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daycourtofficial · 3 days

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Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - Part 13

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 1.8k | Warnings: none | Masterlist

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

Author's note: everyone say thank you to @sarawritestories for bullying me to get me to write and to @milswrites for the NEW HEADER LOOK IT'S SO PRETTY

Ten minutes to the dot from getting to your door Azriel was walking into your apartment with a bowl of popcorn and several bags of candy. He brought chocolates, gummy worms, cookies, and several other sweets in the crook of his elbow, several being held by random fingers. You really weren’t sure how he was carrying it all.

In your absence he also changed into some black sweatpants and a black tee, his arms flexed with all the snacks in his hold. He looked great at mini golf, but now he looked attractive in such a different way.

“What are you doing?” He looked a bit ridiculous, as if he just raided a candy store. He looked even more ridiculous trying to toe his shoes off before making his way over to you.

“I know you don’t have food here.”

“Yes we do - Cassian was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday!” You whip your head to the kitchen, as if you could see the inside of your pantry from where you sat. “Besides I ordered a pizza.”

He gives you a look, “Cassian’s version of grocery shopping is stopping at our apartment and taking what he wants.”

Your eyes widen, “no he does not! He said he goes to the store for food.”

He scoffs, setting down the candy and snacks on the table in front of you, lining them all up so you could see the label on each bag, “the store of Rhys and Az, maybe. A 24 hour convenience store Cassian has a lifetime membership to.”

You think back to all the times Cassian told you he was going grocery shopping, but you’re not sure if you ever did see him come back with bags of groceries. All the food and supplies just showed up. “Well, I’m sorry he does that. It does explain his luxurious tastes though…”

“It’s fine,” he says sitting next to you, your legs touching. “Rhys’s dad pays for the groceries, so..”

His sentence lingers as he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s what’s worked for us for a long time. Rhys couldn't care less. Actually I think he prefers getting to spend money on us.”

“So things with Rhys’s dad are weird?”

“Uh, yeah, I suppose. His dad sucks. Gives Rhys a- basically an unlimited credit card. Rhys has played with the limits on it before. We all know he’s rich, we just don’t know how rich. He’s spent a ridiculous amount of money on that card with no response. Once he bought all of ours and Cassian’s furniture in one trip - bought ridiculously priced shit too. Didn’t even blink over it.”

He scoops up a handful of popcorn, popping some into his mouth. “Well, all the furniture except their ridiculously sized tvs.”

You giggle, grabbing the bag of sour candies he brought and opening them, popping some in your mouth. “Mm, you’re too good to fall victim to their childish antics?”

“I’m more evolved than them.”

“So it was a different Azriel that Cassian was talking about going racing with him on some backroads a few weeks ago?”

A beat passes and he refuses to look at you, his eyes straight forward. “I think Cassian has face blindness.”

“Oh yeah, mhm.” You pick up the remote, scrolling to look through potential movies to watch. “Maybe we should get a decal for your bike so he won’t get confused again. I’m thinking of something that makes you seem distinguished.”

“Oh?”

“Something that makes you seem intimidating.”

“something scary?” His eyes dance with amusement, crinkling in contained joy.

“Something terrifying. So they know you’re a menace.”

You scroll through the movie options, Azriel’s arm making its way across the back of the couch behind you. He spreads his legs a bit, and you nestle into his shoulder as you put on Jurassic Park, picking a movie you’d be okay with missing some parts to it.

The two of you had watched at least three quarters of Jurassic Park, several parts of the movie missed because the two of you couldn’t keep from making out on your couch.

You watched the entire trilogy, staying up late with him. By the time the second movie came on, the two of you talked through most of it, until you’d reach the scenes with the pterodactyls in the third movie. Then you had forced your hands over his mouth, not letting him talk over your favorite scenes. Once you had pulled them away, he immediately dove on top of you, pushing you into the couch and nuzzling his face into your neck.

The two of you stayed up until somewhere around 3 AM, the third movie long forgotten as you asked him to stay the night. Nothing happened, except you did wake up the next morning with his arm slung around your waist, making it very tempting to completely ignore your alarm clock.

Unfortunately, Azriel had work to do, kissing your temple before he snuck back into his apartment to get dressed.

He had been gone for all of twenty seconds when your phone buzzed and he asked if you’d like to get coffee the next day before class. Your classes lined up at the same time each day, so you two would meet up at a local coffee shop in the morning. You’d park your car in the grocery store lot afterwards, Azriel holding out his spare helmet for you before helping put it on your head before he’d zip you two through campus, one of his hands always on your thigh.

The two of you would separate once he’d walk you to your classes, and then you’d meet back up at the library. It was a bit concerning to you how quickly the two of you fell into a routine, most of your free time of the week either spent with him or texting him.

“I got you something.”

You rummage through your bag when Azriel walks up to the table, his jacket being thrown onto one of the extra chairs. He sets down his helmet as you continue your search. You slide the envelope across the table, his scarred fingers touching yours as he grabs it from you. He opens the envelope, pulling out the note.

‘To be more menacing’ is written on pink stationary, a sticker falling from the paper. He picks it up, a smile on his face as he turns the sticker in his fingers, the cartoon goose with a knife in his mouth looking back at you.

His smile is captivating in the harsh lighting of the library, the LEDs making his skin several shades too light.

But it made his smile all the more blinding.

“Thank you,” he slips the sticker into his jacket pocket, sliding into the seat across from you.

He pulled out his laptop, his bag neat and tidy, a far cry from Cassian’s paper cluttered bag. You go back to reviewing your notes, as Azriel begins typing on his computer. The silence is comfortable between you two, and as you feel it start to settle, Azriel’s foot grazes your own, sticking itself between your crossed ankles.

You peer at him across the table, but his tortoiseshell glasses don’t move towards you, his computer screen reflecting through them to show he was working on some form of coding you had no desire to understand. You smile back down to your books, trying to get all your work finished before Friday, the six of you spending the weekend at Rhys’s dad’s lake house.

Cassian had been moaning and groaning for several weeks about wanting to go to the lake, but Rhys’s dad was having renovations done on the house and on the private dock until roughly two weeks ago. Since its completion, Cassian has been relentless, worming the word ‘lake’ into every conversation he’s had, not being very subtle about what he wanted.

Every morning he texted your group chat about his ‘cornfLAKEs’ or about how he just loves ‘snowfLAKEs’. He had just run out of words two days ago and now resorted to making up words that had ‘lake’ in them. Rhys immediately texted everyone to ‘please for the love of my sanity, be available this weekend or else I’m petitioning we murder Cassian’.

None of you wanted to be stuck doing any kind of work this weekend - Cassian and Azriel already had the weekend off, Mor and Feyre were free, and your plans revolved around the work and the man in front of you. All of you were desperate to finish any work that was due on Monday before the six of you left.

“So this weekend.”

He holds up a finger, typing furiously before he stops, looking up at you. He closes his laptop slightly, pushing it away from himself.

“This weekend.”

You put your chin in your hands, looking at his tan face. You loved seeing him wear his glasses - they made him look so endearing and soft. “Are we um going to tell anyone before we go? Besides Mor, obviously.”

You had texted Mor at some point during the second or third movie, asking her if she had mentioned your date to anyone. She had said no and that she’d be willing to keep it that way if you remembered to thank her profusely for ‘setting you up on the best date of your life’.

You had agreed, but now this left you with a bit of a dilemma - when do you tell everyone? Does he want to tell everyone?

“You don’t understand how annoying they can get when it comes to my love life.”

You giggled, certain you could figure it out based on how nosey and meddling Cassian was.

He clears his throat, “besides I’d like to figure things out with you before they know. I don’t want them to scare you off.”

You laughed, “I walked in on Cassian trimming his toenails the other night. I think anything worse than that violates the Geneva convention.”

His smile is bright as he watches you giggle at your own joke. “How about this,” his hands move across the table, laying them palm up so you can sit yours into them. Your fingers lightly trace the lines on his palms as his voice picks up again. “I’ll take you out for lunch tomorrow, and it will be the official end of things… until we get back.”

You raise your brows, but he’s not finished. “Obviously, not really the end of things. But just.. We’ll come back from lunch as the people we were last week. Before mini golf.”

Your voice is a bit unsteady as you ask, “do you want to stay those people? The before mini golf versions of ourselves?”

“No.” His reply is fast, voice full of conviction.

“You’re not just saying this because Rhys’s lake house has a hot housekeeper, are you?”

He blows out his lips, laughing at your waggling eyebrows, “Sonya’s been about eighty years old for the past fifteen years.” His fingers quickly snatch yours, holding them tightly. “So she’s perfect for me.”

You throw your head back, about to laugh, but he pulls your fingers forward, bringing you in for a soft kiss you can’t help but giggle through.

Series taglist: @anotherbook-obsessedhoe @impossibelle @hayrunnwr @just-a-social-casualty-1 @thisisew @brieflyclassymortal @glitterypirateduck @marshmummy @bookishbroadwaybish @azsteris @doriansgf @footyandformula @mybestfriendmademe @od-anon @judig92 @luvmoo @marina468 @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @acotarobsessed @maryssong23 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielover

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading <3

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #fourth floor #acotar writing #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar series #azriel acotar #acotar

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days

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the girl next door 29

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You peel off the suit and wring it out. You leave it in the bathroom to dry, but more so you don't need to look at it. You've never been so humiliated in all your life.

Worse than your mother's bitter grumbles, or the way your grandmother used to nitpick at every part of you was that look in Steve's eyes. It was like nothing you've ever seen before. Not angry, not judging, but something mysterious that unsettled you.

Ugh. You sneer at the wall as you pull on the baggiest tee shirt you have. You hate yourself. No, you hate your body. No matter what you do, it's clumsy and somehow you get in the way of yourself.

You shimmy into a pair of pajama shorts and flop onto your bed. You could read but your head won't let you focus. Drawing isn't an option either, you're still shaking from the exposure.

Sleep. Well, that won't come. Every time you close your eyes, you just see Steve and the water, and your nakedness. You can't imagine what your mother would've said if she'd saw.

She hadn't, had she?

You roll over and hide your head under your arm. You just lay there, desperate to escape somehow. The hours wear on, the day shifting around your unmoving form, the stagnant house dampening your skin with sweat.

When you finally get the strength to flip onto your back, you realise you've been crying. You sniffle and mop your cheeks. You don't know why you're crying. Humiliation, sure, but don't be such a baby.

You sit up cradle your head until it's a little less fragile. You get to your feet and shuffle out to use the bathroom. You pointedly ignore the pink checkered fabric.

When you're done, you go to the kitchen. You look in the fridge. Not much there. You take out an old cup of pudding and fish out a spoon. You sit at the table and stir it but don't eat.

You remember when you were a kid, your grandma would give you tapioca. Your mother only ever got banana. You hate banana pudding. It tastes so artificial.

You're not a kid anymore. You're realising that now. It's time to be an adult. You don't have a place here anymore. Your mom has Steve and you have... nothing.

The front door whines on its ungreased hinges. You wince and look up, shove a spoonful into your mouth.

Steve appears. He has a tee on but still wears his swim shorts. You look at him dully and swallow, scooping up more of the pudding.

"You hungry? You could have come over for lunch."

You shrug and keep eating. Your stomach sickens at the overly sweet treat. You want to spit it out.

"You're still mad?" He asks.

You shrug again.

He sighs. He crosses the room and pulls out the chair across from you, "look, sweetie," he twines his fingers through each other as he rests his arms on the table, "I'm real sorry. I was trying to have some fun. I made a mistake. We all do, right?"

You stare at the table and nod.

"Right, so can we move past it? Forget it ever happened?"

"Forget?" You echo in a croak. "Erm."

"Wiped clean," he unweaves his fingers and makes a smooth motion over the table top. "How about it? Can you forgive me?"

You let the spoon go and slide the cup aside. You can't look up. It's more than the embarrassment of what happened. It's the constant shame that follows you around. You're just a hanger-on. He doesn't have to keep pretending because of your mom. She deserves to have a life after all the years she wasted on you. A life without you.

"I'm sorry. I'm... I'm going to find a job and I'll do my best and..." you ramble as you trace your fingers on the table and tilt your head back and forth, "and you won't have to worry about me."

"Sweetie?" He reaches over to still your hand, "what are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't be... I shouldn't be living with you. Or mom. You two... I'm in the way--"

"In the way? Sweetie," he squeezes your hand, "I promise you that's not true."

"It has to be."

"Why? Why does that have to be true?"

"Because no one wants me," you turn your face down but he won't let go of your hand so you can hide.

"I know that's not true," he insists.

"It is. You see it. My mom..." you shudder and hold back a sob, "hates me."

He's quiet. He clings to you even as you try to pull free. "I don't hate you."

"You barely know me."

"Sweetie, I know enough. Just enough to know you're a sweet girl. A good girl. All this time you've been taking care of your mom. Not anyone does that, you know? Most people would just leave her behind," he brings his other hand up to pet your knuckles, "and you're considerate and kind and gentle."

"Please," you wisp and tug on your hand again, "you don't have to--"

"I want you," he interjects as he tightens his grip, "sweetie, look at me."

Your eyes flick up, startled by his hold and his tone.

"You said no one wants you? I do. I shouldn't. I know it. I... I saw the way you take care of Holly, I saw how hard you try, I saw it all and I--"

He finally lets you go. You recoil, shocked. Your hand tingles and your heart races. He doesn't mean it like that. He can't. You blink and lean back, making yourself as small as you can.

"I'm sorry," he drops his head into his hands, "I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm trying not to feel like this. I've been fighting myself but..." he looks up, fingers stretched up his cheeks as his eyes glimmer, "I... don't love your mom. I only married her so... so..." he closes his eyes and trembles, "I shouldn't say it." His lashes flick open and he sits up straight, "so I could take care of you. That's why. But I couldn't... be honest. Because I didn't want to scare you or lose you. Just having you close is enough so I lied." He sniffs and a tear rolls out, "worse, I couldn't even be honest with myself. Not until now. Until it's too late."

You gape at him. He just watches you. His expression is pained and sheepish.

"Please, sweetie, say something."

"You can't mean it," you breathe, "please take it back."

"I can't," he utters.

You sit in silence. You don't know what to say. You can't think. It's all too much. Why can't today just be over?

He inhales and lets it out as he fixes his posture. He gulps thickly and you look up. He stares at you. The same look as before. The one you don't understand.

"Sweetie," his voice is firmer and his tears are evaporated, "I have one question." You lower your brow, confused, "do you want your mom to be taken care of?"

"What?" You squeak.

"Your mom? You want her to be comfortable? Supported? Get the proper treatment?" He's staunch as he speaks, "you can't do it yourself. We both know you were struggling. Do you got the money for her next hospital stay? For the nurse?"

You whimper and shake your head, "what do you mean?"

"Sweetie, your mom needs me. You need me. Don't play dumb," he intones, "I will do anything. I will make sure mom is nice and cozy. She has her meds and everything she needs. There's only one thing I want in return." He clicks his tongue and inclines his head, "it's too bad it's the only thing you got."

You stare at him. Through him. The whole world narrows in on you as your chest caves in. You close your eyes, wishing against everything, that it can make him go away.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #au #silverfox au #the girl next door #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america

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everyonewooeverywhere · 3 days

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pairing ✭ bf!mingi x gn!reader

content/genre ✭ smut

synopsis ✭ mingi really fucking likes spine tattoos

word count ✭ 600

warning ✭ smut, spanking, hair grabbing, pet names (baby)

notes ✭ i wrote this in like 45 minutes so if you see any mistakes….no you didn’t 😊

✭ ✭ ✭

If you knew that all it took was a tattoo on your spine to make Mingi lose all semblance of self-control, you would have done it months ago.

After not seeing each other in person for a couple weeks due to busy schedules, he already missed you more than anything. When he finally stepped into your apartment after weeks apart, his hands were glued to you. Not in an overtly sexual way, but certainly in a manner that made it obvious that he was keen on taking you to bed before the night ended.

But as soon as he caught a peak of the ink at the base of your neck, it was over. He’d thrown you into bed and stripped you naked before you could even blink.

And that’s how you got here, face buried in your pillows as he fucked you into oblivion. His right hand tangled in your hair pushing your face even further into the fabric.

“Fu-uck, baby,” he grunted, “You look so pretty like this.”

The low whine you let out made him groan, “Keep making those pretty noises.” He slapped your ass in an attempt to elicit another one from you. He was successful. “You like that?” He spanked you again.

“Mhmm…” you hummed into the pillows.

You knew he was close when you felt him lean over your back. His thrusts became even more and more uncontrolled. His breath was hot in your ear and his grunts were loud and desperate. The cold metal of his necklaces burned into your back as they hit your spine every time he snapped his hips forward.

His voice shook, “Oh fuck fuck fuck. Baby, I’m close.”

He felt you tighten around him as you moaned heavily into the pillows under you. He groaned, loud.

Your legs shook and gave out as you came, but he caught you with his arm around your waist. All it took was a couple more thrusts before he felt himself reach the edge.

You moaned again when he pulled out of you. He held your waist tighter with one arm as he pumped his dick a couple more times before you felt him come all over your back.

He finally let go of your waist and gently laid you back down on the bed. You heard him reach over to the nightstand to grab something, out of the corner of your eye your saw him holding his phone.

You giggled and wiggled your ass a bit. He slapped your thigh playfully. “Stop moving, baby. I’m tryna get a good one.” You waited patiently as he took a couple photos. Some with his hand on your ass. Some just closeups of just the tattoo.

He tossed the phone down next to you, and you felt his weight leave the bed.

You started to drift off a bit but were woken up by the feeling of a warm cloth on your back. You hummed as Mingi carefully wiped you off. Making sure you were completely clean before he dropped the rag off the side of the bed and began massaging your back. Softly kissing the ink periodically.

You sighed and sunk even deeper into the bed, “Do you like it?” You asked, referring to the tattoo he was so obviously enthralled with.

He hummed and kissed the base of your neck, “What do you think?” Tracing the outline of the ink softly with his fingers, he said, “It’s beautiful, baby.”

“Good, because I got it just for you.”

#mingi smut #mingi x reader #song mingi smut #song mingi x reader #ateez x reader #ateez smut #everyonewooeverywhere

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alvojake · 17 hours

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PARK SUNGHOON HARD THOUGHT

「warnings」 : 18+ MINORS DNI!!

「notes」 : this is dedicated to @pockettwinzz. I hope that you enjoy this small Hoon hard thought that conspired from your mental crisis. I may or may not have gotten a tad carried away.... whoops.

alright, so imagine this..... you and sunghoon are in the middle of a heated make-out session in your shared bedroom, and clothes are sprawled all around the room haphazardly. neither of you cares, though, too worried about the feeling of each other warm skin against the other. sunghoon had his hands underneath your underwear, squeezing the flesh of your ass, eliciting a small moan from your lips, giving him the chance to slip his tongue inside yours. you so easily became lost in his taste that your mind was starting to get foggy. the only thoughts occupying it were your boyfriend and how good he felt against you.

sunghoon chuckled against your open mouth as you rocked your hips against his, seeking any kind of friction you could. he let you seek out your pleasure for a few moments, relishing in the sound of your soft whimpers. then his grip on your back end tightened, halting your movements and causing you to pout.

"are you that desperate already, princess?" he leaned forward, leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw until he reached your ear. "I haven't even done anything yet."

"hoon..." you whined again, trying your best to fight against his tight hold, but it was pointless; he was far too strong.

"you gotta use your words, baby; what do you want?" he asked as his lips left, searing kisses down the side of your neck, causing your eyes to flutter at the sensation. when you didn't answer him, he pulled away to take in your already fuck-out expression, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.

realizing that he had stopped, you allowed your eyes to open, meeting his hooded gaze. the intensity of his gaze was enough to leave goosebumps all over your skin and heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. you once again tried to move against his hold, but just like all of your previous attempts, it ended in failure.

the smirk then fell from sunghoon's lips, and his grip got unbelievably tighter. it was tight enough that you were sure that bruises in the shape of his fingers would be embedded in your skin the next day, but the pain only made your desperation grow.

"I said use your words, princess; only good girls get what they want, right?" he growled, his upper lip pulling back just far enough to reveal his pointed canines that you love so much.

you let out a pathetic cry when his hand came down, landing a harsh smack on your ass cheek. tears started to pool on your waterline as you looked at your boyfriend with a pleading expression, an expression that sunghoon would kill to see every day. then the words started to tumble from your lips.

"hoonie, please just fuck me. I'll be good, just fuck me, I want your cock so bad." the pleas fell from your lips like a testimony, and sunghoon couldn't help but smirk once more, satisfied with your answer.

"then don't let me stop you. take whatever it is you want, babydoll." his tone was teasing as he leaned back slightly, taking in your perplexed expression.

then within seconds, your needy eyes had come back, and you were scooting down your boyfriend's legs, far enough to pull his boxers down, allowing his hard cock to spring free. your mouth started to water at the sight of the angry red tip, watching the little beads of precum dribbling down the side before getting caught on the vines.

however, your need to have your pussy filled rather than your mouth was much much stronger. so you stood on your knees before moving your underwear to the side, far too gone to bother taking them off. sunghoon watched as you slowly sank yourself down onto his dick until he was fully trapped inside of your heat, biting the inside of this cheek to keep from groaning at how tightly you were squeezing him.

"fuck hoonie...." you whined out, hands gripping his biceps to try and stabilize yourself.

sunghoon then sat up straighter, causing him to push even further into you, which in turn caused a loud moan to fall from your parted lips. his hands then found your hips as you started to rock yourself against him, eyes rolling back at the feeling of his cock rubbing your velvet walls just right. so much so that your ability to think straight was completely thrown out the window, carried away by the wind.

"oh, is my poor baby already fucked stupid?" he chuckled as he latched his lips onto your collarbone, sucking deep purple marks along your skin, listening to all of your little noises. "don't worry, princess, I'll take care of you."

then within a blink of an eye, he had your back pressed against the mattress, hand pinned above your head as he pounded into your needy hole without an ounce of mercy. not stopping until he was completely drained dry and you were on the verge of passing out, stars dancing across your vision when your nth orgasm hit just as sunghoon finished.

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

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brainrot-of-a-thot · 2 days

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quickie.

or, you just really need each other, featuring: jo togame

a/n: okay I swear this started out as ‘caught mid lip-lock’ but uh, I was writing togame’s part first and… let’s just say it turned very quick. in return, I do plan to make similar one-shots for sakura, umemiya, and suo.

c/w: explicit sexual content, fem!reader, reader is wearing a skirt which provoked toga 🤭, unprotected p in v, creampie, quick sex, needy sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, sloppy makeouts, needy!togame, pussydrunk!togame, bigdick!togame, general filth

god, you needed him so bad.

and considering the desperation in which he gripped your hips and devoured your lips, you knew he needed you too… there was just one teensy problem —

“togame,” you murmured between wet lip strokes. “how much time do we have?”

“enough.” togame husked back, using his hold on your hips to guide you backwards until your rear touched the edge of the stage. you knew it was risky to do this kind of thing in the middle of the theatre — ludicrous, even — but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

togame’s hot hands against your clothed flesh and his soft lips against yours were quickly draining all coherency from your brain, and when he prodded the seam of your lips with a slick, insistent tongue, you gave up on the notion of attempting to retain any entirely.

you opened your lips and accepted his skilled tongue easily, initiating it in a fluid, familiar dance — one rehearsed many times.

small mewls and pants were swapped between your mouths, growing in both volume and quantity when togame slipped his large hands beneath the hem of your shirt. long fingers danced up your ribcage and teased the underwire of your bra, shooting anticipation straight to your gut. god, you just wanted his hands on you.

you wanted togame on you. or, more preferably, in you.

“togame,” you interrupted the lip-lock once more, needing to physically draw your head back when togame chased your lips in an attempt to capture them again. “d-do we have time to—?”

“god, yes.” togame cut you off before you could even finish your question and dropped his hands from beneath your shirt in favor of reaching them down to hook behind your thighs. in one fluid motion he hoisted you up until your ass was planted firmly on the stage, your body pulled forward just enough for his large frame to slip in between the plush flesh.

with speed that you hardly got to witness from your laidback boyfriend, he pushed your torso down until your back met the wood of the stage; he placed one quick hand behind your head to cushion it, and the other tapped against your thigh as he commanded, “legs around me.”

your body was quick to obey, slick pooling between your folds as the position allowed togame to press his crotch snug against your clothed cunt; fuck, he was so hard.

“shit, toga,” you whined, pushing your hips against his body in an attempt to garner a better feel of his cock. need rooted deeper into your core at the mere promise of what was to come. “I want it so bad.”

a soft groan followed your statement.

“holy shit, baby, don’t make me bust yet.” togame drawled, leaning down to connect your lips once more. the kiss was far less coordinated this time, sloppy and wet and more open than closed, but the sheer desperation within had you reeling and frothing for more.

there was no time to waste — normally, you’d indulge in each other for far longer, and togame would work you up slowly until you were quite literally crying for his cock; but given your current situation, indulging in that would lead to more complications than your sober mind could handle.

togame’s sweats dropped faster than you’d ever seen them do, and you couldn’t even delight in the sight of his cock springing out of his boxers because of the speed in which he shoved your panties to the side and wedged himself between your legs.

your breath hiccuped in your throat when his hot tip pressed between your folds, and the only warning you received was a breathy “breathe” against your lips before togame was pressing himself inside.

dual sensations of pain and pleasure ripped through your body as togame sunk himself in inch by inch, not giving your body much time to adjust to his size before he was rapidly thrusting inside.

“sorry, baby,” togame murmured in between hot pants. “you’ll have to bear with me for a bit, I can’t — fuck — can’t hold back right now.”

all you could do was nod, thighs tense and ankles locked around his gyrating waist; it felt so unbelievably good, but togame was so large that it stretched you to the point of pain — which was exhilarating in its own right.

each sharp thrust was like a punch to the gut, his tip crushing against your cervix and shooting sparks all the way up to your ribs. one large hand gripped the meat of your thigh while the other held your waist in place by the hip, keeping your body positioned just the way togame wanted it as he ravaged your insides.

slick squelches, slaps, and moans reverberated around the theatre, and if you weren’t currently being fucked stupid you probably would have worried yourself sick by the volume of the sounds; anyone just outside the doors of the theater could no doubt hear the activities taking place within.

“god, yer so fuckin’ tight.” togame slurred, fingers digging crescents into your bare thigh. his eyes were hooded and dark, his fringe a mess and sticking to his head by sweat — he looked about as fucked out as you felt.

“‘s like it won’t lemme go. you love my cock, don’t’ya?” togame growled, hips snapping into yours at a velocity that you were sure would leave bruises behind. you felt as though you couldn’t speak; every time you opened your mouth, all that would come out were mewls and moans — it seemed as though togame didn’t expect you to actually answer, however, as he leaned down capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.

it wasn’t so much a kiss as it was a mere meeting of mouths — open and loud, with your tongues only meeting by occasional grazes. it was sloppy and uncoordinated, but when paired with togame’s thick cock stretching you open and touching every sweet spot within your walls, it was a catalyst that pushed you to the brink faster than you could blink.

you couldn’t even warn togame before your orgasm was crashing over you, fluid gushing around the base of togame’s cock as he fucked it back in with every thrust. your walls constricted and fluttered around him, pulling various groans and curses from togame that were broken apart by husky praises.

“tha’s it, baby — fuck, so good. make a mess on my cock…such a good girl…”

you couldn’t even truly come down from your high, not with the way togame continued to ruin you through your high. your sensitive walls could detect the faint throbbing of his cock, and your heart soared at the implication — togame was close too.

“fuck, I’m about to — where do you want it, baby? hurry, tell me, I can’t — can’t hold out much longer.”

you weren’t sure what possessed you, but without explicit permission from your brain your ankles tightened around togame’s waist as if to hold him in place, and your voice was barely stronger than a croak when you whined, “i-inside, toga — wan’ it insiiiide!”

togame cursed deep in his throat and pressed his face into the dip of your neck, his sharp teeth pinching the sensitive skin as he thrusted sharply once, twice — and then his hips were stilling, dick pressed deeply into your soppy cunt, twitching as he groaned against your throat and released himself inside.

warmth filled your chest and cunny as togame rocked his hips slowly, milking his cock with your walls until there was nothing left.

eventually, togame’s hips stilled completely, and with the subtraction of movement that fog in your head began to dissipate; coherency was slowly leaking into your brain once more, but as togame pulled away from your neck to flash you that lazy, content, fucked out smile, you couldn’t bring yourself to do much else but return it with a small, airy giggle.

a haze of contented afterglow settled around your bodies as your highs faded in tandem, bodies still connected, breathing shallow and harsh and skin coated in a sheen of sweat — truthfully, it would have been perfect if it weren’t for the shrill, indignant voice that ripped through it —

“the stage isn’t for that type of brawling, you know!”

tbh needy pussydrunk boys are my kryptonite.

also, this was written in one sitting, so i apologize for any rushed-ness/mistakes. the togame thirst hit reaaaaal bad and my fingers just took off with it

#wind breaker x reader #wind breaker #jo togame x reader #jo togame #togame jo #togame jo x reader #togame jo smut #jo togame smut

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 2 days

Text

How did it end?

Summary: A flashback to the night that changed your lives forever.

Pairing: past Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Rating: T

Warnings: angst (so much angst), flashbacks, some really hurtful words, cursing, crying, pregnancy tests, Joel being a dick, Calvin being the best supportive brother

A/N: somehow I feel in my mind like this should have been worse, but I am sure you all do not feel like that at all so I'm sorry lol

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

part three of invisible string

Even before the outbreak you dealt with your anxiety or with big life decisions the same way.

You were stress cleaning.

After walking out from Joel you made your way into the town centre, picking up your kids and then got back home where your brother Calvin was already trying to cook something but you mutually made the decision that you were gonna cook while he bathed the kids.

You both did not want him to burn the house down.

He wanted to ask you how it went, having run into Maria on his way home from the Patrol meeting, who had told her that you had been at the clinic to see Joel.

But this wasn’t the time or the place.

It ended up being a nice evening all things considered.

You had dinner, played some boardgames, read a good night stories to your kids and watched them sleep in their little beds until the nervous energy in your body left you walking back downstairs.

Once the house got quiet after the kids and you brother were asleep (he had an early morning with his first big day on Patrol the next day) you were alone with your thoughts.

And your thoughts were loud, and demanded to be heard.

So you went into the kitchen, took a look at all the cleaning supplies that were still stocked under the kitchen sink and got to work.

You started with the top of the kitchen cabinets, standing on the counter as you scrubbed what felt like centuries of dust off of them until you were satisfied and moved to inside the cabinets.

What a picture it would be if one of your new neighbours caught the crazy lady next door deep cleaning the kitchen at 2 am during the literal apocalypse.

Cleaning usually had the power to make the thoughts inside your head shut up.

But as you emptied the cabinets so you could clean them inside, your mind drifted to the last time you had tried to deal with whatever was going on in your life by extensively deep cleaning every surface around you.

The Outbreak might have been an excuse for many people to let things like cleaning the place where they lived become unimportant.

Which deep down it was of course.

Why have a clean kitchen when just down the street, behind the fences and walls the so called new government had pulled up, there were people and what once were people dying or fighting (or eating) each other?

But you always lived by the mindset of clean home, clean mind.

And what you desperately needed right now was a clean mind.

Two ten year old positive pregnancy tests you took this morning after feeling off for the last couple of weeks and missing you period were enough reason to freak out.

But you couldn’t freak out.

Joel would do that for you, you were sure.

That was, if he ever decided to come home to you again after being on a run with Tess for the last four days.

He hadn’t even told you or kissed you goodbye this time.

You had woken up to a note on the kitchen table telling you that he’d be gone on a run with Tess and he didn’t know how long.

Something about your husband had changed in the last few months.

It changed ever since Tommy left and Tess was his only influence outside of you. Not that you had much influence on anything he did nowadays.

It wasn’t like he was the most attentive men to begin with.

But you fell for him.

You fell for the complicated, traumatised and closed off man who to this day was the most handsome man you had ever met.

And deep down you knew he fell for you, mumbling his confessions of love into your skin when he thought you were asleep.

It was the way he looked at you.

The way he brought home a new book to read whenever he went out of the QZ.

The way he made you forget about the fucked up word outside of the walls you made your home whenever he gave you his full attention.

He wouldn’t have put a ring on your finger years earlier as you laid in his arms, asking you to be his until the day you both died, if he did not love you, would he?

You loved him, you loved him even when he seemed to make it his personal goal to make you hate him.

He used to be home every night in the beginning.

He used to love to spend time with you and you with him. Staying up just talking for hours if he wasn’t making love to you.

Because even when he was fucking you, it felt different. More… intense. More passionate.

He used to smile at you.

By now you couldn’t remember the last time he smiled at you now.

And by the time you had practically polished the whole shitty apartment you and Joel lived in it was dark outside and he still wasn’t home.

In hopes he would be home and it would lift his mood you had made dinner that now sat cold on the stove.

It was after 11pm and you were tired, having been in the bathroom brushing your teeth when you heard the door unlock and open.

A nervous flutter in your stomach made the dinner you had earlier almost come up but you took a deep breath, looking at yourself in the small mirror over the sink.

You were wearing one of Joel’s old worn flannels, his familiar scent in your nose.

What was the worst that could happen?

It was not like you could just turn back time?

You were pregnant and he just would have to deal with it.

Right?

You would never forget the way his eyes hardened once you said the words

„I am pregnant.“

He had been in a relatively good mood when you joined him in the small kitchen, having already taken his shoes and coat off, his hair damp from the rain outside.

It made you reconsider telling him for a tiny moment, wanting to just enjoy this with him. But maybe he would not react like you thought he would? Maybe he would be happy?

You wanted to ask a million question about how it went but you were too nervous, having instead kissed his cheek with a whispered „I miss you“ and then offered to warm up some food for him.

He had put his hand on your waist, his fingers brushing over your stomach as he went into the bathroom, his lips against your temple telling you that he would just take a quick shower.

It was after he ate, the table cleaned that you told him.

Sitting across from him at the tiny shitty table you had, your hands flat on the surface, the silence after you told him the news sickening.

His whole face had changed, expression hard, by the time he opened his mouth to speak.

„Is it mine?“ He asked and you just blinked at him, speechless, your head falling back as if he had slapped you, before you answered.

„What do you mean? Who else would it be? We’re married,“ you said and he scoffed.

„Doesn’t mean you don’t open your legs for anyone else while I’m gone,“ he sneered and you flinched at the accusation and the tone he used.

Sucking your bottom lip in you looked at your hands, still on the table, nodding your head slowly.

„Good to know what you think of me after all these years,“ you whispered, still trying to process his words.

„What did you think would happen? That I’ll be happy? Newsflash darlin’, this isn’t one of your dumb romance novels you keep reading,“ he said, before he brought his fist down on the table, making you jump. He got up from where he was sitting, walking over to the cabinet that held all the liquor he scavenged, opening the one bottle of original Jack Daniel’s and taking a long sip.

„You gonna get rid of it,“ he said and you looked at him.

„Excuse me?“ You asked.

„Don’t want no kids of mine in this fucked up world. And especially not with you,“ he said and you felt slapped again. One blow after the next coming from him. You crossed your arms in front of your stomach protectively.

You had imagined his reaction would be bad, but this wasn’t bad. This was destroying you.

„So that’s it, you don’t want a kid, and I have to just comply?“

„That’s exactly how it is, sweetheart,“ he grinned darkly at you, shaking his head and leaning against the wall and you desperately tried to find the tiniest part of the person you had fallen in love with as you looked at him.

But there was nothing left.

Maybe you just had been too blind to see it until now.

„I thought you loved me,“ you whispered, tears in your eyes.

„How can someone love you? You thought because I put a ring on your finger everything would be okay? We’d be a happy little family and live in this shitty apartment in this shitty QZ while the world around us is fucking dying? How did you think this would go?“ He asked.

„You made it sound like I planned this. Do you think I like this? Do you think I like being pregnant by a man who even though treated me like the fucking dirt beneath his shoes for the last months, was still the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with?“

„Then get rid of it and we can get back to it,“ he said and you scoffed.

„You really think things are gonna get back to how they were after you said all that?“ You asked.

He shrugged.

„Where would you go? You have no family. No friends. All you have is me,“ he said.

„And you’re so different? Who do you have? Tommy left because…“

„Do not talk about my brother,“ he threatened and glared at you.

You shook your head, taking a deep breath.

He was drunk.

This was not going anywhere.

This would never go anywhere.

„Things are not going to go back. I can find someone better than you on every corner,“ he said and you could not stop the sob that shook your body and you were pretty sure you could hear your heart breaking.

„I don’t love you. I never did,“ he said and the tears you had tried to hold in finally fell.

„Get rid of this, before I take care of it,“ he said, and a chill ran down your spine at his tone.

„And then get the fuck out of my life.“

You were in the last touches of finishing cleaning the kitchen when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

You hadn’t even noticed the tears until Calvin pulled against his chest, his hand running soothingly up and down your back.

„You wanna talk about it?“ He asked and you shook your head.

„Not yet. Not ever if I’m honest,“ you mumbled and he chuckled.

„Need to talk to him though,“ you said and leaned back, turning around to turn on the stove to heat up some water and make some tea for the both of you. Looking at the clock hanging on the wall you noticed that it was just before 5 am.

„Don’t need to do anything,“ he said and opened the fridge, getting the lunch he had prepared the day before for his day out and grabbing some stuff to make himself a sandwich.

„I can’t ignore him forever. As much as I would like to. He’s…. He’s here and he won’t go anywhere. Neither will we. So we have to…. Co-exist somehow.“

You both get to your tasks before you both sat down at the table, you with two mugs of tea, one for him, him with two sandwiches, one which he pushed towards you.

„You still love him,“ your brother said after a while and you sighed, looking up at him.

„Yeah. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t think I’l ever be able to forgive him for everything that happened,“ you smiled sadly.

„Well,“ your brother said before he got up and put his plate in the sink.

„Then you should talk to him and tell him that so you can both move on with your lives.“

You followed him towards the front of the house where he put his shoes on and checked if he had everything in his little backpack for this first patrol.

„What if he wants to be in their lives?“ You asked, nodding upstairs to where both your children were still sleeping.

„Do you think he wants to? He made himself pretty clear from what you’ve told me,“ Calvin said.

„I don’t know. It’s been a long time and he seemed…. He seemed really sorry? I just….“ You took a deep breath, shaking your head.

„Nope. I am not gonna spend any more time thinking about Joel Miller. I’m gonna go upstairs and take a two hour nap and then I’m gonna go and explore our new home while my children are learning stuff in an actual school,“ you said.

„There you go!“ Calvin grinned.

„Be safe today!“ You said, grinning back and hugged him quickly.

„You too,“ he smiled, before he opened the door, your face falling as you saw Joel stand on the porch, his hand held up in a fist as if he was about to knock.

„I’m here to pick you up for patrol? Tommy’s gotta stay home today,“ Joel said as he looked between you and your brother.

„Well that is gonna be fun,“ Calvin said, winking at you, before he stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him, giving Joel no chance to try to say anything more if he wanted to.

You watched them through the window next to the door as they walked down the porch and then down the street until they were out of sight.

Letting your shoulders fall while you exhaled with a sigh you shook your head before you made your way upstairs.

This was gonna be a long day.

#my fic #Joel Miller x fem. reader #Joel Miller #Pedro Pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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ervotica · 5 hours

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milf!reader fucking coach!patrick because she wants her son to get accepted into his tennis program and they’re old friend who used to fuck in college but she despises him but she’ll do anything for her son👀

warnings; smut, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), cum eating, a smidge of foot stuff if you squint, hate sex, exes (ish) to lovers (ish)

a/n; your honor i need him actually

imagining him wolf-whistling at you when you seek him out on the courts, racket strapped over your shoulder, hand limply holding a basket of tennis balls as you watch him practice his serving, trying and failing not to ogle his entire body through his clothes.

a sweat soaked tank top, slick and transparent. the smell of musk and man and tennis. thick corded thighs dusted with dark hair as he moves fluidly, as though the racket is an extension of himself. a thick bulge in his shorts that, no matter how much you hate him, you want to have your mouth on.

he’s all fire and passion and heat, and you know from experience that trait rings true in all areas of his life.

“so, you’re a milf now,” he drawls, beckoning you closer with a tip of his chin. your mouth is dry, chest so hollow it feels like you’re about to crumble from the inside out.

you roll your eyes, hoping to look more confident than you feel, taking place on the other side of the net.

“and you’re still a prick. your point?”

“why are you here?” he presses, tossing the ball up and catching it with a skilled ease that has your stomach flipping.

“how do i guarantee my son a place in your tennis program?” the words feel heavy on your tongue, struggling not to curl your lips into a sneer at the sight of his smug expression.

“you think i’m a prick but you want me to teach your son?”

“i think you’re a prick but i know you’re good at tennis. and you’re a good teacher. and i want him to be good.” his brow quirks. at least you’re honest.

he discards the tennis ball behind him and crosses the distance between you, long legs coming up to step over the net.

“i can think of a few things.”

that’s how you find yourself at his place, legs slung over his shoulders. it’s wet and dirty, each rock of his hips squelching as he feeds you his cock into your needy cunt inch by inch.

“yeah, know this pussy missed me, baby,” he rasps, pinching at your twitching clit. his throat works around a thick swallow, lips parted in a groan when you clench your cunt round him, shifting your hips upward to allow him to sink further into the wet clutch of you.

“stop talking to my pussy, you freak,” you hiss, quickly silenced as he flattens his thumb over your swollen bud, rolling it in tight circles until you’re creaming round him, wailing with the sheer force of your orgasm

he lifts your ankle, turning his flushed face to mouth at the smooth skin there, huffing hot air against the sole of your foot that has you squirming.

there are some perks to fucking patrick zweig.

he knows every inch of your body, knows what makes you tick and which buttons to press to keep you babbling nonsensical filth beneath him. knows your pussy, knows how to fuck you until you cry.

you’re clinging to his shoulders, almost drawing blood as you dig your knuckles further into that skin, because you know him just as well. know that this gets him going, keeps him rutting into you with that fervour that - despite yourself, despite hating him - you’ve missed so desperately.

because despite hating patrick zweig, no one fucks you like he does.

when he cums it’s in excess, spurt after spurt of it until you’re plugged full and it’s flooding you, dripping out of your spasming hole and gathering over your furled asshole. he gathers some of it with two fingers, feeds it into your eager mouth.

“i’m sure we can work something out about those tennis lessons, sweets.” and he grins, all teeth. the look should have you balking, send you running, but you find yourself drawn to it, clinging to the familiarity of him.

you’re caught in his honey trap once again, and he has no plans of letting you get away this time.

because you both know, no matter how much you claim to hate him, he’s the best sex you’ve ever had.

and he’s sure he can make you love him. just with a little time.

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invisible-lint · 2 days

Text

We Lay Here

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Cassian goes down in battle. Yo try to save him, but end up falling with him

Warnings: angst. cannon typical violence

Word Count: 1,067

You race across the battlefield ignoring the smell of blood and clash of steel. Your legs ache, heart pounding in your throat, breath panting through your lips. You're ready to collapse, your soft body not used to this kind of exertion, but you need to find him. You give the bond a tug, relief flooding your veins when you feel him tug back.

You had felt it through the bond, felt it in your soul when he had gone down. You knew he needed a healer and fast. You stop running, scanning the field for the male you love, screaming his name. You let loose a shriek and start running again when an arrow goes whizzing past your face, the fletching grazing the soft skin of your cheek.

You didn't care how stupid and reckless it was to run onto the field unharmed, untrained, you would not, could not, lose him.

You search for the shape of his wings, a glimpse of the familiar shade red of his siphons, but there's so much red, so much blood. You scream for him again, and this time you hear him call back for you in response. You change direction, dashing towards the sound.

You see an enemy stalking towards him, ready to make a killing blow and you act without thinking, grabbing a sword from a dead male. As he prepares to strike your mate, you stab him from behind, both your hands shaking where they grip the sword. You pull it out and slash across his throat before tossing it away as if it had suddenly grown heated, scalding you.

You finish your mad dash to your mate, dropping to your knees at his side, brushing hair away from his face, stomach churning at how pale he looks. “Cassian…” He looks at you, hazel eyes filled with shock.

“Hey there, Sweetheart. Battle over already?”

“Not exactly…”

“Please tell me you didn't run across a battlefield because I got hurt.”

“...I didn't run across a battlefield because you got hurt.” He lets out a sigh, trying to hide how painful the action is.

“It's bad, isn't it?” You chew your lip, your usual bedside manner gone when your mate is the one laying on the ground injured in front of you.

“I've gotta move you Cass. I can't stay here to heal you.” He nods, preparing himself for the pain that's about to follow. You stand, hooking your arms under his shoulders, pulling him backwards towards safety. He clenches his jaw, breathing out a hiss of pain.

“I know, Baby. I know it hurts. I've got you.” You can only move a few feet with the heavy male before you have to stop, tears streaming down your face, feeling his pain through the mating bond. You pull him a few more feet before you stop, laying him back on the ground. At this rate, he’ll bleed out before you make it. You cup his cheek, his eyelids fluttering shut as he leans into your touch. “Cass, I need you to keep your eyes open for me so I know you're still conscious, okay? I'm not going to be able to move you fast enough. So I'm going to heal you enough to buy myself some time, okay?” He shakes his head, eyes flying open, looking at you with panic.

“No, leave me. You have to leave me and get somewhere safe.” You ignore him, pulling tools out from the pouch at your hip and cutting the leather away from the gaping wound on his stomach. You wince. It's even worse than you originally thought.

He knows he's going to die. Knew he was the moment he fell. He's just glad that if this is how it's going to end he got to see your face one last time. He grabs your wrist, stopping you. “I don't think there's anything you can do, Sweetheart.” You sob, tears streaking the grime on your face. You lean down to kiss him, hating the taste of blood on his lips. He kisses back, tangling his fingers in your hair, ignoring the pain it sends through the wound. You pull back, looking over him, desperate to do something, anything.

The two of you are so wrapped up in each other that you don't notice the male coming up behind you. You cry out when he stabs you, screaming when he pulls his sword out with a twist, collapsing onto Cassian's chest. He's just conscious enough for his heart to seize in horror at the weight of your body on his, the warmth of your blood soaking him. With his last conscious thought, he wraps his arms around you, holding you to him as he draws his final breath.

You try to tug on the bond, sobbing when there's no response. The anguish you feel at the crumbling bond dwarfs the pain of your wound. It's a relief that you're fading fast, following him out of this world, your blood mingling with his. It's almost morbidly romantic, dying together, and you can understand why Rhys and Feyre made their pact.

If Azriel was worried when he couldn't find Cassian after the battle, he was nearly panicked when he couldn't find you either. You took your duties as a healer more seriously than anything, often having stayed in the healing tents until you nearly passed out. No, something had to be wrong. He asks another healer about you and they say they saw you head towards the battlefield. He curses. He finds Rhys and the two of them search together, dread snaking into their guts at what they’ll find.

It's Azriel who finds the two of you, calling out to Rhys. The two of you look peaceful, despite the chaos of the battlefield that surrounds you. Azriel kneels down next to the two of you, uncertain if it's your blood or the blood of his brother soaking his knees, brushing hair back from your face. You had always hated the way hair would fall loose from your braid and get in your eyes.

It's Rhys who speaks first, looking at the way Cassian is holding you to him, even in death. “We should put them on a pyre together. It almost seems cruel to separate them now.”

And so they do,you still wrapped in Cassian's arms, your family, now two members smaller, huddled together, sobbing, as they light your shared pyre.

A/N: The idea came to me and I wrote like a possessed gremlin, literally cranking this out in like an hour and felt the need to post it before bed. I am a little sorry for this one, I got myself in the feels a bit, listening to In a Week as I wrote it.

I should have a masterlist up soon!

Divider is by @tsunami-of-tears

#cassian x reader #cassian acotar #cassian #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #imagine #maasverse #fanfiction

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luxurychristmaspudding · 3 days

Text

thinking about fwb!frankie smiling a little too bashfully at a pretty lady in a bar. thinking about you watching from the table, hand tightening and slipping against the cool wet of your glass.

too occupied with her, he's missing the way you frown, how your stomach drops and churns. how jealousy - something you promised each other you'd never feel - begins to swoop up through your legs and into your arms and up your throat. misses how pope has to snap his fingers in front of your eyes to get your attention, misses will's sharp look across the room to where frankie is standing. the whirring of understanding in his features, of pity.

he misses the quiet satisfaction you have of knowing that will is wrong - that you're not just friends, that you know what francisco morales feels like. in your mouth, between your legs, inside you, on top of you, behind you, below you. know what it's like to have him beg and plead, know the feeling of absolute power when he is on his knees in front of you.

you're cold when he comes back to the table. joking and laughing with the boys, clinging to benny's shoulder. the other man looks fucking delighted, and it makes frankie sick. you don't snort at his jokes, don't acknowledge his stories. and he's begging you, mind to mind, to look at him.

when you do, over the rim of your glass, your eyes are like stone.

you've always made him nervous. from the very first time you walked into the hangar and introduced yourself as the new rpa pilot, he'd known he was in trouble. fiercely intelligent, unflappable, capable, confident, terrifyingly beautiful, he was fucked from the start.

and here, now - retired, covered in scars, riddled with nightmares - he's nervous in a different way. worried about what that look means, something broiling crashing in his stomach as he watches you and benny.

he follows you home in his truck when you leave the bar. walks through your front door timidly, twists his cap in his hands on the welcome mat. flinches when you jerk your head at the stairs. can't look at you as you strip before him in your room, his gut twisting. is ordered not to look at you as you tie his wrists behind his back, knees pressed into the carpet.

he can only hear how wet you are as you sink your fingers into yourself on the edge of your bed. he tries desperately to separate the sounds from what you're telling him. how maybe he should have gone home with that other girl if he was so interested. how you saw how she made him laugh, how she touched his arm, how he blushed. but he knows better than to think you're jealous. knows better than to tell you how that wasn't what he wanted at all. how every time he looked at the table, waiting for a rescue, you were turned away. how he couldn't find your eyes, his lighthouse while he's lost at sea. how he can't think of anyone else, doesn't want anyone else, blushed because he felt so disgusted at the way she touched him, desired him.

you tell him to look at you when you're close. something confusing burning in your chest, the confession you'd made in a roundabout way. you don't know if he heard it for what it was, but it doesn't matter when you command him to shuffle forwards, when he buries his face in your cunt.

he eats you like a man starved. sloppy and focused, tongue hardened to a point against your clit as he sucks you up, swallows, moans. hot and wet and vulnerable, your hands buried in his hair. he makes you come like that, and then twice more, before he's almost in tears. so achingly hard against his zipper it's painful, so sorry for how he made you feel. ready for you to take him in your arms, for the facade to drop, for you to be you again. he's patient, he's good. he knows the rules, knows his limits just as well as you do. senses the end coming as you pull gently on his curls, tilting his head back, cooing at him with eyes warmer than magma. you swipe your thumb along his bottom lip, cradle his chin, his cheek in your hand. lean forwards to press a kind kiss to his forehead.

he wants wants wants.

wants his hands free, his dick free, wants to feel you on him. wants you.

so close he can taste it as you kneel beside him, pressing more kisses to his cheek, his jawbone, his temple, the corner of his lips. he holds his breath as your fingers work at his restraints, lungs clenching tight as you whisper in his ear -

'you gonna beg, baby?'

yes, yes, he will. he'll do anything for you.

'please -' he croaks, 'please, baby, let me touch y-'

there's a pounding on your front door downstairs. frankie knows from the way you freeze you're just as surprised as he is.

he whimpers as you rise, as you wrap your robe around yourself. moans against your mouth when you lean down to kiss him softly, tasting yourself on his skin.

'wait here for me, baby,' you murmur, 'let me go and see who it is.'

#frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #fic: ykmtw

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rubycruzin4abruzin · 2 days

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Forbidden Crown: ch. II

Summary: Five years after your last visit to Tir Asleen, you finally get to see Kit again. Although you promised your mother you wouldn’t let Kit influence you, her fiery personality and strong will draw you in, and open your eyes to a whole new world of excitement and adventure.

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: fluff, reader’s subtle mommy issues, rebellious kit, weapons, sword fighting, stumbling upon mature illustrations, childlike innocence, implied parent death, one bed, sneaking out

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: this chapter does contain adolescents stumbling upon some ‘sensual’ illustrations in library books. It is purely meant to be part of a ‘coming of age,’ and I even had others proofread it to make sure it comes off that way. Anyways, here’s the second chapter of Forbidden Crown! :)

Almost immediately upon returning to Azarenth, you began pressing your parents about revisiting Tir Asleen.

Your inquiries began innocently. “Mommy, can we go and see the twins today?”

Each time, she’d shake her head. “Not today, sweetheart. Our responsibilities leave no time for such an endeavor.”

Then, you resorted to excuses. “Father, we’ve been so busy, we could really use a holiday. How about a trip to Tir Asleen?”

He’d chortle at the suggestion. “Princess, if we were to go on holiday, it certainly would not be to a place such as Tir Asleen!”

Every day, you would pose similar questions, and as time went on, your parents' refusals became curt, tinged with vexation. Eventually, you ceased questioning altogether, not wanting to further irritate them.

Despite your silence, your mind occupied itself with thoughts of Kit. You longed to keep in contact with her, but your parents thought you weren’t old enough to have your own carrier pigeon. In an attempt to keep her close, you even secretly wore her breeches beneath your dresses until they no longer fit, then kept them stashed in the bottom of your storage chest, hidden from your parents or any prying maids.

Every day, you wondered how she was doing, and every day, you wondered if she thought of you as well.

It wasn’t until just before the summer of your tenth year that you thought you would ever see Kit again. On a golden May afternoon, you heard your mothers voice calling you in from playing outside with some children from the nearby village. Disgruntled, you bid your friends farewell and trudged back in through the castle doors.

Upon entering, you immediately saw your parents sitting in the Great Hall, hands folded on the table in front of them. You gulped; this room was rarely ever used, with the exception of large gatherings or very important meetings. Hypothetical scenarios swarmed your mind as you desperately tried to figure out what horrible thing you had done to warrant a meeting in the Great Hall.

Walking in, you took a seat across from your parents, folding your hands in your lap and refusing eye contact.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we called you in here,” your mother began, never one to beat around the bush.

You nodded slowly, still declining to meet her gaze. Your father cleared his throat, taking over the conversation.

“Princess,” he began. “As you’re well aware, you are a child of nobility. It is very important to us that you grow up receiving the best education and training possible, and that includes learning crucial life skills such as independence and adaptability.”

Furrowing your brow, you nodded, confused. You didn’t have a clue where this conversation was going and frankly wished your parents would just get to the point so you could go back outside.

Almost as if she could read your mind, your mother jumped in. “Your father and I have been exchanging letters with the Queen of Tir Asleen. You remember Sorsha and her twins, don’t you?”

Your ears perked up at this, the mere mention of your long-lost friends sending a wave of sweet nostalgia to wash over you. “Of course! I loved playing with Kit.”

“And Airk,” your mother interrupted, hardening her gaze.

Forgetting that your mother wasn’t necessarily a fan of the Princess of Tir Asleen, you were quick to agree. “Yes, Airk too, surely.”

“After some back and forth,” your mother took a deep breath before delivering the news. “Queen Sorsha has agreed to foster you temporarily. You will be staying in Tir Asleen with her and her children for the summer months.”

Just for a brief moment, you swore your heart stopped beating before a burst of warmth exploded in your chest. Three whole months spent with Kit? Staying in the Tir Asleen castle? Away from your parents? The very thought made you tingle with excitement.

“This is not a holiday,” your mother interrupted your daydream as if she could see your thoughts. “You will be studying under an array of tutors and governesses, receiving a rigorous education and learning proper court etiquette. I hope you don’t think you’re going to spend the entire summer rolling around in mud with that filthy girl.”

Your mother’s slander against Kit made your blood boil underneath your skin, evaporating to your face and turning your cheeks a dark crimson. Every cell in your body wanted to stand up and scream at your mother before shouting Kit’s praises. Instead, you decided to seethe quietly, fearing that speaking up could jeopardize the trip.

As the conversation came to a close and you got up to leave, your mother called your name just before you made it out the door. You took a deep breath, forcing a grin as you turned to face her.

“Yes, mother?” Your voice came out strained and tense.

Her expression turned serious as her jaw stilled, mouth tight in a straight line. She peered at you through her brow, not breaking her gaze for one moment.

“Don’t let that Kit girl influence you. I mean it.”

The following fortnight seemed to drag as you waited impatiently for June to arrive. Each day seemed to tick by slower than the last, until you managed to develop an irrational hatred for the month of May.

When the morning of your departure finally arrived, a servant entered your bedchamber to fetch your storage chest, only to find the room empty and the chest missing. After informing the castle and a brief moment of panic, one of the guards found you already in the carriage, having dragged your storage chest by yourself all the way outside at the first sign of daybreak.

“May we leave now?” You asked, ever impatient.

The castle staff shared a hearty chuckle over your eagerness when your parents stepped outside, dismissing the crew before bidding their final farewells.

“Luck be with you in Tir Asleen, Princess,” your father began, bearing his familiar kind smile. “You’re not to worry about traveling alone, I hired the best coachman in all of Azarenth to ensure your safety.”

Returning your fathers warm grin, you leaned out the carriage window to wrap your arms around his neck. Your mother, nowhere near as affectionate as her husband, simply gave you a tight smile and a curt nod.

“Be on your best behavior for Sorsha, please.”

The day-long journey to Tir Asleen was long and winding, the wheels against cobblestone bricks gently rocking the carriage. Traveling alone for the first time had you a tad nervous, but the friendly coachman made sure to keep you company.

Soon, as the late afternoon sun began its descent, the castle of Tir Asleen gradually came into view. Nostalgic memories rushed through your mind as the stone battlements seemed to pierce the clouds. You leaned your head out the carriage window, feeling the warm wind on your face and breathing in the familiar smell of dew.

The carriage came to a halt at the castle entrance, the sudden stillness of the car making you wonder how long your hands had been shaking. Peering out the carriage window, you saw Airk near the front, sword sparring with another boy around his age.

Disappointment shadowed your face at the absence of Kit, but you tried to hide it. As you waited for the coachman to gather your things, you busied yourself watching Airk spar. He was quite the swordsman, staying quick on his feet, and countering each attack with focus clouding his uncovered face.

Despite Airk’s impressive skill, his opponent still seemed to have the upper hand. You couldn’t quite make out who he was due to a faceplate covering his features, but his technique was precise, perfected, almost as if he’d had to work twice as hard as Airk to get where he was.

Suddenly, Airk momentarily lost his footing on a slippery rock, allowing his mysterious opponent to take advantage and deliver one final strike. Airk tumbled to the ground, the anonymous swordsman moving to stand over him as he conceded defeat.

You couldn’t help but erupt into applause, after all, duels rarely happened in your kingdom. Startled, Airk and his friend turned towards you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’d arrived. You were about to approach Airk and exchange pleasant greetings when his masked adversary suddenly removed his faceplate, shaking out his hair and revealing his identity.

Shock hung from your features. This mysterious man wasn’t mysterious at all! Or a man! It was Kit!

“Kit!” You exclaimed, your voice coming out as an involuntary squeal.

She called your name back and ran to you, enveloping you in a hug. You buried your face into the crook of her neck, damp with sweat from the humidity of the faceplate.

“Your hair got so long!” You commented after pulling away.

It was true. Kits original short chop now flowed in waves down to her mid-torso, making her look oddly feminine even in trousers.

“I hate it,” Kit groaned, pinching a lock of her hair and frowning down at it. “It gets so hot, and I hate having to put it up.”

As she fidgeted with her hair, your gaze traveled down to her wrist, noticing a sandstone silk strand peeking out of her sleeve. Curious, you took her hand and pushed her sleeve up, revealing the ribbon she had stolen from you all those years ago.

“My ribbon!” You exclaimed, surprised and genuinely touched. “You still wear it?”

“Every day,” Kit answered truthfully. “It reminds me of you.”

You turned her wrist over in your hand, admiring the ribbon. The previously bright pink silk had faded into a blush beige, bleached from sun exposure. Once perky bunny-ear loops now drooped down her wrist, tickling the bottom of her palm. It was almost unrecognizable, this old ribbon that time had not been kind to, and the fact that Kit had worn it all these years warmed a special place in your heart.

Airk cleared his throat, startling you slightly as you had forgotten he was there. You offered him an apologetic smile, letting go of Kit’s wrist to shake his hand.

“Forgive me,” you chuckled nervously. “It’s good to see you again as well, Airk.”

The rest of the evening was spent catching up; the three of you laid on patches of grass and recounted events from the last five years until a maid rang the dinner bell. Even at dinner, all of you prattled incessantly. Airk eventually found he’d said enough and focused on his meal, but you and Kit talked through mouthfuls of food, much to Sorsha’s chagrin.

“You can eat or you can speak, but it’s terribly impolite to combine the two,” she scolded.

After the third or fourth lecture, you noticed how they would only come from Sorsha. A brief glance around the table confirmed your suspicions: Madmartigan was absent.

“Where’s your dad?” You whispered to Kit, worried that asking Sorsha directly would upset her.

Kit, however, perked up at your question, eyes sparkling at the mention of her role model. “He’s on a quest! He’s going to fight inside a worm!”

“He’s trying to destroy the Wyrm from the inside, Kit.” Airk corrected.

Kit brushed off her brother, ignoring his comment and continuing. “He’s been fighting the Wyrm for some time now. He’s so busy, but he always has a letter delivered to us on the first of every month!”

She sprang up from her chair, dashing to fetch the most recent letter before being stopped by Sorsha. “Kit, how many times have I said not to leave the table without being excused?”

Kit spun around with a dramatically curtsy and mimed pulling on an invisible skirt. “Mother, may I please be excused from this fine supper? Oh mummy, please may I?”

You stifled a giggle at her theatrics. Sorsha sighed, dismissing her with the wave of her hand. Kit sped out of the room, returning seconds later with a piece of paper and thrusting it into Sorsha’s hands.

“This one arrived today.” Kit explained, leaning over her mother’s shoulder.

Despite Sorsha’s annoyance with her daughter, she couldn’t help but smile as she gingerly pinched the corners of her husband's letter.

“My dear family,” she began reading as Airk rushed over, joining Kit in reading over their mother’s shoulder. “As I venture forth on this perilous mission, know that my thoughts are never far from all of you. My journey to confront the Wyrm may be ripe with danger, but carrying the strength of our family has gotten me through some challenging moments.”

“To my daughter, Kit,” Kit perked up at the mention of her name, leaning farther into the letter as Sorsha continued to read. “Your unyielding spirit and fearlessness are sure to serve you well in all that you do. Always remember to keep your sword sharp and your wits sharper.”

“To Airk,” it was Airk’s turn to lean into the letter. “My son, every day you continue to amaze me. I look forward to returning and watching you grow into the man I know you’re destined to be.”

“And to my lovely wife,” Sorsha’s voice cracked as she read. “Not a day goes by where I don’t picture your face. You are the light that leads me through the darkest tunnels.”

Sorsha sniffed, attempting to discreetly wipe away a tear before reading the last section. “I promise to return one day, victorious and bearing plenty of stories. Until then, I hope you’ll take comfort in these letters. All my love, Madmartigan.”

Kit looked up from the letter, eyes shining with undeterrable admiration. “When I grow up, I want to be just like him.”

Later that night, as you readied yourself for slumber in one of the castle's many guest rooms, a knock interrupted your solitude. You granted permission to enter, fixing your posture and bracing yourself to be greeted by Sorsha. However, your tension eased when the door cracked and Kit’s face poked through.

“I need your help with something,” she whispered, cautious not to disturb any sleeping residents.

“Why? What happened?” You inquired.

Without another word, Kit seized your hand and led you away. You protested at first, feeling naked in your thin nightgown outside the walls of your bedchamber, but Kit's hand wrapped around yours felt soothing, like a warm glove on a cold day, and you knew that no matter where you went, you would be safe as long as Kit was there.

She led you to the end of the hall, down a flight of stairs, and through the doors of the basement, only letting go of your hand to ignite a taper candle and shed some light into the dark room. Weapons of all shapes and sizes mounted the walls, their silver blades illuminating in the candle light. Various types of armor decorated the corners, including the faceplate Kit had worn earlier in the day.

“Is this…”

“The armory.” Kit answered your unspoken question.

You nodded, marveling at the room. Azarenth had an armory in their castle too, but it was heavily guarded, and strictly off limits to you.

Kit plucked a sword from the wall and laid it flat against her palms, presenting it to you. “I need you to cut my hair.”

“What?” You searched Kit’s face for any sign of humor, but found none as she stood completely serious.

“I need you to cut my hair,” she repeated. “I can’t reach back there, and Airk won’t do it because he’s afraid of getting in trouble.”

“What if I get in trouble?” You asked, still in disbelief at her request.

“You won’t,” she replied, completely sure of herself.

Kit still sensed your hesitation, so she put the sword down and took both of your hands in hers. “You’re not going to get in trouble, I promise. My mom won’t let me cut my hair because she says it makes me look ‘pretty,’ but what good is beauty if I’m constantly uncomfortable? Please, I really need you to do this for me.”

There it was again, that feeling of safety that surmounted whenever Kit held your hand. You sighed defeatedly, nodding in agreement. Kit beamed at you as she placed the sword in your hands, but the large piece of metal turned out to be much heavier than you expected and you ended up dropping it, the sword falling to the ground with a loud clatter.

“I haven’t actually… used a sword before,” you admitted sheepishly.

“Hmm…” Kit thought for a second before her face brightened once again, running to a nearby rack and picking up an oddly-shaped knife. “Dagger?”

You agreed, and Kit handed you the dagger, showing you how to grip the handle. As you clutched this foreign weapon, a new sense of power washed over you. You suddenly felt invincible, safe, but a different kind of safe from when Kit held your hand.

“How short do you want it?” You asked, still examining the jagged piece of metal.

Kit shrugged. “I just don’t want to have to tie it up in order to spar.”

She turned around, facing away from you and shaking out her long locks so they all flowed down her back. You gulped, gathering her hair in a handful just below her neck, hands shaking as the previous power evaporated into thin air and replaced itself with anxiety. With one quick slash it was all over, the sharp blade passing through her delicate hairs with ease. A sigh left your lips, relieved to have completed your task. You glanced down to admire your handiwork, but were met with a sight so horrific that the dagger fell from your unsteady hands, dropping to the floor with a sharp clang.

Her hair, once long and beautiful, was now absolutely botched. Tresses meant to float over her shoulders now curled just under her ears, while crooked sprigs stuck out in all directions.

“How does it look?” Kit asked, but you were too afraid to answer.

When you didn’t, she picked up the sword off the ground, admiring her reflection in the shiny metal. Her jaw dropped, eyes wide with shock. She reached up, carefully running her fingers over the butchered ends.

A lump rose in your throat as you became overwhelmed with guilt. “Kit, I’m so…”

“I love it.” Kit said in a low voice.

You blinked, not quite registering what she said. “Huh?”

“I love it!” Kit repeated, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s exactly what I wanted: short!”

“But it’s so choppy and uneven!” You exclaimed, confused by her elation.

Kit shook her head, sprigs flying in every direction. “I look the way I’ve always felt inside: a harbinger of chaos!”

She swung the sword around for effect, giggling like a little kid. You felt yourself relax as you watched her, relieved she wasn’t angry and somewhat enamored by her unbridled joy.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable slam of a basement door reverberated throughout the armory. A tall figure entered, holding a large torch that cast a looming shadow. You and Kit froze, tension palpable as the figure stepped forward, revealing itself to be Sorsha.

Her gaze immediately fixated on Kit’s hair, expression hardening into unreadable stone. “There was a clatter. I was afraid there might be an intruder.”

Slowly, she approached you two, both of you holding your breath in anticipation. She reached out to touch Kit’s chopped tresses tentatively, as if they would scald her. “Your hair…”

You glanced between Kit and Sorsha, a sense of dread settling inside you as you prepared your confession. “Your majesty, I…”

“I did it,” Kit interjected, surprising you. “I got fed up with my long hair, and since you wouldn’t allow me to get it cut, I snuck down here and did it myself.”

Sorsha squinted at her daughter, skeptical at her story. Noticing her doubt, Kit gestured towards you. “She’s here because she tried to stop me.”

Sorsha’s gaze shifted down, noticing Kit still holding a sword, while your hands were empty. She took a step back, her face darkening with a quiet anger. You held your breath, bracing yourself for the explosion, but instead her eyes softened as she turned to you.

“Your mother raised such a well-behaved young lady,” she remarked sweetly before redirecting her attention to Kit. “I wish I had done the same…”

You glanced over at Kit, who appeared unfazed by her mother’s hurtful words.

“We’ll continue this discussion upstairs,” Sorsha muttered through clenched teeth, seizing Kit’s arm and leading her away.

You watched as Kit was pulled out of the basement, the guilt from going along with her lie eating you up from the inside. Part of you longed to follow, to confess your involvement, but your feet stayed cemented to the floor, blocks of concrete too heavy to move.

Just before disappearing through the door, Kit turned to look at you, noting your terror-stricken face. You attempted to mouth an ‘I’m sorry,’ but she vigorously shook her head. Instead, she offered you a reassuring smile, sending a wink in your direction that made your heart squeeze. And just like that, you became certain that everything would be alright.

It would be a full month before you could speak to Kit again.

You were right to be worried about getting into trouble, because Kit had gotten herself into a lot. As punishment, she had been confined to her chambers for the past few weeks, only being let out to assist the scullions with chores. Sometimes, you would pass her walking with the maids in the hallways, and when no one was looking, she would shoot you a funny face that never failed to make you laugh.

The weeks without Kit seemed to stretch, each day growing longer than the last. You eventually grew bored with Tir Asleen, the absence of your friend diminishing the kingdom’s original appeal. Luckily, you at least had Airk to keep you company.

“Why do you think our parents keep pushing us to be friends?” You asked him one day, while you were both taking a stroll around the palace gardens.

Airk simply shrugged. “I wonder that too sometimes. Perhaps they want us to learn about each other's homes?”

You shook your head. “Azarenth is only a day trip away from Tir Asleen, not much to learn. Maybe they just want us to get along.”

“But I don’t recall any conflict between our kingdoms,” Airk remarked.

These were the typical conversations between you and Airk: mundane, frivolous words meant to fill an empty space. It’s not as if he wasn’t pleasant company, but he just didn’t excite you the way Kit did.

One early morning, near the end of the month, you were sound asleep in your guest bed when you suddenly felt a crushing weight moving on top of you, followed by the inability to breathe. You opened your eyes to see a dark figure over you, holding its hands over your nose and mouth. Fear coursed through you as your survival instinct took over, thrashing under the dark figure and screaming pleas muffled by its hands.

“Shh… shh… Princess…” the figure leaned down to whisper in your ear.

Your stifled breath hitched in your throat at the familiarity of the figure's voice. Forcing yourself to calm down, you stared up at the figure, eyes adjusting to the darkness until Kit’s unmistakable face came into view.

“Kit…” you whispered as soon as she removed her hands from your mouth. “What are you…”

“I’m not in trouble anymore,” she cut you off. “I’m free.”

“What…” you sat up to lean on your elbows. “Kit, that’s wonderful. But, what do you mean?”

“My mother’s focusing on Airk now,” she replied. “Come with me.”

She seized your hand once again and pulled you out of bed, disclosing her intentions while leading you across the castle.

“I’m usually awoken this early to assist the scullions with chores,” she explained. “However, this morning one of the more prying maids told me that I’m no longer needed, that Airk will be doing chores now.”

“But why?” You inquired.

“I’ll show you.”

She led you down to the large double doors of the palace library, opening them cautiously to avoid getting caught. The overwhelming smell of old books hit you as soon as you stepped inside, smacking you in the face before enveloping you in a warm hug. Your castle didn’t have a library as much as a few bookshelves here and there, so you couldn’t help but stop and marvel at Tir Asleen’s vast collection of books piled high as the ceiling.

“Come on,” Kit insisted, yanking you out of your daydream and pulling you towards a table in the back of the library that was covered with half-open books. “The maid said that my mother caught Airk reading these late last night, and that’s why he’s in trouble.”

“For reading?” You were puzzled.

“Not just reading,” Kit explained. “She said the literature was lewd.”

“Lewd?”

“Bad.” Kit clarified, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

Your brows furrowed, still confused. “But… how can a book be bad?”

Kit seemed unsure how to answer your question, but was curious to find out. She pulled a paper manuscript off the top of one of the piles and opened it to a random page, both of you gasping at the sight. While the text was nothing extraordinary, the margins of the pages were filled with graphic drawings of women in various states of undress.

Your finger trembled as you pointed at one of the women, the top of her dress pulled down to her stomach. “Is that…”

“I think that’s what they’re supposed to look like. When we’re older.” Kit whispered, not taking her eyes off the page.

Both of you sat at the table and stared at the page in awe, neither of you daring to speak. After a moment, you decided to pick another book off of one of the piles, the cover reading “Carmina Burana.” You glanced at Kit, who bore into you, silently daring you to open it.

Flipping to another random page, you came across a translated poem entitled “Si Puer Cum Puella,” and began to read. “If a lad and his sweet lover, in a room together linger—an ineffable game begins, in their abandoned lips and limbs.”

Looking over at Kit, you expected her to explain what the poem meant, but she seemed as confused as you were. Turning the page, you found more marginalia, these drawings far different from the ones in the manuscript. In the corner of the page was a drawing of a man, carrying a sword in a full state of undress that exposed his flaccid…

You slammed the book shut in disgust, cheeks burning a dark crimson.

“What happened?” Kit questioned.

With a shaky hand, you pushed the book in her direction. She furrowed her brow at you and flipped it open, thumbing through the pages until coming across the drawing. Horrified, she let out a sharp “eek” before slamming the book shut once again.

“Shhh…” you reminded her, remembering what happened the last time you two got caught sneaking around. She nodded, slapping a hand over her mouth.

Both of you stared down at the book as if it had burned you. The air around you felt thick, the only audible sounds being shallow breaths and your own heart beating in your ears.

“Airk has one of those,” Kit finally spoke in a low voice. “I’ve seen it. We took baths together when we were younger.”

“Do they all look like that?” You asked in disgust.

Kit shook her head, gesturing to the abandoned book. “Not like that!”

The two of you stood frozen for another minute before you decided to take a leap of faith, grabbing the “Carmina Burana” and flipping back to the offending page. You tore out the drawing, ripping it to shreds and shoving it down one of your stockings to dispose of later. Glancing over at Kit, she stood shocked, her mouth agape.

“I think boys are nasty,” you exclaimed, grabbing the previous manuscript and revisiting the page with the drawings of women, a satisfied grin spreading across your face. “Much better.”

For the rest of the summer, you and Kit made it a habit to sneak around in the dead of nights, embarking on secret little adventures just for the two of you. Sometimes you would revisit the back corners of the library to explore banned literature; other times, you would break into the kitchen to eat an entire jar of fruit preserves between the two of you.

But most nights were reserved for nothing but late-night chatter. You would hide in each other's rooms, whispering secrets that dissolved into the quiet of the night, like you did when you were younger.

However, these late nights did take a toll on your daily schedules; neither of you could stay awake during the day. When summer classes started around mid-July, you often found yourself dozing off in the middle of them, frequently waking up to the angry scolds of a palace tutor following the sharp thwack of a ruler against your desk.

One Saturday morning, you were at the breakfast table eating with the Tanthalos family, when you felt yourself start to nod off before being awoken by a sharp jab in the ribs.

“Ouch,” you exclaimed, glaring daggers at Airk, sitting next to you. “What was that for?”

He held up his hands defensively. “You fell asleep on your toast.”

Groaning, you took your napkin and wiped the butter off your cheek. Now that you were awake, you couldn’t help but notice that Kit, who usually sat across from you in a similar state of stupor, was missing.

“Where did Kit go?” You asked Airk.

He gave a half-hearted wave in the direction of the kitchen window. “It’s the first of the month. Where do you think she went?”

Sure enough, Kit had glued herself to the kitchen window, refusing to look away from the nothingness of the outside in case a messenger were to appear out of nowhere.

“Kit,” Sorsha sighed in exasperation. “Come back and finish your breakfast.”

“But dad’s letter hasn’t arrived yet!” Kit protested.

“It’s early morning, the day has just begun. I’m sure your father’s letter will arrive later, now come eat!”

Kit grumbled as she plopped herself back down at the breakfast table, wolfing down her meal in seconds flat before excusing herself back to the window.

Unfortunately, the day’s sun came and went with no letter in sight. By nightfall, Kit was still perched at the window, wringing her hands like a damp towel.

“Time for bed, Kit.” Sorsha commanded, a hint of pity in her voice.

Kit looked up at her mom with wide eyes. “What about dad’s letter?”

Sorsha sent her daughter a reassuring smile, not showing any concern. “Sometimes messengers can get lost, nothing to worry about. I’m sure his letter will turn up soon.”

Several days passed with Kit stationed at the window, growing increasingly anxious each day as she waited for something that never came. By the end of the week, still no letter had arrived, and even Sorsha’s calm composition began to falter.

“Mom,” Kit called from the window, voice coming out small and frail. “Where’s dad’s letter?”

Sorsha rested her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, peering out at the fading sky alongside her. “I’m not sure, Kit.”

“Is he alright?” Kit looked to her mother for reassurance, a small child desperate for a glimmer of hope.

Sorsha opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She turned away from her daughter, letting the silence settle between them like a thick fog. And that was the moment all light died from Kit’s eyes, the innocence of her childhood crumbling before her like a glass vase shattering on tile floor.

That night, you were preparing for a restful evening when your door flung open. Startled, you whipped around to see Kit standing in your doorway. She seemed fragile, like a baby bird with a broken wing.

“Hey,” she whispered, her red, puffy eyes visible in the dim candlelight.

“Hey…” you responded, confused. Your midnight retreats had been put on hold after Kit’s attention turned towards her father’s letter.

“I’m worried about my dad…” Kit admitted in a low voice. “Can I sleep in here tonight?”

Her words tugged at your heartstrings, filling you with sympathy. You agreed, climbing into bed and patting the space beside you. Kit smiled gratefully and crawled onto her side, pulling the covers over the both of you. It was a bit of a tight squeeze to cram two adolescents into a twin bed, as you both had done a lot of growing since your childhood sleepover. But as Kit buried her head in your chest and snuggled up close, the proximity didn’t bother you. The warmth of your bodies merged like two flames into a single fire, becoming one and the same.

“No one knows where he is,” she mumbled into the silk of your nightgown. “Do you think something happened to him?”

You gently scratched her back and soothed her labored breaths, taking a moment to choose your words carefully. “Kit… you are one of the strongest people I know. I really, truly mean that. If your dad has even a fraction of your strength, I know there’s nothing that could stop him from seeing you again.”

Kit’s breathing evened out as your words seemed to reassure her. Her eyelids fought to stay open, a week of restless nights finally catching up to her. You bent down, planting a gentle kiss on her head before you both drifted off to sleep.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @love4lyn @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sofi4v13

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dear--mars · 17 hours

Text

Do you think we’re soulmates in every universe?

── Synopsis: Soulmates. The concept sounded unreal, too good to be true. And it seemed it was. Nothing lasts forever and the thought of being together even in another world was just a dream.

── Characters: Blade, Aventurine, and Veritas

── CW: can't find anything. (please let me know if I missed any.)

── Notes: kinda occ ngl... [angst/no comfort]

── Word count: 591 + 891 + 867 = 2349 words in total

Blade ── Blade was a wandering soul. Both of you knew that and yet you still tried to tie him down. But could you really be blamed?

How could you think he wanted anything else when all he did was send mixed signals? One moment he’s cold and distant then he’s all over you, being needy and needing your comfort. So was it any surprise when you eventually got tired of his on-and-off behavior?

So you left.

You started a new life on the small planet of Adion. You worked a job you actually liked, made new relationships, and never stressed too much about things that didn’t matter. It was the turning of a new leaf.

But with joy come sorrow and suffering.

A loud banging at your door echoed throughout your house. You tossed and turned in your bed, trying to fall back asleep, but the noise breaks the peaceful sleep you’re so desperately clinging to.

You sat up, rubbing your eyes before taking a look at the clock for a few moments, it’s two in the morning. You had no idea what was going on but you had a familiar sense of deja vu that you couldn’t shake.

"Damn it… Who the hell is that?" You mumbled to yourself before getting out of bed to walk to the front door. But once you saw who was at your door, every hint of fatigue fled your body as your blood ran cold.

It was Blade.

You slightly faltered as your mind ran a hundred miles per hour trying to think of how he found you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and took a step back, not wanting to be in his vicinity.

Wordlessly, Blade reached out and stopped you. In the past, you would’ve said that Blade was one of the hardest men to read but as of right now, you could tell every thought that ran through his head.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you haven’t seen each other for a few months. The slight tug on his eyebrows that showed frustration, the dark circles under his eyes told you that he hadn’t slept for a while, and lastly the desperation and relief hidden in his eyes.

“Why?” was the only thing he croaked out.

You immediately understood what he was asking and a flash of irritation crossed your face. “Are you serious? Why? Why did I leave?” You asked, finishing his question. When you saw him nod, you scoffed.

You pulled your hand away from his but it chased after your warmth instinctively. “Why wouldn’t I leave? What have you done for me to make me want to stay?” You spat out harshly.

Blade flinched and gritted his teeth. He reached out to grab your hand again, this time intertwining his fingers with yours. “Maybe not in this lifetime but do you think we’re soulmates in every other universe?” He mumbled out, clearly in a vulnerable state.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not anymore. You cared way too much in the past, it was time to move on from this chapter in your life. Time to move on from Blade. “Do you leave me in every universe?” Your tone was bitter.

Even more so than him. Only then did Blade truly realize just how much power you had over him. You could make him the happiest he had ever been, more than he thought he could be but you could also drag him into the deepest depths of pain and agony.

Aventurine ── Aventurine. What a man.

At times you couldn’t believe he was yours. Waking up next to him and seeing his smile made you fall in love with him all over again. But you should’ve suspected something was up with a man so perfect and flawless.

You should have anticipated this turn of events. The plot twist was so overused that the only appropriate response you could get out was laughter. Lovers betraying each other—how cliché.

How could someone be so blind just because of love? You couldn't fathom it. You hated this trope and Aventurine knew that. Maybe that’s why he was smiling ever so slyly when he revealed his true intentions.

After telling you the truth, Aventurine left your home cold and empty, taking any semblance of warmth with him. Years passed and you were forced to move on. Did you still love him deep down? Of course, but time moved forward whether you were ready or not.

Aventurine was born lucky. Being blessed by Gaiathra Triclops from birth, Aventurine grew up always having luck at his side. A fact that he hated but one that he relied on often.

That’s why he thought no matter what, he’d always win. But Aventurine hadn’t known that his ‘luck’ only really constituted physical ideas and plans, not emotions. Especially his or yours, not after everything he did to you.

Aventurine felt a void in his chest like something was missing. You, Obviously but he would never admit that. As “carefree” Aventurine is, he still has his pride. He used you even if it was for work, catching feelings wasn’t an option.

But it never hurt to see how you were doing, right?

That’s the excuse Aventurine used as he sat in your hotel room. He never would’ve thought you’d be here in Penacony but it worked out in his favor. (Everything always did.)

Aventurine hears the door creak open and footsteps but they stop as soon as you laid eyes on him. Your eyes widened, you could recognize that tuff of blond hair just about anywhere in the universe.

Your breathing gets a bit heavier as your hands curl into fists. Aventurine doesn’t need to turn around to see you’re upset but he does anyway. He wants to see your beautiful face after all.

God, you were extraordinary. Even after years of being apart, you still looked the same. If anything, you grew to be more attractive. Your soft skin, your plump lips, and your luscious hair that shined even under artificial lighting.

“Hey. It’s been a while, huh?” He asked, hiding his true feelings and masking them with a facade of confidence and nonchalance. “Never expected you to come to Penacony of all places.”

Your heart ached when Aventurine spoke to you with an air of familiarity. You hated how he acted like nothing happened between the you two. You ignored his words, cutting straight to the point. “What are you doing here.” You asked but it was more of a demand.

Aventurine raised his hands in mock surrender. “What’s with the hostility? I just came here to say hi and catch up.”

“Get out.” Your tone was bitter.

“Come on-” You cut him off,

“No. Get out of my room. Or wait, should I beg you to stay like last time so you’ll definitely leave?” You mocked, in slight disbelief of Aventurine’s audacity.

Aventurine ever so slightly faltered at your tone and words. “Okay, ouch.” He joked but deep down your actions hurt. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” But when Aventurine saw the glare in your eyes, he decided to drop the facade.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he did when he was feeling guilty or bad. “Do you remember our first anniversary? When we were having that picnic under that giant weeping willow?” He reminisced with a strained smile.

“You asked back then if we’d be soulmates in every universe and I said yes, knowing that I’d have to betray you. I feel like it’s my turn.” Aventurine paused and took a deep breath. “Do you think we’re soulmates in every universe?”

You didn’t hesitate in cutting down any and all expectations, Aventurine held. “Why would you think that when you ruined it for us in this one?” You counted with a question of your own.

Aventurine froze before smiling, trying to mask the pain in his expression. “I have to admit I wasn’t expecting you to say something so cruel but I understand,” Aventurine said with a smile, trying to act playful and nonchalant.

He then left your room without any more complaints. The truth of the situation didn't hit him until he saw you at the bar, laughing and drinking with another man. Maybe my luck has finally run out. He thought, trying to shove back any emotions from leaking out.

Aventurine had never truly wanted anything in his life. He couldn't afford the luxury of wanting something. He never asked for all the wealth he amassed or the luck he was born with. Hell, he didn’t even really want freedom. After being chained down for so long, Aventurine wouldn't know what to do if he was free.

But you were different.

He wanted you. But he couldn’t.

And that was what pissed him off the most.

Veritas ── Dating Veritas was not for the weakhearted. Due to his extreme talent and unparalleled intelligence, he holds himself in high regard. He comes off as candid, self-centered, and condescending.

Even mocking or narcissistic at times. But you knew him better. Veritas was just a bit too blunt but he was sensible and levelheaded. He wasn’t a bad person. In fact, it’s the opposite.

He firmly believes that intellect isn’t confined to geniuses and seeks to distribute knowledge to the entire universe, all to “cure” ignorance. He wants to help people but is just a bit odd or “mean” while doing it.

He does have a bit of an eccentric temperament but he meant well. That’s what you always told yourself but that excuse was starting to grow old. You were trying to be considered an understanding of where he was coming from, you always have been.

But you can only take so much. A person can only get knocked down so many times before they decide it's better to just stay on the floor. And it seemed you were reaching that breaking point with Veritas.

He would always point out your mistakes, nitpick something irrelevant, or just for the sake of it. You started to wonder if he even loved you. Never once did he really show affection toward you.

At first you tried to acknowledge that he might not feel comfortable with that but after years of being together, if he still wasn't comfortable enough with you to show basic affection… You couldn't help but wonder, what the hell have you been doing for the past four years of your life?

One day you had enough.

Your words rang clearly throughout his study, "Veritas, I think we should stop seeing each other." You said vaguely but the message was clear.

Veritas froze upon hearing your words, not expecting you to say such a thing. "Why?" he asked simply, the coldness now turning into a sharp tone. The suddenness of this topic left him confused, a part of him wanting to lash out at you, but he refrained.

"I just don't think we're compatible as a couple."

Veritas scoffed as soon as you finished speaking, feeling slightly annoyed at that word. Was 'compatibility' the thing that doomed their relationship? "So you have realised we are not compatible after so many years of being together?" His tone now sharp with the hints of slight aggression.

You didn’t flinch at his cold tone. "You don't have to get so defensive, I'm not blaming you." You said with a gentle expression, which was odd for you. You've always been more hot-headed and impulsive so seeing you like this was weird to Veritas.

"It's just that I want to be loved in a more open way and you can't provide that for me which is okay. That's just not you, and I don't want you to change yourself for me. I'm sure you're more suited with someone who's like yourself. I'm just not the person."

Veritas could tell by your calm explanation, that you’ve been thinking about this for quite some time and that fact stabbed his heart in a way he’d never felt before. "I tried my best to love you as much as I possibly can, but apparently that was not enough for you..."

"Just because you love me doesn't mean I feel loved." You countered and Veritas froze. "Let's think about it this way. Let's say you're trying to teach somebody something. It's easy for you so you have high expectations for the person you’re teaching. But that person just doesn't get it. They're trying their best but they're not understanding. You would feel upset or annoyed, right? Because their best isn't good enough for you." You tried to explain in a way he would understand.

“The fault wouldn't be placed on the person who's trying their best, it would be placed on the one who had unrealistic expectations.” You finished with a strained smile. You loved Veritas, with all your heart but you couldn’t go on like this.

Veritas had to stifle the urge to argue for a moment. He hated how accurate your example was, but he also understood your point. “Do you believe in fate? Destiny and or soulmates, things like that?“ He asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

You paused, raising an eyebrow at him. Veritas was an intelligent man when it came to logic and reasoning. Things like destiny and fate weren't “logical” in the slightest. “I suppose.” You answered carefully.

“Do you think we’re soulmates in every other universe?” You blinked at Veritas’ question. Never in a million years would you have thought that he would ask you something like that. You sighed and decided to give him a taste of his own blunt medicine.

“Do you treat me like shit in every universe?” Veritas felt his heart shatter at your response. He didn’t know you felt like that. He didn’t know that he was treating you so badly to the point where’d you had to resort to this.

He regretted asking. This would perhaps be the only time he wished to remain ignorant, despite his life goal of getting rid of it.

- Navigation - - Supernova -

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr angst #hsr imagines #hsr fics #hsr headcanons #hsr drabbles #blade #blade x reader #blade angst #aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #veritas #veritas x reader #veritas angst #marsworks

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deadgirlzneedlovetoo · 18 hours

Text

The Perfect Christmas Morning

pairing: art donaldson x female reader

warnings: mentions of a kid you two have together, sex, p in v, nothing too kinky!

You padded down the stairs on an early Christmas morning, greeted by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and something sweet wafting through the air. Entering the kitchen, you found your husband wearing a crisp white apron, rummaging through the cabinet. The countertop wore a fine dusting of powdered sugar, resembling a scene from a wintry postcard.

“Need a hand, chef?” you quipped, leaning casually against the doorframe, the corner of your lips tugging into a smile. Art glanced up, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

"Actually, I need someone to do a taste test."

You sauntered over to the bowl of pancake batter sitting on the counter. Slowly, you swiped a finger through the mix, tasting it with a deliberate slowness to relish the sweet flavour. Leaning casually against the counter, you met his gaze, noticing how intently his eyes lingered on your mouth.

“You've got a little something there, princess,”

His lips curled into a smirk, giving you a pretty good idea of what was to come.

“Oh, really?”

“Why don't you help me out then?”

Fingers latching onto the straps of his apron, you pulled him closer, lips meeting hungrily halfway. He dipped your head, pressing his body against yours. The edge of the counter dug into your back, but you couldn't feel anything except the taste of his lips and the touch of his hands. As if hearing your thoughts, he gripped your waist, hoisting you onto the kitchen counter so you could be in a more comfortable position. Instinctively, your legs wrapped themselves around his waist, pulling him closer.

“You have no idea what you make me wanna do, Angel,”

Art mumbled as he pushed up your sweater and jerked down your bra cups, kneading the soft flesh underneath. Hot, wet kisses trailed down your jawline, his lips making an exploration from your neck to the valley between your breasts. Meanwhile, his hands crept to the waistband of your sweatpants, yanking them off alongside your panties and throwing them carelessly onto the floor.

“Art,” you whispered anxiously,

“What if Julie wakes up?”

“Then we tell her that we’re working on item number two on her list to Santa.. A little brother or sister to play with.”

The husky, conspiratorial tone sent a delicious wave of shivers down your spine, your toes curling before his words even fully registered in your head. Just as you opened your mouth to scold him, Art chose that exact moment to plunge his fingers into your slick core. “Art!” His name rolled out of your tongue in an erotic squeak. Your grip around his shoulder blades tightened, leaving crescent-moon indentations as you bucked against his fingers, desperate for more. “T-take off your pants, now” you demanded breathlessly,

“Whatever you say Mrs. Donaldson," Art says teasingly.

Shoving off his pants and boxers obligingly, he gripped your thighs apart and surged forward in one single stroke, slipping into your drenched entrance with ease. “Oh,” you gasped quietly, always amazed by the fullness you felt every time Art entered you. There was a sense of belonging when you connected in the most intimate, carnal way imaginable—as if your bodies were designed for each other. He established a delicious rhythm that had you gasping for more.

“Baby, ‘m so close..” his voice was raspy. Pleading, almost. You could feel the thick haze of heat between you spiral higher and higher. You began to buck against him, hands greedily sliding all over his body to touch every inch of his skin. As he lurched up to meet your lips again, Art angled your thighs, slamming in deeper and more fiercely, the movements of his tongue displaying the same ferocity of his thrusts—desperate, aching for your warmth and taste. Your body bucked fiercely against his, feeling the goosebumps blossoming across your flesh. Your mouth opened, releasing a silent scream as your body convulsed, spine bent deliciously into an arc. Feeling him succumbing to his own pleasure as you twitched and shivered through your climax; a blazing, burning ecstasy.

His hips continued to jerk languidly against yours before finally coming to a rest. Out of breath; hot breath panting against your sweat-slicked skin. Art had his face nestled into the crook of your neck, chest heaving. You ran your fingers through his brunette curls, planting soft kisses along his neck.

Your legs were weak and trembling when Art helped you get off the counter. Smiling, he tilted your head upwards to caress your flushed cheeks, admiring the rosy blush before lowering his head to capture your lips once more. Gentle and sweet, exactly the way you remembered your very first kiss with him.

"Merry Christmas, Angel.” he mumbled with a shy, boyish grin, before giving you a peck on the nose. Soft laughter escaped you as you smiled up at him, eyes shining and happy.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Art."

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morganski-19 · 1 day

Text

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 12

part 1, prev part

The Chief walks into the hospital room the next day in full uniform. Pulling out his key ring and setting the key in the lock. The cuffs open, clacking against each other as he takes them back.

Eddie is free.

“I owe you an apology, I should have taken these off a long time ago.”

Wayne looks at the Chief, wondering if he should be grateful or angry. “Why happed with the feds?”

“They agreed to point the other way. Still looking for a fall guy, but it won’t be your nephew. I made sure of that.”

“Thank you.”

The Chief huffs. “Don’t be thanking me. You should thank Harrington, he really knocked some sense into my head.”

That seems to happen often. Through his actions, the way that he talks to people. The way that he’s respected Wayne’s boundary to leave him and Eddie alone. The way he cares for Dustin. Cares for Eddie even when Wayne didn’t want him too. Fought for the things he knew were true, never giving up.

Wayne really needed to talk to him.

“I hear he’s been getting better,” the Chief continues. Taking the seat next to Wayne.

Wayne nods. “Yeah, wakin’ up slowly. Should be able to talk again in a few days.”

The Chief nods. “I know I was really dragging my feet to get the cuffs off, but my offer still stands. If you need anything, feel free to give me a call. I still can’t tell you everything that happened, but as time goes on, you’re going to have a lot of questions. I can hopefully give you some answers. Lend a hand when you need me to.”

There’s going to be a lot of things that Wayne will never understand. Life has shown him that already. There were things that he didn’t understand before and learned to.

He can do it all again. Try to ignore the need for answers and try to understand. Have the patience he had when Eddie was younger. As he was learning how to be the person Eddie needed him to be.

“I appreciate that, Chief.”

“Please, just call me Jim.”

Jim leaves a little after that. Giving Wayne some space. He goes on a walk a little while later. Wanting some fresh air. Coming back to see Dustin heading down the hall, Steve sitting peacefully in the waiting room. Looking a hell of a lot better than yesterday.

“Can I talk to you?” Wayne sits down across from him. Ready to actually have a conversation with him for once.

Steve sits up a bit straighter, trying to make a better impression. “Yeah, sure.”

Wayne clears his throat. “I owe you an apology. You never gave me a reason to treat you the way I did and it was harsh of me to assume things about you. It’s not an excuse, but I was angry at a lot of things and seein’ you walk out of here fine while Eddie’s not. . . It was an easy thing for me to be mad at.”

“I don’t blame you. I think I would have reacted the same if it was my kid in Eddie’s position. You really have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I do,” Wayne insists. “You all clearly went through something that I don’t fully understand. I had no right to keep you from seeing him.”

Steve has a look a mix emotions. Like he’s fighting between gratitude and sorrow. “Would it be ok if I saw him now?”

Wayns nods. Walking down the hall with Steve to Eddie’s room, letting him sit in the chair next to him. He swears that he sees tears start to form in Steve’s eyes, but he blinks them away before he can confirm.

“Where’s the kid?” Wayne asks.

Steve clears his throat. “Visiting Max. She’s doing a lot better now.”

“That’s good.”

“He looks so different,” Steve says after a break of silence. “Like the energy of him was sucked out.”

Wayne nods, having felt the same way for a long time.

“I know I didn’t know him that long, but.” Steve takes a breath. “During that week, he was really starting to feel like someone who could become a friend. I was really looking forward to becoming his friend.”

“What happened to him?” Wayns asks, desperate. “What happened to you?”

Steve meets his eyes, a troubled look resting on his face. The want to tell him but the knowledge that he can’t. “I wish I could tell you, but I legally can’t. I know that probably doesn’t make it better.”

“It doesn’t. But I appreciate you trying.”

Dustin comes in and reads his chapter like he always does. Having to pull up another chair since Steve stole his. They leave shortly after it’s done. Giving Wayne a few minutes to himself before he has to leave for work.

He leans closer to Eddie’s bed, placing a hand on the empty bar. Afraid to touch him, to do anything to make him worse. But he hasn’t said much in the days he’s been here. Too hopeless to imagine that Eddie could hear him. Today, he decides to try.

“Hey, kid. I’m sorry that I haven’t talked to you much in the past week. You must think there’s somethin’ up. That you did somethin’ to make me not talk to you. That’s not the case.”

Fear like this is something that Wayne never wanted to experience. Losing a child is something that a parent never wanted to even think about. Let alone live through. And while Eddie isn’t technically Wayne’s kid, he is in all the ways that matter.

“Truth is, I was scared. I thought I lost you so many times in the past few weeks. Each time I came in here, I thought would be the day that the nurses told me you were really gone. That I lost my son.”

Words get choked in Wayne’s throat as tears fall down his face. Things he’s been too afraid to say all coming out at once.

“But I didn’t. You’re still here. And you’re gettin’ better and I am so proud of you.”

Eddie opens his eyes, looking toward Wayne. His fingers tense, raising slightly towards Wayne’s hand. Wayne places his hand on top of Eddie’s squeezing it tight.

“Nothin’ you could do could ever make me not proud of you.”

Note: I’m not crying, you’re crying. Jesus why do I do this to myself. Also this concludes chapter three, now posted on my ao3. Back to Dustin's POV in the next part

part 1, part 2. part 3. part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

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@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

#chills right to the marrow fic #this fic is going to be so long #i am now realizing #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #wayne munson #wayne pov #steve harrington #jim hopper #eddie munson #finally somewhat concious #everyone lives/nobody dies #hospitals #pre steddie

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