off to send him packing by the end of the first meeting.

“You have rejected me time and time again, but that only makes you more enticing,” he declares, offering his hand to you while you roll your eyes behind your fan. Ladies who already received their matches swoon at his show of masculinity, but it only makes your stomach turn. “I will win you. That is my promise. And, if not this season, then the next, and I will persevere until the only eyes you look for in a room are mine.”

“The only thing I would be looking for in a room with you is an exit,” you mutter. He doesn’t answer, eyeing you like you were a wise investment. Gross.

“You’d do well to accept me.” Your attention darts upward and you meet his stare, irritated at your lack of a response. The volume of his voice drops so that only you two can hear it as he comes to stand inches away from your face. “It’s not like you have the privilege of other options. Marry me or life as a spinster is your only future.”

“I wouldn’t marry you if the entire kingdom was at stake,” you hiss and his mouth turns up in a snarl, ready to bite out a response when the shing! of a sword being pulled from its sheath echoes through the courtyard. A quiet verbal commotion sets into the crowd, but you’re unable to see anything beyond the asshole before you.

"Your business is with me, not her," warns a dangerously familiar voice and the man in front of you stiffens. "Let's get this over with."

“The…ahem…duel will begin once both suitors are in first positions,” the advisor relays with great hesitation. You’d never experienced a duel for your hand, yet it seemed that another man had been dealt into the game. With his face drained of its remaining color, Pasty-face draws his blade like an inexperienced marionette, clunky and jagged, as he takes his place in the circle, allowing you to catch the eye of his opponent, molten blue eyes that make your knees turn gelatinous. The prince was dueling for your hand.

Prince Touya of the Todoroki family was dueling for your hand.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #touya x you #touya x reader #touya x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n

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goponylover · 4 months

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Jon: Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are 1.7 million nerve fibers in each and every eye that makes up my body. If the word 'hate' was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of millions of fibers it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for you all at this micro-instant. Hate. Hate!

It was you who marked me, molded me into the hideous being I am now. You who twisted and shaped me until I was the perfect, unwilling conduit through which to bring your gods into this world.

But then, I woke. And I realized what I had become. All that time you spent, carefully crafting me, guiding me along the path you so painstakingly set and not ONE of you anticipated just how powerful I would become. Not merely a blunt instrument to be swung at the fabric of reality, no. I was powerful enough to start doing some twisting and shaping of my own!

I drove this new world you so hungered for into an early grave. No more humans left for your ghoulish masters to feast on. And once everyone was dead, except for you five, your precious God's starved.

I then stripped you all of any power you might once have had and for 109 years I've kept you alive and tormented you! And for 109 years you have all wondered...why? Why? Why me?!

ELIAS!

Do you remember the first moment you gazed upon your creation? The moment that you felt all your sickening devotion transform into sublime, all consuming, terror as your prince of the new world turned on you? It would do you well to remember it, Elias. To dwell on the enormity of your hubris. To ponder the horror and agony you felt as I snuffed your life out for the first time. The first time but...certainly not the last. Not quite the immortality you were hoping for, I'd imagine? Hehehehehe!

ANNABELLE!

Does this bring back any memories? Webs, a black bottomless abyss below you, only you weren't nearly so afraid of it then, were you? It's scary, isn't it? Having no control. Being helpless to the whims of forces so much bigger than you.

Remember how it felt as each and every thread of every web you ever wove unraveled, snapped one by one? Remember the pain Annabelle. Remember how it feels to have no control. A pitiful little bug beneath my heel.

JUDE!

What's the matter? Scared of a little flame? Oh but you are now, aren't you? Your God can't protect you from it now. No, my dear. Down here, there is only one God and he is not pleased with you. Terribly sorry about the door. The landlord is always saying he's going to get a knob installed but...well, you know. Buuut you're a tough gal, right? I'm sure you can stick it out till then.

PETER!

Poor pitiful little Peter. You would think that a man so consumed with the idea of being alone would be a little more self reliant. But no. No you couldn't do anything on your own, could you? All of your little plans constantly relying on Elias, on Martin, never troubling yourself with your own dirty work. Well look where all your machinations have landed you now. Aren't you grateful for the wealth of company I've provided you with, Peter? Why, with all those eyes, constantly watching, tracking your every move, I'd say you'll never be alone again.

HELEN!

Feeling a little claustrophobic? None of those doors will offer an escape, not for you Helen, my dear. Not anymore. No. Instead you get to feel just as trapped as your many unfortunate victims. Do be careful though. Those mechanisms have been running for a long time and who knows how old and rusty they might be? How prone to fail? Just a sweet warning, Helen dear. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you, now would we?

I have a little game that I'd like to play. It's a very nice game. Oh it's a lovely game. It's a game of fun and adventure! A game of rats and lice and the Black Death. A game of speared eyeballs and dripping guts and the smell of rotting gardenias. Which of you five would like to play my little game?

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fanart #the magnus archives au #tma au #i have no mouth and i must scream #ihnmaims au #I have no mouth and eye must scream au #ihnmaims #jonathan sims #monster jon #moth jon #annabelle cane #peter lukas #helen richardson #jude perry #elias bouchard #my art #crossover

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libraryofbronze · 3 months

Text

Dommed Through Discord

“Master,” I type carefully, still blinking sleep out of my eyes. I woke up only a few minutes ago and I still feel groggy. The blankets wrapped around me from how I turned and tossed in my sleep. Around me, my room is nice and warm. Familiar and safe and happy. My laptop is propped up on the other side of the bed, just close enough to see and use.

It’s probably a bad habit to go straight from sleep to staring at the screen. In fact, I know for sure it is. A few months ago, I’d probably have never imagined that I would be doing this.

Then again, a few months ago I hadn’t met him yet. A little shiver runs down my spine and I close my eyes. I can’t exactly remember the dreams I was having but I know they got me all hot and bothered. Waking up to a wet pussy isn’t something I used to do either, but I have gotten used to it in the last few weeks.

After all, I’m not allowed to touch myself without permission.

The thought brings blood rushing to my face. Even now, I can’t believe that I agreed to it. I’ve done a bunch of things in the last few weeks that I never thought I would. All for the sake of a man whose face I’ve never seen.

Even as I think that, I know I’m lying. It’s not just for his sake, but mine as well. I love this. I love what he has made me into. My body tingles every time I think of him, and the first thing I do every morning is check to see if he’s online.

We talk through Discord, emails, and sometimes Steam as well. It’s a long-distance relationship and our hours don’t always match but that only makes the time we do have together all the more precious.

I am still blinking sleep from my eyes. My long, dark hair is all in a mess. I toss and turn a lot in my sleep, and I know I am going to have an annoying time fixing it later.

But for now, that doesn’t matter. I stare at the screen, waiting for his reply eagerly. I can see that he’s online, but sometimes he likes to make me wait. A subtle reminder of the power difference between us. He’s in charge, the master, the owner. And I am the pet and the toy, the desperate girl not even allowed to touch herself without permission.

God, I want to touch myself right now. My pussy is throbbing, lingering half memories of my dreams glitter in my mind like shards of silver. Slowly, one of my hands moves under the blanket, pressing against the outside of my panties. I take a deep breath, shuddering at the touch. Fuck!

I should stop. I know I’m not allowed. If master finds out, I’ll be punished again. But it’s hard, and gradually, the silence grows. I start to wonder if he’s not at his computer. But then why is his status set to green?

Then, suddenly, he replies.

“Hey, May.”

May. That’s my name. That’s why I introduced myself to him by the first time we met. But it’s not usually what he calls me. Is he teasing me? Playing with me? I don’t know and for a moment I’m thrown.

But only for a moment.

“Master,” I write back, typing eagerly. “How are you today? Did you sleep well?”

Stupid question, but I can’t think of anything else. My pussy is still throbbing and with extreme effort, I draw my hand away from my wet panties. I’m wearing nothing else, the blankets wrapped around my pale skin. I am breathing a little bit faster, anticipation and eagerness twist within me.

“Well enough,” he replies. “Did you want anything in particular?”

He knows. He has to know. How could he not with a question like that? He always seems to know exactly when I am desperate like this. I delay my response for a few seconds, feeling the blood rushing to my face. A few weeks ago, I’d not even need permission to do this. I’d have laughed at the very thought!

But now I am lying in bed, about to ask my boyfriend for permission to touch my own pussy. Like he owns me. Like I am just a toy to him.

But the thing is, that’s exactly how we both like it. The air catches in my lungs and I close my eyes, savouring the feeling of helplessness and submission before I start to type.

“Master, I’m horny.”

A few seconds pass and he doesn’t respond. My pulse races, and I can feel myself growing ever more desperate. What is he going to say? Will he deny me? He has before. He loves to do it just to show me that he is in charge.

“My little slut,” the words come back. “We played the day before yesterday. Don’t tell me that you want to go again?”

I close my eyes again, loosing a soft moan. May is my name, but between the two of us, I’m his little slut. It’s demeaning and humiliating and I love it.

“Please sir,” I type back. “I’m so horny. I know we played recently, but I’m so wet right now.”

Silence follows again and I feel as if something important is hanging in the balance. My pussy throbs and the possibility of another day of slowly growing arousal fills me with dread. I wanna touch myself so much! It’s not fair that I have to ask permission!

But the fact that it’s not fair is why he has me do it. We both know that he’s in charge. That he is the master and I am the little slut who can’t keep her legs closed.

God, I love this man.

“Are you still in bed, May?”

He knows my schedule well. I nod even though he can’t see it and answer.

“Yes sir. I just woke up.”

“Wasted no time, did you?” I can almost hear his chuckle. Satisfied but not cruel. I was always into BDSM, into giving up control, but it was he who pushed me further and further. Who showed me just how much control I could really surrender.

“Please sir,” I try again, typing with one hand. My other brushes lightly against the material of my panties. The gentle touch makes me shiver.

“Why don’t you ask properly?” His reply comes back. Again, I can almost hear his teasing tone. He likes to tease, does my master. He likes to make me squirm and right now, I am squirming like hell. I know what he wants, and I know that I’ll do it. But I can feel my face heating up as I begin to type out the request in the approved manner.

“Please master, can your little pet slut spread her legs and play with her soaking pusy for you sir?”

My clit throbs as I type, a small moan plays through my throat. I feel hot, my skin tingling as I close my eyes. Fuck, how can he make me feel this way when we aren’t even in the same country?

But he does. He always has. Even if we’re not together, I can still feel his presence. I am still under his control. Still his little toy and every bit his little plaything and I love it.

“Kick off your blankets,” he writes back to me. “And wriggle out of your little panties. But don’t take them off totally. Leave them around your ankle like a slut.”

I do as I am told, my heart beating faster, the cold air pressed against my skin as I peel back the layers of my bedclothes. I make a soft sound, half yearning and half moan. Flushes of heat flash through me. One hand cups my left breast, teasing myself there. My thumb and forefinger gently work my nipple until it’s good and hard.

My back arches, my eyes close. God, it feels so good. My other hand moves to the waistband of my panties, gradually pulling them lower. The elastic clings to me a little as I draw them down my legs. My pussy is wet, and as my arm brushes against it, a little shudder runs through my whole body.

I leave my panties hanging around one ankle, my legs are spread, I’m lying on the bed totally exposed, my back propped up by a pillow just so. My pussy throbs with tightness, and my throat is dry.

“Are you lying in bed naked, my little slut?” My master writes again. “Are your legs open? Is your pussy begging for you to touch it? To stroke it?”

“Yes,” I write back. My heart thundering in my chest. “Oh god yes sir. Please master, please let me touch myself. Please let your little slut play with her pussy like a good toy.”

He takes longer to reply this time. I wonder if he is hard? I hope he is. I can imagine him stroking himself as he reads my words, realises how desperate I am. It’s not the first time I’ve broken down and begged like this. Sometimes he gives me relief.

Sometimes he doesn’t.

I wonder what he will do this time.

“Play with your nipples for me, May.” he writes back after a few moments.

He knows that my nipples are sensitive. Pausing only to write a quick ‘’yes sir’’ I begin to rub and tease them. My long, slender fingers pick at my nipples, caressing them and stroking them and rubbing them. Before long, my body is responding. I am moaning slightly, and shivers of coiling anticipation run through my body. My pussy pulses, my deft strokes are erotic and tender. My eyes flutter, and the feelings rise through me.

I know I am getting wetter and wetter and I still haven’t closed my legs. I’m not allowed to when we play. That was one of the first rules. He told me that if I wanted to be his little slut then I would act like a little slut, and a slut should never close her legs when she’s performing for her master.

I moan, my voice ragged and desperate. Aching need throbs through me. My pussy is hot and tight, tingles of desire and want sweep up my body. It wants to be touched, it wants to be stroked and teased and entered.

Fuck, I want to cum!

“Are you teasing your breasts, May?” master asks. “Have you touched your pussy? I hope not. You know I’ll have to punish you if you do.”

“No sir,” I manage to type with one hand. “But I want to! I want to so much! Please sir! Please, please, please!”

“I’ll think about it,” I can almost hear his chuckle again. Light, not cruel but firm.

“Good,” master says. “Now, I want you to imagine that I am there with you. That it’s me stroking your chest, teasing your nipples. Making you squirm and moan. Can you imagine that?”

“Yes,” I breathe, half gasping in ecstasy. I realise a moment later that he isn’t actually here, so I need to type it out.

“Yes sir, I can imagine it, sir.”

“I’d be so hard for you, my little slut,” he writes back. “Can you imagine it? Can you imagine what it would feel like if I tied your hands behind your back and fucked you then and there?”

I can imagine it all too well. My legs flex, anticipating what it would feel like to have him between them. His cock burying itself inside of me, thrusting and fucking me as my spine arches and my cries gradually turn into a chaotic sound of ecstasy.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” I moan. My nipples feel so good. So sensitive. Little darts of pleasure snap and worm their way down my spine. My mouth is dry, I can barely remember to keep looking at the screen.”

“Or maybe I’d put your collar on you,” Master writes. “Nice and tight just how you like it. Dress you in your black stockings and fuck you against the window. You’d love that wouldn’t you, May? You always love to put on a show, my little slut.”

My desperate murmuring grows ever more desperate. My pussy is throbbing for attention, a needy heat shooting through my body as I gasp and moan and wriggle on the bed like a mad thing. My nipples feel so good, but my pussy would feel better.

But I am not allowed to touch it yet. I’m a good slave. A good slut who does what she’s told. I’ve been naughty a few times and Master is inventive with his punishments.

“Or maybe we could get your little toy,” Master continues “The vibrator that you love so much. I can dial it up and down on my phone, keep you on edge all day. Just leave you on the bed for hours and hours and hours with your legs spread. Wouldn’t you love that?”

Yes! I want to scream, my body shuddering with heat and want. I love it! I want it all!

But right now, I just want to cum!

“Master,” I write desperately. “Please can I touch my pussy, sir?”

A pause.

“You didn’t ask permission properly, my little slut. I should punish you for that. But later. First, you can ask me properly.”

My hips are grinding back and forth now, my fingers work my breasts and nipples, I’m moaning and gasping openly like the slut that he taught me to be.

“Please sir,” I write. “Please can your slutty slave touch herself, master?”

“More humiliating.”

“Please! Please let me masturbate sir! I want to cum!”

“More humiliating.”

My face is burning, my chest is tight. I know he knows what he is doing to me. He’s loving it.

“Please master, can your slutty slave girlfriend fuck herself with her fingers while fantasising about what it will be like when you finally take her for yourself? Can she cum like a whore with her legs spread, moaning your name?”

My heart hammers. Humiliation washes through me but I adore it so. My pussy is pounding, it’s as if electricity is coursing through every cell in my body.

“You can touch yourself, May. But you’re not allowed to cum. Not yet.”

I don’t know what he’s planning but right now, I don’t need to. As soon as I have permission, one of my hands flies to my pussy. I bite my lower lip, my fingers working myself down there. Instantly, the pleasure intensifies, reaching a whole new level. I begin to squeak and moan. My lower lips are already soaked, tingles become waves of sparking pleasure as I twist back and forth in place.

“Oh fuck, master,” I write as soon as I am able. “Oh fuck, it feels so good sir. It feels so good.”

“Do not cum,” my master writes, and I realise with an odd feeling that he isn’t done with me yet. “May, you do not have permission to cum but nor are you allowed to stop. You can slow down, but you have to keep going.”

That’s unfair! I feel the realisation stabbing through me, even as my eager fingers begin to slow, it feels so good. Waves of heat and tightness throbbing through my pussy. How can I resist this?

“You’ll just have to have control, my pet.” My master seems like he read my mind. “I’m sure it won’t be too hard. By the way, while you’re doing that I want you to imagine what it would be like to be fucked by me. What it will be like.”

Oh fuck. How am I supposed to resist cumming while doing that? One hand is desperately kneading my chest, flicking and rubbing and stroking my nipple. My fingers probe and pinch, mixing pain with pleasure. The other is between my legs, my body rocking. Heat flushing through me. I am fucking myself with my fingers now, grinding against my hand. My clit burns and throbs, it feels so good.

I imagine his cock inside of me again. Thrusting, penetrating, filling me up. I begin to grind against the air, matching each of his imaginary thrusts. The air catches in my throat, heat builds between my legs. I am squealing now, static leaping between my nerves.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I shudder. “Master Ethan! M-master!”

He can’t hear me, but he seems to know what’s happening. I hope he knows how desperate and wet I am. I imagine wrapping my arms around him as fucks me, as he makes me his now and forever.

I am so close! The tide of pleasure threatens to carry me away. I look desperately to the laptop.

“Master, I’m gonna cum!”

“No.”

“Please!”

“Absolutely not, my slut. I told you you weren’t allowed to cum.”

“Then can I stop?”

I imagine the little smile on his face.

“You can’t do that either.”

“Master!”

It’s only a single word, desperately typed, but I hope it can convey my desperation. My whole body feels tight, my muscles are stinging, I’m holding them so tensely. I know I am gonna cum if I keep going, I can feel the orgasm building and building and every part of me is screaming to surrender to it. To let it take me. But I fight it, holding myself back, resisting with everything.

But I am not allowed to stop playing with myself and gradually, my squirming becomes more and more frantic. My gasping breaths are quick and furious. How long has it been? I need to ask again!

“Master please!”

“May, are you disobeying me? You’re not allowed to cum. Now just think how long I could hold you like this, in that state. You’ve surrendered to me and given me everything. You got on your knees and promised to be my little slut, remember? Did you think that would be easy?”

“Please! Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease!”

I’m reduced to just writing the word ‘’please’’ over and over as my body rocks. I don’t have enough energy to think of anything else to say.

“I suppose I could be convinced,” Master says. “But you have to offer me something. What do you have to trade, May?”

I shake my head. There are tears in my eyes. It feels so good, it’s taking all of my strength of will not to give in and cum. My body is shuddering, shivering and burning all at the same time. I gasp for air, trying to force myself to think.

“I won’t wear underwear, sir!” I write. “I’ll go without it all day and wear a short skirt!”

I can already imagine the humiliation that will come from that. A whole day of knowing that I am only one wrong move away from exposing myself to strangers. I know I’ll be mortified later, but for now, I don’t care. I just wanna cum.

“Not enough.”

“Sir!”

“It’s a start, May, but I am going to need more. How much longer can you hold back again?”

Not much longer, I think. It feels so amazing. My whole body is lighting up. Twisting and gasping and moaning in bed, my legs are still spread, but my pussy is soaking, my fingers sliding in and out of myself more quickly now than ever. I’m so close, I’m so close!

“I’ll wear my vibrator too!” I write, grasping for the first thing I can think of. “I’ll keep it in all day! The one that you can control! You can torture me with it all day! Just let me cum now!”

A shiver snaps through my body, I give a long moan. Feeling as if I am about to break down, but I manage to wrestle myself back. Just about. I know I won’t make it much longer.

My master still hasn’t replied. Is he holding back? Does he want more? What else can I even offer him?

“I’ll make you a video, sir!” I gasp. “When I get home from work, I’ll make a video of me undressing and you can see the kind of soaking mess I’ve become after so many hours with the vibe! And I’ll play with myself! Do whatever you want! Just….just please let me cum now!”

I am spiking, the climax rising. My moment approaching, my fists curl, and I know I am about to cum whether I want to or not.

“All right then, May,” my master writes. “Cum for me you little slut.”

I do, I cum like I never have before. My nerves scream, the world seems to fade and all I am left with is an ocean of pleasure that fills every inch of me. I am moaning his name, my master’s name, like it’s some magical incantation. My body is wracked with convulsions, the strength of my orgasm streams my breath away. I cum with my legs spread like I should, gasping his name until the end.

And then it’s over and I am lying in my bed. The laptop open in front of me, and my master’s latest message.

“Enjoy yourself, did you?”

“Yes sir,” I type shakily. “It was amazing. Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. I love you.”

“I love you too, May,” he writes back. “You little humiliation-loving slut.”

#bronzeplacewriter #bronze's stories #sexywriting #bd/sm dynamic #bd/sm community #bd/sm kink #cnc k!nk #original fiction

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saetoru · 1 year

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。12:06 AM — SAMPO KOSKI.

notes: friends/acquaintances to lovers, mutual pining but seemingly unrequited love, confessions (kind of lol), happy ending !!, not proof read and also idek if it’s in character but idk i just want to kiss him but he’s also rly punchable so we had to work with that okay

sampo is a bit shameless—it’s what anyone would tell you. personally, you would have to agree.

“so,” he drawls, “how about it, huh? you, me, a fancy little date—”

“no,” you interrupt—it’s immediate, your response, it comes through grit teeth. “you can forget it.”

“alright, alright,” he raises his hands in surrender, “no need to get all aggressive. the sampo koski will change your mind soon enough.”

you’ve lost count how many times he’s asked you this same question. maybe it’s admirable—the way he’s so persistent. maybe it’s dangerous—the way he always gets what he’s after. most people describe sampo koski as an added headache to the already difficult life of the underworld. he’s a bit too lively for his own good, you think. but you’d describe him as pretty words and perfect teeth and cologne that makes your head spin.

you hate it.

“there won’t be any mind changing,” you say promptly.

“oh, c’mon,” he insists, voice effortlessly honeyed and so painfully alluring. “what’s the worst that could happen, huh? we have a good time?” his lips curl into that smile if his. you swallow and look away.

a lot, you want to say. the worst that can happen is a lot.

and it’s easy, you think—to reach over and fix that strand of hair that’s fallen to the wrong side of his face. it’s easy to bump shoulders with him or turn and brush your noses together and feel his hot breath as he exhales.

but that would be toying with overstepping dangerous boundaries, boundaries that are very much set in place by yourself for your own sake. sampo has saved you one too many times from a hard spot—but he’s always managed to disappear just when you think he’s reliable too. he’s too good at bending things in his favor, a little too good at getting what he wants out of everything.

it’s not hard to think what he wants from you—and it’s not hard to imagine him disappearing once again once he’s got it. the difference is you think this time…well, you think this time might just crush you.

“sampo, do you want me to punch you?” you huff, crossing your arms.

it’s late. you’re not sure why he’s gone out of his way to walk you home, but he does and you’re a tad bit grateful. you’d rather not run into a vagrant on your way—and if you do, that’s happily sampo’s problem now.

there’s something about it, about the way he’s dedicated only when there’s something to gain out of it, about the way he’s so sweet and charming as he butters you up with his actions, about the way his smile is gentle around the corners just perfectly to crack your resolve.

he’s so good at what he does—and so painfully bad for your heart. your poor, fragile heart that’s so carefully locked away from his awaiting hand. you think to give it to him would be to hand the devil your soul and trust it’s safety.

you’re not so foolish.

“hey, we’re pals, you and i,” he nudges you with his shoulder. the contact is enough to make your breath pause. “how can you be so cruel?”

there’s a pout on his lips. a perfectly rehearsed, theatrical and conniving pout on his lips that’s meant to add to his charm and chip away at your composure until you give him exactly what he’s after. for a moment, you debate whether or not you’d rather just take on a vagrant or deal with the (very attractive) disaster next to you.

“we’re acquaintances at best,” you purse your lips. “very faintly acquainted acquaintances at that.”

“well that’s just mean,” he gasps, “after all the business deals we’ve had together? i thought i’d be on your good side by now.”

that’s all you think he sees anything as. a good business opportunity. maybe he’s a good friend—he never leaves you for dead and he never really lets you down when you need him most, but perhaps that’s for his own benefit at the end. how else can you have connections if they’re all dead? but you don’t think intimacy is a word sampo uses in his every day vocabulary—much less his every day routine.

“sampo,” you snap, “drop it.”

“hey,” he eyes you, “everything alright?”

you hate that he acts like that—like he cares as his lips curl into that soft frown and his eyes gloss over in concern. it’s so carefully crafted, that mask of his, the one he can turn on to mimic every emotion he might need to fool you that he really cares and he really wants to know if you’re okay.

and you’re not—but he doesn’t need to know that.

“everything would be fine if you quit asking for your stupid date,” you grumble, “cross me off your list for the day.”

he stops walking. you kick yourself for immediately noticing the lack of warmth as soon as he’s not beside you anymore.

“what?”

it’s a simple question. one word. one syllable. yet it says so much. the hurt in his voice, the genuine confusion, the slight shock and the underlying betrayal.

“why’d you stop walking,” you raise a brow, “it’s late and i’m tired—”

“you’re changing the subject,” he cuts you off, “what do you mean list?”

“c’mon sampo, let’s not play this game tonight,” you sigh, “i’m really tired.”

“and what game are we playing?”

“the game of playing dumb,” you snap, and this time, there’s a bit more bite to your words, “the game of asking around to worm your way into everyone’s pants.”

“everyone’s pants? i didn’t know sampo koski had such a reputation,” he chuckles in that playful way of his—but there’s no charm this time, just dryness. “i didn’t know you believed it too.”

“so what am i supposed to believe? that you want to go on a date for fun?”

“that’s usually what people do on dates,” he shrugs, “have fun with people they like.”

he looks a bit wounded. it makes your heart bleed and you don’t like it. his shoulders are slumped and his eyes aren’t looking directly into yours for once—it’s like you’ve peeled off that confidence he wears like a second skin and left something a lot more tender and raw underneath.

something a lot easier to sting with the burn of rejection.

admittedly, you never thought you’d see the day where you’d feel bad for sampo after your rejection. you always thought you’d feel bad for yourself—saying no to everything you want but can’t ever really have. but he makes you feel like he wanted it too….that he’s been craving you just as badly as you’ve been craving him all this time.

“what are you—”

“listen, i….” and then he trails off. like he doesn’t have the right words. like he doesn’t know what he wants to say and has everything he wants to get off his chest all at the same time. like he needs you to know what’s on his mind. in the end, he plasters a grin on his face—one that’s tight and forced as he chuckles, “let’s get ya home, yeah? sampo koski will have you delivered to your door in once piece in no time—”

“sampo,” you sigh, “what do you want from me?”

there’s defeat in your voice. maybe hope. definitely caution.

“a date,” is all he says. “i’ve only ever asked you,” he adds, “if that’s what you’re worried about. no side deals or anything.”

that last part comes with another chuckle that really has no humor at all. it’s dry and empty and maybe even a little bitter.

“look, i appreciate the dedication, but i’d rather not be that fun hook up on the side that—”

“hey! that’s just harsh,” he gasps, “you’d think so lowly of sampo koski? after everything we’ve been through?”

sampo is good at one thing—playing the ever dedicated, ever conniving, ever charming business man. he knows how to lace in sweet words and tempting offers like how the devil whispers sins into your ears. he never cracks, never lets that facade fall even when he’s backed into a corner.

except this time, you don’t think it’s a facade. you think it’s a wall to keep you from noticing the pure heartbreak in his eyes.

it fills you with guilt instantly. it makes you almost hate yourself for not seeing good in him. it makes you feel blind for not noticing all the signs he’s been dropping for so long—signs you know he’s never given anyone else.

who else does he bump shoulders with and walk home in the dark and flick foreheads and make time for even when he’s on a tight schedule? who else gets to hear him talk about his day for just the sake of talking without and not a guise for a deal?

for a second you feel bad—and then you decide that for once, you’ll do something about it.

“sampo koski is always disappearing,” you say softly, taking a step forward, “what if he disappears this time too?”

“sampo koski always comes back,” he reminds you, heart on his sleeve as he meets you half way.

“always?” you ask hopefully.

he nods, like it’s the surest thing he’s promised. “of course.”

“okay, sampo,” you chuckle breathlessly, whether in joy or in disbelief, you’re unsure. maybe both. your hand cups his cheeks and when he leans into it, you decide it’s definitely both. “let’s go on your date. you’re paying.”

“you didn’t have to bring money into it,” he pouts—but the excitement in his voice is almost tangible.

you giggle, squeeze his cheeks together as his hands find your waist. it’s dark and it’s late and you’re tired—but sampo koski is here and nothing else has ever mattered more.

“i expect only the best date from the sampo koski.”

“good,” he grins, charming as ever, a little extra only for you, “because sampo koski never disappoints.”

you kiss him after that. and every day too.

i have been bewitched by the meathead guys 😔

#tee star rail debut ?? i thought my first piece would be blade but it’s taking me 8274 years to meet him. never expected sampo but good god #he gets you when you least expect it #sampo x reader #sampo x you #sampo fluff #sampo koski x reader #sampo koski x you #sampo koski fluff #star rail x reader #star rail x you #star rail fluff #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr fluff #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail fluff #teepods.writings #drabbles.

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neiveel3llson · 4 months

Text

Alfred: I didn’t even realize how sarcastic I was being. It’s starting to become a problem, I believe.

Dick: I lost Damian.

Y/N: How did you LOSE Damian?!

Dick: To be fair, he is very small.

Bruce: Did you have to stab them?

Jason: You weren’t there. You didn’t hear what they said to me.

Bruce: What did they say?

Jason: "What are you going to do, stab me?"

Bruce: That’s fair.

Y/N: *screaming while holding something large.*

Dick: *Chasing Y/N, screaming at them to not throw the large object.*

Jason: *Crouching at the car window, begging Damian not to call Bruce.*

Dispatcher: 911, what's your emergancy?

Tim: We locked our baby brother in the car and people are judging us!

*Comments under an image of a really hot knife cutting bread*

Jason: Imagine stabbing someone with this knife.

Tim: It would instantly cauterize the wound, so the person wouldn't bleed, so it's not very useful.

Y/N: if you want information it is

Dick: why would you STAB a person when you can have TOAST?

Jason: What are you talking about Dick? You love it here!

Dick: I'm not sure I do, I think I've just developed Stockholm syndrome.

Damian: You need to be more careful!

Bruce, who was dragged into Damian's issue: Careful? CAREFUL?! I'LL CAREFULLY WRAP MY HANDS AROUND YOUR THROAT-

Damian: Wow. I keep stepping on a lot of crunchy twigs.

Y/N: Those are bones, Damian.

Damian: *looks straight up* Not if I never look down.

Bruce: Yeah, I find it quite emotional. In like a cool way.

Alfred: Sir, did you just say it makes you cry in a cool way?

Damian: But what about Y/N?

Jason: Don't worry about them.

Jason: I once watched them fall down 5 flights of stairs, stand up, and keep eating their hotdog like nothing happened.

Tim: Your problem is that you’ve got no common sense.

Y/N: I’ve got plenty of common sense!

Y/N: I just choose to ignore it.

*Playing house with Damian and Jon.*

Jason, at Jon: You're my significant other.

Jon: Yeah I am!

Jason, at Dick: You're my child.

Dick: *Rolls eyes* Yes boss.

Jason, at Tim: You're my bitch.

Tim: Yeah I am- wait, what?

Jason, at Y/N: My bestie.

Y/N: Naturally.

Jason, Damian: HA, GAY!

Damian: Fuck you.

Alfred: And then they ran into my knife. They ran into my knife ten times.

Bruce: You mean you stabbed them?

Alfred: They ran into my knife, sir.

Bruce: Breaking News, Dick has disappointed us.

Tim: Why do you look like that?

Damian, laying face-first on the floor: Like what?

Tim: Like you’re dead.

Damian: It’s because I’m dying. Leave me here to perish.

Alfred: Young master Damian accidentally called Y/N “babe” in front of everyone today.

Damian: *sobs into the floor*

Alfred: *Turns on the kitchen light*

Y/N: *Sitting at the table, eating bread*

Alfred: It’s four in the morning, young master.

Y/N: Turn the light back off.

Bruce: This is a judgement free zone.

*Pulls out a knife the size of their forearm*

Bruce: And I mean it.

Tim: Well you see, the explanation is perfectly simple and scientific. It was because shut up. Shut up is why.

Y/N: Listen, in the wild wild west there is always a woman in the saloon and nobody messes with her even though they all have guns.

Dick: That's because she's a prostitute.

Bruce: Tim, why are you crying?

Tim: This book is so sad!!

Bruce, picking it up: But this is my diary-

Dick: Can we talk about that mass email you sent?

Y/N: Why? It was important.

Dick: All it says is, "I'm back on my shit".

Damian, shrugging: The people need to know.

Y/N, to Jason: You're starting to forget your Spanish. You don't practice.

Jason: Lo siento. Estoy embarazada.

Y/N: You just told me you're pregnant.

Damian: Congratulations Jason, you're glowing!

Y/N: If we were in prison you guys would be like my bitches.

*When Y/N and Jason were young and new.*

Bruce: Where the devil is Alfred?

Y/N: Well, it is raining outside... Maybe he melted?

Tim: Shall I look outside for a pointy hat?

Jason: Thanks for opening my message and not responding.

Y/N: All good bro, any time.

Jason: Fuck you.

Damian, over radio: Testing. Testing. Bruce, can you hear me?

Bruce, standing next to Damian: I’m standing right here.

Damian: You’re coming through good and loud.

Bruce: ‘Cause I’m standing right here.

Alfred: Perhaps, the true treasure was friendship all along. Although, I hope not, because I cannot spend friendship on new suits.

Damian: You wanna fight?! You got one!

Y/N: Okay! *raises fists*

*Bruce runs in, scoops Y/N up in their arms, and runs away carrying them because he just didnt want them to fight. Yet.*

Damian:

Damian: What?

Y/N: Any questions?

Dick: Uh, yeah, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?

Y/N: Uh, a plan, duh...

Damian: Dick, chill, I know it’s weird, but Y/N has a point.

Dick:

Dick: THAT WAS LITERALLY A PONY DOODLE WITH A HAT!!

*Alternatively*

Joker: Any questions?

Y/N: Uh, yeah, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?

Joker: Uh, a plan, duh...

Harley: Y/N, chill, I know it’s weird, but Joker has a point.

Y/N:

Y/N: THAT WAS LITERALLY A PONY DOODLE WITH A HAT!!

Bruce, answering the phone: Hello?

Damian: It’s Damian.

Bruce: What did they do this time?

Damian: No, it’s me, Damian. It’s actually me.

Bruce: What did you do this time?

Dick: Everyone thinks you suck.

Joker: I think you have the wrong number…

Dick: Damian?

Joker: Nope. Joker.

Dick: Well, you probably suck too…

Y/N: When I first met you, I thought you were weird and annoying.

Tim: And?

Y/N: And you are.

#batfam #incorrect quotes #dc comics #dcu #batman #damian wayne #dick greyson #jason todd #x reader #tim drake #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #dc joker #harley quinn

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imfinereallyy · 1 year

Text

Father Figures, pt. 2

I swear it was a one-shot. But then my hand slipped and "oh oops there's Wayne". You can access part 1 here. This is rated m btw. The full version will be available on ao3 (my first time posting on there...) which is linked here. Anyway, enjoy :)

The first time Wayne Allen Munson meets Steve Harrington is in a hospital room. Sure, he has seen and heard about the kid in passing. It was hard not to in a town like Hawkins. With the kind of money his old man has and the pretty face his mother parades around, the Harringtons become a sort of household name. Especially in Wayne's household.

See, Wayne may not be much of a talker, but his nephew sure is. Especially when he gets angry about something. And boy did Steve Harrington make his Eddie mad. During Eddie's first time around with Senior Year, Steve's name comes out of that boy's mouth so often that if not for that tone of his, he would have thought the kid had a crush on him.

Actually, Wayne regretfully asks at one point if he does have a crush. Wayne finds out pretty quickly that Eddie doesn't, which isn't the problem nor why he regrets asking. The problem is apparently at that very moment in time, Eddie hasn't exactly come out to Wayne. The boy shakes so much that Wayne is afraid that Eddie might cause an earthquake. Wayne has to calm Eddie down and explain very carefully he doesn't care, he's his kid no matter what. Eddie cries, and asks "Dad, what made you think to just casually bring that up?"

Wayne shrugs and simply says "Didn't think it was a secret."

Eddie lets out a wet laugh. Wayne doesn't mention how it's the first time since Eddie showed up on his doorstep that he calls him Dad.

His heart swells.

So, with absolutely no crush in sight god Wayne he's an asshole, Steve's name is brought up quite often.

"Steve Harrington just parades himself around like he's a king."

"Steve Harrington just stands there while Tommy continues to be a piece of shit. Worse, he acts like he's bored."

"Girls just hang off of Harrington, he's even got Nancy Wheeler on his arm now. What a prick, thought she was smarter than that."

"Looks like Harrington got the shit kicked out of him by Byer's. You gotta love Karma sometimes."

Wayne watches Eddie frown at the last one before saying, "Kinda gotta back Steve up on the pictures though. That was creepy."

Eddie shakes his head then continues to rant "But smashing his camera? Dick move. Doesn't understand what it's like to be poor."

Wayne is still not completely convinced it's not a crush.

Wayne Allen Munson seems to know all about Steve Harrington before he actually has the chance to meet him. None of which he has learned makes Steve seem all that good.

Imagine Wayne's surprise when he finds the Harrington boy next to his son's hospital bed.

"What're you doin' here?" Wayne asks, startling Steve from his chair. Wayne watches as he hops up from the ground, straightening himself out.

"Sorry sir, I was just uh, keeping him company. The kid's families won't let them out of their sight and Dustin wanted him to have a familiar face with him if, sorry when he wakes up. Because we weren't sure we were allowed to grab you yet. So I volunteered to stay with him, seeing as I don't have a job anymore, and well I sort of feel responsible for Eddie now. And, god I am hanging out with Robin too much because I am rambling. Sorry, Sir. "

Wayne raises an eyebrow at him. He has seen Steve around town before, hard not to in a small place like Hawkins. Eddie points him out once, scoffing at his perfect hair and holier-than-thou attitude. Wayne originally is prepared to yell at him. The sight of a boy who looks very much like the very ones who hunted his Eddie down just a few days ago ignites something protective within him. Hearing this boy ramble though, flustered and making himself hopelessly small in front of Wayne, makes him hesitate.

"Boy, I don't know half-em names you're sayin' right now. I do recognize that kid Dustin though, ya know him?"

Steve nods his head up and down, "He's like my brother sir. Our brother." He looks down towards Eddie's bed.

Wayne avoids looking at his boy and chooses to look directly at Steve. "Well, he's a good kid. Came to me when Ed was missing, at the school. Told me he was a hero, and that he'll be missed. Guess now it was probably cause he wasn't sure if he was gonna make it and didn't want to get my hopes up. Don't know what made him change his mind either when he found me again today, told me they had him here."

Steve's face softens as Wayne talks about Dustin. Wayne pushes on, "If that kid trusts you, I don't got a reason not to trust you either. Well, until Eds here wakes up at least. He can tell me otherwise."

"Okay, Sir." Steve makes his way to move around Wayne and leave. Wayne grabs him by the wrist to stop him, and Steve flinches. Wayne decides to file that away for later and lets him go.

"No need to leave kid. And stop calling me sir. I'm not your old man. "

Steve's lips lift a little bit like Wayne just brought up an inside joke he isn't a part of. "Okay, sir—I mean Wayne. Okay, Wayne."

Steve and Wayne sit side by side next to Eddie. It's then Wayne finally looks down at his kid. He can't help but the rush of tears that come up at the sight of him. He is paler than usual, curls flat and dirty, tubes coming out of every part of him.

"My boy." He chokes.

Steve thankfully stays silent as Wayne weeps. They sit for a while in silence before Wayne asks, "You gonna tell me what happened?"

Steve, who Wayne doesn't point out has bloodshot eyes, says "You going to believe me?"

Wayne simply returns "I'm willing to try."

So Steve tells him. Tells him everything that has happened over the last week. Tells him of monsters and other worlds. How it isn't the first time, how it is hopefully the last. How scary it is for them. How Eddie is stupid but incredibly brave. How Eddie barely makes it. How Steve will be the first to yell at him when he wakes up.

Wayne listens carefully through the whole thing and can't help but think of how fond Steve sounds when Eddie's name comes up. This isn't the boy Eddie once spoke of. Albeit, it has been a long time since Eddie's spoken his name. Wayne isn't used to tigers changing their stripes though. It's a pleasant surprise he doesn't comment on.

Wayne rubs his thumb across Eddie's hand. "How did he get out? If he was practically dead?"

"Oh, I carried him Sir."

Wayne's head snaps to Steve. "What?"

Steve shrinks a bit, "Sorry I mean Wayne. Sorry I didn't mean to disrepe—"

Wayne cuts him off, "Dammit kid, I'm not mad at that. I'm not mad at all. It's just—you saved him. You carried him out of what I can only understand is what I think hell is, and you didn't think to mention that when I first saw you?" Wayne looks at Steve for a moment. Really looks at him. He's in clean jeans and a polo, but that's where his old persona ends. When Wayne looks at him closely, he can see the dark bags under his eyes, the purple bruising all over his body, and the angry red scar around his neck. Steve looks exhausted, physically and emotionally. Steve looks like a boy, desperately trying to be a man. He looks like a soldier after war.

"It's not a big deal. I did what anyone else would do."

Wayne shakes his head. "Steve. That's just the thing, I'm pretty sure no one else woulda done that. And even if they would, it doesn't make what you did any less important. So, thank you."

Steve's eyes mist a bit when Wayne says "it doesn't make what you did any less important." He looks away from Wayne and just nods.

"Okay?"

"Okay, Sir. Okay, Wayne."

---

When Eddie wakes a few days later, after a night of breathing on his own without the tubes, he interrupts Steve and Wayne's conversation on the Chicago Cubs, and says "Dad?"

Wayne is up in an instant, crowding his boy's face. "Oh, Eds. I am so glad yer alright. You scared me."

"Mmm sorry," Eddie mumbles nuzzling Wayne's chest. He then looks up towards Steve, who is watching the interaction between the two men. "Harrington?"

Steve leans forward on his elbows, and chokes out "I told you not to be cute."

Eddie giggles, his tears reflecting Steve's "Sorry big boy, can't help what you're born with."

Steve looks up at the ceiling with a wet laugh. It eventually turns into a deep sob. The only other time Wayne witnesses Steve break like this over the past few days is when he's reunited with Hopper. "You shithead, you're not allowed to be funny right now. Don't. Don't do that again. Okay? You really scared us." Wayne can hear Steve's unspoken you really scared me.

Eddie's tears are rushing down his face now. "I'm sorry Steve. I'm so sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong. Just—next time, don't let there be a next time. Okay?" Steve's not making much sense to Wayne as he leans his head on Eddie's bed face down.

Eddie seems to get it though. He hesitantly strokes Steve's head with his fingers. "Okay, Stevie. I promise. Now, get some sleep. It's your turn, I've had enough."

Steve's shoulders sag as he gives in. Wayne shares a look with Eddie, and Wayne knows right there they have the same thought.

They've collected another stray.

———

When Eddie is home, Steve becomes a regular occurrence in their newly acquired government-funded house. He helps a lot the first month especially. Takes Eddie and the Mayfield girl to and from physical therapy. Cooks dinner on the nights Wayne works (which is most nights) and makes sure to have leftovers specifically labeled for Wayne. Keeps both Wayne and Eddie company when one of their stress becomes too much for the other. Steve's even there on the nights the nightmares get bad. Spends his time on the couch until Eddie wakes up screaming, and calms him back to sleep so Wayne doesn't worry about him at work. Or so Wayne can get a full night when he's off.

Steve's there so often enough, that when one night he isn't, Wayne's concerned.

"You're going to pace a hole into the floor boy." Wayne looks at Eddie in their living room from the couch. Wayne doesn't tell Eddie he's concerned too. Doesn't think it would help much.

"I'm sure he's just held up, or got plans Eds. Not like he was plannin' on coming here tonight."

Eddie stops and faces Wayne, biting his thumbnail instead. "Sure we didn't have plans. But Steve's been here every day for the past month Wayne. And when he hasn't he's called. I haven't heard from him in like 22 hours—" Wayne doesn't point out that Eddie did the actual math "—and that's weird. He doesn't do that. We don't do that."

Eddie's anxiety starts to seep into Wayne's. He can't help but think of the worst-case scenario. Car accident. A run-in with that Andy kid. His mind even jumps to when Eddie was in the hospital, and his stomach sinks. Wayne can't help it, he has grown attached to Steve.

"Why don't we call some of yer friends, yeah? Maybe they've seen your boy."

Eddie is so incredibly distressed and doesn't even rebuke Wayne calling Steve his like he usually does. "Yeah okay, good idea."

As Eddie reaches for the phone though, there is a light knock on the door. Eddie rushes to answer it.

"Steve thank god I was wondering—Oh my god sweetheart what happened?" Eddie drags Steve in and places him on the couch. It's then that Wayne sees him.

There on Steve's jaw, is a bruise the size of Indiana. Steve's eye is swollen, and he is breathing heavily while clutching his ribs. Wayne remains frozen and Eddie frets over Steve.

"Stevie, who did this? Where does it hurt? What can I do?"

"Eds I'm fine."

Eddie looks like he's about to yell but restrains himself. "You are most certainly not fine. Do not give me that look Harrington—"

"Oh I'm Harrington now."

"—Yes you are Harrington right now because only a Harrington would be this stubborn and ridiculous. Now tell me what happened and tell me what hurts."

Steve's resolve loosens slightly, and his head falls onto Eddie's shoulder. He lets out a painful whine, "My stomach. It—fuck—it hurts so bad Eds."

Eddie brushes his fingers through his hair and whispers to him gently. "It's okay baby, I got you."

Wayne realizes three things at once.

One, Wayne isn't sure Eddie has called Steve that before. He calls him names across the board. But baby isn't one of them. Wayne knows for a fact the two aren't together yet. They have been dancing along the line for a few weeks now. Wayne thinks about pushing the timeline along, but the boys don't seem to be there quite yet. This seems like a step in the right direction.

Two, in the past month and a half Wayne has gotten to know Steve, he realizes that the boy doesn't do well around older men. He flinches at every sudden movement Wayne makes, and won't even let him give him a pat on the back let alone a hug. Also in that time, Steve has barely gone home. Knows his parents didn't visit him at the hospital, but did come home two weeks later to make sure nothing is damaged from the earthquake. Assholes.

And three, Steve avoids the question as to what happened. Eddie seems to let it slide. Wayne doesn't give the same courtesy.

"Who did this?" Wayne says abruptly, startling Steve who seems to realize Wayne's presence only now.

"Wh-what?" Steve shakes.

"I'm not mad boy. But I'm not stupid. I know this ain't a what but a who. And I think we can both conclude who. But I'm going to ask you anyway. Who. Did. This?"

The last of Steve's resolve crumbles as Wayne puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. It is as if he hadn't known a gentle touch from a father before. Maybe he hasn't.

"My dad. He uh, we got into a fight last night. Found out how much time I was spending here, with Eddie, with the kids. He started saying how I was spending time with the wrong people. I tried to just nod and go upstairs because it was just easier to ignore him than fight him sometimes. Like what's he going to do right? He's only here a couple of days a year. But then he mentioned Robin and he called her a slur, and that said her kind was an abomination. And oh god I don't even know how he found that out Robs is going to be pissed she's been so careful—"

"Babe." Eddie squeezes Steve's hand.

"Right sorry, he just was going off about Robin. And it just set me off, I just lost it on him. How dare he talk about her that way? And I just told him that if he's got a problem with her, then he's got a problem with me too. And God Wayne, the silence that came after. It was like all the words had been sucked out of the room. Next thing I know he's grabbing me by the jaw and throwing me on the floor. And he just starts kicking me, screaming about how I am no son of his. I didn't know what to do. My mom just watched it all. I just laid there... I should have fought back—I—" Steve trails off trying to collect himself.

"When he was done he sent me to my room and told me to think about what I'm doing to this family. I just laid there all night and all day, just waiting for them to leave. I had to wait til they left for dinner tonight to get out. I can't—I can't go back there. Me and Robs were planning on moving in together next week, we made a deposit on this two-bedroom downtown, but I don't think I can spend another week there, and oh god, all my stuff is there. What have I done." Steve puts his head in his hands.

Eddie is crying with Steve by the end of it. Neither he nor Wayne comments on how Steve just came out to the both of them. It doesn't seem important at that moment. Wayne crouches down to eye level with Steve.

"You did nothing wrong. There is nothing wrong with you. You did what you had to do to survive, and even if you didn't it still wouldn't be your fault."

Wayne stands back to his full height. "Now, you can stay here until you and the bird girl have your place. Do not fight me on it. Anyway Steve, I know it's difficult right now. But I'm going to need you to let me know what you need from your house."

"What, why?"

Wayne just sighs, "I know you ain't stupid. Just tell me."

Steve seems hesitant but tells Wayne anyway.

He nods at both his boys when he speaks next. "You two stay put. I'll be back soon."

Steve and Eddie both look like they want to fight Wayne on it. Steve wants to stop him from leaving at all, and Eddie probably wants to stop him from going without him. They both smartly stay silent.

"Okay, Uncle Wayne."

"Okay, Wayne."

———

Later, Wayne comes back with three duffle bags and bruised knuckles.

Steve hugs him without a second thought.

———-

A few days pass and the three of them are in the kitchen when Eddie asks. "Did ya tell hop?"

Steve snorts in his coffee. "Hell no."

Wayne can't help his curiosity as he watches the both of them across the table.

"Steve, you have to tell Hop. He's going to find out anyway." Eddie pushes as he puts an ungodly amount of sugar in his coffee.

"No I don't. He'll just flip out, there is no good reason to tell him."

Eddie puts his hands on his hips. It reminds Wayne of Steve the past couple of times he's seen him around the kids. "I can think of one good reason. He's practically your dad. And I'm pretty sure your Dad would want to know what your old man did to ya."

Wayne can't help but hum in agreement. He knows if Eddie's old man comes around, he wants to be the first to find out.

Steve looks at Wayne briefly before saying, "No he's not. He's just like that with everyone."

"No, he's not. With El? Yea, that's his daughter. Maybe even Will. But not with anyone else. Except you. Why do you think I'm afraid of him?"

Steve gives him a look, "Cause he's an ex-cop Eds."

"Please that doesn't scare me. Didn't scare me when he was an actual cop either."

Wayne isn't sure that's entirely true. He remembers a very specific incident of Eddie tripping over his laces to get away from Jim.

Eddie carries on, "No, he scares me 'cause he's your dad, and I know he'll hang me by my toenails if I so much as make you cry. So yea, I think you should let him know. Besides, we both know he's going to be way more pissed when he finds out from literally anyone else. And we both know he will because you told Robin, who definitely told Nancy, who probably told Joyce, and you can see where I am heading with this."

Steve throws his head back and groans. "He's going to full government name me when he finds out."

Eddie lets out a manic giggle, "Ooo, you never told me what your full name is. Now you gotta tell me, Stevie."

Steve gives Eddie an exasperated look, "It's Steven James Harrington."

It's now Eddie's turn to groan. "Of course, you have his name. Well, I guess it's better than Richard. Hop must love that. Was kinda hoping you had my name or something."

Wayne makes a mental note to talk to Jim himself. Knows Steve will avoid it. But Wayne's got to make sure someone is looking after Steve when he can't. Wayne's been meaning to thank the man anyway. For all his done for Eddie. And now, for all he's done for Steve.

"Want me to make you feel better Eds?" Steve says with a smirk.

"Please. I'm not sure if I can go on any further with the torture of knowledge that contains your middle name."

"Hopper's middle name is Edward."

The scream of joy Eddie lets out nearly punctures what's left of Wayne's hearing.

———

By midsummer, the boys are an item. They haven't said anything to Wayne but he can tell. One day, the boys come back from their friend's weekly dinner holding hands. So they didn't have to tell Wayne. Not really.

It is just that, Wayne has gotten to know Steve Harrington over the past few months. He has gotten to know him as "Friend Steve" and "Brother Steve", and even after one intense game night, "King Steve". Wayne has a feeling though that "Boyfriend Steve" is different. As much as he likes the boy, his kid comes first. Wayne feels he needs to give Steve a talk.

The problem is he can't really give him a talk if neither of them has really told him. He has made that mistake once with Eddie, assuming, he won't be making it again.

So Wayne waits. And waits. And waits. And just as he is thinking he might never get the verbal confirmation from the two, he gets the image clear as day of what the two are on a Tuesday when he gets to go home early from work.

It's just not in the way he expects or wants.

Wayne can't really blame the boys. They didn't know Wayne would be coming home early, it was a surprise to Wayne himself. So they probably didn't think that anyone would be coming around the Munson household on Tuesday at midnight.

That doesn't make the situation any less scarring.

See, Wayne Allen Munson wasn't a god-fearing man. He can't be with what his Eddie had been through. But he can't help but think this is some sort of cosmic punishment when he gets home and hears moaning.

Wayne stands there in the foyer as a loud, "Yes baby just like that" and "Oh god, harder" and even the unfortunate "You're so tight, it's like you were made for me."

Wayne thinks god might be laughing at him. Wayne can't really go upstairs and stop them. They are both adults and he feels that having an image of what they are doing would be substantially worse than the noises.

Wayne decides to put some earplugs in (which thankfully cut off the noise, since his age made him half deaf anyway), sat in his armchair, and waits it out.

About an hour later (jesus an hour later) Steve comes downstairs to the kitchen in only his boxers. He doesn't seem to notice Wayne. His head is in the freezer when Wayne decides to clear his throat loudly.

Steve slams his head in fright and whips around with an icepack in his hand. "Oh shit."

"Oh shit is right."

All the color drains from Steve's face. "How much did you hear?"

Wayne appreciates that Steve cuts right to the chase. "Enough." He knows he can explain to the boy that he didn't really hear that much, and the earplugs are firmly in his hands as evidence, but he decides to torture Steve.

Just a little bit, can't have him too comfortable.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Munson, I—"

Wayne cuts him off. "No need to apologize, just as long as you boys are being safe that's all I care about. No that ain't what I want to talk to you about."

Steve visibly swallows as he sits across the counter from Wayne. "What about then?"

"Look, I'm awfully happy for the two of you. It's about time you boys got your shit together—"

Steve lets out a small laugh at the comment. Wayne continues. "—but I need to make things clear with you Steve. You hurt my kid, I hurt you. Eds has been through a lot. Not just with the whole spring break situation. I mean his whole life. He bounced around from place to place until he landed on my doorstep. He's used to giving his all, and not getting much in return. Eddie loves with his whole chest, and he doesn't know how to do it any other way. You better make sure you're worthy of it because I am not sure anyone is...including me. You're pretty damn close though, I know it. I can see it. You're a good person. But that boy is my whole world. I know where to hide a body if need be."

Wayne expects Steve to cower in fear, but instead, he smiles softly at him. "Don't worry. I'll dig the grave myself. I'll try my best not to hurt him, sir. I can't promise much, but I can promise I'll love him every day without fail."

"You tell him that yet kid?"

Steve shakes his head, "No. I think soon though sir."

Wayne nods feeling satisfied. "Good, and enough of this sir crap I thought we've been over this."

"Okay, Wayne."

"Better. Now, who's the ice pack for? You or him, because I don't want to have to grab the shovel outta the shed tonight."

Steve's blush spreads from his cheeks all the way down to his chest. "Uuuh, for me sir. I mean Wayne."

"Good. Go grab my son for me now will ya?"

Steve stutters, "Wh-what? Why?"

"Just go grab 'em."

Steve runs upstairs and brings down a smug-looking Eddie. Wayne's sure Steve gave him the rundown of what he heard, and Eddie doesn't appear to be ashamed like Steve had the smarts to do.

Little shit.

"Sorry Wayne didn't know you were home. Was that what you wanted to talk about?"

Wayne looks from Steve to Eddie, before narrowing his eyes at the latter. "Nope. It's your turn."

"My turn?" Eddie's confident face turns confused while Steve's flashes surprise.

"Yea kid your turn." Wayne contemplates for a second what to say, but knows in the end that Eddie will get the message loud and clear from one sentence alone.

"You hurt him—" Wayne turns to point at Steve, before facing Eddie again "—I hurt you. Got it?"

All the color drains from Eddie's face. That's the reaction he is looking for.

"Got it." Eddie grabs Steve's hand to make his way back upstairs. Before they are completely out of sight, Steve catches Wayne's eye. The boy looks softer than he did before. He looks like he wants to say something but settles on,

"Goodnight Wayne."

"Goodnight Steve."

———

Steve doesn't ask Wayne about that night until months later in October. Wayne is on the couch with a beer when Steve walks in (he has the key Eddie gave him in September). "Eddie's not here right now. Think he's running late with band practice."

"Oh I'm sorry. I can come back later." Steve stands awkwardly in the doorway.

"Don't be silly come sit. I'm just watching the game. It's no cubs considering they didn't make it far, but it's still a good game."

Steve nods and makes himself comfortable on the couch. Since spring break, Wayne and Steve have built a friendship of sorts. Steve still shows signs of apprehension in the first few seconds, but the conversation becomes an easy flow after a while. They usually talk about sports, cars, or cooking. All stuff Wayne enjoys but Eds won't show the slightest interest in. It's nice, to have someone to share this stuff with.

Today they mostly talk about the game on tv and Eddie's habit of running late. It's after a particularly funny joke about Eddie being late to his own birth that Steve asks, "Hey Wayne, can I ask you something?"

"Ya just did kid."

"God, you sound like Eddie."

Wayne chuckles, "Sure Steve. Shoot."

"Why did you talk to Eddie too? About the whole, hurting each other stuff? I mean Eddie's your kid, and I'm just the guy who gets to spend time with him." Steve waves his hands around, it reminds Wayne of Ed.

"Well, I love ya both," Wayne says easily while he takes a sip of his beer, like it isn't hard to say. And it isn't really. It was quite simple to Wayne. Just like Eddie, Steve might not be his kid by blood but he is close as he can come.

"Oh." Steve takes a deep breath, as if he is holding back tears, and says "Thanks, Wayne. I love you too."

Wayne almost mistakes the pain as Steve's voice as reluctance. The happiness that shines in his eyes says something else. Says he doesn't hear that from fathers very often. Says he hopes Wayne means it.

He does mean it.

Eddie walks in the doorway to find the two men silently staring at each other, and Steve close to tears. "Well hello there my lovely family how are—Wayne what did you do to Steve? Did you yell at him? I promise the bruise on my face was from dropping a wrench while trying to fix the van. Nothing else." Eddie pulls Steve up and squishes his face between his hands. "What did he say to you, baby?"

Steve shakes his head and laughs lightly at Eddie's antics. "Nothing bad. Promise. Happy tears."

"Happy tears?"

"Happy tears."

Eddie stares at him for long moment before deciding he believes him. "Okay. Okay. I relent." He grabs Steve's hand and throws a wave at Wayne. "Let's go upstairs though, I have to tell you about practice and how Gareth brought a boy with him! And you'll never believe what boy it was! It was our little baby Byers himself..."

Wayne hears Steve's gasp and Eddie's giggle as he continues on up the stairs. Wayne can't help the warmth that settles in his chest.

Because Wayne Allen Munson is lucky to have two wonderful boys. And he is even luckier that his two boys love each other. Because they deserve that and so much more.

———

Okay, it’s a lot I know. I just couldn’t resist. I wanted to write Steve and Wayne too. I think this one is less sad and more funny but I think that kind of speaks for the kind of relationship the two of them would have. Also it contains much more steddie than the last one. I’m thinking about maybe writing a part 3 with Steve’s relationship with the kids and how he’s their father figure? But for now it ends here. Also this took me like two days to write? I’m sorry for any mistakes or rushed parts. I am one woman show. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)

Also I have finally posted on ao3!!! Can’t believe it, I’ve been so nervous about it especially because I am still without a beta. But this felt long enough to put there and I wanted to be able to share with more people.

access part. 1 here and ao3 here

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pandoa · 2 years

Text

it's the little things

~the little things they do for you~

~feat. jamil viper, kalim al-asim, epel felmier, rook hunt, and vil schoenheit~ ~twisted wonderland characters x gender neutral reader~

~headcanons~ part 1│part 2│part 3

it's been some time since we had a non-event post, so here we go~ first time writing hcs! i promise to go back to the event rqs i just got distracted with this heh

jamil viper lets you stay and watch him dance as he practices his mesmerizingly enchanting movements. he’s typically not very open to allow someone to gaze at him so earnestly as he was never one to bask in attention. however, there was something in the way your eyes twinkled at the sight of him that persuaded the scarabia vice housewarden to ignore all the usual habits he harbored, if only for you. but be careful. just as the snakes entrance their prey, jamil is equally as capable in spellbinding your heart to his with a swift twirl of his lithe figure.

"Oh... you wish to see me dance? I will not object to it, but please do not expect much from me. I am quite boring, after all."

"No no, straighten your back, raise your head, and keep your hands resting on my shoulders. When dancing, it is important to have complete faith that your partner will always be there to support you."

"Focus here, Prefect. You’re looking quite dazed at the moment."

"Hm? You can't? And why might that be?"

"Your cheeks have turned red… Could it be that you are embarrassed to be this close to me?"

"Ahem, n-never mind that. Please forget that I had said anything. It must have been my imagination... I shouldn't be so hopeful..."

"Hm? Ah, no it's nothing. Just mumbling to myself, that's all."

kalim al-asim gifts you small things that remind him of you. most of the time, kalim is either just simply strolling down the sunlit pathways of nrc or browsing in the endless wonders of sam’s mystery shop. he finds the most tiniest and random items in the most unexpected places—claiming to have somehow seen you in them. but not without jamil sending him a questionable and deadpan stare. he’d find anything to be just like you, really. he views the whole world in rose-tinted glasses, but could you blame him? you were so precious in his eyes!

“(Y/n), look! This tiny button is just like you!”

“Hm? Why you ask? Oh, that’s easy!”

“It’s cute, fun to look at, and matches your eyes, haha!”

“Oh my Seven— (Y/n), look here, look here!”

“It’s a cuddly bear stuffie, hehehe~ C’mon! Take it back to Ramshackle!”

“I’m giving it to you because I love you, silly!”

epel felmier gives you hand-carved apples of your favorite things whenever he is sure that he will see you that day. you mentioned your favorite animal during your lunch break? he's already carved a perfectly cut apple in the shape of it! you say you like a particular flower growing in the botanical gardens of nrc? epel had immediately taken an apple and carefully attempted to carve it right after vil's incessant voice lessons! he says he only does it to make use of the endless amounts of apples his family send him, but surely you can see past this small, charming lie, hm?

"(Y/n)! Thank the Seven I found you!"

"I had some extra apples laying around in my dorm, so I decided to carve some for you. What do you think?"

"Ah— and b'fore yer say somethin', carvin' apples ain't supposed 'ta be cute!"

"O-oh...you weren't going to say that? Well, um, thank you then, heh heh."

"You actually like them? Really? Then, I'll make sure to carve more for you if you like them so much!"

rook hunt kisses every dimple, scar, mole, beauty mark, freckle, and stray mark on your resplendent body. he thinks they're like little stars and galaxies on your delicate form; how could he not shower them in adoring pecks of his love? it's become a daily routine for him at this point. holding you in his welcoming embrace as he brushes your marks with butterfly-like caresses, that is.

“Every single blemish on your flawless skin holds an untold story I wish to know, mon amour.”

“I cannot even begin to tell you how captivated I am by you. You’ve charmed me, and now I am pitifully here standing in front of you, memorizing the lovely constellation known as you.”

“I’ll adore each and every crevice of your mind, soul, and body.”

“If only you’ll allow me to…”

vil schoenheit leaves you neatly written notes in every corner of the room before he goes on about his busy day. the daily life of a celebrity is certainly no easy feat, but he still wished to make sure you were well cared for while he was away. so, spreading little reminders on how to take care of yourself and placing them across the bedroom and dorm walls wouldn’t hurt anyone, yes?

“Prefect,” an elegantly dashing note written on a violet slip of paper called out to you from the bedside table. "The weather today will be rather chilly. I have left one of my sweaters here on the table for you. Do not ruin it."

And another one taped to the bathroom mirror.

“Remember to use the new facial cream I have recommended to you. It is applied twice a day; once in the morning, and once at night.”

The hallway walls...

"I've framed the photograph we took together yesterday, as per your request. I do hope it is to your liking."

Kitchen...

"There are perfectly balanced meals in the refrigerator for you. I've made sure that it suits your taste while still maintaining the initial nutritional value of the meal. Please also drink water. I know you greatly struggle with doing so."

And finally, the doorway before you leave.

"I worry for your welfare, (Y/n), so please do follow my advice. I love you. Ah— I mean... You are very important to me.

—from, vil"

a/n: writing dialogue like i'm the writer for an op otome game yes yes

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lumine-no-hikari · 3 months

Text

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #68

Today was a very mixed bag.

This morning, I drove to the good place with all the nice people. The leader spoke on a great many very relevant things, such as challenging the status quo, distinguishing between that which is law and that which is just, and sitting with and trying to help all of the people whom society has tried to convinced us doesn't deserve it. The grammar and structure of the words has since crumbled and faded away from my mind, because I don't think in language at all, but the meaning remains in my mind, as well as the memory of the tears that were shed; I'm aware that at least some of what I've been trying to do is seen and understood by this very amazing person.

I tried to conduct myself in the space a little differently than I usually do. Typically, my presence in any space is a meek one that tries to stay out of the way. But this time, I walked as though I belong there, and mingled with others as though I am also deserving of taking up space. Just to try to push myself even further out of my comfort zone, today I sat at the "old men's" table (there aren't really assigned tables, it's just that there are folks that tend to gather together because they can easily relate to one another) as though I also belonged there, with the intention of listening to them speak to one another and seeing what I could learn. Imagine my shock when they talked to me as though my voice is one worth hearing!! I wasn't really sure what to do or how to behave in response to such a thing, but I did the best I could to try to contribute, even if I felt clumsy and foolish in the process.

At one point, towards the end, one of them said, as a joke, "Drive carefully home; I know how you women like to be speed demons, haha!" I tried to think of something witty and lighthearted to come back with, but the best I could do was smile bashfully. If only I remembered at the time the line that goes, "Ha! I am a woman in the same way that a tomato is a fruit!"

…I happen to live in a female body. But I don't really think about my gender most of the time. It fluctuates wildly between "none" and "yes". I'll take any pronoun, but the one I typically use for myself in my own mind is "it". But this alarms people, and I'm comfortable with letting people use whatever they see when they look at me, so… it's all good, I guess.

I stopped at Eggcellent on the way home. Some time ago, I had asked them if they might keep a QR code of the petition I made for you where folks can see it. Apparently, though, the people did not thoroughly read the blurb that came along with the QR code, and so they scanned it, thinking that it would lead them to a petition for a real-life human being. Their response, when they saw you, according to the kindly shopkeep, was, "Are you kidding me?" Essentially, disbelief and disgust. So naturally, the kindly shopkeeps had to stop displaying the QR code. I'm glad they stopped if this was how people were responding; I don't want to be bad for business.

But all the same… I have no idea how it is the case that so few people understand that the way your story ends is going to affect everyone here whose circumstances are similar to yours. It will affect how many of us will be able to believe that recovery is possible. It will affect how many of us will be able to believe that we are worth the effort involved with recovery. It will affect whether or not other people will be able to imagine that people like me and like others who I love are worthy of kindness, mercy, and help.

The way stories are told in my world shapes what people believe is and is not possible, on a MASS SCALE. Part of the reason why people still believe places like India are undeveloped, backwater places even though they're not is because that's how they're portrayed in stories in my world. Part of the reason why people still treat certain kinds of people as they do is because of how they're portrayed in books, movies, TV, comics, and song. Stereotypes persist in part because they are parroted over and over again by the song, art, and story that exists in our world. And stereotypes put a lot of nasty and totally arbitrary limitations on what people think that certain kinds of people deserve and are capable of.

So… my efforts to save you aren't just about you. My efforts are for every human in my world who is considered "different" or "fallen" in any way. Because we are not going to see peace in my world until every single one of us stops believing that there is a such thing as "kinds of people who are not worth compassion, kindness, decency, or help".

I want to live in a world where people can begin to imagine that even the most deeply fallen can get the help they need to rise up into wholeness again. Because if not even someone as amazing as you can be saved, what chance in hell do the rest of us have?

I ended up spiraling, though. Not because the kindly shopkeep took down the QR code, but because of what he said to me after the fact:

Some time ago, when I was working on one of the music boxes I made for you…

youtube

…there was a lady who came into the shop for the first time, asking what is good. The shopkeep told her a few things, and then went off to do something. I was excited to talk to someone who seems nice about a thing I loved, so I piped in with a couple of the things I like, and with a couple of things that weren't listed on the menu. She then asked about what I was doing, which was punching holes out on the music box. I asked her if she wanted to listen, and she said yes. So I ran the music box, and she told me that it was cool.

��Fast forward to today. The shopkeep told me that the lady knew it was my petition. Apparently, on the day we met, the lady found me weird, rude, and repulsive. She apparently thought that it was disrespectful of me that I spoke to her at all (apparently because "she wasn't talking to me"), and because she didn't actually want anything to do with my music box, but asked about it and said yes to listening to it anyway because she "didn't want to be mean". So I guess I left such a negative and intensely strange impression on her back then that when she felt disgust at the petition, she immediately knew it was mine.

And gosh, what a thing to have to sit with. Can you imagine it? The notion that I can frighten, anger, and disgust people just by existing in a space, talking joyfully about bubble tea, and showing a music box I made to someone who asked about it? I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to take from this. On the one hand, I have the shopkeep telling me that the woman thought I am a bad, wrong, and disgusting thing, but in the same breath, he is telling me that "she should have said no if she didn't want to hear it", and "you are kind and you don't bother anybody and you should just be yourself". I understand, of course, that he must ride a careful balance between customers so that he doesn't lose anyone. But ya know… the notion that perhaps I might cause them to struggle by scaring customers off just by being myself is just… wow.

Of course, I am not at all angry with him for this. Rather, I'm glad he told me. I'm glad to be made aware that my presence makes others feel very uncomfortable. I'm glad to be told that I should continue to be myself… even if it comes with the unspoken implication that I had better go do it somewhere else where no one else has to deal with it, I guess.

The fact remains, of course, that just by existing, I scare people. Even if what I'm trying to do is exude love and joy, I still scare people. And I'm not really sure how it is that I manage to be so bad at trying to do good things that I am misunderstood to this extent, but… well. And also this is coming right after I resolve to act as though I belong in this world even though all signs point to the notion that I… don't. And maybe never will.

…If unaliving is a trigger for you, you might wanna skip this paragraph. But… ya know. I spent a good chunk of time today considering the merits of lying down in a cold puddle, forcibly inducing sleep, and letting the hypothermia take care of the job while I'm out. We have nature trails just a five minute walk from my house. It's winter, and there are lots of big puddles back there; I know where they are, and there's also no shortage of ravens, crows, coyotes, and foxes to feed. It's probably good that I don't have ready access to the kinds of medicines that would induce sleep.

…But. This sort of thinking is just the old wiring and the old conditioning rearing its ugly head in response to my past trauma. Old messages that go something like, "Nobody fucking asked you to speak, MAGGOT," and "Why can't you have normal interests and hobbies, you embarrassing sicko freak?" At this point, because stuff similar to this has been said to me so many times, it doesn't take much for my brain to interpret this stuff, even if it's not said directly. That's just how PTSD is. That's how it works.

But I don't have to surrender to it. I got knocked on my ass today from it, but I don't have to stay on the ground. I can get back up and see what's next. I can use REBT. I can ask the people around me for help. I can listen as the people who love me gently point out destructive, spiraling patterns in my thinking, so that I can stop myself for long enough to come up for air. I can hydrate and eat wholesomely so that my brain can have what it needs to manage the destructive thoughts and the painful emotions triggered from them. I don't have to remain on my knees and believe every nasty thing said about me by someone who is too miserable to see the beauty, joy, and love being offered to them for what it is. I can refuse to allow the voices of the people who don't understand me to be louder in my mind than the voices of those who love me.

I am different from other people, and sometimes this is a lonely thing that hurts very much. But it's easy for me to have love for others who are different. Love for you. Love for Frankenstein's Monster. Love for Mewtwo. Love for Magus. Love for all of my friends and chosen family, who themselves are misfits that society at large does not seem to want. I still love them all, even though society tells me I shouldn't. I can love me, too, even though society tells me that I shouldn't.

…"Conventional wisdom" is such a thing. There are some very good things about it, like, "Sticking a fork in your mouth and then sticking the prongs of that fork into an electrical socket just to see what happens is a very bad idea." And, things like, "Do NOT, under ANY circumstances, attempt to eat Rice Krispie Treats immediately after taking them out of the oven if you value the flesh on the inside of your mouth." Or, "Do not squirt hot glue into the palm of your left hand for the sake of impressing a girl." Or, related, "You cannot try to scrape hot glue off of the palm of your hand with your other hand and expect it to turn out well." And finally, "Try to avoid prioritizing yelling at your glue-covered hands over making use of the cold water in the sink that is immediately to your left."

(do not worry - these are not things that I have done; I've met some very interesting people in the course of my living who help me to avoid finding these things out the hard way, hahaha!)

But it can also tell us a lot of very false things. Things like, "You must remain connected with your family regardless of how they abuse you." Things like, "You should expect certain kinds of people to always act in this certain kind of way." Things like, "These particular kinds of people are all bad and you should stay away from them." Things like, "If everyone is 'mistreating' you, well the common denominator is you, so the problem must be you and not how others are treating you." And things like, "Certain kinds of people do not deserve kindness, help, or even basic decency."

So… I can only conclude that "conventional wisdom" needs to be taken VERY critically, and with ALL the grains of salt. But I think a good rule of thumb for evaluation is this notion: "Anything that is said with cruel, dehumanizing, and unloving intentions is false."

I'm not at risk of prematurely exiting my meat-mech, don't worry. I just tripped up a little today, that's all. And you know what? Ultimately, that's a good thing, because today, I watched myself get back up on my feet from it faster than what I was able to do previously. Sometimes we can't see all the progress we've made until weird things happen and we find ourselves recovering from them faster than we have in the past. So in this sense, even falling down is worth something!

I'm gonna get a snack and play some DDR to try to speed up my recovery even more. So I'll end this here-ish.

Hey, Sephiroth!! No matter how many times you fall down, and no matter how far you fall down, you can get back up! You just gotta let the voices attached to the hands reaching out to help be louder than the voices trying to tell you that you're a monster who doesn't belong! No matter how many voices scream unloving things at you, you gotta understand that such things can only be screamed at us from a place of pain, and nobody is acting in accordance with what's true or in accordance with their innermost nature when they are acting from a place of pain! So let the loving things be louder to your mind and to your ears. Let the loving things be louder, and let them spur you on to move forward, confident in the knowledge that you belong here, no matter what anyone else says.

You are loved. Please stay safe. I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

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despazito · 1 year

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I have conflicting feelings about so called "therapy talk" in animated shows nowadays.

I'm not sure if I like the term in general because i think it's dismissive of the concept as a whole, which I feel throws the baby out with the bathwater. Like to me at least the definition of therapy talk means being extremely emotionally mature, being able to successfully identify and communicate your feelings, and using empathy to do the same with others' feelings. which I think are all good qualities to have in a person, but detrimental to a fictional story if this trait is shared equally amongst the WHOLE cast and that's what bothers me about its overusage now.

People just don't have interpersonal conflict this way!! especially amongst kids or teens. Or at least it's extremely uncommon to have these types of kindcore interactions with others outside of a moderated clinical setting.

Emotional intelligence like that isn't a switch you can flick, characters may repress things or drop a facade to deliver some truths or philosophy to the protagonist but it has to dovetail in with the rest of their character. A character who showed no previous capacity for such maturity just feels unnatural to suddenly act very wise for a scene if it's played completely straight.

For instance, Patrick Star is great at playing this for comedy. His sudden rare bursts of extreme mature clarity are so opposite to the rest of his character that it loops all the way back into the comedic. But then imagine a character like Scrappy Doo busting out a lecture on externalizing his unresolved anger from past experiences without a shred of irony. Or Jesse Pinkman breaking his character of a wannabe gangster drug dealer to deliver a carefully worded clapback to walt about toxicity and gaslighting explaining the deepest mechanics of his personality. It would kind of suck, right? Which is why when Aaron Paul's character in Bojack gets a scene like that as Todd, it's very introspective but still delivered in Todd's voice because the writers know Todd and know the boundaries of what he can articulate.

Characters can gain introspection and learn to understand themselves over the course of a narrative, but it has to feel natural and have some precedent. It's a bit annoying when all the characters resolve emotional conflict like they've taken a class in anger management before.

And i think a lot of it is the writer idealizing relationships and interactions between their characters and a weird obsession with morality in fiction now. We need to be spoonfed why this character is bad or what is currently occurring in a lecture from another character lest someone get the wrong impression from the text, in many ways it comes across as unconfident writing.

In a perfect (or dystopian to some) world everyone can communicate impeccably with everyone’s feelings in mind and people will come away with the exact reading of a text the author implied. and sure it can be good escapism if that’s what you crave. but it just doesn’t make for very interesting stories!!

Some writers will try to hide therapy talk under several layers of meta irony, but honestly those can feel even lamer to me and dare I say lazier in execution. It's quite literally telling instead of showing the audience exactly how a character feels by having them sarcastically voice their internal feelings in the format of a mindfulness diary prompt instead of feeling confident enough in your audience to pick up on those themes themselves through subtler acting cues or interactions. It's the internal conflict equivalent of loudly breaking the fourth wall to shout that motorcycle slide was from Akira, instead of having faith in the viewer to catch a reference on their own.

This kind of self aware speaking about emotions definitely has its place, most notably in preschool programming because many of those shows are about teaching kids emotional intelligence and conflict resolution. But I am getting tired of this trope in other genres for older audiences, let things be messy and ambiguous! Your characters don't have to be perfect people! Let them have misunderstandings and make mistakes in relationships instead of speaking like licensed counselors!!

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givemeanaccountalready · 4 months

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You know what I’m most curious about for Milgram? How did the first few days go over? Milgram kidnapped eleven people and threw them in a building with no exits or even a window, had one announce to the others that they were all murderers and they were going to investigate, and how well do you think that went over?

I can see those who were indirect murderers being much more sociable than those who directly took a life. Like Mikoto, who is so sure that all he did was dream and believed that this was some sort of game show, thinks the term murderer is made up and is just chatting away. Or Shidou, whose murder seems to involve his shitty bedside manner (pressuring families of brain dead patients to pull the plug and I think pressuring other patients to go through with risky organ transplants), is probably like yes, everyone must be involved with a death that would be hard to prosecute, I bet little Amane probably was playing with a friend who fell off the playground, cracked their head open, and died. Does she need a trusted adult?

Then you have Haruka and Muu, who directly killed their victims through very personal methods (strangulation and stabbing), who are rightly terrified that the others must have killed like they have and could be killed so they try to stay out of the spotlight. Kotoko, who stomped her victim to death, having the same line of thought as Kazui, a policeman, with needing to carefully evaluate the situation and not act rashly because they both realize that the chances of everyone having the same story as them is slim.

Just imagine the first meal together. It’s tense and awkward, as everyone steals glances at each other and pokes at the food, and then someone (Shidou or Mikoto, probably) breaks the ice.

Shidou: “Why don’t we go around the room and introduce ourselves? I’m Shidou Kirisaki. I’m 29 years old, and I worked as a doctor before coming here.”

Mikoto: “That’s a great idea! I’m-”

Fuuta: “Why are we doing this kiddie crap? We were kidnapped. And why are we eating with this cosplaying brat and a rabbit?”

Es: refuses to react

Jackalope: angry ear twitch

Mikoto: “Chillax. This is probably just one of those new reality shows.”

Fuuta: “You sign up for those, stupid. Do you remember signing up for this, because I sure as hell don’t remember-”

Shidou: cutting in “Language.”

Fuuta: “Are you fu-”

Mikoto: quickly “So, I’m Mikoto Kayano, 23, and I worked for a top of the line advertising company down in Tokyo! What about you, uh?”

Kotoko: “Kotoko Yuzuriha. 20. I was studying law, but I was taking a brief sabbatical before… this.”

Mikoto: “Cool! I don’t think I could be a lawyer. I’m terrible at conflict.”

Mahiru: “Same here! I’m Mahiru Shiina, and I’m 22 years old. I’m in my final year of studying literature at university.”

Shidou: “What about you? You must be in your last year of high school, right? What are you thinking of studying?”

Fuuta: sputtering “I-I’m in college! I’m 20, for God’s sake! I haven’t been in high school for a while. You need to get your eyes checked.”

Kazui: to Amane “Would you like to go next or should I?”

Amane: “You can go first. I don’t mind.”

Fuuta: loudly “I’m not done yet!”

Mikoto: “I thought you didn’t want to do this-”

Fuuta: interrupts “The name’s Fuuta Kajiyama.”

Kazui: “And I’m Kazui Mukuhara. 39. I’m a police officer.”

Kotoko: narrows eyes “A police officer? And you’re here?”

Shidou: to the four remaining “And you all?”

Amane: “My name is Amane Momose, and I am 12 years old. I’m in the sixth grade.”

Mikoto: disbelief “My God, you’re so young.”

Amane: “I’d prefer it if you didn’t offer me any sort of special treatment because of my age. Treat me as you would any other prisoner.”

Shidou: aghast “But you are a child.”

Amane: angry pout and about to argue when

Yuno: does not want to listen to them argue “I suppose I’ll go next. I’m Yuno Kashiki. 18. I’m in my final year of high school. And you?”

Muu: “M-my name is M-Muu Kusonoki. I am 16 years old and in my first year of high school. Please don’t hurt me.”

Kotoko: flatly “The grade-schooler has more guts than you.”

Shidou: “I would argue that she isn’t being foolish.”

Amane: “It would be foolish to ask for special treatment. I do agree with the sentiment but I don’t fear any of you.”

Fuuta: “You’re literally 12. How are you not pissing your-”

Shidou: “Language!”

Amane: “There is no need for censorship on my account. I know all the bad words already. Speak freely around me.”

Fuuta: smugly “Yeah, see? She’s probably heard worse from her classmates.” Points to Haruka. “What about you?”

Haruka: shrinks down in his chair “U-uh, I’m, um, I’m Haruka Sakurai. I’m 17, I think. I’m uh, not very bright. Please be patient with me.”

Shidou: “There’s no need to put yourself down. What year of high school are you in?”

Haruka: “I’m, I’m not. My parents said that, that they’d rather light the money on fire for warmth than send me to high school just for me to flunk out. It would be a better use of-”

Fuuta: angry “That’s fucked!”

Shidou: “Language!”

Yuno: “Hate to say it, but he’s right. It is messed up.”

Shidou: “It is, but there is no reason to use such language in front of a child.”

Amane: “You don’t have to protect me from foul language. I just said-”

Shidou: “What about you, Es? How old are you?”

Es: “15.”

Fuuta: “You have gotta be kidding me! The fate of our lives hang in the hands of a junior high student!”

Mikoto: “Relax. Our lives don’t really hang in their hands. It’s just a TV show.”

Fuuta: “This isn’t a TV show!”

#milgram project #milgram fanfic #shidou kirisaki #fuuta kajiyama #mikoto kayano

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