#his hair is So Good in the red piece and the one where he's Reclining has this kind of retro charm to it? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladylokilaufeyson5 · 1 month

Text

Where The Shadows Dance - The Proposition (i)

Bodyguard!Azriel x AutumnDaughter!Reader

CHAPTER I: The Proposition

SUMMARY: Beron has invited the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court to spend a week in the Autumn Court. Azriel and the rest of the Court of Dream believe he has ulterior motives, and they are correct - but these motives come as a surprise.

WARNINGS: Um. Misogyny. love that for us (i hate the autumn court). swearing (the f-word (as in fuck)), y/n has daddy issues (bc beron is a cunt) and uh... i haven't read acotar in ages so apologies for any OC characteristics and forgetting everything about the autumn court. but i did read HOFAS recently so hopefully az isn't too out of character. also tw: beron

NOTE: so obviously Y/n is the daughter of the autumn court. we know they have red hair BUT i want this to be as less oc as possible so y/n has your colour hair and u can make up ur own story about why but mine is that she's 'rebellious' (as you'll see later on) and just dyes her hair. also special thank you to my moots @icey--stars and @fieldofdaisiies for proofreading my work! i love you guys<3

WORDS: 2.7K

Azriel glowered at the male sat across from him. Eris either didn't notice or pretended he didn't care as he reclined in his chair, one arm over the back and looking for all the world he was in his own home, rather than the Court Of Nightmares.

"Eris," Rhys drawled, "if you have any information to help us with this meeting with your father, we would appreciate it immensely."

The High Lord of the Autumn Court had invited the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court to his castle for a week, as a gesture of good will, and an attempt to strengthen their bonds. Of course, the court was suspicious of the intent behind such actions. Although Azriel had sent his contacts in to find any sliver of information, his spies had come back empty-handed.

Eris rolled his shoulders, seemingly at ease despite being surrounded by the Night Court's most deadly warriors. "I am not entirely sure what he wants, but I assume it has something to do with my sister, Y/n."

Y/n, the only daughter of the High Lord of Autumn. She was quite young, by Fae standards – only seventy-nine. She had not fought in the war against Hybern, and had very little training according to Azriel's knowledge.

"Why her?" Feyre asked carefully.

Azriel heard the shift in her tone. She was wondering, as they all were, what Beron intended to do with her. The Autumn Court was just as backwards as the Court Of Nightmares, and females were considered little more than property.

Eris simply shrugged, either not hearing the implications in the High Lady's tone, or simply not caring. "That is all I know, I'm afraid."

Cassian grunted, his eyes still on the heir to the Autumn throne. No one was particularly happy about the bargain they had struck with him, but he seemed to be a willing ally. For now.

"What can you tell us about her?" Feyre inquired.

Eris watched her for a moment, before responding, "She is… wild. Untamed, and unpredictable."

Despite his words, Azriel sensed a flicker of admiration in his tone. Azriel stored that piece of information away. It could be a weakness of Eris's, his sister. They may need to exploit it one day.

"Sounds like my kind of lady," Mor grinned.

The fact that Mor bothered speak in Eris's presence was a gift that the heir did not appreciate enough. Azriel glanced sidelong at her, noticing the way her unbound golden hair cascaded down her back, and the amount of skin her low-cut red dress revealed. Once, looking at her like that would have sent Azriel mad with longing. But after she had confided in him, after she had revealed she could never love him back because she preferred females… some part of him had been relieved to let her go.

Eris scoffed at Mor's comment. "Yes, well, she irritates my father to no end."

There was a silence, and Azriel wondered whether Y/n annoyed Eris as well, before Rhys sighed, "Well, if that's all, Eris, I'm sure you have places to be."

The dismissal was clear in the High Lord's tone, and Eris rose from his chair with a nod before leaving the council room. Everyone was silent as the male left, all eyeing each other. Feyre and Rhys were looking at each other, a clear indication of their telepathic conversation, and Azriel watched the two with a hint of jealousy. Of course he was happy from them – finding one's mate was one of the most fulfilling things one could experience. But he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for his own. It seemed he was the last of the court to find his mate, and he had a fear that he would never find them.

"Has anyone heard much about this Princess?" Cassian asked, looking towards Azriel.

Azriel shook his head. "She is one of the most guarded individuals in Prythian. My sources struggle to even see her."

"Very guarded indeed," Rhysand murmured.

The Court of Dreams debated between themselves the possibilities of what the High Lord of Autumn could want regarding his daughter. Azriel had a few of his own suspicions – to have her taken away, or perhaps trained in combat – but none of them seemed accurate.

After a while of debating plausible explanations for Beron's offer, the court decided to head home to the City of Starlight in order to get a good night's rest before their meeting tomorrow. The High Lord and High Lady were going, as well as Cassian and Azriel. Morrigan was not permitted in the Autumn Court, so she would stay behind with Nesta to hold down the fort while they were gone. Amren would also be travelling to the Autumn Court, and although the monster she was no longer crawled beneath her skin, she made most people wary.

As he lay in his bed, Azriel couldn't help but wonder what awaited him tomorrow. He was curious about what the Autumn High Lord wanted, especially regarding his daughter, although he was also wary. Although Autumn had helped them in the war, they couldn't be trusted. Azriel fell into an uneasy sleep, cautious of the days to come.

Azriel awoke at dawn the next day. They weren't due in the Autumn Court until the evening, so Azriel decided to go through his morning exercises. The Valkyries weren't up yet, so he went through his warm ups, taking his shirt off halfway through. The morning was uneventful, and Azriel ran over the information they had in his head. Eris had suggested that Beron may be seeking a favour of some sort, so perhaps it had something to do with that.

The day passed by quickly, and soon enough, those travelling to the Autumn Court had gathered in the living room of the River House, just as they had planned. Azriel and Cassian wore their scaled, black armour, while Rhys and Feyre wore their finery. Rhysand held his mate's arm, and Azriel grabbed onto Cassian, before winnowing to the entrance of the Autumn Court castle.

It was big, and made of stone. It was quite majestic, if Azriel was being honest – high towers and red and orange flags waving in the wind, large windows showcasing rich carpets and tapestries inside.

Rhys led the way, Feyre on his arm and Cassian and Azriel following closely, and Amren trailing behind. Guards monitored them as they passed through the halls, their armour heavier the closer they got to the throne room. Azriel marked each one as they passed, something he was sure Cassian and Rhysand were also doing.

The doors to the throne room opened, and revealed the High Lord of the Autumn Court sat atop a dais, the Lady of Autumn seated beside him. Beron's sons stood on his left, and his daughter was seated to her mother's right.

Azriel paused at the sight of her. She was beautiful, even by Fae standards. Her h/c hair shone in the Fae light liming the walls, piled neatly on her head in a braid crown. Y/n’s e/c eyes sparked with mischief and curiosity, skimming over the members of Azriel's Court, until they finally landed on him. Her gaze was mesmerising, and Azriel couldn't find it in himself to break it. A small smirk played at the corners of her mouth, as if she were aware of the effect she had on him, although Azriel's mask of icy cold had not budged even an inch. Azriel quickly tore his eyes away from the Daughter of Autumn, marking the guards posted by the doors and the dais, and counting the weapons each of Beron's sons carried.

"Beron," Rhysand purred, ever the arrogant High Lord, the mask back up despite the High Lords' meeting all those months ago. "So lovely to see you again. Thank you for inviting us to stay."

Beron rose from his dias and stalked towards the High Lord of the Night Court. Everyone tensed as he stepped closer and closer, and Azriel subtly reached for the dagger at his side. Beron's blood would spray across the marble floors the second Azriel suspected he would harm his High Lord or Lady. But Beron simply held his hand out, and Rhys gripped it tightly, his eyes holding a small amount of surprise.

"Rhysand. A pleasure to have you here," Beron replied. Azriel didn't miss the slight strain in his voice. "You must be hungry. Shall we?"

Beron inclined his head to the dining room and led the way with Rhysand and Feyre at his side. He hadn't even acknowledged the High Lady, something that made Azriel want to rip the male’s head off, but Rhys got there first.

“And what about my High Lady?” Rhys purred, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Beron’s smile faltered slightly, and he glanced at Feyre with a barely concealed look of distaste, as if he would rather rip off his own toenails than address a female with the same amount of respect that he would expect. Azriel felt a protective anger surge through him, and he watched carefully, curious as to what the High Lord’s next move would be.

“Of course,” Beron said, his voice dripping with fake courtesy. “My apologies, Lady Feyre. Of course it is wonderful to have you both visit.”

Cassian gave Azriel a look that said, And-what-about-us? Aren't-we-wonderful?

Azriel sent him a look back that said, Shut-the-fuck-up.

Beron led them all to the dining room, the Autumn colours present everywhere they looked. The chairs were all high-backed, and Azriel knew that Beron did not care if he and Cassian would be comfortable with their wings. Everyone took their seats — Beron at the head, Rhysand to his left, and Feyre beside him. Azriel sat next to his High Lady, Cassian taking his seat adjacent to the shadowsinger. The Lady of Autumn (still not a High Lady, despite the fact that Viviane was also now a High Lady) sat to Beron’s right, Eris beside her, and Y/n next to him, and across from Azriel. Azriel felt Y/n’s eyes on him, and he met her gaze. There was a curious look in her eyes, a look of anticipation mixed with mischief.

Dinner was served, an array of meats and vegetables placed on the table by servants, mostly lesser fairies. None of them looked Azriel in the eye, and he wondered if it was because they knew who and what he was, or if they’d been trained not to. Y/n, however, had no such qualms about this, and stared at the shadowsinger unabashedly.

Beron struck up a conversation with Rhys — small talk, something that Azriel internally cringed at, because it was definitely just to fill the silence. Ever the gracious guest, Rhysand responded in kind, although Azriel knew he was wondering what Beron’s ulterior motives were.

“How do your siphons work?”

The table went silent as Y/n spoke, her cunning eyes trained on Azriel. Beron looked at his daughter with a hint of irritation gleaming in his eyes, as if it was unacceptable for her to speak without permission. Azriel glanced at Rhysand, who was watching the daughter of Autumn with a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

“How do you know that is what they are called?” Rhys asked, his eyes trained on the only daughter of Autumn.

She shrugged, and answered, “I read a lot in my spare time. I remember reading about the Illyrians, and their siphons. If I remember correctly, Illyrians tend to possess only one, yet the two of you hold several.”

“There is no need to question our guests, Y/n,” Beron scolded firmly.

Y/n frowned. “I was simply curious.”

“Do not speak back to me,” Beron reprimanded, a burning fury now evident in his eyes.

Y/n slumped back into her chair slightly and bowed her head. “My apologies, Father.”

Beron didn’t even acknowledge his daughter before he turned back to Rhys, as if her mere existence didn’t deserve another moment of his time. Azriel watched the female in front of him as she stared at her plate, and felt a sense of sympathy for her. Azriel owed her nothing — he did not know the female in front of him, did not know if she even deserved his sympathy — and yet he felt the need to protect, to wipe that blank expression off of her face.

“Our siphons act as a conduit for our raw power,” Azriel offered, causing Y/n to look up. Beron paused, glancing at the shadowsinger and the Autumn daughter, and Azriel continued, “It helps to control our magic, to make it precise and nimble, rather than a messy outburst of power.”

Cassian gaped at his brother, as if he had never heard that many words come out of Azriel’s mouth in one sitting. While that was an inaccurate statement, it was true that Azriel never tended to speak in front of new people. He wasn’t sure why he had done so anyway. But Y/n bowed her head in thanks at the information, perhaps still wary of answering and speaking without her father’s permission, but Azriel had observed a small, triumphant light in the female’s eyes at his reply.

Azriel watched as that gleam faded when Beron cleared his throat, gaining the attention from everyone in the room.

“There is a reason why I have asked you here,” Beron stated.

“Surprise, surprise,” Cassian muttered, and Azriel elbowed him.

Beron glanced at Cassian for all of a second before continuing, “There has been an attempt on my daughter’s life.” Stunned silence met Beron’s words, and Azriel caught Y/n rolling her eyes. That raised his suspicion — were Beron’s words false, or did she simply believe it was not an issue? “If it appeals to you,” Beron went on, “I seek to employ one of your Night Court warriors as her personal bodyguard.”

Rhys blinked once, his only sign of surprise. Beron looked at Rhys expectantly, and Azriel could have guessed the thoughts that flew around Rhys’s head.

“Why one of my warriors?” Rhys inquired carefully.

“I hoped it might help strengthen bonds between our courts,” Beron expressed.

Azriel watched the High Lord of the Autumn Court carefully. There seemed to be no ulterior motives hidden within his demeanour — he did not shift nervously, none of his facial features even so much as twitched.

“And say I agree to this,” Rhys said casually, “how long would you hold onto one of my warriors?”

“Until the threat against my daughter’s life is eliminated,” Beron answered.

There was silence for a few moments while everyone processed what was happening. Azriel looked at Eris to see the male’s eyes on his father. They were carefully guarded, a mask in place to ensure no one was able to discern what he was thinking. Azriel turned his gaze to Y/n, and a shadow slithered up by his ear.

She does not believe it to be such a serious matter, the shadow whispered. She wishes for this dinner to be over so she may go back to her quarters and finish her novel.

Azriel blinked in surprise at the information from his shadow. Usually, his shadows would tell him what others could not see and hear — but this felt almost like too much. Yes, his shadows had a tendency to recognise when someone was lying, or what weapons they were concealing, but to give him a person’s unvoiced opinion on a matter was something new.

But indeed, with her chin propped up on her delicate hand, and twirling her dessert fork in the other, she appeared to be completely disinterested. Azriel turned his gaze back to the male beside her, to see Eris already watching his sister. His eyes were cold and calculating as he regarded her, as if he was mentally playing out how this ‘bodyguard’ situation would go. With the slight frown tugging the corners of his lips downwards, Azriel assumed Eris did not believe it would end well.

“Please, do take time to come to a decision,” Beron offered. “I do understand this is a lot to ask.”

“We shall have an answer by the end of the week,” Rhys said with a nod.

Beron nodded back, and Azriel wondered what they were getting themselves into.

TAGLIST: @honeybee54321 @marigold-morelli @lucky7rosie @itsswritten @paankhaleyaar @bubybubsters @5onedirection5 @lilah-asteria @sheblogs @thelov3lybookworm @blushingfawnsposts @thisiskaylin

(users in bold could not be tagged)

667 notes · View notes

tomriddleslove · 16 days

Text

The devil can be beautiful.

✩Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader (Part 1)

SLOWBURN SERIES

Summary: The one where you have it all planned. There’s not a single thing you haven’t sorted, you’re practically untouchable in how perfect you are. He wants to destroy you, and he always gets what he wants. Alternatively: A bet is placed on whether Mattheo can ruin you. It’s not as easy as he thinks.

A/N: Imo a bit more accurate Mattheo here? He’s fucking toxic and they’re all horrible. This is a series!

Nietzche famously rejected connotations of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. They were nought but social constructs - ways to enforce power and authority under arbitrary values. Rather, he believed ‘good’ was relative, as was ‘bad’. If an action or doing promoted life, or power, then it was ‘good’. If an action promoted weakness, and conformity, then it was ‘bad’.

You weren’t religious, but you prayed to the heavens above that Nietzche was right because fuck.

Wrong has never felt so right.

‘Pl- plea-” You gasp, a breathless moan escaping your lips as you tilt your head back. His lips attach to the tender skin of your neck, nipping and biting at the delicate skin with no regard. He was ravenous, and you tasted like ambrosia, something too sweet for him. You had never felt so alive, feeling as though you were numb yet also like every nerve end was on fire.

Ravenous lips meet pure, untouched flesh. Iconoclastic in nature, the idea of corrupting such a sweet thing was enough to send the boy into a haze.

What was the saying? A wolf in sheep's clothing? Someone who seemed so unlikely, so deceptive. You couldn’t even fall back on that as an excuse. No, Mattheo Riddle was the devil himself, presenting himself to you with red horns and a fucking pitchfork in his hand and you stupidly let him sink his fangs into you.

He was beyond tainting you, no.

Mattheo Riddle was destroying you, and you could only let him.

- • -

Proper and prim.

If you had asked anyone to describe you in two words, you were sure those were the ones they would choose.

Proper and prim.

You were near perfect. Hell, if perfection existed you would be the image of it. From your neatly ironed robe to your polished shoes. Not a single thing was out of place. You embodied routine, and order.

Hair brushed back into a simple plait. School uniform modest, your tie neatly tucked underneath your grey school jumper. You had not produced a single piece of work that scored below 100%, from apparition to flying, you simply never did bad.

“Merlin, it must be depressing,” Theodore murmurs as he watches you walk through the Slytherin common room, up to the girls' dorms.

“Who?” Blaise quips as Pansy rolls her eyes, the distaste evident in her voice as she speaks.

“Who else but her? Miss Prissy Goody-Two shoes.” Pansy drawls, redirecting the group's attention to your retreating form.

Theodore reaches into his pocket, rolling a cigarette between two fingers as he speaks.“Did you know she scored 100% on all her OWLS?”

“Of fuking course she did. All she does is bury her nose in books. No wonder she’s always alone.” Draco mocks and Lorenzo snorts.

“She’s a bit of a weirdo” Lorenzo comments and Theodore barges in, a sleazy grin on his face as he raises a brow.

“You know what they say about the quiet ones right? Always the freakiest.”

Pansy dissolves into laughter, clutching her stomach as she speaks through giggles.

“Her? She’s an absolute prude! You should have seen her when she had to work with Pucey during potions. She couldn't even look in his direction. It's pathetic if you ask me.” She taunts.

Mattheo stares off into the fireplace, legs spread lazily as he reclines back onto the sofa. He had no interest in this conversation, really. Not for the reasons one would think, though. It’s not that he secretly cared for you or something, no it was far from that. He agreed that you were rather weird, too perfect and normal to be likeable. Rather he didn't have the energy to engage in such trivial matters.

“You should go ask her out on a date or something Theo. Don’t you like the nerdy girls?” Lorenzo teases as Theodore scoffs, propping his feet up on the table in front of him.

“Absolutely not, She’ll probably perform some kind of fucking blood curse on me.” He mutters as Draco raises a brow.

“How about this? If you manage to fuck her, I’ll give you 100 Galleons.” He proposes. Lorenzo nearly spits out his water as Pansy shakes her head.

Mattheo snaps out of his daze, looking up at Draco with mild curiosity.

“100 Galleons? Are you fucking insane?” Lorenzo blurts, looking at the platinum-haired boy in disbelief.

“Oh come on. It's a guaranteed win for Draco. It’s near impossible for anyone to do that.” Pansy adds.

“I’ll do it.”

It's his first contribution to the conversation and they all turn to look at him. Theodore raises a brow, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips as Pansy leans forward.

“Oh? And what makes you think you can?” She taunts.

“Look at her. Teacher’s pet, an absolute loner. Always reading. It’s so predictable. She probably has wet dreams about some bad boy coming to sweep her off her feet. It’s almost too easy.” He says, cracking his neck with a small groan as he sits up.

He could really do with the money. 100 Galleons could buy him at least 3 weeks in the shabby little inn he frequented over the school holidays.

Draco eyed him curiously, before extending his slim pale hand out.

“Agreed. 100 galleons if you manage to fuck her within a month.” Draco repeats, and Mattheo takes the offer.

His calloused palms meet Draco’s, and he shakes on it with a resolute nod, before leaning back in his chair.

1 month? What a joke. He only needed 2 weeks.

-•-

It had been two days after that conversation and Mattheo had been observing you closely, waiting for the right opportunity to crop up. In the meantime, he dissects everything about you. Theodore was right, you were so undeniably boring and monotonous Mattheo had to pause and wonder if you were a sadist of sorts, finding pleasure in such mind-numbing perfection.

It was the same damned thing every single day. You would turn up for breakfast at 8:00, and fix yourself a plate of porridge topped with a handful of blueberries. You’d eat as you read the newspaper, and finish by 8:15. You’d rise, put your bowl away, and head to your first class. You ate lunch during the first half, the same sandwich and apple every day. After lessons, you’d go up to the library. You’d take the furthest seat on the second floor, between the muggle studies and world history books. You would revise for 3 hours, close your books, and head back up to your dorm. You would then re-emerge no longer than 20 minutes later (still dressed in your school uniform) and head down to dinner. You always ate whatever was offered, had a single mug of peppermint tea, and then headed back up to your dorm before it was even 10.

Every. Single. Day.

Mattheo could not comprehend how on earth someone could live like that. Surely you had to be some sort of psychopath, right? There was no way you could find peace and comfort in such a routine. Sure, Mattheo certainly did not feel content, but he’s as sure as the sky is blue that he’d go insane if he lived like you.

Maybe you had some sort of secret? Perhaps you escaped the castle grounds at night to smoke or do some hardcore drugs. Maybe you were some sort of recluse who believed they were some sort of divine being. Your meticulously structured routine, your unwavering discipline—it all seemed too calculated, too perfect. There had to be something lurking beneath the surface, something that explained your seemingly robotic adherence to the same monotonous pattern day after day.

The countless possibilities run through Mattheos mind as he rests his chin on his hand, zoned out as he sits at the back of the astronomy class. Professor Sinastra drones on about Lunar phases and their implications on a wizard’s abilities. Mattheo gazes off at you, who (as per usual) sits right at the front of the class. Your posture is impeccably straight, and you jot down every word Sinastra speaks as though she’s teaching the class how to become a millionaire instantly.

“... And for that reason, I would like two volunteers to come work alongside myself on a month-long project locating rogue planets in the atmosphere. Not only will this be an exciting and unique opportunity, it’ll also put you in incredibly good standing for your upcoming NEWT exams, which may I remind you are in only a few months. The study will largely commence in the evenings, however, there will be a few instances where you will be required to complete monitoring throughout the whole day. You will be excused from lessons on those days, rest assured.” She says.

Mattheo straightens up in his chair as he sees your hand shoot up almost immediately. In any other instance, your enthusiasm would be infuriating at the very least, earning you a snarky remark. But now? Well, it was clear the universe was giving him a sign.

Taking advantage of everyone else's hesitancy, Mattheo raises his hand. A few murmurs ripple through the class, and Professor Sinastra cannot hide her surprise as she nods at Mattheo.

“I must say, I am glad to see you volunteering Mr Riddle.” She says, and Mattheo nods.

He can’t make it too obvious, though. He usually wouldn't be caught dead volunteering for such a thing.

“Getting to skip classes and being permitted to roam around at night? No brainer.” He says, not so subtly to Blaise. Granted, Blaise knows Mattheo’s true intentions, but the statement seems to satisfy the rest of their class, who turn back to their work whilst muttering about how it was a rather good offer.

Mattheo looks over to you, only to find you turned around in your seat, observing him for a second. Your eyes squint, an almost imperceptible change, before you quickly avert your gaze and turn back around.

“You might actually have this one.” Blaise murmurs, leaning closer to Mattheo. He can’t help but smile, an almost arrogant smirk, as he nods.

Looking at the way you diligently return to your work, Mattheo’s indifference suddenly morphs into determination.

This was too easy.

-•-

Mattheo saunters up the stairs to the astronomy tower, the faint moonlight just barely illuminating the path in front of him. As he pushes open the door to the tower, he sees you perched by the telescope. You're still in your school uniform, looking pristine as you sit on the floor, scribbling notes down in your book. You look up at the intrusion, clearing your throat when you see Mattheo. In the dim moonlight, Mattheo can see your face turn slightly red as you swiftly avert your gaze down to the floor.

“Riddle.” You greet, quietly. He hums in acknowledgement, setting his bag down to the side as he slumps against the wall, leaning back.

“Professor um- Professor Sinastra has asked us to just observe the sky and try to make predictions for when we can sight a rogue planet. I’m mapping the movement of the planets but she said you should try to calculate angles of visibility.” You murmur, voice quiet and hesitant.

Mattheo raises an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as he looks over at you. "Angles of visibility, huh?" he muses, pushing himself off the wall and saunters over to where you're seated. "Sounds like a job for someone with a keen eye for detail."

You glance up at him, your expression guarded as you nod in agreement. "Yes, exactly. It's crucial to accurately calculate the angles to ensure our observations are precise."

He laughs, but it's not genuine. No, rather it's almost mocking.

“What makes you think I’m doing any of that, hmm? This is just an excuse for me to skip classes. How this is actually going to work, is that you’re going to do all the work, and let me slap my name on the parts I was meant to do, yeah?” he says, his tone oozing with faux sincerity.

You look up at him, a glimpse of surprise flashing in your eyes.

There we go. Wasn’t so hard to get a reaction out of you, wasn’t it? Mattheo thinks to himself, raising a brow. This would be simple enough. You’d fight back, and after a bit, he’d reluctantly agree. He’d begin to feign actual interest and before you knew it he’d be walking away with 100 galleons added to his name.

But instead of fighting, you nod and look back down at your book.

“Ok.” You murmur.

Mattheo's smirk falters for just a moment as he processes your response. He hadn't expected you to simply agree, to comply without so much as a hint of resistance. It throws him off balance, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“What? You’re not going to disagree? Or go snake on me to Professor Sinastra?” His voice comes out more incredulous than he intended, a mixture of surprise and confusion evident in his tone.

You glance up at him, your expression unreadable. "It's not like I have much of a choice, do I?" you reply calmly, your voice devoid of any trace of emotion.

Mattheo's mind races, trying to make sense of your reaction. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to push back, to challenge him, to give him something to work with. But instead, you're just... accepting it.

A flicker of annoyance flares within him, quickly followed by a surge of frustration. This wasn't what he had planned, wasn't how it was supposed to play out. He wanted a challenge, not this... this acquiescence.

He eyes you with a small frown, before turning on his heel and walking out. He’s both frustrated and confused, pondering your words as he makes his way back to the Slytherin common room. Were you really that pathetic? Did you actually have no backbone?

He walks back into the relatively empty common room, spotting the whole group in their usual spot. He goes over to them, tossing his bag to the side as he plops down onto the sofa with a sigh. Pansy eyes him with amusement as she speaks.

“So how was your first evening with our perfect student? Did you woo her under the stars?” Pansy teases as Mattheo fishes around in his pocket for a cigarette.

“Serenade her with a poem?”Theodore joins in, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Merlin, I knew she was a stick-up but to be that much of a push-over? She’s so mind-numbingly fucking boring it's actually insane.” Mattheo starts, lighting the cigarette as he takes a deep drag.

“I mean, I told her that she had to do all the work and give me the credit, and she just said ok! No fighting back, not even a look of annoyance. She just looked down and said Ok,” He exclaims, still rather baffled as he smokes his cigarette.

Lorenzo raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a sly smirk. "Well, isn't that just precious," he taunts, the hint of mockery in his tone unmistakable. "Our little goody-two-shoes just rolling over and playing dead at the first sign of trouble."

Mattheo scowls, taking another drag from his cigarette as he mulls over their words. It's frustrating, infuriating even, to think that you would just acquiesce without so much as a fight. He had been expecting resistance but instead, he's met with nothing but compliance, and it grates on his nerves in a way he can't quite explain.

"Well, whatever," Mattheo mutters, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he leans back against the sofa.

Just as he goes to speak, his eyes are drawn to the entrance of the common room. The group falls silent at your arrival. You walk through the common room, not even glancing in their direction as you clutch your school bag tightly, heading back up to your dorm.

‘Like you have your tail between your legs’ Mattheo thinks, observing your retreating form.

“Maybe it turned her on?” Theodore proposes. Draco groans, setting down his mug as he rolls his eyes.

“That's disgusting. I do not need to be thinking about that,” He complains.

“You’re the weirdo who proposed the bet anyway!” Theodore quips back, and they soon fall into a silly argument.

It’s all background noise for Mattheo, who can't seem to stop thinking about you. There was no chance you were simply so easily swayed, so complacent. No, there had to be more to it.

Mattheo was a Slytherin through and through. Cunning, resourceful, and ambitious. And if he wanted something, he would always get it. Mattheo would win this bet, and if not for the 100 galleons, it would be to unravel and destroy you, for he saw in your innocence a challenge — a spotless canvas begging for the brushstrokes of corruption, a pure soul ripe for the taint of himself. Even the most virtuous are not spared, and in his eyes, your fall would be his ultimate triumph.

@schaebickel @multifandom-worlds @mildlyuninformative @lillywildly @gillyweeds @anti-hero03

#slytherin #slytherin boys #tom riddle #harry potter #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x y/n

337 notes · View notes

luvring · 4 months

Note

Can you do some Vere general headcannons I’ve been really like your writings of the characters:3

VERE HCS 2

gn!reader | ...hey. im doing my months old reqs good evening handsome beautiful people. im so sorry. i need them to drop more lore btw omg please...pleak....

Of course he'd like homemade gifts... i think something that could be fun is taking what would be expensive gifts and doing a spin on them ? origami tulips instead of a big bouquet, jewelry you've made yourself...also those handmade coupons where it's like... "free massage from me" etc etc... i think that'd be silly but he'd take advantage of it. "i don't need a coupon for you to do this, though, do i?" okay shut up vere /affectionate

^ he enjoys sketching himself? okay! this is for the artists but you sketching him, crocheting a fox, making something out of clay or something like that... i think it could be very cute and special :-)

obsessed with his tail wagging when he's happy. he unfortunately is not as happy but it'd be so fantastic saying the shittiest dad joke ever and him pretending his tail didn't twitch. "your tail twitched." "are you sure?" "yes." "you must have come down with something, might even be fatal."

evidently doesn't enjoy being compared to a dog. there's a decent chance someone will try to goad him on, making fun of his status with the senobium at some point and i hope mc gets a chance to start shit if i'm being honest. and vere doesn't seem like the type to Stop them so. LOL.

....lipstick....lip gloss... dark red. smudged? think about it

steals your snacks. if you want to snack around him be prepared to share because he's going to take some without asking, even if you did get him his own. just eating his own isn't as entertaining is it?

vere and scents...you wearing a signature perfume/cologne... him noticing when you've switched it out... if he doesn't like it as much he says you should ask him next time. i'm not sure if his nose is too sensitive to enjoy shopping himself but who's to say!

two truths one lie and he fucks with you by saying 3 truths or 3 lies

sneaks a peak at what you've set as his icon in your phone. Will confront you if it's ugly, or his contact name is. not up to his expectations

glamper. why are you even taking him camping. glamper

always opts for the comfortable reclining seats with extra space at the movies come onnn... doesn't seem like a 3D fan but that might be me projecting. he says the glasses are ugly

long hair means new hairstyles.! sorry! braid in his hair vere High Pony vere space buns etc etc!

hides the last piece of the puzzle you're doing for like 10 minutes and then is like isn't that it right there? and you're like. Vere. but unfortunately for you, you don't have proof he did anything do you.

#touchstarved #touchstarved game #vere x reader #touchstarved vere #was not lying about my goal being to knock these out of the park (my drafts) before 2024.#I WILL DO IT!! forgive what is about to occur this december...

67 notes · View notes

rotting-ink · 4 months

Text

Romance Options First Appearance

Written for if the player is bisexual. If the player chooses only female love interests, then all the RO's are all women. Same as for if the player chooses only male love interests.

Luther looked over the hall filled with members of his pack milling around the hall, eyes narrowed on a piece of paper slipped to him earlier that morning. His people chattered amongst themselves, sitting along the low tables, sharing food and drink. Fireplaces were lit. Cubs were playing with each other in little groups or nestled into their mothers’ sides. Harmony. He made this.

He rubs his calloused thumb against the ink, long since dried. He leaned back in his chair, catching the attention of his sister, Emilia. She seemed to bristle at his very movement and Luther folded the piece of paper with a low sigh.

“Em-”

“What?” She snapped, tugging at a lock of her dark hair.

Luther dragged his tongue over his teeth, eyes narrowing. Even the hall quieted as her outburst. She was getting too unruly for her position. Any day now she was going to make a mistake that he wouldn’t be able to save her from.

“Your little friend.” Luther said after a moment. “Is dead.”

Emilia froze up, turning around to stare at him with her lips slightly parted. Luther settled back into a comfortable position in his chair, turning away from her to let the piece of paper flutter from his palm, into the fireplace by his legs, being eaten up within seconds by the flames.

“... Luther.” Emilia whispered. “What did you do?”

Sienna reclined on her sofa as her guests gushed about her wonderful party, the entertainment, the food, all so wonderful! She just watched them, running her perfectly manicured thumb over the rim of her wine glass, swirling the dark red liquid around.

God, she was fucking bored.

She’s done it all before. Again and again. The parties, the games, the drinking, the sex, the spending. She was starting to feel old. And there was nothing Sienna Della Rovere hated more than feeling fucking old.

She watched her guests dance and gossip and coo. She watched them eat her food and enjoy her singers and whisper about how one of these days their host simply must marry one of the eligible bachelors constantly hanging around her.

They too, were fucking boring. Every day was so… Fucking… Oh?

One of her little assistants was stumbling over themselves to get to where she was languidly lounging, their little face pale with shock.

“Baroness Della Rovere! Baroness!” The little thing tottered to a stop in front of her, panting.

“Yes?” Sienna replied mildly, a perfect eyebrow raised.

“I… The… The Clerk… He’s been found dead.”

Sienna’s mouth parted in a perfect shocked expression but the edge of her lip twitched.

Finally, some fun.

Victor got home late. The best time to get home. Silence. Nothing but the fireplace crackling with a flame that was lit specially for him. It was hard to remember a time when he wasn’t living such a life. Not that he couldn’t remember, it was that it was a time that felt like a glowing ember to try and touch without hurting yourself.

So he didn’t. So he lived the good life, with a crystal glass of brandy held in his palm, a book open on his knee. So, he enjoyed his new life.

Then he heard them. His spouse. A few thumps upstairs and muffled movement. Victor stilled and glanced towards the ceiling, as if it would let him see through the wood, watching as they trotted around and bumped into things as they tried to pull on their evening robe. His lips thinned but as he heard their footsteps make their way down the grand staircase, he schooled his expression into something warmer. By the time the door to the study swung over, he looked downright loving.

“Victor.”

“My dear.” He reached out for his beloved spouse to rest their leathery hand in his. “You needn’t come down to greet me. You should be resting.”

Their cold eyes bored into him before they slowly parted their lips.

“Victor… That boy is dead.”

He blinked at them a few times.

“Luke. Luke is dead.”

His stomach tightened, the whiskey curdling in his gut. The glass slipped from his fingers and smashed on the floor.

Zaniyah was cold. So fucking cold. She was always cold these days, but it didn’t mean that she ever got used to it. That she’ll ever want to get used to it.

Her black skirt drags on the ground as she walks, leaves and dirt staining the hem. Hard to remember a time that she’d ever cared about what the hem of her frock looked like. There was once upon a time that she’d gain stares and whispers about the state she was in. Now she glides through crowds and groups and no one takes notice of her. No one yells at her for bumping them, no one grumbles when she steps on their foot, no one yelps when her umbrella smacks their face.

Bliss. If only she wasn’t so cold.

She glides past the elderly lady at the desk, squinting through her clouded spectacles. She descends the stairs, pausing a bit as the doctor ascends the stairs, rubbing his eyes wearily. Zaniyah admires his profile, tilting her head. When he’s out of sight, she continues her way, perfectly buckled, muddied shoes making neither a sound or a stain on the tiled floor.

Then she arrives. And there he is.

The body lying on the white slab, a slender, greying pinkie poking out from under the tarp.

“Hello, Mister Buckley.” She murmurs and slips her notebook free from her jacket.

#story snippets #l rawlins #s della rovere #v de winters #z chambers #the rot of witchwood #just love interest things

27 notes · View notes

sataniquepanique · 2 years

Text

Desert Song

Summary: Inspired by My Chemical Romance's Desert Song. After the events of '86, you try to move on with your life. Four years later, you're about to finish college and living with your boyfriend Steve. Eddie shows up one night, not alive but not dead either.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. Smut, unprotected PIV sex, angst, drinking, mentions of suicide/self-harm, mentions of depression/trauma

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: This was supposed to be a short 1k word count bullshit story, but I spiraled. It will now be two parts <3

Part One: I Can See You Awake Anytime in My Head

“Y/N!”

You hear your boyfriend calling you from the bedroom, followed by a loud crash and multiple dull thumps. Sighing as you lift your face from the textbook it’s buried in, you stare blankly down the hallway leading to the back of your apartment. “Yes, babe?” Your answer is overly sweet, trying to hide your slight irritation.

“Have you seen my sneakers? The white Nike’s with the red uh…swoopy thing?” He jogs out of the bedroom, warm brown eyes slightly frantic as he scans the floor for his missing shoes.

You cock an eyebrow as he enters the kitchen where you’re stationed on a wooden stool. Papers and books litter the small counter in front of you, along with a now cold mug of coffee that you had long forgotten about.

“Swoopy thing?” You slowly reiterate back to him.

“I don’t know what it’s called!” He throws his hands up in exasperation, running one through his perfectly askew hair and letting the other settle onto his hip.

“Did you check the shelf in the hall closet?” You suggest cooly, knowing exactly where you had placed them after finding both shoes tossed haphazardly on the kitchen floor yesterday.

Hastily walking to the closet, he throws the door open and crouches down to rifle through the contents .

“A-HA!” He holds up the sneakers in triumph.

You smirk and roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the open textbook on the counter. “Maybe now you’ll learn that your shoes go in there, and not on the floor, or on the recliner, or—.”

“—yeah, yeah. I get it.” He nods his head sarcastically as he ties his shoes, a few messy pieces of hair falling in front of his eyes.

Straightening up and adjusting his dark green Family Video vest, he strides into the kitchen and wraps his arms around you from the back. Nestling his face into the side of your neck, he starts trailing soft kisses up to your ear.

His hair tickles your cheek, making you giggle as you playfully push him away. “Steve! You’re going to be late for work, and I need to study for this exam.”

He groans into one final kiss below your jaw. “I’ll be home after 11 tonight, I promised Keith the night off.”

“Okay, I’ll leave dinner in the fridge in case you’re hungry. Love you.”

Halfway out the door he pauses and smiles back at you. “I love you too, babe.”

With Steve gone for the night the apartment falls into complete silence.

You hate it. You hate the stillness.

What used to be calming and peaceful, now brings on immense anxiety and panic. Your thoughts catch up to you, memories resurface after being pushed down and buried for so many years. Desperate for any sort of auditory distraction, you unlatch the kitchen window, pushing it open to let the sounds of springtime in Hawkins flood the small apartment. The kids shouting in the street, birds chirping in the trees, the soft drone of an airplane overhead. The town has come a long way since the devastating events of 1986. Four years ago Hawkins was nearly decimated by Vecna, with a majority of the oblivious residents choosing to uproot and move away after the “earthquake” ripped the town in half. The gates to the Upside Down were finally closed for good in ’88 all thanks to El, but not without sacrifices from you and the rest of your friends. All of you were different after that, with varying degrees of trauma and grief that still linger to this day. Each of you cope in unique ways, some moving far away to try and forget, others like yourself just keep busy and steel yourself away behind a set of emotional armor. As your thoughts threaten to drift towards him, you quickly shake your head and go back to studying. It’s been years since you talked about him, years since you let yourself even think about him, and you weren’t about to start now.

Senior year of college is going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it. The death of whatever part of you was even left after ’86, anyway. Only one more month until graduation, but those 30 days are stacked with exams and deadlines to the point where you feel like your brain might actually explode. After high school, you stayed local for college, not wanting to be too far from your support system after the tragedy. The rest of the group was scattered, some living close by and others on opposite coasts. Nancy was in Boston about to graduate from Emerson, still dating Jonathan (albeit long distance) with him staying in California with his mom and Will. Robin was at school in Muncie, a few towns over from Hawkins, enabling you to see her often much to Steve’s annoyance. As much as you still couldn’t wrap your head around it, the younger kids had all graduated high school last year, moving out of Hawkins. Mike and El were both enrolled at Indiana State a few hours away, while Lucas had followed Max back to California and is now on the USC men’s basketball team while she studies social work. Dustin was in his freshman year at Virginia Tech for engineering, calling every week to check in with you and Steve. Erica Sinclair was the lone kid left at Hawkins High, and the youngest DM in Hellfire Club history, taking over after Jeff and Gareth had graduated. You, Steve, and Robin take turns picking her up from the club’s meetings every Friday. Steve had refused to leave Hawkins, not after everything that happened. He was adamant on rebuilding a sense of normalcy, which is why he jumped at the chance to buy Family Video after the owner decided to move with the rest of the herd of Hawkins refugees. Keith was a little pissed that Steve “The Hair” Harrington was now his superior, but he got over it pretty quickly when he saw how lenient of a boss Steve is.

Running your hands over your face, you decide to start dinner to take a break from studying, afraid that your eyes would start bleeding if you read another sentence about the Bronze Age of Ancient Greece. The sun had started to set, casting a warm golden glow over the apartment. Scooping up some vegetables from the fridge, you dump them onto the counter and start prepping. Reaching over the sink, you turn on the small radio on the windowsill and sing along to Nirvana while chopping up a green pepper.

—I’m standing in your line

I do hope you have the time

I do pick a number too

I do keep a date with you—

A loud creak from the back of the apartment ceases your singing. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you grip the handle of the knife tighter. Your brain tells you that it’s nothing, but your body is screaming otherwise. Every cell is drawing you towards it, begging for investigation. Your heartbeat quickens as you creep down the hallway to the bedroom, carefully padding down the hardwood floor. Lingering in the doorway, your eyes fall to the mess that Steve had left when he was looking for his shoes earlier. “It was just something falling out of the closet” you convince yourself as you exhale. A sudden breeze sails through the room, and you see that the bedroom window is wide open. You can’t remember if you opened it earlier. Maybe Steve? Peering out into the now dark woods behind the apartment, you swear you can see a figure standing just beyond the tree line. You blink, convinced your eyes are playing tricks, and upon a second glance it’s gone.

———

The anniversary of the Battle of ’86 is always bittersweet. The entire gang gets together each year, and it’s always comforting to be together again. There’s a piece missing though. Not just a piece of the group, but also of your heart, a piece that was left in the Upside Down four years ago. No one talks about him, at least not to you anyway, only the casual mention of his name on the anniversary. This year it was your turn to host, Steve opting to grill on your back porch while the rest of the group could hang out and play yard games behind your ground floor apartment. While Steve busies himself in the kitchen, you clean off the lawn chairs and set up the small copper fire pit. You find yourself glancing into the woods occasionally, still not fully convinced your eyes had deceived you the other night.

“Robin’s here!” Steve calls out the kitchen window, breaking your thoughts away from the trees. She throws the sliding door open and strides out onto the lawn. “Hi love bug!” She smiles widely as you run to hug her. “I’ve brought the children!” She motions behind her as Dustin, Max, Lucas, and Erica file through the door.

“I’m 19, I’m in college for Christ’s sake.” Dustin grimaces.

“Hi Dustybuns!” you add fuel to his hate-fire as you pull him into a hug.

After the Upside Down, Dustin had pulled away from the group, spending his time rotting away in his room building random gadgets to keep his mind busy. Months went by, with each friend trying to break him out of his reclusive state to no avail. Steve finally had enough, he couldn’t stand seeing Dustin wither away, so he begged you to talk to him knowing that the two of you had shared trauma. Dustin didn’t look at you when you showed up to his house, just opened the door and led you into his room silently when you had asked to speak in private. To this day, you hadn’t told Steve or the rest of them what was said in that room. How you both broke down, holding Dustin in your arms on the floor as he cried. How he repeatedly chanted “why did he leave me?” through heaving sobs. It shattered your already broken heart even more, knowing how much he loved him. How he had filled part of the paternal hole that Dustin’s dad had created after abandoning him years prior. You promised Dustin that you would always look out for him, that it’s what he would have wanted, that Dustin was his brother not by blood but by choice. Dustin reluctantly agreed to show up more after that, coming around for dinner with you and Steve every other week or going to the movies with Mike and Lucas. Eventually he seemed to be back to normal, his sarcasm and jabs at Steve more frequent, and when he received his acceptance letter to Virginia Tech you were the first person he called. “He’d be so proud of you.” Is all you said in response, and it’s all Dustin wanted to hear.

“Henderson! A little help?” Steve appears in the doorway, arms full of food as Dustin moves to grab some plates from his hands. Nancy and Jonathan show up a few minutes later with Mike and El in tow. Nancy shoves a bottle of wine into your hands, going on and on about the great wineries she’s visited in California while on spring break with Jonathan.

“How are you?” Max asks moving to your side away from the rest of the group, who were now mingling and catching up. You have all been through hell and back, but nothing like what she had experienced. Her physical injuries had healed, leaving jagged white scars from the surgeries to reposition her broken joints, but her mental wounds lingered, manifesting in frequent panic attacks and angry outbursts. Moving to California had helped, she picked up surfing and it seemed to calm her.

“I’m uh, surviving.” You give a half smile, knowing both of you would never be upfront about your struggles. “Today’s hard for all of us.”

She nods in agreement, and the two of you watch as Steve and Dustin bicker over how long to grill a burger for.

As the sun sets, Steve builds a fire in the small copper basin on the lawn as the rest of you drag chairs to circle around. The warm glow feels good against your face, and you stare into the flames as Dustin stands across the circle from you.

Raising his red solo cup he clears his throat nervously. “I just want to say…that I’m really glad we were all able to get together again, even if it’s for a memorial. You guys are my best friends, I’m not sure what I’d do without you.” He looks around at everyone’s faces glowing from the fire, leaving yours for last.

Lifting his cup a little higher, he proposes a toast, his eyes lingering on you. “To Hawkins rebuilding…and to Eddie.”

His name makes you wince.

You can feel everyone’s eyes dart between Dustin and you. On auto-pilot, you raise the plastic cup in your hands robotically.

“To Eddie.” They all repeat.

You can’t bring yourself to utter his name in return.

Not wanting to end the night on a sad note, Robin takes it upon herself to bring out Steve’s boombox and pull him to his feet for a dance. The other kids laugh along at their terrible coordination, and you let yourself smile a little. As it gets later into the night, the fun starts to wind down and some yawns begin to surface.

Robin stands by the back door with Erica, jingling her keys as she watches everyone say their goodbyes. Lucas leads Max out, arm around her shoulders protectively as she waves at you. Nancy hugs you, demanding on making plans for you to visit her in Boston, as she wrangles Jonathan, Mike and El out the door. Steve gives Dustin a huge bear hug, followed by their secret handshake that still manages to put a smile on everyone’s face.

You take your seat again, still gazing into the fire that was now starting to die out. Steve walks over and leans down, kissing your cheek.

“I’m gonna go to bed, ‘kay?” He smooths your hair down and cups the side of your face.

You nod into his touch, looking up at him with a forced smile. “Okay, I’m going to stay out here a little while and relax.”

You see the hesitation in his eyes, there’s a sadness behind it that he doesn’t ever vocalize. He knows how hard the past four years has been for you, and he wasn’t one to pry. You had both been friends all through high school, even before everything happened with Will and the Upside Down. After everything you’ve been through, he knew you better than anyone. Anyone alive that is. The two of you grew closer after you graduated in ’86, with him being a shoulder to cry on as you mourned the death of your boyfriend Eddie. Steve was there to pick up the pieces, eventually moving in with you to help make rent. Two years ago things turned romantic, though you can’t remember how. Your lives were so entwined that it just seemed right. You love him, not like you had loved Eddie, and in the back of his mind Steve knew that. He was your rock, and you’d always be eternally grateful to him for bringing you back from the brink.

With everyone gone, a wave of exhaustion crashes over you. Closing your eyes and leaning your head back against the chair, you completely overlook the fact that Steve had shut off the radio on his way inside. A warm breeze breaks through the trees, engulfing you in the soothing scent of cedar and the lingering smoke from the fire. Eddie’s face creeps into your mind as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to forget. You see his big brown eyes, how they sparkled when he was being mischievous. His unruly hair, and how it felt between your fingers as you made love in the back of his van on warm nights like this. You feel the tears start to well, and don’t even try to stop them. Pulling your knees into your chest, you wrap your arms around your legs and bury your face, trying to muffle the sobs that were bubbling to the surface.

“Fuck you.” You whisper.

“Fuck you for leaving. Fuck you for being a hero. Fuck. You.” You cry into the night.

“—Is that a threat, or a promise, princess?” Someone answers.

You nearly fall out of your chair, head whipping towards the direction of the voice.

Eddie Munson is leaning against a tree at the edge of the woods, a devilish grin plastered onto his pale face.

“Ed-Eddie…?” You whisper incredulously, inching forward off the lawn chair.

“In the flesh.” He holds his arms out and gives a slight bow.

“That’s not possible. I must have drank more than I thought tonight. You’re not really here, I’m imagining it.” You laugh darkly, shaking your head as you turn away to go inside. You’re really off the deep end now, your mind tells you, hallucinating your dead boyfriend? Get a fucking grip.

He reaches out and grabs your wrist, fingers ice cold against your skin. You try and recoil, but he pulls you closer to him, meeting his eyes. They’re not the same eyes you remember. Irises that were once deep brown and full of life, are now completely black and had years of secrets behind them. You study him, taking in every detail of what you’re still trying to convince yourself is a figment of your grief-stricken imagination. He’s leaner than you remember, but also stronger, the muscle definition showing through his old leather jacket and ripped black jeans. Your free hand travels up his arm, he almost feels like he’s made of stone.

“How—how is this possible…I watched you die.” The phrase barely makes it out of your mouth.

“Yeah, that was real. That happened.” He shifted uncomfortably. “But I uh, I was given a second chance of sorts.”

“…what does that mean exactly?” You step back, looking back towards his face.

Eddie nervously puts his hands in his back pockets and smiles at you, fangs glinting against the moonlight.

“Jesus Christ.” You hiss, taking another step back from him in shock.

He looks at you and you can see that he’s hurt by your retreat.

“Are you…are you going to kill me?” You ask calmly, a small part of you hoping that’s the case.

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he quickly shakes his head, familiar wild hair flying around his shoulders. “No! No, absolutely not.”

“Then why are you here, how are you here? It’s been four years Ed…” You swallow the lump in your throat.

He sighs, kicking at the ground. “After I died, after you left the Upside Down, Vecna found me. He’s the one that changed me into—into this.” He motions a hand down his body. “He wanted me to be his right hand man, and for a while I was, helping him build his army. I bided my time, tried to figure out a way to escape, to find a way back to you. When I noticed the gates starting to close two years ago, I knew it was time, otherwise I’d never get the chance to find you again. So I slipped through one of the gates, right before it shut, before he could follow me. I set up camp in the woods near Skull Rock, but I was pretty drained after leaving the Upside Down, so I took some time to regain my strength and then sought you out.”

He sat down in one of the lawn chairs and stared into the embers of the bonfire. With his face illuminated, you can see how exhausted he looks.

“I’ve watched you for almost two years, too afraid to reveal what I’ve become. I’ve seen your good days, I’ve seen your bad ones. I’ve watched as you hid away from everyone, and became a shell of your former self.”

It stung to hear him say it out loud, but you knew it was true. You died the day you lost Eddie, and no amount of time could heal that. You’ve spent years trying to hide your apathy from the world, but Eddie was always able to see right through you.

“I’m sorry…” your head hangs as heavy tears begin to roll down your cheeks. In a split second, Eddie is upright and holding you. One arm around your waist, the other pulling your head into his chest. You grip at the back of his jacket, sobbing into his shirt.

“God, I’ve missed you.” He whispers into your hair, kissing the top of your head. You look up at him, face wet with years of pent up grief. He leans down and you meet him halfway, kissing him softly. The two of you stay in the embrace for a while, unwilling to let the other one go. You stifle a yawn, and Eddie cups your chin to look up at him.

“Go inside and get some sleep. I’ll come back tomorrow.” His voice is low and soothing as he runs a hand through your hair. You close your eyes and nod your head, bringing your lips to meet his again.

———

You didn’t sleep at all, instead staring at the back of Steve’s head as he snored softly, trying to bring yourself back down to earth. How is this possible?

When the sky starts to turn a dusty pink, you give up on sleep and sneak out to the kitchen to start making breakfast. Ever so often you glance out the window towards the woods, trying to catch a glimpse of Eddie. All you can see is trees. Maybe you did make it all up? Maybe you had finally snapped? The more you stared out into the forest, the more you started to believe last night never happened.

Steve wakes up a short time later, shuffling into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around you as you wash the dishes, absentmindedly staring out the small kitchen window.

“Hey…” He whispers as he kisses the side of your neck slowly. You turn around in his arms and run your hands over his naked chest, fingers tracing over his old demobat scars.

I wonder what Eddie’s scars look like.

You push the thought out of your mind quickly. “Good Morning,” You finally respond, kissing him softly.

“I’m gonna take a shower before work, wanna come with?” He bites his lip, raising his eyebrows hopefully. You giggle a yes and let him pull you down the hall.

Steve leaves for work a little before 9am, leaving you alone on the couch trying to study for your upcoming final exams. You can’t concentrate, you must have read the same sentence 30 times before you hear a soft knock at the back door. Throwing your textbook onto the couch and leaping up, you rip the door open and see Eddie smiling at you. It was real. It was all real.

You step back but he doesn’t follow inside. Giving him a quizzical look, he has the utmost seriousness written on his pale face. “You have to invite vampires inside, otherwise we can’t cross the threshold.”

Hearing him say the word outright gives you pause. It gives you goosebumps, but not in a bad way, something that surprises you.

“OH! I’m sorry. I didn’t know…uh please come in, Eddie.” You motion towards the living room dramatically. He gives you a shit-eating grin.

“I’m totally fucking with you, that’s not true.” He pushes through the door and takes a look around your apartment.

“Are there like…rules or things I should know about though? Like the whole garlic thing?” You feel like a complete idiot right now.

Eddie shakes his head, meandering around your living room looking around aimlessly. “Not really. A stake in the heart will kill me, but that’s about it.” He waves a hand dismissively.

You try to remember all the things you’ve read about vampires throughout the years.

“What about sunlight?”

“Nah. It doesn’t hurt me, it’s just mildly uncomfortable. Like a sunburn almost.” He shrugs.

You nod thoughtfully, unsure of what to say next.

“There’s perks though. I got really strong after I turned, and I also have supersonic hearing.” He picks up a picture frame on a side table, containing a photo of you and Steve from last Halloween. “In fact…I heard you fucking Harrington in the shower earlier.”

His admission, and also his tone, make your blood pressure rise. Before you have the chance to respond he picks up your discarded textbook and reads the cover. “Art History, hmm?”

“Yeah, I’m about to graduate next month with a BFA. Well, hopefully, if I pass my next few exams.”

He sets the book down on the coffee table and leans against the arm of the couch. “I’ve seen you staying up late studying, you always have this light on until early morning.” He points at the side table lamp in the corner of the living room.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to crawl up into a ball and fucking die. He had been out there all along, and you had no idea. Life continued, you continued, while he waited in the shadows.

“What do you wanna do with it, with your degree?” He brings you back to reality.

“Uh, teach, actually. I would love to teach art to elementary school kids.”

“You were always good with them…” he wanders into the kitchen and leans back again the fridge closer to where you stand.

“…did you ever wonder what our kids would’ve been like?” He asks suddenly, catching you off guard.

“Not since…everything—” You shake your head. The two of you had talked about the future before, about breaking out of Hawkins after graduation and never looking back. Eloping in a little white chapel in Vegas or something, and living out west making music and art together.

“—I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it often back in the day though.” A small laugh escapes your mouth as you think about it. “I think they’d be super cute. Dark curls like yours, freckles, a deep love for music and art from the time they’re babies—“

“—oh absolutely. No kid of mine would grow up without knowing the godfathers of metal at least.” He interrupts, pushing himself off the fridge.

“They’d be a handful.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “They’d take after you, and they would drive me insane.”

Eddie breaks out into the same mega-watt smile you used to love, save the two pointy fang additions. “Yeah, they would.” He chuckles, a hint of sadness breaking through.

“But I’d love them with every fiber of my being. Just like I did their dad.” Your smile falters, and the pit in your stomach returns. Eddie see’s your face fall, and he slowly walks over and pulls you into him. You inhale him as silent tears roll down your cheeks.

Standing in the kitchen, clinging to each other, time slows. You’re not sure how long you stayed like that, taking in each other’s presence like the night before.

You brush your sleeve against your eyes and look up at him. “Eddie, what are we going to do?”

He rubs his thumb against your cheek, staring into your eyes. “I don’t know. All I know is that I have you and I’m never letting you go again.”

Kissing you softly, he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in. Your arms snake around his neck and the kiss deepens, becoming hungrier and more erratic. Feeling the heat starting to pool between your thighs, you peel Eddie’s jacket off his shoulders as he picks you up by your ass. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you can feel how hard he is through his jeans as he carries you back to your room. He throws you backwards onto the unmade bed and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his lean torso covered in scars.

“Oh…Eddie…” you reach up and run your fingers across the raised marks littering his sides, your eyes start to water. He puts both hands on each side of your face, forcing you to look at him.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m okay. Everything’s okay now.”

You nod as he closes the space between you, pushing you backwards onto the bed as you explore each other’s mouths. Running your tongue along his fangs turns you on in a new, weird way, not to mention his taste. He tastes metallic almost, and in the back of your mind you know exactly why. His calloused hands trace up the side of your body, pushing your t-shirt up and over your head, tossing it in a heap onto your floor. He begins to grind his hips into you, inhaling the soft moans coming from your mouth. The thin flannel shorts you’re wearing create barely any barrier between your throbbing core and his hard cock that is threatening to tear through his jeans.

“Eddie…I need you. Please, it’s been so long…” you say in-between sloppy kisses.

“I got you, baby. I’ll take of you, don’t worry.” He trails his way down your body, littering your chest with soft bites and a few kisses until he gets to your shorts. He promptly rips them off, discovering you completely had forgone underwear. The blood pumping in your ears was so loud, but you could’ve sworn you heard him growl when he saw your naked body. Kicking his jeans off, he crawls back up to meet your eyes as he lines up with your entrance. A large ringed hand smooths down the side of your face.

“I’ve missed you so much.” His voice is filled with longing as he nuzzled his nose against yours.

You kiss him softly. “Show me, Eddie.”

His initial thrust into you makes you see stars. It feels like the earth had begun to spin again after being off kilter for so many years. Eddie was the missing piece, the two of you fitting perfectly together, and he was finally back where he belongs. His pace is slow but deep, and he begins to nip at your neck, his fangs pricking at your skin.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself…” Eddie growls between kisses against your jugular.

“I’m not afraid of you, Eddie.” Your voice is strong and reassuring as he straightens up, the new angle causing him to push deeper into you. He gingerly kisses the inside of your wrist, dragging his fangs across the delicate skin as his dark eyes watch you.

“Maybe you should be.” He winks, showing off his fangs with a wry smile. A soft moan escapes your lips, causing Eddie to quicken his pace, slamming your body into the headboard. The powerful thrusts shake the bed, causing a picture frame on the nightstand to topple over loudly. Eddie looks over at the noise and his eyes meet a photo of you and Steve kissing.

His hips falter, slowing down as he shakes his head.

“Everything okay?” You reach a hand up to caress his cheek. His face is unreadable, but when he meets your eyes there’s an anger there, something you haven’t seen before. He pulls out and leans back on his knees.

“Eddie? What’s wrong, are you okay?” You sit up, reaching out to him as he grabs your wrist to stop you.

“I can’t do this with you, not in the bed you fuck him in.” His voice is low, almost a whisper as his eyes narrow. “…Do you know how hard it’s been?” His grip on your wrist tightens.

“Yes Eddie, I do. It’s been awful, I’ve cried myself to sleep more nights than—“

“—I sat and watched as you moved on, with school, with life, with him.” The last word was said with so much venom that it makes you choke.

“Steve?” You’re suddenly filled with a smoldering rage by his tone. You yank your wrist out of his painful grip.

“Yes, fucking Steve. I had to sit and watch you fall in love with that prick!”

“Eddie you died!” You sit up straighter, trying to control the level of your voice. “I didn’t set out to fall in love with anyone else, it just happened, two years after your death, mind you! Steve was there for me, he helped me every single step of the way through all of my breakdowns and days that I just wanted to fucking die—“

“— he left me down there.” He deadpans.

“We all did!” You roar as he avoids your eyes. “You died in my arms, Eddie. I watched the life drain from your eyes as I begged you to stay with me. I tried to bring your body back, but it would’ve slowed us down and killed us all. Steve carried me out of there and saved my life.”

Eddie was silent for a few beats as you steadied your emotions.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles.

You shake your head sadly. “A lot happened that you didn’t see. We’re all fucked up because of it. Dustin was a ghost for a while. Him, Mike and Lucas don’t even play D&D anymore because it’s too painful.”

He hangs his head, staring at the rings on his hand.

“…I tried to kill myself Eddie.” You whisper as you grip the sides of your legs for stability.

His face snaps up to look at you, and you watch as the tears start to cloud his dark eyes.

“Steve found me. It was in this apartment. We were supposed to meet up with Robin that day for lunch, and when I didn’t answer the door he kicked it in and found me. He moved in shortly after that, telling me he wanted to help me afford rent but I know it’s because he wanted to keep an eye on me.”

Tears were falling down both of your faces as he grabs your hand, tracing soothing circles with his thumb. Your heart melts, memories flooding back of the sweet, lovable boy he once was.

Inching closer, he looks up at you as you put your hand out to stroke the side of his face. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, turning his head to kiss your palm.

You let out a sob as he pulls you onto his lap. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he buries his face in your neck. He kisses your temple and pulls your face back to look at you, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I thought about you every second of every day. You were my reason for living—or surviving I guess, seeing as how I don’t have a pulse.” He lets out a shaky laugh.

You hiccup and smile at him. “I never stopped thinking about you Eddie, as much as I wanted to forget about the trauma of it all. I’ve missed you more than you can even imagine.”

He closes the gap between you with a kiss, slow at first and then building and becoming deeper again. You grip his hair as his hands move down to your lower back, pressing you into him more. Straddling his waist you reach down and put him back inside of your warmth, beginning to ride him slowly.

His mouth attaches to your left nipple, sucking it while his hand massages your other breast. The sensation of him makes you quicken your pace. You lean back slightly to let him hit the spot inside that drives you absolutely insane.

Eddie stares at you in awe as you throw your head back. “Eddie, baby…”

He grips your waist as he starts to meet your thrusts. “Cum for me sweetheart, show me how much you missed me.”

He continues to buck up into you as you ride out your high, and you can tell he’s close by how hard he’s gripping and kneading your ass. You grab both sides of his face and pull him up to kiss you as you felt him explode inside of you, deep groans rumbling through his chest.

You didn’t remove yourself from his lap, staying exactly where you were with him inside of you, kissing each other lazily as you recovered.

Your legs began to fall asleep, and you slowly remove him and scoot back on the bed, motioning for him to join you. The previous night’s lack of sleep was catching up to you, and your body felt like it was moving at a glacial pace. Eddie laid down next to you, enveloping you in his arms as you closed your eyes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Let me know what you think! Also, check out my other work! <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson kas #eddie munson smut #vampire eddie #vampire eddie munson #vampire eddie smut #vampire eddie x reader #vamp!eddie #vamp!eddie munson #kas!eddie #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #Steve Harrington smut

302 notes · View notes

tiabritana · 9 months

Text

Hob turns his face towards the sun as he reclines back in his chair as he sits at one of the tables outside the New Inn. He ignores the papers he’s suppose to be marking and instead brings a hand up to his face and traces his lips. He recalls with a smile the scene from this morning. One of the rare times all his spouses were present together and co-existing peacefully for the most part.

It started with him being in a rush to get ready for work, having been running late thanks to a certain red-haired giant and dream lord not wanting him to leave the bed.

He had stumbled into the kitchen, attempting to slip an arm through the cardigan he was regretting choosing to wear; when Death handed him a piece of toast with pomegranate jam. She helped get the article of clothing situated as the immortal took a big bite of his breakfast. She moved back to the kitchen and picked back up her mug as Destiny stepped forward and handed Hob a travel mug and his leather satchel.

Hob hastily tried to swallow down his toast and almost choked had it not been for Despair appearing behind him and thumping his back. The piece flying from his throat and being caught by one of her rats.

Delirium bursting into giggles as her eyes followed where the rats had run off to the other side of the room and ended up tipping over into Desire’s lap who just smiled fondly down at their sister and reached up a hand to card into her unruly hair.

He had been ten minutes late by the time he had said a proper goodbye to everyone but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Hob tunes back to the present where his fingers still rest pressed against his lips. He recalls the phantom sensations of his spouses lips against his own and the differences he feels when he kisses each of them.

Kissing Destiny is like getting a glimpse into spanning futures that twist and branch off. There one moment and gone the next. Like a spiraling labyrinth of possibilities ever changing, leaving Hob dizzy and head feeling overfilled with what-ifs.

Kissing Death is like being born and dying. Like taking your first and last breath simultaneously. Like all the opportunities are at your fingertips only to be filled with grief at never having enough time to fulfill all your goals. Kissing Death leaves the immortal thankful for all that he has been given by the being in front of him as he tucks a piece of hair behind her ears making the Endless beam at him.

Kissing Dream is like dipping into an ocean current. He catches glimpse of all beings that can dream. Gets to live their lives briefly as if he is them. All their trials and tribulations flickering rapidly through him, leaving him light headed. But Hob never feels more rooted in reality than when he kisses Dream.

Kissing Destruction is like the rise and fall of civilizations. Being in the middle of battle, blood and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Like holding the clay of creation, thumbs pressing into the soft lump wondering what to make next. All the potential to create and destroy.

Kissing Desire is like all his fantasies come to life. All the sensual and seduction you’d expect from the personification of Desire, but so much more. It’s similar to kissing Destruction, where his blood pounds and his heart races; but at the same time it’s the most easy thing in the world. Kissing Desire is being able to feel how much he is wanted and how much he wants them.

Kissing Despair makes him want to cry at times. Hob can feel the anguish of all his years when he kisses her, but also the hope at the end of the tunnel. It’s like the end of a good cry, when not all is better yet, but the potential is there. You will get through this. Like lancing a wound and letting it heal.

Kissing Delirium is the most maddening in all the best ways. It’s like losing yourself to the best and worst high. Like every drug he’s ever tried combined, but underneath he feels the most sane he’s ever been. Like tasting colors and seeing sounds. He finds delight in kissing Delirium, and he knows the irony that comparisons brings, but finds the juxtaposition appropriate all the same.

“Thinking about your mysterious spouses?” The voice calls, interrupting his reminiscing. Hob turns to find Addie settling into the previously unoccupied seat across from him.

“Something like that.” The immortal says. He finally turns back to the marking he left and picks up his biro as Addie pulls out her own stack of marking and slides it across the table. Hob groans and massages his temple wondering not for the first time what possessed him to go into teaching.

All thoughts of his spouses and what it feels like to kiss them vanish as the two settle into a routine with biro scratching against the surface of his students essays and Addie’s fingers typing on her laptop.

In the distance a Raven caws and Hob smiles, thinking he should bring Matthew some of his good brandy the next time he sees him.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #death of the endless #desire of the endless #destiny of the endless #despair of the endless #destruction of the endless #delirium of the endless #hobsbandverse #kisses #tiabritana #I guess I write now

8 notes · View notes

dibs4ever · 2 years

Text

Hair

Nightwing came through the window of his apartment, zipping right past the one and only Oracle sitting at the computer command center he had set up for her.

“Oh right on time” she smiled

Once he was sturdily back on his legs he strutted toward her “Am I ever late?” He grinned

Barbara brought a finger to her chin “Hmm well-“

“Don’t answer that” he joked

Barbara laughed “What's in the bag.” She pointed to the brown paper bag that he had in his hand

He looked up “Oh I grabbed some ice cream Sundays for us. Your favorite.” He waggled an eyebrow

Barbara’s eyes widened “The seasonal Snickerdoodle one from Delmonte’s”

Dick chuckled “Yup. Want it now?”

The redhead groaned “I need to shower, it’s been a minute since I took one and I stink”

Dick shook his head “Doubt that.” He looked around seeing the various pieces of garbage around her desk. Along with laundry from the both of them throughout their busy past couple of days “Tell ya what, you go shower I’ll clean up around here, then when you get out we can eat the ice cream and just relax a bit?”

Barbara nodded pushing herself up “Sounds perfect, I won’t be long.”

She touched his chest as she walked by him

Dick smirked “Take all the time you need”

15 minutes later, Barbara inhaled deeply allowing the last dose of steam from the shower to fill her lungs, she looked herself over in the mirror. Body freshly washed and covered in a large black t-shirt she was sure belonged to Dick and a pair of exercise shorts, hair newly cleaned and wrapped in a towel before stepping out.

She found Dick Grayson standing in the middle of the living room “There you are “ he smirked looking up from his phone. He tossed the cell phone to the other end of the couch before waving for her “Come”

She rose an eyebrow

“Come on trust me.” He continued

Barbara followed him to the other end of the couch where he sat in the recliner. Waving for her to sit down between his legs where a fluffy pillow sat on the plush rug.

She moved and sat down between his legs

“Alright Grayson, what are you up to?” She spoke

Dick chucked “Nothing Barbara, just a mini pamper sesh.”

She leaned back stretching her neck to look up at him

He smiled down at her, handing her a cup

of Ice Cream from the side table “Just relax” he whispered kissing her temple before gently pulling the towel off the top of her head. Releasing her wet hair

Barbara was about to ask him what he was doing when she heard the sound of her hair dryer. Then a comb began to glide through her red hair. While she could feel the blow dryer hitting the strands

Barbara took a bite of her ice cream before speaking “You’re blow-drying my hair?” She giggled

Dick smirked “Well I know you don’t like going to go to sleep with it wet.” He pointed

She smiled leaning into him and relaxing

“Plus it’s an excuse to touch your beautiful red hair.” He added

Barbara smiled “There it is”

He started just gliding her comb through her hair multiple times in a row while allowing the blow dryer to stay on the side of her head for a moment “You complaining?” he teased

She shook her head “Of course not, keep doing that for another second it feels good.”

Dick nodded and obeyed, Barbara, tilted her head to the side slightly, enjoying the feeling of the hot air on that particular area of her neck.

A few moments later. Just as Barbara was finishing her ice cream cup, the dryer turned off. Dick ran his fingers through her hair a few times before speaking “Want me to braid it to the side? I know you like it like that sometimes when you go to bed.”

She nodded closing her eyes and leaning back into his legs “That’d be nice, plus it makes it look cute and wavy in the morning.”

He let out a light laugh “oh don't I know it, you look so cute with your surfer girl hair” Dick finished off the braid, gently tying the end with a hair tie he already had prepared in case she chose the braid.

Barbara touched it “Nice work Hunk Wonder. Yea know hair drying and combing, braiding, ice cream. -”

Dick leaned over resting his chin on her shoulder “I can also paint your toes if you'd like?” he offered

Barbara let out a giggle “You’d make a great girl Dad Mr.Grayson”

He turned his head slightly, kissing the nape of her neck.”Is that an invite to make that happen Oracle?”

“Mmmph” Barbara tilted her head back further to give him better access. Her head was practically lying on his groin. “Need ta move, isn't comfortable” she sighed

Dick nodded removing his mouth so she could stand. She straddled his lap, pulling him into a kiss on the lips. “Was this your plan Grayson?” she smiled against his mouth

Dick shook his head “Honestly no.” he whispered “You just-you do so much and I wanted to pamper you a little” he admitted

She smiled, soaking him in for a moment “You’re the sweetest man on the planet Grayson” she ran her fingers through his hair.

He leaned his head down into the crook of her neck “Wanna just cuddle for a minute?”

She nodded, they slid into a lying position on the couch, facing one another. She ran her hands lazily through his hair, while he nuzzled her neck, Inhaling her scent

“Whatcha thinking about?” He mumbled against her skin

Barbara leaned down kissing the top of his head “Your hair, it’s always been messy since we were kids- but ever since it’s grown out after you were shot...”

He smiled “Yeah I’ve noticed. The area where the bullet entered the hair kinda does its own thing now. Mix that in with all my natural cowlicks, and I look like I have sex hair 24-7”

“I don’t know if I’d call it that.” She giggled

Dick pecked her lips “You’d know.” He nuzzled his head against hers “Remember Alfred, all those mornings and nights before Galas trying to tame my cow licks and get my hair to lie down nice and neat?”

Barbara smiled “Cursing under his breath how he was going to train your unruly hair”

“you standing there saying ‘It’s not that bad’ you know you were the only one who he had a soft spot for.” He bopped her nose

Barbara smiled swatting away his hand away.

They pulled each other closer cuddling in silence “This is nice. Just us cuddling.” Barbara sighed against his chest

Dick nodded “Yeah, you - me. Giggling. Being all ...”

“Domestic?” Barbara offered

He nodded “Yeah. A guy could get used to this.” He smirked

Barbara kissed his chest “Yeah, a girl can too.”

#dickbabs #dick grayson #barbara gordon #batfam headcanons

44 notes · View notes

ethereousdelirious · 7 months

Text

I'm so sick of posting these lmaaaooo honestly publishing fills consistently might be harder than actually writing the fills in the first place

Sicktember 2023 Day 26

Prompt: "I'm so sorry"

Fandom: P.okémon

Characters: L.ucian, Cy.nthia

Cynthia stretched her arm across the expanse of the mattress, frowning when nothing met her fingertips but cold, empty sheets. She blinked to full awareness and found a sea of cool blue fabric— where was Lucian?

Stretching, she sat up and looked around. Maybe he'd woken up first and gone to read on the balcony.

Wrapping herself in a knit throw blanket, Cynthia stood and ventured into the living room. On the TV, a game show aired in bright colors, the volume so low that the sound came out as a mere murmur. Lucian reclined on the couch, eyes half mast behind his glasses.

"Baby?" Cynthia said softly.

He replied with a string of coughs, answering all her unasked questions with the spasm of his chest. "Sorry," he said when he was done, leaning against the back of the couch with his eyes closed. "I woke up with a fever and I didn't want…" He trailed off with a sigh, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. "Thought it would be better if I didn't stay."

Contagion be damned.

Cynthia stood over him and kissed his forehead, letting her lips linger on the damp, smoldering heat.

Lucian sniffled. "So much for that," he said, but with a gentle fondness buried beneath the congestion in his voice.

"Have you eaten?" Cynthia asked, pulling back. Absently, she let her hand rest on his forehead now like she could force his fever down with touch alone.

"I… haven't done much of anything, to be honest." Lucian's flush darkened, his skin heating up beneath her hand.

She smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. "That's good. You're supposed to be resting."

Leaving Lucian tucked under the throw blanket, Cynthia got busy in the kitchen. She made miso soup and coffee and arranged everything on a tray alongside a bottle of cold medicine just in case.

She found Lucian marking on a piece of paper when she returned to the living room, the irritated pink of his nose a few shades darker than it had been before.

Forgetting her self-assigned task, Cynthia stood with the tray balanced on both palms. "What's that?"

"Tallying up my winnings," Lucian said, nodding at the TV, where an old rerun of Kadrabra Kwiz was playing. "I got the Alazakam bonus t- twice—" He interrupted himself with a sneeze, jerking his head to the side with a convulsive motion that made his hair fall in his face. Sniffling, he shook away the curtain of indigo curls that had fallen into his eyes. "By my calculations, we're… Yes, filthy rich."

Cynthia set the tray down on the coffee table and sat beside Lucian so she could brush his hair back properly. He shivered a little, noticeably holding back from leaning into her. "What'll you buy, millionaire?" she asked, looking into his eyes. They both knew that either one of them had the funds to do essentially whatever they wanted, but Cynthia loved to tease.

Lucian shuddered under the gentle touch of her fingertips and pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders. "Nothing you couldn't buy for yourself."

"It means more when it's a present from you "

For a moment, the weariness disappeared from his face and he smiled warmly at her. "A villa in every region, for starters. And a swimsuit for each of them."

"What color?" she pressed, twirling one of his locks around her pointer finger.

He swept his eyes down the length of her body and she looked down at herself. Though she wore pastel sleepwear, pastel didn't really suit her. Colors like black and white were easier to style, though Lucian had admitted long ago he loved to see her in other colors, particularly red. It was clear now from the hungry look on his face that he was imagining it, though the effect was dampened by the shivering and exhaustion apparent in every line of his body. Cynthia leaned over and handed him the small bowl of miso soup.

"Red," said Lucian finally, taking it distractedly. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"Ah." She hadn't thought about that. Laughing at herself, she darted to the kitchen and got herself a bowl.

In the short time that she'd been gone, Lucian seemed to have worsened. His posture had slipped a little and he shivered so hard that the broth sloshed in his untouched bowl.

Cynthia sat down again and snuggled up to him. A long time ago, she'd thought Lucian's tendency to hide and downplay his maladies was due to a strong desire to be independent, to be strong and silent. That he hated to be pitied, to be coddled.

In fact, the opposite was true. Lucian was simply stoic by nature and responded favorably to a gentle treatment. So Cynthia kissed his arm and nuzzled into the thick fabric of his hoodie like an Eevee, gazing up at him with Baby-Doll Eyes. "You'll feel better after you eat," she said. "And there's coffee so you don't get a headache."

Lucian nodded and took a sip of the broth, shifting uncomfortably between Cynthia and the armrest. "I know… I just, I—" He broke off with a shaky huff and rubbed his face with his free hand.

"I know, baby." Cynthia pulled back. Maybe she was crowding him. "Eat some of the seaweed for me and then you can have some medicine, okay?"

Lucian, for his part, was always a cooperative patient. Even now, when he clearly wasn't feeling up for much of anything, he managed to finish his miso soup. It was more than Cynthia had been expecting given his earlier reluctance.

"Do you feel any better?" she asked. He'd stopped shivering, at least."

"Not as cold," he said listlessly, looking around. "Do you know what time it is?" He ducked his head to cough into the crook of his arm, eyes up like he wasn't done talking. "I, um… We were going to go to that book signing today."

"Oh!" Cynthia had forgotten all about that. It wasn't the kind of thing she was really interested in, some meet and greet for an author Lucian liked. But it was important to him and she hadn't had plans, so she'd agreed to go. "Oh." Lucian had been so excited, too. "I'm sorry, baby." A sharp intake of breath from Lucian made her pause and she waited for him to finish sneezing before continuing, "Do you want me to go without you?"

Blinking tears out of his eyes, he raised his head to look at her. "Would you?"

"Of course I would."

#ethereous writes #sicktember 2023

2 notes · View notes

drustvar · 2 years

Text

Good Kitty

Portia eagerly provides entertainment for The Countess and her guest.

For Day 4 of the Midsummer Masquerade, Voyeurism Contains: Voyeurism, m/f/f/, vaginal penetration, toys, praise, light flavors of pet play and size difference. Pairing: Muriel / Nadia / Portia WC: 771 AN: This trio is really good together and deserves more attention. I hadn’t really planned to do more than 3 pieces this week but I just couldn’t resist lmao Full text under the cut! Will also be posted to ao3 later~♥

“You are welcome to go deeper and faster than that,” Nadia said as she watched the pair intently, her red eyes glittering with keen interest.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Muriel’s voice was quiet, though his grip on Portia’s hips was firm and kept her in place. Portia watched as The Countess leaned over from her seat to tuck a stray auburn curl behind her ear.

“I think you will find that my kitten is quite resilient, isn’t she?” Nadia stroked Portia’s cheek as she mewled enthusiastically. She could hear Muriel grunt behind her and then slam hard into her, making her yelp. God, he was big. It hurt in the best way and she could tell The Countess intended to enjoy every minute of watching her squirm and wail.

“Very nice,” Nadia relaxed back in her seat, one of her manicured hands settling between her thighs. “Remember that you have my full permission to use her however you like.”

“Thanks.”

Portia half moaned, half yelped as Muriel pulled her hips flush against his and bottomed out in her. She bit her lip, hands clenching the sheet beneath them in her fists as he pumped rhythmically in and out. One of his big hands still firmly gripped her thigh while the other trailed idly down her back, gently pushing her hair out of the way. She chanced a look at her mistress; Nadia had reclined in her chair, her eyes heavily lidded as her elegant fingers brushed against her clit. Portia couldn’t help but whine. If The Countess would move just a bit closer she could bury her face between her thighs where it belonged. The thought of getting to service her while being railed made her whimper happily.

“Just a moment, my dear lovers,” Nadia murmured as she drew her hands away from herself and began to rummage through a small, ornate chest next to her. Portia whined softly as Muriel slowed. She rolled her hips hungrily back against him, but he just gently hushed her, his thick fingers trailing down her spine. They both watched Nadia curiously; Portia felt a flutter of excitement as she thought about what her mistress might pull out of the chest. The thought of a ball gag or a leash for her collar made her clench needily.

The Countess knelt in front of her, an elegantly sculpted glass dildo in her hands. The flecks of gold that were inlaid in the glass glittered in the low light.

“Prepare this for me.”

Nadia had hardly even pressed it to Portia’s lips before she eagerly took it into her mouth, running her tongue over the glass and trying to coat it with as much saliva as she could. She couldn’t keep from moaning on the length as Muriel rocked into her.

“Very good,” Nadia’s voice was soft as she smiled down at her, fingers tracing up Portia’s cheek into her hair to straighten the cat ears she wore. “She’s so well behaved, isn’t she?”

Muriel grunted in agreement as he tangled his fingers in her hair and tilted her head back. The Countess held her chin and slowly took the toy from her mouth, never once breaking their held gaze.

“Excellent work as always, Portia,” Nadia said as she admired the way it glistened. Portia mewled happily and wriggled. The Countess patted her head before returning to her seat and motioning for them to continue. And God, did he. Muriel pulled almost completely out before slamming hard back into her. Portia wailed as he carefully, but firmly, pressed her shoulders down and pulled her ass higher up against him. Through half shut eyes she watched Nadia biting her lip and tracing her own entrance, waiting for just the right moment to penetrate herself.

“Would it be possible,” when The Countess spoke her voice was husky, her tone like warm honey. “For you to hold her up? I would love to see my kitten used like a toy.”

Portia couldn’t help but moan as she was pulled backwards and lifted, a strong arm circled around her abdomen and another gripping her hip. It was almost too much, being lifted up and down on his cock like that, he was so, so deep.

“She wants to see your face,” Muriel’s voice was a deep rumble in her ear as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. With a little help, she managed to raise her head to watch as The Countess started fucking herself. If the look in her eyes was anything to go by, Portia could tell the night was going to be exhaustingly, wonderfully long.

#midsummer masquerade #vesuvia after dark #portia #muriel #nadia #portia devorak #nadia satrinava #lemon #something short and sweet for today!#Portia gets wrecked (lovingly)#minors dni or ill throw a brick at your head

24 notes · View notes

annesthaeticc · 2 years

Text

His Constant | Sherlock x Fem!Reader

| a uni!Sherlock fanfic

| FLUFF (and pining that kind of stuff idk)

| 2088 words

| NOTE: hello, how u doing in this trying times? here's a good comfort/fluffy piece for u. comments, hearts, reblogs make me happy so pls do !!

“He stepped down, avoiding any long look at her as one avoids long looks at the sun, but seeing her as one sees the sun, without looking.”

Your eyes traced the familiar words and you recited them under your breath, already memorized it by heart. Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina was firm in your grip; your copy tattered and worn. You flipped the page and slumped back in your seat, enjoying the peaceful late afternoon. The early fall breeze swept through your hair and your cheeks. The leaves lightly fell down from the trees and it was a calming sight. You watched as a red-orange leaf fell in front of you, watching it slowly descend to the ground. The leaf was soon replaced by a pair of black Italian loafers, a crunching sound was heard when he stepped on the leaf. You looked up at him and his face remained expressionless, and you knew exactly what he wants. He placed his bag on the farthest side of the bench and finally sat down. He loudly exhaled before making himself comfortable; half his body laying down on the bench, his legs hanging on the iron arm rests. Then, he slowly reclined himself, letting his head fall into your lap.

Just like the falling leaf, he was gentle.

The familiar and comforting weight of his head on your lap was welcome to the both of you. You smiled to yourself and he closed his eyes. Then, his hand shot up; his pale, lean, yet beautiful hand, crawled up to hold yours. You let him, and your hand landed on his head, on his brunette curls.

You always marveled at how soft and pretty his hair is. Especially when the early morning or afternoon light hits it, glorious brown shades just come out of his wild mess of curls. You’d always tell him how pretty they are and you’d say you envy him. He would always roll his eyes and tell you “If you want the same hair color as mine, you should let me color your hair then.” But you’d always refuse, turn down his offer of playing hairdresser. “If I did, then I’d be unrecognizable and you’ll forget me.” you would say. “Oh please, me? Forget you? Not a chance.” and that’s how the discussion ends, he'd always have the last words.

One hand on your book, one hand on his hair, you gently ran your hand through his curls, gently tugging and playing and he hummed in content.

“How bad was it?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“The worst.” he replied, his deep baritone voice vibrating.

“You always say that. Does it ever change?”

“The real question is; will it ever change?” he scoffed.

The last few weeks, Sherlock was grumpier than ever. To say that a rainstorm was always brewing above his head was an understatement, no, it was always a thunderstorm. He’s finding it really hard to connect with others, especially his new classes had been posting activities that required partnering up or team building and shit. He hated it, of course. Socializing was not his forte and it was proving to become a real trouble for him. You shared classes with him in the past and it was all fine, but now, it was different. Yours and his schedules became complex, making it hard to meet in between and take classes together. And everyday since the new semester, he was like this, brooding. And everyday since the new semester, his answer was always the same.

It was the worst.

The only thing that wakes him up in the morning was the possibility to see you after classes in the late afternoon; sitting under your favorite tree and reading a book. He was always looking forward to meet you and tell you how awful his day was, and at the same time, listen to you read Tolstoy. He’ll never tell you this of course, it’s a well-hidden secret, buried right in the pits of his mind palace where light and darkness meet halfway.

You, on the other hand, were feeling the same. The days were tolerable, yes, classes were bearable, but you always hoped for that moment he’d show up. Excited to see him and spend an afternoon with him.

Because the world is a chaotic mess; but you’ve always felt safe around him.

The sun slowly sunk between the high-rise buildings of the campus, disappearing to make way to the moon. You softly tapped his shoulder, bringing him out of his mind palace. He sat up and slung his bag over his shoulder, he waited for you as you packed your belongings in your bag. You stood up and walked along the gravelly path, unto the smooth concrete. Then, the two of you began your walk through the campus.

“Do you really want things to change, Sherlock?” you asked out of the blue, kicking the stone by your shoe.

“It depends. How about you?” he replied, burying his hands into his trouser pockets.

“Same as you, it depends.” you said with a smile.

You and Sherlock continued to walk in companiable silence, just letting thoughts come and go. And this is the part of your day you enjoy most, the long walks and talks with him. You’d never run out of things to ask and to say to him, he always indulged you, challenged you and made you smile. And for someone small, you really walk fast. Sherlock could choose to keep in step with you, matching your cadence and the rhythm of your walk but he’d always choose not to.

Because moments with you were golden and worth the time. He doesn’t want to rush.

Once your walk starts to become quick, he’d always tug your backpack, bringing you back to his slow pace. Then you’d smile, secretly happy at the gesture. But it all changed on this particular night. You were speaking, talking about your latest project proposal for your major subject and he just listened. Your pace was becoming quick and you expected he’d tug your backpack, but no, he chose to surprise you. Instead of doing that, he caught your hand in his.

Sherlock was holding your hand.

You stopped and slowly turned to look at your hands linked together. His hand was warm and firm around yours and you cautiously locked your fingers with his, testing the waters. You looked up at him and saw a faint smile starting to form on his lips, you did the same, but your smile was wider and your cheeks were rosy. He saw you blush, even in the dark early evening, only the streetlamps illuminating the path. He saw your pupils gradually grow darker but glossy and shining against the little lighting in the night.

You were unbelievably beautiful, he mused to himself. You were still wearing your uniform; blouse, skirt and blazer, your dark hair in a bun; a few pieces of hair sticking out in odd ends, softly blowing in the cool night breeze, your eyes shining and your lips were pink. You were his definition of beauty.

“You were walking too quick.” he said, clearing his throat.

“And you were walking too slow.” you smirked at him and let out a laugh. A throaty chuckle escaped his lips and finally moved forwards, walking with you.

Now, it was your turn to quietly think.

Your mind was a jumbled mess, a great contrast to the peace and quiet that surrounded the two of you. No, you were not confused, you were just having trouble organizing your thoughts about him. You didn’t know what to think first. But you were greatly aware that it’s all about him. Ever since the first day, your world quietly revolved around him.

As if he was your sun.

His presence was inevitable, he was always there. His presence in your life required no change, as if he perfectly fit in your life. He was meant to be in yours and over time, you secretly hoped, you were meant to be in his. You’ve always felt something for him, you weren’t sure what to call it but all you know is that he is your home, your comfort and safe place. You were always guarded when it comes to how you feel about him, you didn’t dare to say it because you know how icky he gets when it comes to talking about emotions. But you just can’t seem to stop showing him how you feel; the secret touches and smiles, the intense gazes and comforting silence.

Your feelings for him were in the shadows, only coming out when he’s nearby. Again, as if he were your sun.

You’ve tiptoed around him for a long time, ever cautious and somewhat tired of hiding what you feel. But on a particular October night, Sherlock finally let you touch your feet on the ground, and walk with him. Not in front of him, or behind him, but with him; side by side.

“I don’t know what I want to change, Y/N, but I know things will change, eventually.” he spoke.

“Yeah, it will.” you exhaled.

“You want to know what I want?” he said, and turned his head to look at you. The pace slowed down as you waited for him, you gave him a nod and squeezed his hand lightly. Then, he finally stopped, and you did. There stood under the streetlamp of Cambridge University; two best friends who love each other, with a secret promise to love each other forever.

“I don’t want you to change.” he said, his voice almost a whisper. A breath was caught in your throat and tears started to well up in your eyes.

“As a psychology major, I think that sounds wrong.” you giggled and step closer to him carefully and he pulled you closer to him, not caring if you step into his personal space. That hesitation and holding back was long gone the moment he held your hand and threaded his fingers with yours.

He rolled his eyes at your remark and said, “The point is, I want you to be the only constant in my life, in this ever-changing world.” A hint of hope shone through his eyes, reflected by the golden glow of the streetlamp. It was true, always has been. Because you, oh you, you were his home. And in this crazy world, where almost everyone mocks him for being who he is, you were his comfort. There’s nothing he’d want but to always come back to you, and to be with you.

“Oh, Sherlock…” you gasped, a wave of emotion tiding over you, knocking you down. You have no desire to fight it, you let yourself get carried away. You embraced him, wrapping your arms around him, around his neck, and he reciprocated. He gently swayed your bodies and breathed in your scent. He felt it first before he heard it, you were crying. He pulled away and gently ran his thumb across your cheeks, wiping off your tears.

“Where’d you get that from?” you joked and he chuckled.

“Have you no faith in me? If I’d known then I shouldn’t have said anything, then.” he said.

“I’m just kidding.” you smiled up at him and held onto his arms, afraid of falling.

“I know you are.” he replied, took your hand in his, and spun you around before catching you. You ended back in his arms and there it is again, the overwhelming emotion you feel for him, you fear it might burst.

“What do you say, Y/N?” he asked you, a boyish grin threatening to form in his pretty lips. You stood up in your tip toes and his face met you halfway, his forehead bumping against yours. You took a deep breath in and closed your eyes, just enjoying him and the closeness between you.

“You are my sun, Sherlock. My constant. And I’d be utterly happy to be yours.” you whispered against his lips. No words were further needed, he leaned down and softly kissed you, lips against lips. When you pulled apart from the kiss, you grinned at him, beaming and brimming with happiness and Sherlock painted a picture you; happy and smiley, before hanging it on the wall in the room in his mind palace.

Once again, he linked his hand with yours and together, you ran. Young and in love, with a thousand changes to face, a hundred plans to make, all sealed with a promise and a kiss.

READ THE NEXT PART OF THIS FANFIC ; HIS PROMISE

[ MASTERLIST ] [ JOIN MY TAGLIST ] [ BUY ME A KO-FI ]

TAGLIST : @migurin @damiensoda @inas-thing @peachywoong @ruevz @sammiisnthere

( very very soft and fluffy yeah? lemme know if its good and i'll try wrack my brain for more if u ever like it, have a wonderful day u lovely being and stay safe, all the love, anne )

#sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x oc #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes angst #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock fanfic #sherlock makes the first move #sherlock confesses he loves u #squishy soft sherlock #sherlock loves you #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch fanfiction #sherlock fandom

378 notes · View notes

nkhrchuwuya · 2 years

Text

sunblock

bungou stray dogs | G | 699 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

you and chuuya are on a weekend getaway trip, and you can’t reach your back to put the damn sunscreen on.

"can you help put sunblock on my back, chuuya? I can't reach it."

you ask, innocently waving a bottle of sunblock at his face. the two of you had rented out a little hut by the beachside, where you'd enjoyed a delicious lunch together and are now enjoying the afternoon sun and breeze in the shade.

"going for a dip, babe?" he asks, taking the bottle from you as you walk towards the reclining chair. he shakes it to listen for its contents; still half full. he'd used it to cover himself up earlier, too. you shake your head.

"not really, just gonna lie in the sun a little. maybe get a nice tan."

"you're already pretty tanned from our stay here, yanno?" he says, raising an eyebrow. he uncaps the bottle and squirts a good amount on his hand.

you put your tongue out. "well, i wanna enjoy the sun a little bit more, is that so bad?"

somehow, chuuya's managed to persuade his boss out of letting him take friday and monday off, leaving you two a beautiful four-day weekend out by the beachside. he'd booked the absolute most beautiful resort- of course- with the best amenities known to man. the private (section of the) beach was one of those.

chuuya's hands on your shoulders are heavy but comforting, and you feel the cool of the sunblock against the sea breeze spreading throughout your back. you don't hold back the little groan that comes out of you as he massages the lotion into place, all while keeping a very heavy, massage-like touch over your back.

"damn, and a private masseuse too?" you tease, and chuuya only laughs and gives your (tender, achy) shoulders a good, welcome squeeze. you let out another sound of approval.

"maybe instead of being out at the beach you should be in the spa," he offhandedly mentions, putting another blob of sunscreen onto his hand. this time for your exposed lower back. "you're so tense everywhere."

"but i wanna enjoy the beach," you frown, as his hands trace the dip of your spine and gently go over your sensitive sides. "i can go there at night."

"we can go together, i don't mind one go," chuuya says, now letting his fingers press tantalizingly along the line of your spine. something in your back feels like it's clicking into place, being pressed back to where it belongs, and you sigh at his touch.

chuuya claps his hands once he's done and you flip over in the reclining chair, grinning. "if ever you quit the port mafia, you've got a second career going in that."

"putting sunblock on people?"

"being a tease of a masseuse," you laugh, pinching his nose. chuuya frowns until you let go, but it bears no weight.

it is only then that chuuya finally gets a clear look on you, your two piece swimsuit's deep color stark against the tone of your skin in a beautiful contrast. your hair tied up in a messy bun on top of your head, sunglasses resting just above your forehead. the necklace he gave you once and you never took off still hanging on your neck. your skin glowing ever so lightly from the thin sheen of sunscreen.

suddenly, he's left with a desire to pounce.

he jumps over you, tumbling you back into lying position on the recliner, towering over you with his hands by your sides. a flash of surprise comes over your eyes before it becomes recognition. behind him, the sun is a beautiful golden glow, reflecting off of the red strands framing his face.

you waggle your eyebrows. "see something you like?"

"want my dessert," he grins, and you grin back.

"have a taste then."

the kiss he leaves on your neck is wet and sloppy and so full of sunblock that chuuya has to lift himself back up and make a face of disgust. you'd expected the reaction and you laugh as he wipes his mouth with his hand.

"silly chuuya," you grin, taking his hand and tugging him into the waiting water. "come on, let's rinse it off?"

chuuya doesn't half mind licking saltwater off your flesh later on.

#nakahara chuuya #bungou stray dogs #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #bungou stray dogs imagines #bsd imagines #bsd x reader #💌 chuuya lovemail #genre:fluff #rating:G #timeline:serious #inspired by my entire day at the beach yesterday woohoooooooo!!!

228 notes · View notes

skarsgard-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Know Thyself

Description: When Eric invites you to his dungeon, you get more than you bargained for.

Notes: 5,800 words of kinky Eric Northman smut. Reposted because this hellsite reordered several paragraphs for no reason.

Warnings: 18+, sexual content, bondage, spanking, orgasm control, forced orgasms

"You're not on the schedule tonight," a familiar voice drawled as you arrived at Fangtasia for your shift. Pam stood in front of the mirror in the break room applying her blood red lipstick with razor thin precision. "Boss's orders," she added, her lips curling with an amusement that was frankly disquieting.

You shoved your purse in your locker anyway and gave Pam a skeptical look. "What are you not telling me?"

Pam slid the gold lid back onto the tube of lipstick with a click. "As much as I would love to stand around and answer stupid questions all night, I still have a job to do," she said. Dark, grungy rock music began to blare in the club proper, signaling that Fangtasia would soon be open. Pam closed your locker in the blink of an eye, a wicked grin spreading across her pink lips. "You’re coming with me," she said. She gave you a little push out of the room and steered you downstairs with a firm grip on your shoulder. It would be pointless to argue, so you stumbled along in front of her as Pam’s dagger-like stilettos echoed in the stairwell.

As far as you knew, the basement of Fangtasia was little more than a crammed storage room filled with excess liquor, Halloween decorations, and old VHS tapes from its heyday as a video rental store before vampires came out of the coffin. A set of keys rattled in Pam's hand and she unlocked a metal door that you had always assumed led to the broom closet. She held it open and stared at you with cold eyes.

“Go on.”

The hard edge in Pam’s voice chilled your blood, but you swallowed your nerves and stepped into a long stone corridor dimly lit with torches. You heard nothing except your own heartbeat and the faint crackling of the torches as you stepped inside. Her hand connected with the small of your back and you both proceeded down the passage, which had several alcoves walled off with iron bars that were so dark you couldn’t tell if they were occupied or not. Pam stopped in front of a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall and produced an old-fashioned key that she had tucked into her bodice. She eyed your black Fangtasia t-shirt and pursed her lips.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Pam,” you said nervously, but the rest of your words dried up in your throat as she stared you down. You took off your top and shimmied out of your jeans, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to your face.

No matter how many times you undressed in front of Pam, you always felt like a piece of merchandise under her scrupulous gaze. She slid her fingers under the elastic waist of your panties and snapped it against your skin. “And these,” she added. You slipped out of your panties and took off your bra as well, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Pam said in a flat tone that was not even a little bit reassuring as she opened the door and gestured for you to go inside. “You look good enough to eat.”

You crossed the threshold into a spacious stone chamber with vaulted cathedral ceilings and arched doorways leading off in four different directions. But what caught your eye was not the architecture or the flickering candlelight in the rooms beyond. It was the ancient iron maiden that stood in the center of the room, its doors clamped shut and its strange carved face contorted with anguish as it stared wordlessly at the place where you stood.

Behind you, the heavy door creaked shut and you heard the scrape of the bolt sliding back into place, locking you within. Even though you knew this had to be orchestrated by Eric, your veins suddenly iced over with fear. You heard soft footfalls coming from one of the rooms beyond and instinctively took a step back, your heel colliding with the door behind you. A tall figure appeared in the central doorway wearing a wry smile and a plain black tank and jeans.

“Where are your clothes?” Eric asked. You furrowed your brows, realizing that you stripped down in front of Pam for no reason. “Ah,” he said. “Pam.”

“She never misses an opportunity,” you said, embarrassed by your own naiveté.

Eric chuckled and took your hand in his. “I will deal with her later,” he said. “Come with me.”

You followed him into the room to the far left, which reminded you of a Roman bath. A pool of dark water rippled below, its steaming surface scattered with purple flower petals and floating candles. The smell of incense hung in the humid air—something warm and inviting, laced with exotic spices. At the end of the chamber, a reclining skeleton was painted on the wall with two words written in Greek letters below it. Eric retrieved a short silk robe hand painted with peony blossoms from a hook on the wall and held it open while you slid your arms into the sleeves.

"What does that say?" you asked. Eric's lips brushed against your temple as he reached around and tied the robe shut with a decisive motion.

"Know thyself," he said. "It's a replica of the memento mori in the baths of Diocletian in Rome." He kept his arms around your waist and you leaned against him, enjoying how solid he seemed as he held you from behind. It wasn't often you had uninterrupted time alone with your lover. He was always being pulled in one direction or another by whoever was above him in the complicated vampire hierarchy, or he was occupied with the problems his own subordinates brought to him. But tonight you knew you would not be interrupted. You turned in his arms and looked up at Eric, trailing your fingertips over his bare muscled shoulders.

"What do you want to do with me?" you asked with shy smile as Eric inhaled the scent of your hair like a sommelier using all of his senses to sample a fine wine.

"Possess you utterly," Eric murmured. His voice was gravelly and full of desire, and his candor surprised you. He tangled his fingers in your hair and captured your mouth in a languid kiss. You swayed a little, but he held you steady as he tilted your head back and dragged his lips down your throat, savoring your taste. He sucked lightly on your pulse, which seemed to be directly connected to your center. You hummed softly in encouragement and reached for his belt, but he pulled away.

Candlelight reflected in the dark water below, dancing to the syncopated rhythm of your heart. Worry itched at the back of your mind as you watched Eric walk away, his bare feet slapping against the stone floor. Perhaps you had done something wrong. He retrieved a black gift box from a hammered metal table and stood before you again in an instant.

“I have something for you.” Though Eric seemed to possess an endless store of confidence, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He was trying to be careful, you realized, fearing he might scare you away. You summoned a reassuring smile and traced your fingers along the edge of the box.

“You spoil me.”

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That’s what Pam keeps saying,” Eric said. He took the lid off the box, revealing a solid metal choker. It was thin but surprisingly sturdy, with a small keyhole on the clasp at the back. A delicate spray of flowers and vines swirled across its surface, carved with such care that they created a sense of motion. You lifted it out of the box and studied the pattern quietly, aware that you were being studied as well.

“It’s beautiful,” you said sincerely. You lifted your eyes and offered it back to Eric, gathering your hair away from the nape of your neck. He turned you to face away from him and opened the clasp on the necklace. After a moment, smooth metal circled your throat. It felt cool against your warm skin and fit snugly into place without being too tight. You heard a tiny click at the back of your neck and realized it had locked when he closed it. Your breath hitched in your chest. Eric’s lips brushed against your ear as he spoke.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Your mouth felt dry, but you nodded, reaching up to brush your fingers over the floral inlay of the necklace.

“What will you say if it’s not okay?” Eric asked. He placed his large hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him again. You pressed your lips together in thought for a moment. You had never needed a safe word with him before.

“Clementine,” you answered.

“Good.” He trailed his fingers along the edge of your jaw, drawing you closer. “And if you can’t speak, what will you hum?”

Your eyes widened and you forgot every song you’d ever known. “Um...” you said. “Yankee Doodle?”

Eric’s eyes crinkled with amusement, but he made no comment about your song choice. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your lips. “Are you ready, pet?” he asked.

“I think so,” you said, but your voice sounded shaky and small. You weren’t sure what lay in the rooms beyond or what he had in store for the night. The torture device in the foyer had frightened you, but you trusted Eric. You chewed on your lip and tried to summon a playful smile. “Are you going to put me on a leash?”

The arched brow on your lover’s face told you he was now considering it. “Would you like me to?” he asked, always willing to up the ante.

“I...” you stammered. The thought filled you with horror and excitement in equal measure, and you weren’t sure how to answer. But Eric’s blue eyes were full of mischief as he approached a mahogany apothecary cabinet and opened one of the drawers.

“I hadn’t exactly planned on that.” He rifled through the drawer for a moment and took out a fine metal chain. “But I can oblige.”

Eric returned to you and attached the chain to the choker around your throat, testing it with a small tug. The solid metal acted as a collar, and you found yourself stumbling forward, forced to follow his lead. A toothy grin spread across Eric’s face. You wanted to be mad at him, but you were breathless with anticipation. He wrapped the chain around his hand and you trailed after him without resistance as he led you from the room.

“I could get used to this,” he quipped, entering the foyer.

“I’m sure you could.”

Your eyes met the gaze of the iron maiden again, and you were relieved when Eric walked past it without a second glance. “What is that for?” you asked.

Eric looked at the torture device. “Pam liberated it from a museum in Spain, but I doubt it was ever used before she got her claws in it,” he said. “It's more ornamental than practical.”

“So, you’ve never used it.”

“I didn’t say that,” Eric said with an air of mystery. He tugged on the chain, urging you to follow him into a rounded chamber with a circular dais in the center. Thick shackles hung from the walls on massive chains that looked strong enough to secure a vampire, and several human shaped cages were suspended from the ceiling. Your heart leapt into your throat.

“What are those?” you peeped nervously as Eric removed the chain from your choker and untied your robe. His eyes followed yours toward the ceiling.

“Another of Pam’s acquisitions,” he said, pushing the robe off your shoulders. The fabric pooled at your feet and his gaze swept over your naked flesh approvingly. “The English used to hang the corpses of criminals in them after execution as a warning to others.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer to your next question, but you blurted it out anyway. “What does Pam use them for?”

Eric shrugged. “I don’t ask.” He took you by the hand and led you to the dais, holding you steady as you stepped onto it. “Stand here,” he said. “I want to get a good look at you.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and watched as Eric circled you slowly like a predator stalking its prey. The surface beneath you was rough and uncomfortable to stand on with bare feet. Something told you that was by design. Eric appeared in front of you again, considering you with a steely gaze.

“Kneel,” he commanded in a firm voice.

You lowered yourself to your knees and realized you were trembling slightly. The uneven surface of the dais below you dug into your knees as you sat back on your heels and cast an uncertain glance at your lover. He had never spoken to you in that tone of voice before, and you weren’t sure what it meant.

Eric studied your face with hooded eyes and tucked your hair behind your ear. “You look so lovely on your knees,” he said as though it was a thought he had not intended to say out loud. You tilted your head toward his hand, craving his touch, but he withdrew it and looked at you with a stony expression. “Lift both of your hands as high as you can.”

You did as he instructed and he gave you a small nod of approval. “Good,” he said. “Now, don’t move,” he added. “I will return in a moment.”

In the blink of an eye, he was gone. You sat alone in the strange circular room with your arms stretched above you and the floor digging painfully into your knees. Though you heard no sound from the other rooms, you had the unmistakable feeling that you were being watched. You shifted a little, trying to find a position that was comfortable, but moving only seemed to make your knees hurt even more.

You had no way of knowing how long you waited. Soon the muscles in your shoulders began to ache, but Eric did not return. You wondered if you should call for him. Maybe he had lost track of time.

“Eric?” you called softly. In the empty room, you received no reply. Your knees were stinging now and the muscles in your arms burned with the continued effort to keep them lifted in the air. You knew you would not last much longer. A whimper escaped your lips and you wobbled a little, lowering one of your hands. Eric appeared in front of you instantly, his expression stormy.

“What did I tell you to do?” he asked. His voice was quiet but keen like the blade of a knife.

You looked at him with wide eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. “Keep my hands in the air,” you said.

“And what did you do?”

“I... I lowered them,” you answered. You furrowed your brows together, feeling it was deeply unfair for him to blame you for something you couldn’t help. “But you weren’t here, and I couldn’t do it any longer.”

Eric’s brow arched in warning and his icy blue eyes hardened. Silence fell over you like a spell and you knew it had been a mistake to argue. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. You lowered your gaze to the floor and took several deep breaths, waiting for him to speak.

“I know you are,” Eric said. “And I will forgive you after you’ve been punished.”

He grabbed both of your wrists and dragged you to your feet. You wobbled as he pulled you off the dais, hauling you out of the room without giving you a chance to catch your balance.

“Eric!” you yelped, staggering after him through the foyer and into another room. He stopped abruptly in front of a wall where countless whips, floggers, canes, paddles, and riding crops were hung.

“Pick one,” Eric said. He released his grip on your arms and sat on the foot of a black four-poster bed covered with a dark velvet quilt, waiting for you to make your selection.

You stared at the array of instruments before you. Some of them looked like the sort of thing you could pick up at any average sex shop, while others seemed to be custom-made or possibly the real thing. You swallowed your fear and reached for a leather riding crop with a narrow tip and a flexible handle. It seemed small enough that it might not inflict too much damage. You approached the foot of the bed and placed it in Eric’s hands. He whipped his open palm with the riding crop and shook his head.

“This one will sting too much,” he said. “Pick one that’s more rigid.”

He waited with patience while you tested several others in search of one that would meet his specifications. The anger that radiated from him before had now dissipated and he seemed set on administering your punishment based on principle rather than wrath. You had the distinct sense that everything was going exactly as planned—that you had been thrust into a labyrinth of impossible choices, and he was the minotaur that would delight in making you suffer. You had half a mind to throw the riding crop in Eric’s face and tell him you were going home, but you had enough faith in him to trust that he would be good to you.

Eric rose to his feet as you held out another riding crop. He tested it on his hand and nodded in approval. You thought he might draw his hand back and strike you at any moment, but he set it on the bed and picked up a silky blindfold, securing it over your eyes.

“Lay on your stomach,” he said in your ear. He grasped the nape of your neck in his hand and guided you down onto the bed so that you were folded over the foot of it with your ass prominently displayed. You turned your head to the side and took a few nervous breaths. The dull ache of desire throbbed in your center even though you had to fight off the urge to bolt. Eric squeezed the rounded flesh of your ass, caressing it appreciatively. “I want you to count for me when I strike you,” he instructed. “I’ll start with my hand, and then switch to the crop. We’ll do five of each.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

“Do you remember what to say if it’s not okay, pet?”

You considered the possibility of cashing in your get out of jail free card, but his hand slipped between your legs and stroked the length of your slit, offering you the promise of even greater reward if you played his game. A small gasp escaped from your lips and you pressed yourself into his touch, but his hand was gone. “I remember,” you said breathlessly. “I’m okay.”

“Then count for me,” Eric said. He drew back his open hand and delivered a stinging blow across your ass.

“One,” you managed to say.

“Good girl,” Eric purred. He massaged the sore spot for a moment and then struck you even harder, making you yelp in surprise. Your hips jerked and Eric pressed his left hand into the small of your back, pinning you in place as you gasped for breath. “Count,” he reminded you.

“Two.”

The third blow followed quickly, but Eric’s firm hand held you still. A stinging warmth was spreading over your ass and felt arousal pooling between your legs.

“Three,” you whimpered.

Eric struck you again and kneaded your ass, producing a low moan from your lips.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, his own enjoyment evident in his voice. “What number was that?”

“Four.”

The fifth blow landed harder than the rest. You forgot to count, but Eric didn’t seem to care. He let you lay there panting softly, trying to catch your breath while he massaged your tender skin and teased you between your legs. The adrenaline in your system dulled the pain until it mingled with the sensation of Eric’s fingers stroking you, making your entire bottom radiate with pleasure. You whined needfully and rolled your hips into his touch.

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” Eric said. He withdrew his hand and sucked your arousal off his fingers. “Cross your wrists behind you,” he said. “I don’t want your hands to get in the way.”

You wanted to tell him he could punish you any time he liked if he would just fuck you then and there, but you knew you weren’t in a position to negotiate. You closed your mouth instead and did what you were told. Eric wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, pinning them against your lower back. You always knew he was strong, but you were stunned to realize he could immobilize you completely with just one of his hands. The riding crop made a whooshing sound as he swung it in the air experimentally, making you flinch with anticipation.

“Five more,” Eric reminded you. “Count for me.”

The sharp bite of the riding crop against your flesh stole the air from your lungs. The pain was much more concentrated than before, and the shaft of the instrument seemed to gather momentum easier than a bare hand.

“Breathe for me, pet,” you heard Eric saying. “That was one.”

You inhaled and exhaled, speaking in a shaky voice. “One.”

“Very good,” Eric murmured. “Focus on your breathing.”

He struck you again and dragged the tip of the riding crop over your dripping cunt, making you shiver.

“Two,” you moaned.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Three more.”

Tears began to sting your eyes with the third blow, wetting the silk fabric that covered them.

“Three,” you whimpered.

“That’s right.”

The fourth blow struck even harder, and Eric held you steady as you bucked your hips. You were crying in earnest now, your tears leaking from the blindfold.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” he said softly. “Just one more.”

“Okay,” you sobbed.

You cried out when he struck you one last time, but an overwhelming sense of relief flooded your body as you realized that was the end. You were shaking all over and you could feel your pulse throbbing between your legs.

“F-five,” you stammered.

Eric released your wrists and trailed his hand over the marks on your ass, massaging it with care. Your hands fell limp at your sides, feeling leaden.

“Do you promise not to disobey me again?” Eric asked. He swirled his fingers around your swollen clit, drawing a low moan from your throat.

“I promise.”

“Then you are forgiven.” His melodic voice filled you with warmth and a moment later his fingers thrusted inside you. A long, breathy gasp escaped your lips and you felt your insides beginning to clench, but he pulled away.

“Don’t,” you pleaded. “Don’t stop.”

“Patience,” Eric said. “The night is young.”

He rolled you over and pulled you to your feet. Your legs felt weak, but he let you lean your full weight against him and bury your face against his chest as he untied the blindfold. It felt good to press yourself against something cool and familiar. A few stray tears leaked from your eyes. Eric wiped them away with the soft pad of his thumb and licked the salty liquid from his finger.

“How are you, pet?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled into his shirt. And it was true. Even though the punishment Eric doled out had been painful, he had helped you through each moment. The fear that coursed through your veins earlier in the evening had been released in a kind of catharsis, and you now felt strangely at ease with whatever might happen next.

“Good,” Eric said. There was a hint of pride in his voice as he stroked your hair. “You’re very brave, for a human.”

You pressed a soft kiss against his throat and felt Eric’s hand tighten in your hair. “You’re very tender, for a vampire.”

“Only with you,” he mused. He took you by the hand and kissed your fingers, leading you out of the room. “Come.”

The last room was outfitted with several strange pieces of furniture that you suspected were part of Pam’s collection of authentic medieval torture devices. You recognized a rack in one corner and a set of stocks in another, but what caught your eye was the wooden frame in the shape of an X in the center of the room. It was covered in soft leather and had thick padded cuffs at the end of each arm.

Before you could ask Eric what it was, he spun you around and pinned you against it with his hips, giving you a bruising kiss. You moaned against his mouth as he secured your wrists to the frame. He kicked your feet apart and trailed his hands over the smooth curves of your body, scratching you lightly with his nails. Then he bound your ankles as well.

Your face felt flushed and your pulse roared in your ears as he stepped back and raked his gaze over your body. You knew you were utterly helpless, and every part of you was on display. Your legs were spread wide and your breasts heaved with each panting breath you took, trying to regain control of yourself. A smirk spread across Eric’s face. This was what he had been waiting for all night.

“In all my years, I don't think I've ever seen something so exquisite as you, pet.” He took a step closer and grabbed a fistful of your hair, kissing your throat as he spoke. “You're beautiful,” he said. “And you're mine.”

His words made your whole body resonate with satisfaction. Eric’s fangs scraped against your throat, but he did not bite you. Not yet. He wanted to savor every inch of you before deciding where to sink his teeth in. His tongue licked your throat while his hands roamed your body, pausing when he felt your heart begin to beat faster to lavish attention on the places where you were sensitive.

He smoothed his hand over your stomach and caught your nipples lightly between his teeth, enjoying each whine and whimper that came from your lips. He teased you with agonizing patience. Your body felt like a spring compressed under an enormous amount of pressure, and you were desperate for release. It would not take much now for you to come undone, but each time you were close, Eric ceased his ministrations.

“No, no, no,” Eric murmured against your breast as he stopped circling your clit with his thumb. “I haven't given you permission to come yet.”

You were about to protest when he took hold of a handle on the side of the X and suddenly rotated it upside down. Blood rushed into your face as you hung from your ankles, your arousal on full display. Eric made a small sound of satisfaction at the sight and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He thrust his fingers inside of you while he drank, stilling his hand whenever he felt your muscles begin to contract.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, Eric, I want you to fuck me.”

He withdrew his hand and dragged his tongue along the length of your slit. “Do you?” he asked with a surprised inflection. “Hmmm, I don't remember asking what you want, my love.”

Eric pulled away and righted the X before too much blood could rush to your head. Your heart was beating rapidly and your breathing was ragged. You watched his tall form shift out of view and heard him rifling through a drawer to the side as you caught your breath.

“Please,” you whined when he reappeared in front of you. “I need you inside me.”

“I know,” Eric said with mock sympathy. “But it gives me such pleasure to hear you beg.”

You heard the familiar buzz of a vibrator before you felt it. Eric pressed the powerful toy against your sensitive mound and produced a low, guttural moan from your throat. “You're not allowed to come yet, sweet girl,” he reminded you.

“You’re gonna make me,” you panted. “Eric, please.”

Eric lubricated the vibrator with your arousal and guided it over your clit. “I’m warning you,” he said, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Do not disobey me again.”

“I-I can’t help it,” you whimpered.

He increased the intensity and kissed your throat roughly. “Don’t you dare do it,” he growled in your ear, but you couldn’t hold back anymore. You cried out as your release overwhelmed you, sending shockwaves from your head to your toes. Your sensitive nerves were flooded with a blissful warmth, and you fell limp in the restraints after a moment, breathing shallowly. Eric turned off the vibrator and nipped your ear with his teeth.

“Oh, you’re in so much trouble now, you wicked little thing,” he said in your ear. But he let you recover for a moment while he returned to the cabinet against the wall and searched in another drawer.

Soon he stood in front of you again. He grasped your chin and opened your mouth, pushing a rubber ball gag between your teeth. The surprised sound that came from your throat was muffled by its presence as Eric secured it behind your head. He framed your face with his hands and forced you to look into his intense blue eyes.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Remember what I said about humming?”

“Mmhmm,” you managed to hum, but you didn’t want him to stop. You felt perfectly at ease, caught in a strange liminal state between dreaming and waking. Eric stroked your hair and studied your face.

“Good,” he said. And then the tenderness in his voice was replaced with a hard edge as he curled his fingers around your throat. “Now you're going to come until I decide you can stop,” he growled, switching the vibrator to its highest setting and pressing it ruthlessly against the oversensitive bundle of nerves at your center.

The intense vibration sent sharp rippling aftershocks through your body. You moaned into the gag and felt yourself tensing painfully, but you were too weak to struggle. Eric was telling you to relax. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to focus on his words, allowing the tension to melt from your body. Soon you felt yourself building to another climax far more intense than the one before.

“That’s right,” Eric said. “Take it like a good girl. Let’s see how many we can get out of you.”

You weren’t sure how much time had passed or how many times Eric had pushed you over the edge before the vibrator finally switched off. The ball gag was removed from your mouth, but you couldn’t formulate the words to ask for what you wanted. You let out a small needy whine instead, begging for him.

Eric captured your lips in a kiss and thrust his length inside you, filling you with what you needed most. He rolled his hips at a slow pace, making sure you felt every movement as he fucked you. You moaned weakly and soon you were clenching around him, pulling him to the edge with you. “Come for me,” Eric said, his voice low and gravelly. “Now.”

You gave a small cry as you came undone again, soaking his cock with your release. Eric groaned against your neck and followed you swiftly, one hand fisted in your hair and the other clutching the side of your face as his hips stuttered to a stop.

He remained inside you for a few moments as you took a few ragged breaths. Then he reached up and released the restraints circling your wrists. You sagged against him, too exhausted to hold yourself up. Your legs felt like they were made of rubber and your head felt woozy, but you were at ease, knowing he would take care of you.

You were vaguely aware of the warm scent of Eric’s cologne as you pressed your face into his chest. Soothing words poured over your consciousness in a language you didn’t understand. You tasted blood on your lips and felt the bruises on your wrists and backside simply melt away.

When you woke again, you were laying between fresh sheets in your own bed. Your hair was still damp from a bath and your legs were tangled with Eric’s as he slept beside you, one arm outstretched so you could lay your head on his chest. The light tight shutters had been sealed over the windows in your bedroom, blotting out the midday sun. Eric had them installed ages ago, but he still was hesitant to sleep above ground. You trailed your fingers over one of the ancient scars on his bare chest and relished the rare treat of waking up beside him.

The alarm clock rolled over to noon, and something reflective glinted on your nightstand. You stretched out your hand and picked up the elegant metal choker. In the darkness, you ran your thumb over the floral inlay and found that the clasp was open. You had forgotten about it by the time the night was over, but Eric had not. You glanced at your lover’s face. He was always eerily still when he slept. You drew your hair over your shoulder and closed the choker around your throat, listening to the soft click as the lock snapped shut.

You laid back down and tucked your head under Eric’s chin, listening to the sound of your own heartbeat. He stirred slightly, circling his arms around you and drawing you to his chest. His fingertips traveled along your spine and paused when they reached the cool metal at the back of your neck. After a moment, he cradled your head in his hand and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“You were so good for me, pet,” he mumbled sleepily.

You hummed in contentment and kissed his chest. “I like being yours,” you whispered.

“That’s good,” Eric said, playing with the ends of your hair. “Because I have no intention of ever giving you up.”

#eric northman #eric northman smut

404 notes · View notes

theamberwriter · 3 years

Note

Hi so remember “ Nesting Fever [Alpha!Pro!Katsuki Bakugo]” that you wrote? I hope so cause what if you made a part 2 were it becomes a poly relationship!!!

[Nesting Fever]

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting!! I wrote this all in one sitting, lol I was suddenly hit with inspiration. I hope you like it!! Also, I hope this comes off as a poly relationship. I've never written one before, but I tried!

Word Count: 3,059

Warnings: Always cursing lmfao

It was wrong. You could feel it. You knew what you wanted. But it was wrong. You scolded yourself over and over. This had been going on for months. Far too long and more than you'd like to admit.

"I shouldn't want both of their scents in here," you groaned, flinging yourself into your nest.

After the nesting conundrum that took place in your apartment just seven short months ago, your everything had changed. Kirishima had become a very big part of your life. After scenting him to spite Katsuki during a fight, he now seemed determined to win you. Even if he didn't notice. Eijiro basically lived in your house now.

He made you feel safe. His scent soothed you in just a whiff. You almost felt like you were falling in love all over again. You didn't love Katsuki any less. But you were falling in love with Eijiro. You wondered if maybe you'd always been. He was so easy to fall in love with, after all.

The intrusive thoughts you'd had about your new house guest had been growing. Before, they were peppered in. Just an occasional thing. Easy to brush off. But now you'd been properly fantasizing about how he tasted. About how his hands would feel against the skin that only Katsuki and yourself had ever touched.

You wondered how he'd fit in with your family. How they'd react to you having not one, but two Alphas. You wondered if you were being greedy, wanting them both. But you did, vehemently so.

This was not good.

How could you explain that to your mate of a year and a half? The man you'd been talking about marrying? How could you tell him that you were still head over heels for him - while also loving Kirishima the same way? What would he even think about that?

"I could never ask Katsuki...." you muttered. "He would never...."

But the fact that your boyfriend had had a little crush on Kirishima was never a secret. Not to you, at least. He claimed it was because they were best friends. But you didn't act like that with normal friends. Maybe Katsuki wouldn't be opposed....but would he be willing to share an omega? That was the kicker.

Alphas were possessive. They wanted what they wanted, and who was theirs was theirs. The two had been at each other's throats over you. Alpha vs Alpha. Could you really ask them to share you?

Kirishima was a near permanent fixture in your home now. He had never been in the way. In fact, it felt like a piece clicked into place. Your home had felt brighter and been filled with more laughter. Everything was amazing - when the two were behaving.

But the tense air between the two alphas was choking. There were times they both let their guards down. Times when you already felt like you had a dynamic. Those times were amazing. You leaned on Katsuki and Kirishima cuddled against you. Katsuki and Eijiro would act couplely, even when they hadn't meant to. You wanted to just smother them both in kisses.

But you couldn't.

What were you going to do?

You groaned loudly and threw a pillow at the door. A burst from your quirk made it hit harder than you intended. In a flash the door was open and the warm, delicious mixed scent of Katsuki and Eijiro flooded in. They were very alert. Their eyes were wide, scanning for danger.

"The hell is going on?" Katsuki snapped. His shoulders were tense, the tendons in his neck standing out. He was a coiled snake ready to pounce.

Eijiro hesitated in the door. You caught as he stepped forward then immediately retreated. "Are you okay?"

You sighed heavily. "I'm fine. Just...having some issues. - Katsssuuuu...."

You held your arms out and he went to fill them. He kneeled and took you tightly in his arms. He hid his face in the crook of your neck. You relaxed your arms around him.

"Something isn't right," you muttered. Then locked eyes with Eijiro. "My nest is missing something important, it isn't complete."

Eijiro froze, you could see it. Every muscle tensing. His face grew red. But he didn't break your gaze. He swirled his own pheromones in with Katsuki's, as if testing the waters. You had a feeling he caught on. You smiled, reclining your head against Katsuki's shoulder in response and taking in a large sigh.

You were going to have to talk to Eijiro about this later. Maybe, if you could get him on board, talk about your feelings, then it would be easier confessing to Katsuki. Maybe he'd even do it with you.

Eijiro bolted off and out of sight. While Katsuki held you tight. Your eyes lingered a moment longer on the door frame. You had wanted them both in your nest so badly. You wanted them both to hold you, to protect you, to tell you they love you. But it wasn't that easy.

You gave Katsuki a tight hug in return. Your nerves soothing surprisingly well, despite how conflicted you were. But this was Katsuki. The last few months, he'd been verging on an Apex Alpha. He was very conscious of everything you felt. He'd some how figured out how to turn his pheromones into the most relaxing, lulling, mouth-watering mixture. You didn't know what he'd done, but you became absolute putty in his hands in one whiff.

You always wanted to be putty in his hands. But you wanted to putty in Eijiro's too.

Katsuki relaxed you to sleep. You'd been up early anyway. You napped for a few hours. Your dreams were laced with the most potent caramel scent. But soon, a musky, warm scent invaded. And your body felt like water. You were on cloud 9. Everything, everyone, you wanted was bottle up in those two scents. You wanted this delicious mix in your life forever.

When you woke up, you heard the TV on. Along with the faint sound of sizzling. Giving a whiff, you could tell Katsuki was cooking. You tottered out , still stumbling on your slumber legs. You smiled to yourself as you looked into the room.

Katsuki stood with a pan and an apron. He was completely absorbed in whatever Eijiro was watching, even standing very close to where he was sitting. The red head was sitting in the chair you'd occupied for your little tantrum. He had his knees to his chest, totally lost in whatever was on.

It was adorable.

After a minute you yawned loudly and went in. Both of their eyes snapped to you. Eijiro grinned, but looked away quickly, his face staining red again. Katsuki smiled that in love, puppy dog smile he got when he thought no one was looking.

"There's my Omega," Katsuki cooed. "I'm making dinner, since Shitty Hair can't cook."

"I can too!" Eijiro tossed back.

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "[Name] likes my food better anyway."

They both looked at you expectantly. You felt like you shrank. You wanted to dive back into your nest. All you could think was, please don't give me those eyes!

"I like you both," you said, awkwardly laughing as you tried to fix your statement. "I think you both are really good cooks."

"Osha. Whatever," Katsuki scoffed. "Oi, you two run to the store. Get some dessert, whatever you two want."

"But you want vanilla - something, right?" you asked, more teasing than anything.

Katsuki gave you a seductive smirk, then licked the end of the spoon he was holding. "I want anything that tastes like vanilla. The sweeter, the better."

Heat coursed through you. Damn him. Katsuki gave you a wink then went back to the kitchen. You turned back to Eijiro. You saw his jaw clench, and his eyes take one desperate drag up your body. You'd never seen him do that before. You turned quickly, going to throw on some actual going out clothes.

Eijiro was bouncing anxiously by the door when you got back. He caught your eye then darted through the entry.

"We're going Katsuki," you called. "Love you, be back in a bit. Text me if you remember anything!"

"Don't you two miss me too much," he called back. "Don't make me wreck the supermarket because you idiots."

That was Katsuki for I love you too. Please be safe, I will protect you til my dying breath.

"We'll try," you laughed and shook your head.

"Oh, and ask Shitty Hair if he wants anything else in this. I already know what you'll want. Fucking predictable."

"I will. I'll text you."

Then you were out the door. Eijiro was waiting in the street below for you. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and his head was ducked. You'd really messed up, hadn't you? Maybe you should've taken it slower....

"So," you started, bumping his shoulder with yours. "What do you want for dessert."

Eijiro's eyes flicked to you then the ground. He shrugged and headed down the sidewalk. It was quiet as you walked. Tensely quiet. You hated it. Eijiro should've been his usual self. Talking happily about whatever. He couldn't even look at you.

It was wrong, but you were glad to be this close to him. To his scent. Even if it was weird right now. You'd smelt that turmoil once before, months ago as you sat on his lap and scented him. Eijiro smelt like that now.

What was he thinking?

Eijiro still hadn't said a word as you reached the store. He'd nearly walked into the door he was so distracted. He followed blindly by your side as you walked through the aisles.

"Uuuhhh," you mused. Trying to think of what to say. "Do you like bed we set up for you? I know it's not the newest mattress but -"

"What did you mean?" Eijiro asked, coming out of stupor. "About your nest?"

You were quiet. A little too ashamed to admit it out loud. What you'd meant. What you were trying to say in one longing look. You kept your eyes forward, going down one aisle then the next.

"[Name], please....it's been bugging me all day. I have a theory, but....I want you to tell me."

You stuttered and stumbled. Trying to put together a semblance of a sentence. He watched you and those crimson eyes, so much softer than Katsuki's own rubies but just as gorgeous, made you nervous. You felt like a kid with a crush who'd been called out. You supposed you were, in a way.

"I," you finally managed. "It's hard to explain. Can you feel the exact same way about two people?"

Eijiro's mouth flattened into a line. "I guess that depends on the feeling."

There was something in his scent that changed then. It egged you on. Made you braver. Something that made you think he knew exactly what you were talking about.

You slowed your pace. "Can....Can you be in love with two people at the same time and love them an equal amount?"

You saw Eijiro swallow. His whole body seemed flushed. His eyes on you intently. You met them with equal intensity. Everything felt like it balanced on a delicate scale.

"That's a very serious question," he said, his voice a low murmur.

You nodded. "It's a very serious feeling."

Eijiro grabbed your wrist, tugging you a few aisles. And then there, right in between the Chex Mix and the Honey Graham's - he kissed you. You could actually feel his heart thrumming against his chest. Yours met his pace. Then quickly your mouths found their rhythm. It was hot and needy, and he tasted just like you'd expected him too. Only better.

A slight bit of shame chewed at you as you separated. You wanted this. You wanted him to be your Alpha, along with Katsuki. Honesty, Eijiro could probably teach him a thing or two about being an Alpha.

"Do you really mean this...?" Eijiro asked, and his face was more serious than you'd ever seen.

"That's been my issue," you muttered. "I love Katsuki. To absolute bits and I'd be lost without him. But I've fallen in love with you too. I love you to bits. I'd be lost without you. I've been happier these last couple months, and I think Katsuki has been too.

"But I'm worried. An Omega isn't supposed to have two Alphas. I'm not supposed to love two people, not so deeply, anyway. And I don't know how to tell Katsuki any of it. What if he thinks I don't love him as much? What if he thinks I want to leave him?"

Eijiro chuckled, then kissed your forehead. "Who said you can only love one person at a time? And who said it was illegal to have more than one Alpha? There's a lot of amazing people in the world. You can love as many of them as you want, with as much of yourself as you want. - Maybe it's a bit unmanly to admit, but I've kinda had a thing for you both for a while. If Katsuki's down for sharing you, having it be the three of us, then so am I. I just want you both to be happy. Even if that's without me."

You shook your head, you could barely stomach the thought. "I don't think I could be happy without you both now. It's hurts to much to think of either of you leaving. I think I've been falling in love you while I was also falling for Katsuki. So don't think it's just because you're around more."

"So....what do you want to do?" Eijiro was serious again. He held you closely, as if you'd always been like this. You caught as he momentarily warned an Alpha who was eyeing you up. A little change in scent was all it took for them to turn tail.

You groaned. "I don't know. I need to tell Katsuki. If I keep this secret in, I'll burst. And it's not like I want to cheat on him with you. I want it to be the three of us. My two favorite people."

"We could sit him down tomorrow, if you want. I'll wake up early, make breakfast. And we could talk."

You nodded, Eijiro made it sound so easy. "It's as good as any. - Now we better hurry before he calls asking where we are."

You two began towards the dessert section, then silence much more comfortable now.

Eijiro knocked your shoulder. "Oh, and Katsuki was right. You know? About the vanilla."

You groaned and momentarily hid your face in your hands. If things went too, you'd now have two people embarrassing the hell out of you.

You quickly fetched your desserts and the two of you went halfsies. Mostly because Eijiro left his wallet in his other pants and could only pay with what he had on him. You'd given him another kiss for how cute he was. You remembered to ask about Eijiro's garnish on the way back.

You and Eijiro were all smiles as you got back to the apartment. You worried. Would Katsuki think something was wrong? Or that something was going on behind his back? He didn't say anything, even if he did. Dinner was amazing, as you were expecting. Every bite was an absolute thrill to the taste buds.

Maybe Katsuki should give up heroing to a full time professional chef!

After dinner, you and Eijiro offered to do dishes. It was the least you could do since Katsuki cooked. You were washing and Eijiro was drying. Katsuki leaned on the doorway between the living room and kitchen for a while.

"Hey," Katsuki started awkwardly. The dishes were nearly done. "You don't have to worry about cooking breakfast tomorrow, Ei. Butt dial here basically told me everything themselves."

The plate in your hands clattered into the sink. You and Eijiro both stared at Katsuki. He didn't look mad or anything. More amused. He held up his phone and pressed a button. The entire conversation in the cereal aisle played out, right up until the vanilla comment.

"Katsuki," you rushed, drying your hands. "I promise, I still love you all the same -"

He came and pushed a gentle kiss to your lips. Katsuki's puppy dog smile came back as his eyes bounced between you and Eijiro. He grabbed the back of Eijiro's head and pulled him to kiss his forehead. Then left wordlessly out the door.

Eijiro put a hand on his forehead. A little grin coming. Then he laughed and grabbed you, pulling you close to him. He planted a few sloppy kisses on your cheek.

So it was a yes. Everything was fine. Katsuki wanted you both like you wanted them. There was nothing wrong with you. Nothing about this was bad. It was a possibility you hadn't thought of, with a better outcome than you could've hoped for.

Later that night, after Eijiro fell asleep on you for the millionth time, you finally talked to Katsuki.

"You really don't mind?" you asked. "About sharing me? About the three of us -"

"If I was going to be stuck with any idiots forever," Katsuki started. "I rather it be you two than anyone else."

You leaned up to give him a kiss. He put a hand on your cheek. That sent butterflies raving through your stomach.

"And you may have been fucking right," he admitted hesitantly against your lips. "I....might have a stupid thing for Shitty Hair. But that doesn't mean I'll ever love you any less."

You shrugged. "Lots of love to share."

"I'm not fucking sharing you with anyone else but him," Katsuki growled. "You're still my Omega. And it doesn't matter how I feel about him, if he even thinks about hurting you -"

You shushed him. "You'll wake up Eiji."

It took you both to carry Eijiro to your bed. You figured now was as good of time as any jump head long into this. Eijiro immediately clung to you, and Katsuki squished you in between. This felt amazing. This felt right. This is where you were supposed to be. In the arms of the Alphas, of the men, that you loved more than anyone else in the universe.

2K notes · View notes

missinghan · 3 years

Text

cold sun ⤖ han jisung

❖ genre : soulmate au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 2,6k.

❖ warning : slight swearing

❖ summary : in a world where one will lose something if their soulmate doesn’t reciprocate their words of love once they turn sixteen, jisung is willing to take the risk so you won’t have to bear the burden.

❖ note : i just realized how i always tend to write for jisung when i'm down :')) anywho this piece is a little different than what i usually come up with but i hope y'all enjoy it ♡

It’s the first day of the week.

“Hey, Y/N. I like you!”

And Han Jisung is really annoying.

Those words come out so easily. It's casual in a way that makes you bury your red nose deeper into the soft fabric of your scarf, which makes your footsteps quicken unknowingly as his voice chases after you loudly. Either way, this isn’t the first time Jisung has said so. In fact, it’s become a habit for him to remind you every other day.

There’s no particular reason why. Or at least that’s what you think.

It’s the end of the week. Jisung decides to hang himself upside down on your bed while you’re stressing over a presentation. “Hey, Y/N.” A cold winter breeze comes rushing against the perplexing glass of your window, shaking the frame violently before all motions come to silence.

Until, “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he creeps up from behind you and chirps into your ear.

“What?” you let out a groan of displease when tempting warmth embraces you whole, prompting you to drop your attention and looking over your shoulder.

Jisung pouts, “You didn’t answer me.”

“It’s because you’re annoying,” you sigh.

“Answer me when I call your name,” he pulls you in a fraction tighter, careful enough not to hurt you but firm to not let you slip away at the same time, and cradles your neck warmly, “So I’d know that you’re still here with me.”

“Alright, stupid.”

The all too familiar gummy smile returns instantly. “Hey, Y/N?”

And you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Yes, Jisung?”

“I like you,” he giggles into the hug, “I like you a lot.”

Han Jisung really is annoying.

He’s annoying because he talks too much. He’s annoying because of how he always asks for your notes after a gaming night with Felix just to nap in class. He’s annoying because he’d drop you in a heartbeat for a single slice of cheesecake from Jeongin’s mom’s bakery. He’s annoying because of how well he can get along with everyone.

Chatty, down-to-earth, easy-going with a lovable smile—attractive, very attractive.

It’s the week after that. “What...happened?”

“He lost his voice,” Jeongin sighs, looking like he genuinely wants to facepalm himself against concrete while walking with an incoherent Jisung to school; expressive hands with his mouth agape and all.

You tilt your head, “...for real?”

“For real.”

After a few seconds of eyeing Jisung struggling with converting what’s in his head, you exhale deeply and quickly rummage through your backpack, “Just stop, you look ridiculous.” And he does just that, zipping his mouth metaphorically and giving you those typical puppy eyes. “Here, use this.”

His eyes light up like stars when you rip off a page from one of your notebooks and offer it to him along with a pen. Truth is, you’re expecting something as predictable as ‘I like you’ or ‘It’s alright it’s just the worst cold I’ve ever caught’. But then, what’s displayed on the piece of paper right now only baffles you.

Park is going to murder you if he sees some uglyass tear in your Ochem notes :)

A forced grin splits your lips open. “Not if I murdered you first and then the entire school and then myself.”

The first genuine smile blossoms on his lips when you give him a mini-sized notepad and pencil the day after—his sixteenth birthday.

And Jisung decides this is it.

It happens when the sun hasn’t even come out yet and the irritating blue light from his phone reads 5:32 AM.

It happens when he sees your reclined figure leaning back against his mattress, his pupils tracing your delicate features. Perplexed emotions fill his eyes to the brim, fulfillment bursting within his chest when you stare right back at him with such purity. So pure that it seems you can do no harm to him and neither can he.

“Hey stupid,” you murmur quietly, shoving a notepad and pencil against his chest, “Happy birthday.”

Jisung gives you a bright smile, opens his mouth, and snaps it close mere moments later. Sixteenth birthday. Early in the morning. Tired grins. The fondness of being so disgustingly in love.

He can’t help but lean in and caves into the taste his soul has longed for as long as he can remember.

Two weeks have passed since Jisung has lost his voice.

Nothing has differed if you’re being completely honest. Han Jisung is still annoying. His lack of ability to speak doesn’t appear to be a problem to him at all. He loves chatting with people even though he’s more of a listener now. But with the small notepad you gave him a few days ago, being socially active is the norm for him even now.

Thanks to his rather short-period experiences of observing people’s expressions and how their features contort in certain ways when they’re feeling certain emotions, Jisung catches onto your mood more quickly during bad days to help you release your inner turmoil by scribbling down something stupid on the notepad. It’s kinda nice like this, you’d think to yourself sometimes.

Other times, you’re more scared that you might have forgotten what his voice sounds like.

“No wonder you got a fucking cold. Stop taking midnight showers already.”

You wave Jisung over when he closes the wooden door to your bedroom, droplets dripping from his hair as he scratches his stomach tiredly. His hair is a mess when he lazily crawls onto your bed, the cushion beside you dips slightly.

His index finger pointing at his post-shower head and a shit-eating grin are all you need to snatch the white towel around his neck.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you mumble while rubbing the cotton fabric into his hair, “But you’re awfully upbeat for someone who’s lost their voice. Can’t you at least pretend to be sad about it?”

A noise of protest escapes his throat like second nature as your eyes carefully read the quick movements of his mouth. “And can you not be so mean to someone who’s lost their voice?”

A faint smirk creeps its way up to your lips. “Still like me now?”

Jisung thinks hard for a few moments before jumping out of bed to snatch his notepad from your studying area. Of course, I like you. I like you a lot. Your heartbeat momentarily spikes at his scrawny handwriting. Just when your gaze is averted away to cool the blush on your cheeks, he tugs at your sleeve again and points at a different mess of scribbles. You’re more gentle when I’m like this. And you’d always find me if I ever got into trouble. What’s there for me to be sad about?

“Annoying little shit,” you swallow your pride and let him settle his head against your chest.

His presence melts into yours during the hardest hours of the twenty-four, heartbeats on heartbeats and warmth on warmth. Your one regret is that you’re unable to register his tears that night, only the incoherent, breathless hiccups almost as to desperately call out your name.

It’s been a month since Jisung’s lost his voice. And the night when he kisses you for the second time, his notepad is long forgotten next to your pillow.

I-can’t-talk. Give-me-a-break.

Jeongin. Cheesecake. Please? Pretty please?

I’ll fucking kick you.

Wait, there’s homework?!

...so you’re telling me LMAO isn’t how French people laugh?

“This is what you’ve been doing during breaks huh…” you mumble under your breath while lazily flipping through the papers. The occasional ‘I like you’-s do pop up every two pages or so, which is more than enough to make you smile like an idiot. But that is until a peculiar paragraph yanks your attention by its neck and tosses it against a brick wall.

Mom, promise me you’re not going to cry.

He made auntie cry?!

I lost my voice for real now but it wasn’t supposed to be like that at first. I just wanted to mess with Y/N and freak her out for a day.

I’m seriously going to punch him.

She was a lot softer toward me after that, you know. I know it’s extremely selfish of me but I just can’t help being so happy. I’m sorry, mom. I really am.

Han Jisung you fucking idiot.

I was going to surprise her on my birthday by saying ‘good morning’ out loud but nothing came out. My voice was gone.

Guilt, anger, remorse take over you. You knew nothing of this. You never once questioned for a logical reason behind the loss of his voice and kept moving onward as if it’s not that big of a deal. You didn’t suspect it as a kind of prank, either. But you still care, all this time! You have been doing everything in your power as a way for both you and Jisung to treasure himself even if he can’t speak anymore.

I went to a check-up last week. Nothing came up. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.

However, without fail, the obnoxious part of you will keep wandering back to the concept of soulmates that has been engraved so deeply into the society you’re living in. It makes no sense to you that Jisung lost his voice for no reason right before his sixteenth birthday. This explains it all now.

It’s going to be okay, mom. Because I have Y/N. I know she would come running toward my side over and over again even if she can’t hear me anymore. I really don’t know what I’d do without her in my life.

Jisung knew the penalty for being the first to exchange any words of love yet he still did it. And you were too busy overlooking that stupid pride of yours to say those three words back.

It’s getting to the point where I’m starting to forget what I used to sound like. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.

Jisung fixes the strap of his backpack, looking up at his mom after slipping into his sneakers. She ruffles his bed head and hands him a small white box with Jeongin’s bakery’s signature logo on it.

He tilts his head in faint confusion, peering at the box of pastry in his arms.

“Give it to Y/N on the bus, okay? Her parents aren’t home right now. You know how she would always skip breakfast when they’re out of town.”

His eyes light up instantly in realization and Jisung nods, preparing to bid her farewell. Just then, his front door comes flying open. It can’t be a mere acquaintance because there are very few people other than his parents and himself who know of the spare key hidden under the welcome mat.

As Jisung turns around, he’s keenly aware of your teary eyes already trained on him. Which in hindsight, makes no sense. As a result, panic rises within the hollowness of his chest, his lips falling agape but no coherent words come out.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” his mom flinches, slightly caught off guard, “Is everything okay?”

A scowl stretches over your contorted features as you shut the door loudly. “What the hell is this?” you question, shoving the familiar notepad into his chest. “A prank? A prank?! Do you think that this is funny?”

Jisung’s frantic eyes move to read the paper and every single color on his face drains tremendously. He easily recognizes the peculiar paragraph by how much lighter the ink is compared to the rest of the messy lines because his pen was running low and his hand couldn’t stop shaking.

Your voice.

His eyes avert back to look at you. His brows furrow timidly and shaky breaths burst from his lips almost like a desperate cry for help. There’s too much he wants to say, too many things to explain, and too many questions running through his head that he can’t process what to do next. He might just overwhelm both you and himself.

I need to hear it again.

And you might not stay by his side this time.

“Okay, don’t answer me then, I guess,” you chuckle lowly, dipping your head and turning around.

Jisung grabs at your sleeve instinctively and drops the pastry box, his gaze empty and all too knowing. Sorrow glazes over his starry eyes when it starts becoming hard to breathe properly. The outlines of his lips are moving non-stop yet nothing comes following after that.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you rasp out and tug at his hand. Then it hits you. He’s like this because of you. Jisung lost his voice because of you.

His mom cuts into the conversation, “Y/N, you don’t understand!”

“I’m sorry, auntie,” you smile sadly and take off running into the streets.

You, in the midst of your self-loathing and guilt, allow your feet to go wherever they want as your vision spirals into a blur. A single droplet threatens to fall when a forceful hand yanks you back to reality.

It takes Jisung a moment to regain his regular breathing pace. And when he finally gets it, all he can do is call out to you with the same inaudible sounds and the same desperation in his eyes. It seems as though he’s fully aware that the prank was the stupidest, most irrational thing he’s ever done. But there’s more to the ocean within his eyes than just remorse.

“I already told you,” you clench your jaw and slap his hand away, “I don’t fucking know what you’re saying!”

A deep sigh. “Why am I mad? Of course, I’d be mad! It’s because of me that you lost your voice! It’s because I like you, too! Yet I never said it back… You lost your voice because of me! Don't you get it? Why can't you just hate me for the sake of it?!”

You miss his voice. You miss it a lot.

You want to hear it again. You want to hear him call you by your name. You want to stay up late and talk about anything to the ends of the Earth and back with him. You want him to be the obnoxious, chatty Han Jisung you've always known.

You miss how annoyingly loud he is.

“Y-Y...Y/N…!”

Jisung collapses onto his knees, a hand on concrete while the other is on his neck. His chest rises and falls unevenly, muffled noises of discomfort echoing deep down from his throat. Despite that, what you heard just now, is his voice.

“Answer me when I call your name. So I’d know that you’re still here with me.”

“I promised you, didn’t I,” you spread your arms and smile warmly, “That I’d always answer when you call my name. As long as I can still hear you, I will come running toward you over and over again. Doesn’t matter what it takes, doesn’t matter where you are.”

Jisung lifts his head and tears come rolling down on his cheeks. His throat feels swollen when he stutters with difficulties, trying to convey what’s in his head, “Y-Y/N, don’t- don’t go! Please don’t leave me...!”

“Come here,” you close your eyes with the widest grin on your lips, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Only when Jisung grows closer and throws his arms around you, sobbing into your uniform do you convince yourself that all of this isn’t a hallucination. The hug is a lot stronger than what you’d expect. First of all, you nearly fell over from the impact and your arms are pinned so tightly to your sides that you feel like your ribs are going to snap.

Everything is so overwhelming that all you can say is, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles into your hair and loosens his arms a bit so you can loop your hands to the nape of his neck and hair.

“You’re so annoying, Han Jisung.”

He purses his lips, sniffling, “You tried to make me snap on purpose. Meanie.”

You quirk a playful brow, “Still like me now?”

“Yeah,” Jisung smiles, “A lot.”

Because he knows that he has you. Until every last star in the galaxy explodes as a supernova, Jisung has you.

402 notes · View notes

homoose · 4 years

Text

Atlas

Summary: Three times that Spencer needed support, and one time he gave it. Lightly insp by the song Atlas by The Dip.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: heavy on the fluff, a lil bit of angst

Warnings/Includes: brief mentions of general anxiety/trauma/mild depression

Word count: 4.4k

———

Spencer pressed his fingers so far into the sockets of his eyes that Y/N thought he might actually jam one of his eyeballs into his brain. He was hunched over his desk, reading through the file of the case he was consulting on. Even on his mandatory 30-day leave, Spencer couldn’t fully tear himself away from hunting monsters.

Y/N moved from where she had been leaning against the doorframe, walking further into Spencer’s office. “Another headache?” She sighed, wrapping her arms around Spencer’s shoulders and pressing her warm cheek to his temple.

Spencer hummed. “Just need another cup of coffee.”

“Honey, you’ve been awake for almost three days,” Y/N sighed. “What you need is a gallon of water and 12 hours sleep.”

He leaned back further into the circle of Y/N’s arms and covered her hands with his own. “I can’t—the team needs this consult before they leave on Monday.”

“And just how long have you been reading this page?” Y/N questioned. When Spencer didn’t respond, she continued, “Mmhm, that’s what I thought. When it takes Dr. Reid two minutes to finish a page, something’s up.” She patted his chest. “Even the biggest brain needs a break.”

“Actually, there’s very little evidence that brain size has any correlation with measured levels of intell—” Spencer started.

“So you’ve mentioned,” Y/N chuckled. “My point still stands. I’m gonna make you a cup of tea and a snack, and then we’re gonna take a nap.” She kissed the top of his head before releasing her hold on him and moving to the kitchen.

Y/N filled the kettle and placed it on the stove before scrolling to find the playlist she had curated for days like this. The melancholic sounds of the Moonlight Sonata came through the bluetooth speaker as she pulled a wooden cutting board from the cupboard. Y/N dug through the bag from her earlier grocery run. She began placing the crackers, dried fruit, nuts, and cheeses on the board, taking time to arrange each piece just so. When she was satisfied with her work, Y/N turned to reach up on her tiptoes into the cupboard for her secret weapon. With a small smile, she placed it in the very center of the board. The kettle had barely begun its whistle when Y/N snatched it from the stove, cringing with a glance toward the door of Spencer’s office. She pulled his best-loved mug from the dish rack and dropped a fresh tea bag into it, covering it with the steaming water.

As the tea steeped, Y/N moved to the living room, crossing her arms as she contemplated the space. Although it was much darker than Y/N’s own living space, it was still far too bright to be comfortable for Spencer’s light sensitivity. Y/N made a mental note to find a suitable set of blackout curtains before retrieving a blanket from inside the trunk-style coffee table. She carried one of the kitchen chairs over to the window, quietly setting it underneath the curtain rod. Stepping up on the seat of the chair, she tossed the blanket up, trying to layer it up over the curtain. It took a few tries, but Y/N got it up and over the rod, adjusting it to block as much of the light as possible. She hopped off the chair, landing on the floor with a quiet thud.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” Spencer stood outside his office, hands in his pockets and honey colored eyes settled on Y/N’s face as she turned to him.

“I know.” Y/N padded across the hardwood. She grabbed Spencer’s hand and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. She shrugged, pulling him into the kitchen. “I don’t mind. I like taking care of you.” When they reached the table, she popped an almond into her mouth with a grin.

Spencer’s eyes moved over the cutting board, lips turning up in a small smile—the first one Y/N had seen in days—when they landed on the Jell-O cup. He picked it up and peeled back the lid. Y/N held up her mug of tea. Spencer let out a laugh and tapped it with his Jell-O. “Cheers.”

When the board held only crumbs and the mugs were empty, Y/N stood from the table and pulled Spencer to his feet. “Come on, nap time.”

“Y/N, I appreciate the thought, but I really have to finish—”

“Nope, sorry, that’s not part of the deal.” She gently pushed him toward the couch. At Spencer’s resistance, Y/N huffed out a breath. “Spence, you need a break. I’m not even asking you to go to bed. Just lay on the couch.” She lifted a hand to cradle Spencer’s face. “Unlike the brain size thing, there is actual research that says your brain doesn't function properly when you’re tired. And you, my love, are t-i-r-e-d.”

Spencer allowed himself to be lowered onto the brown leather couch, rubbing at his eyes. “Just twenty minutes.”

“Mhmm.” Y/N reclined next to him on the couch, grabbing the throw blanket draped over the back. “I’ll set the alarm.” She held out her arms. “C’mere.”

Despite himself, Spencer didn’t hesitate, winding his arms around Y/N’s middle and laying his head on her shoulder. She tucked the blanket around the both of them and wound their legs together.

“The alarm’s set?” Spencer mumbled, already falling under the spell of sleep.

Y/N pushed her fingers through his hair and scratched lightly at his scalp, smiling when he hummed happily and burrowed his face into her chest. “Setting it now,” she assured. Maybe she set it a little longer than 20 minutes, but Spencer didn’t need to know that.

⧭⧭⧭

Y/N rolled over toward the nightstand and reached out, clumsily running her hand across the smooth table to grab the ringing phone. When her fingers wrapped around the device, she pulled it towards her only to have it jerk abruptly out of her hand when the charging cord reached its limit. “Shit,” Y/N muttered as it clattered to the floor. She emerged from under the duvet, leaning off the side of the bed and dragging her hand blindly across the floor. Finally, clutching the phone in one hand and pushing herself back into bed with the other, Y/N swiped to answer the call. “H‘lo?”

“Hey.”

At the sound of Spencer’s voice, Y/N was suddenly wide-awake. “Spence? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just—um. I know it’s late, sorry. Are you—? I just—God, you have to work in the morning, I’m sorry. I can—it can wait.”

Y/N paused a moment to make sure he was finished before asking, “Do you need me to come to you, or are you coming here?”

Spencer let out a sigh of relief. “I can—I’ll come to you.”

After thirty minutes of groggy pacing, Y/N opened the door to Spencer, hair frizzy and clothes rumpled from a long flight. She stepped back, allowing him into the apartment and then closing the door behind him. Spencer dropped his go-bag on the floor and ran a hand over his face as Y/N turned the deadbolt and secured the chain. She had barely turned around before he was latching onto her, completely enervated. He burrowed his face into the crook of her neck, and Y/N wrapped her arms tightly around him.

Y/N shifted her weight slowly back and forth, moving the two of them in a gentle swaying motion. She rubbed a hand up and down Spencer’s back, soothing and rhythmic. Spencer let out a shaky breath, and Y/N felt the collar of her shirt becoming damp. She brought a hand up to Spencer’s head, stroking his hair and repeating a familiar mantra: “You’re safe. I’m here. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

Y/N lost track of how long they stood there, swaying and soothing and shattering. Maybe minutes or maybe hours later, Spencer pulled back, head lowered and swiping his arm underneath his nose. Y/N reached out to grasp his face in both her hands, lifting it and sweeping her thumbs under his eyes. When Spencer finally looked at her, Y/N saw the golden irises were shining and ringed with red. “I love you.”

“I love you. So much.” Spencer circled Y/N’s wrists in his hands. “So much.”

She pressed one, two, three chaste kisses to his chapped lips. She dropped one kiss onto the tip of his nose, drawing out a hesitant smile. “Wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. “No.” Y/N pursed their lips, and Spencer sighed. “I—I will talk to someone, I promise. But I just—I don’t want it in here. In our space.” Y/N wound her fingers through Spencer’s, pulled his arms down, and tugged him closer. “Honestly, I just want to sleep with you,” Spencer admitted. Y/N wiggled her eyebrows and Spencer laughed. “You know what I mean.”

Y/N tried to pull a pout but just ended up smiling. “Fine. Come on, spoilsport. Let’s go to bed.”

⧭⧭⧭

“It was just… not a good day for her.” Spencer leaned back on the couch and scrubbed his hands over his face.

Y/N sat next to him on the couch. She couldn’t find the right words. “I’m so sorry, Spence.”

“Pragmatically, I know that there’s nothing more I could be doing. She made it clear what she wants, and I can’t force her to take medications or try new treatments.” He looked down at his hands, fingers tracing the lines of his palms. “But some days I—I just can’t… reconcile that this is what her life is now. Just… remembering less and less every day. Being confused and agitated all the time. I mean, all the time.” He paused and drew his lips into a thin line. “Not knowing who I am. That happens much more frequently than it used to.”

Y/N reclined back next to him on the couch, putting her feet up on the coffee table and pressing her shoulder to Spencer’s. “Even if she doesn’t always remember, you do. And if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you are irritatingly persistent,” she joked. “You won’t ever stop trying to remind her. And that’s the best thing you can do for her.”

Spencer nodded, dropping his head onto Y/N’s shoulder. She tilted her head, an idea flitting across the front of her mind. “Hey, here’s a thought. You know that scrapbook your mom made? Every page is a story from her life. But she stopped around the time you were like, ten, right?”

“Yeah. There’s… not much in there after that.”

“Ok so, what if you picked up where she left off? You have so many great stories and memories with her. You could put some of your journals and articles in there, too. Pictures of you and the team. That one of you and Ethan in New Orleans. Ones with Henry and Michael. Maybe one of you in the lecture hall.” Y/N sat up. “Writing her letters is great, you should keep doing that for sure. But did you know that visual aids—like, particularly photographs—can help stimulate memory recall in Alzheimer’s patients at any stage?”

Spencer smiled. “I actually did know that.”

“Ugh of course you did. Couldn’t just let me have this one thing.” Y/N rolled her eyes, though Spencer caught the hint of a grin underneath the feigned annoyance. “Seriously, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. I have a ton of scrapbooking stuff,” Y/N said, scrambling up from the couch and into her bedroom.

“You do?” Spencer furrowed his brow. “I’ve never seen you scrapbook.”

“Eh, yeah, it was a phase,” she called from the bedroom. “Scrapbooking paper’s expensive as fuck, so it was a short-lived hobby.”

Spencer chuckled, listening to the sounds of Y/N rummaging through the bedroom closet. There was a muffled thud. “Everything okay in there?”

There were a couple more bumps and bangs, and then, “Ah yeah, here we go.” Emerging from the bedroom, Y/N wheeled a huge black roller bag over to the couch. She unzipped the top pocket and Spencer peered inside. “Oh so you meant, quite literally, a ton of scrapbooking stuff.”

“Look, my ADHD goes all out when it comes to starting new projects.” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “It’s the, you know, finishing projects that we struggle with.”

The pair went about die cutting, arranging, gluing, and giggling. Y/N scoured the depths of the internet (namely Penelope’s Facebook page) for photographs of Spencer—in costume at the BAU Halloween party, in his tuxedo at JJ and Will’s wedding, a selfie with Penelope at a Dr. Who convention, a candid of him doing magic for Jack and Henry, and even one of him singing karaoke.

Spencer worked on laying out the pages, gluing down frames and choosing decals that reminded him of his mother. He wrote a short synopsis on each page, summarizing his degrees, his work, and his friends. By the end of the afternoon, they had more than a dozen pages for the new book.

“I need one more picture,” Spencer said.

“I thought I got one of everyone? Or is there another karaoke picture that I don’t know about?” Y/N gawked over the top of the laptop from her spot on the couch. She was never going to let him live that down.

Spencer laughed. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s the only photographic evidence of that night.” He turned and smiled up at Y/N from where he sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scraps of paper and the remnants of sticker packs. “I need that one of us at the Cherry Blossom festival.”

“Oh. Well, um.” A blush crept up Y/N’s cheeks. “Coming right up.” She sent the photo to the printer, standing to retrieve it from her desk.

It was quiet in the room apart from the sounds of the printer, rhythmically whirring and inking the memory into life. Y/N absentmindedly chewed the inside of her lip, waiting for the final strokes of the photo to be laid. She turned back, photo in hand, to see Spencer smiling at her, soft and warm.

Over the course of the afternoon, he had swapped his shoes for a pair of fuzzy socks, and his contacts for his glasses. Y/N’s heart actually ached at the length of his sweater sleeves, covering all but the tips of his fingers. The picture of domesticity, Spencer patted the floor next to him. When Y/N sat, he took the photo from her hand, meticulously adding glue dots to each corner before pressing it down onto the page. He lifted his arm, tucking Y/N underneath and pulling her close. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“You’re very welcome.” Y/N snuggled a little deeper into his embrace. “All right so let’s see this masterpiece.”

When they arrived at the last page, Y/N was still incredulous over the details of the karaoke story. “Okay, but there has to be a video somewhere.”

“Oh, I’m sure there is. And you will never, ever see it.”

“Penelope Garcia is a tech wizard, and she is not above a bribe,” Y/N warned.

“What a coincidence, because I am also not above a bribe. Especially if it keeps that video from ever seeing the light of day.” Spencer laughed and squeezed Y/N’s shoulder. “I think this page is my favorite.”

Y/N and I at the Cherry Blossom festival. Y/N is kind, thoughtful, and passionate. She never fails to make me laugh. She’s always up for cloud watching with me, although she prefers altocumulus formations to the cumuliform heaps. We read together almost every night. You both love King Arthur and the Legends of the Round Table, particularly Tristan and Iseult. I could write a million more words about her and it wouldn’t be enough. When I was little, you told me that love is a world of its own that lives in the heart, not in the head. I know exactly what you mean.

⧭⧭⧭

Y/N tossed under the duvet, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to find a comfortable position. She had been sleeping for so long that her lower back was aching, the type of pain that twinges like the ticking of a clock, steady and incessant. She rolled over onto her stomach, stretching her whole body and reaching to turn the alarm clock toward her—3:27pm. She huffed, burying her head in the pillow with a loud groan. She had called out of work to have a productive day at home, and instead she slept the day away.

Y/N threw the duvet off and sat up. She tried not to let the guilt of calling out creep in. Instead, she shuffled into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. She resolved that small victories might be all she was capable of today.

She pulled her favorite sweater from the hook on her bedroom door, wrapping it tightly around her as she stepped over the threshold into the living and dining space. This is why she had stayed in bed so long. Y/N had been spending so much time at Spencer’s that she had been able to ignore the declining Depression Room™ facing her now.

Three days’ worth of dishes were piled in the sink. There was a stack of unopened mail about a mile high on the kitchen island. The trash and recycling needed emptying about a week ago. Jackets and shoes were strewn about the place—over chairs, the back of the couch, all over the floor. The coffee table was littered with granola bar wrappers, an old McDonald’s bag, empty gatorade bottles, and the dirty containers from last night’s takeout. Her desk was overrun with unfinished lesson plans, professional development books that needed reading, and spelling tests that needed grading.

Y/N knew she would feel better once she started, but she also knew it would take her all day to get the apartment looking even halfway decent. Since she had spent so long in bed, she had even less time to get it done. She was failing to fend off the guilt of calling out, particularly since she hadn’t actually gotten any work done. Compounding her guilt was the fact that Spencer’s apartment was always so clean and cozy. His job was a thousand times more demanding than hers. His life had more trauma and daily stressors than she could even imagine. And still, Y/N was struggling with basic adult tasks. She couldn’t understand it.

Just hang the jackets up. Throw away the junk mail. Wash the pots and pans first, then the plates and silverware. It will take four minutes to take the trash out. Spelling tests need to be in the grade book before the end of the marking period.

The door buzzer sounded and Y/N nearly jumped out of her skin. Running a hand through her hair and cringing at the greasiness, she crossed to the intercom and pushed the button to talk.

“Yes?”

“Hey!” Spencer’s chipper voice crackled through the speaker. “I tried calling you but couldn’t get through.”

Y/N was immediately torn between relief and panic. She was desperately in need of a hug and his company, but she was also mortified imagining what Spencer would think about the state of her apartment, the state of her life. “Y/N?” His voice broke through her musing.

“Yeah, sorry!” She tried to school her voice into something resembling normalcy. “Sorry, I—my phone died and I just— well, yeah.”

There was a pause, and then a tentative, “Can you buzz me in?”

“Oh, um.” Y/N turned and surveyed the apartment. There was nothing to be done. If she said no, Spencer would know for sure that something was wrong. “Sure, yeah yeah, hang on. Just—just a minute.”

Y/N moved quickly around the space and gathered the jackets and shoes into her arms. She fumbled with the door handle of the coat closet, tossing them in haphazardly and closing the door. There was no time to do much of anything else. She jogged back to the intercom, pressing the door button and then roping her hair up into a bun, hoping she could mask how dirty it was. She could hear Spencer coming up the squeaky stairs and felt her eyes start to water. She tilted her head back to keep the tears at bay.

Even Spencer’s knocking sounded happy. And of course that only made Y/N feel worse. She plastered on her best smile and opened the door. “Hi.”

“Hey!” Spencer stepped past Y/N, kissing her cheek and dropping his bag as he entered the apartment. “We had a paperwork day, and I write reports about as fast as I read, so I’m always done early. How was your day?”

“Um, you know, it was ok.”

Spencer’s eyes tracked over her face. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, I just wasn’t feeling great this morning. I called in, just hung around here.”

“You could have called me.” Spencer stepped closer. “How are you feeling now? What were your symptoms?”

“I’m fine. I was just, um—just really exhausted.”

Spencer studied her face a moment. “What’s going on?”

“Hmm? Nothing. Nothing, I’m fine.” Y/N cursed her wavering voice for betraying her emotions.

“Y/N, you have never once, in all the time I’ve known you, failed to answer your phone. I almost thought you were going to tell me to go away before you buzzed me up.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Did I— Did I do something to make you upset?”

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling more awful by the minute. Of course Spencer would worry it was his fault. “No, no, Spence, not at all. I just—um.” The genuine concern on Spencer’s face was enough to have it all spilling out. “I get like this sometimes. I can’t focus on anything or don’t feel motivated or whatever, so I put things off, and then they build up until there’s so much to do that I don’t know where to start, so then I don’t start anything, and then I feel bad about being lazy and not getting things done, and I get so overwhelmed that all I can do is sleep for like, fourteen hours like I did today, and then the whole day is gone and I still haven’t accomplished anything I was supposed to—”

“Whoa, whoa, c’mere.” Y/N hadn’t even realized she was crying until Spencer pulled her into him. He locked his arms around her back so tight it almost hurt. She was vaguely aware of the volume of her sobs, but she couldn’t even bring herself to be embarrassed. It was a completely visceral moment of release, one that she might never have permitted herself without Spencer’s prompting. Now that the floodgates were open, there was no stopping the rush of everything she had allowed to build up. She spent so much of her life being the one who helped, always listening, supporting, and comforting the people around her. She was good at it, and she liked being someone that others could count on whenever they needed her. She just didn’t know how to listen to, support, and comfort herself.

Eventually, her mind and body began to slow down, plunging from the emotional high. When Spencer felt her breathing return to that consistent rhythm, he loosened his grip around her. He left one arm firmly around her waist and used his other hand to rub circles on her back.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N mumbled into his chest. “This is so stupid. Compared to the stuff you see every day—”

“No— no.” Spencer pulled back to force her eyes up. “Don’t do that. Just because horrible things happen to other people doesn’t mean that what you’re going through isn’t hard. Y/N, do you hear me? Don’t diminish your own pain because you think someone else has it worse.” He cupped her chin gently in his hand. “What can I do to help you right now?”

“You already have helped,” Y/N sniffed. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Y/N... you’re not fine. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It—it’s okay to not be fine. But seeing you in pain hurts me, too. And I need to be able to do something about it.” He cradled her face in both hands. “You help me all the time. Please, let me do this for you. Let me be here for you.” After a moment, Y/N nodded and that was approval enough for Spencer. “What did you eat today?

“I um, I didn’t yet.” She sniffed. “I slept pretty late.”

“Okay, well it’s after 4:00pm. We’ve got to eat something.” Spencer ran his hands down Y/N’s arms. “I’d cook for you, but we already know how that story usually ends. How about takeout from the Indian place? They’re usually pretty quick.”

Y/N nodded again. “I need to take a shower, too.”

Spencer kissed her forehead. “You hop in the shower, and I’ll call in the order. It’ll be here by the time you’re done.”

When Y/N emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and skin smelling like lavender, the familiar aroma of curry and tandoori was drifting through the apartment. The coffee table was cleared and the kitchen table set with the takeout boxes and mugs of tea. The trash and recycling were freshly emptied. Spencer stood over the sink finishing up the last few dishes, the pots and pans already laid out to dry. He was quietly singing along to a familiar song—one of their favorites. His voice was sweet and soft and slightly off-key, and her heart panged in the best way as he sang:

Don't put the world on your shoulders 'cause you know it ain't your load to bear alone.

Y/N waited until the final notes of the song faded out, padding quietly across the kitchen floor. “You didn’t have to do all this,” Y/N said, wrapping her arms around his middle.

Spencer dried his hands before turning in her embrace. “I don’t mind. I like taking care of you. And I learned from the best.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and spoke against her skin. “You can even have the last Jell-o.”

Y/N smiled, quick and genuine. There were moments when life crashed over her, relentless waves breaking her down into grains of sand. And in those moments, this man forever grounded her to the truth—that she was treasured and deserving and whole— all of her, just as she was.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminals minds self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #homoose writes

1K notes · View notes