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ellievickstar · 4 months

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Galentines, Valentines, Now he's mine <3

A/N: Am I supposed to be doing work? Yes. Am I doing said work? No. Due tomorrow, Do tomorrow. Don't do what I'm doing if you have work due go do it before it piles up and overwhelms you.

Summary: In which your girlfriends plan how they will finally get you and Azriel to confess to each other after weeks of getting they're ears talked off by the both of you pining over each other and agonizing over asking the other out for valentine's day. And what better day to do it than on the day itself?

Request: Nope.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: This might make you feel even more single to begin with.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

"No," You said flatly, shaking your head to emphasise the word you had just uttered.

The three women around you seemed to visibly deflate like balloons over your words. All whom had been trying desperately to convince you to confess to your crush of...two hundred years. One would think you would have gotten over him by now, but apparently not, you were still knee deep into the crush that had started your endless pining and gushing over the shadow singer since you had first joined the court through Morrigan when she rescued you from your family.

She had seen value in your ability to manipulate the stars just like how her cousin manipulated night. While swirls of shadows surrounded him, the stars sang to you and told you the dreams of those around you, their worst and best deeds, their greatest successes and their worst fears.

And when the stars sang, you listened.

"And what do the stars tell you about valentine's day?" Mor prompted you gently. Sighing, you reminded her of the limitations of your powers, "You know that I choose not to listen to my own future, it makes me live in anxiety about the next thing that is going to happen, sometimes knowing everything is not great. I'd rather live in the mystery than the anxiety of knowing."

Nodding, she glanced at Nesta and Feyre, the two females shrugging. They were at a lost for words, they could not say anything to tell you about Azriel's feelings without sacrificing the privacy of the shadow singer. Truth to be told they only knew about it because Rhysand never kept anything from Feyre, while Cassian of course could not hold back his excitement that his friend finally liked a female that was not completely unavailable and babbled to Nesta. However, telling your mate is one thing, completely exposing the shadow singer's secret to the one person he definitely wanted to keep the secret from was another.

Before you had arrived for the weekly tea party that you all hosted, excluding Elain who often preferred to stay in with her mate and be updated on any tea later by watching for herself instead of actively being involved, you all welcomed her even if she was not a common sight at these get togethers. "Perhaps, you should consider that maybe being rejected by Azriel will finally allow you to move on, you have been pining for two centuries, maybe it's about time?" Feyre tried.

Shaking your head once more, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes, groaning at the prospect of ruining the close friendship you had forged with the shadow singer by confessing to him on valentine's day of all days. Maybe you were overthinking it, but you would rather live in your crush and suffer than ruin the good and close friendship you had.

The idea of finally getting together with the shadow singer baffled you but it was a dream come true. Truth to be told, you had had dreams about it before, and even begun to crave the comfort Azriel provided you in your darkest moments in the roughest nights. In times you wondered whether you should cut to the chase but you were scared of the repercussions.

"Come on, girl, you have to bite the bullet, be brave. You have to be confident enough to get rejected. And eventually you'll move and you can be friends with Azriel after he rejects you. Agonizing over this for so long is not worth it," Nesta reasoned. Considering her words, you sighed, "Fine." The females around you brightened. "But, I will only do it through a letter, and he has to confess to me also if he actually accepts. If he rejects it promise me you'll take me to the cabin to mope." They all eagerly nodded, and just like that, they began to set their plan in motion.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Dearest Dear Azriel,

I am writing this letter. Hi. How are you? Today is valentine's day and you must be wondering why you are receiving this letter from me. I confess that I was coerced into doing this by Nesta, Feyre and Morrigan, but do not doubt that my words are not sincere. I love like you. I have liked you for a while and will continue to do so even if you reject my feelings until the day I can find the strength in me to truly move on. For two centuries I have found myself drawn to your quiet demeanor and I have found myself craving the quiet nights we spend together when we seek the other's comfort. I do hope that you will accept my feelings, but if you feel as though you cannot reciprocate, do not worry, I will do my best to move on from this and we can continue to remain just friends.

Yours Sincerely,

Y/N

Finishing off with your name, you looked down at the letter that you wrote, going over it two more times before finally folding it. Just as the letter disappeared from your hands, probably reappearing in front of the shadow singer, another letter appeared in front of you that you recognised the paper was only one Azriel used, the scent of paper and ink still clung to it along with the musky scent of steel and the night sky that could only be described as Azriel.

Opening thee letter gently, you read.

My lovely star,

I should have written this so much sooner, but it was my brothers who finally gave me the courage to speak out the feelings I feared. I adore you. Every inch of you I crave, in every night you seek my comfort I want nothing more than to take your pain and make it mine. Every time I see you smile I curse under my breath when the reason for your smile is not me. I find joy in your laughter, it's melody often playing on repeat at the back of my mind. Even when I'm away I feel close to you because I spend every waking moment wondering what you and doing and every dream seems to chase away the nightmares when I dream of you. If you will allow me, I wish to be your forever. I love you with all my heart and my soul.

Yours, now and forever,

Azriel A.K.A Asshole, Brute, Bat, Illyrian prick

(P.S. I think my shadows like you more than me, because everytime you're near they seem to stray away from me to lay at your feet. You are breath taking, my star)

Holding in your breath, you felt as if you were dreaming, and as Azriel's scent seemed to suddenly flood your senses, you turned to the doors just as a knock came, slowly approaching it, behind was Azriel holding the letter you wrote, his grin wide and his eyes bright.

"Do you mean it, Sweetheart?" He asked, "Will you be mind?" Even as you nodded his eyes held a silent command to hear your voice, to hear the words he had craved for for so long. "I want to be your Azriel, I want you to be mine, I have loved you for so long," And as he swept you off your feet, the door closing behind the both of you as his lips crashed into yours, he pulled apart to only say, "I've been yours for longer than you could ever imagine, little star, even when I have faded from this world, even when we join our ancestors in the sky, even when we become the stars that sing, I will always be yours."

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

"Guess I'll have to cancel galentines," You whispered softly to Azriel, peaking at his face that stretched into a soft grin, his arms snaking around your waist even as you lay quite literally on top of him, your elbows leaning onto his chest.

"Didn't the rest of the inner circle always have their own Valentine's while you went shopping, me tailing behind you?" You laughed, replying, "Well I did like this one male, he was super sweet and was always there for me but I never dared ask him to be my Valentine," His eye brows quirked at your words, his smile becoming wider as he asked, "And what happened to the male?" you considered for a moment before grinning mischievously.

"Well, now he's mine."

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A/N: No way, she wrote something with no angst for once??? A full fic that didn't have angst???? crazy. She must have been brain washed or something, that's insane. Don't worry my loves, angst is coming I just wanted to be nice for once during valentines <33 For all us single girls let's have a happy galentine's day and enjoy our girl dinners, AKA whichever fictional man/men we decide to simp for. Happy Valentine's day, see you all next time. MWAH.

Taglist: Please tell me if you want to be tagged in future Azriel's fics!!

#acotar #acotar fandom #acosf #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel acomaf #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #shadow singer

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bosbas · 6 months

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Chapter 10: writing letters addressed to the fire

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.8k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, angst, pining, like a lot of pining, anthony being controversial

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: they're so in their evermore era i can't

July 7, 1814 - The expectations were as high as the chandeliers at the Bridgerton Ball two nights prior. And the night did not disappoint. Our forgone diamond of the season made an appearance at the social event. A fact that is expected given the close relationship between the Beaumonts and Bridgertons, but a pleasant surprise given her recent absence from social happenings. While previously the center of attention, Miss Beaumont danced only once at the Bridgerton Ball with one Mr. Alexander Beaumont. Yes, dear reader, her brother. This leaves us with the lingering question: why did Miss Beaumont choose her brother over the allure of a potential match? It seems that Miss Beaumont is simply tired of the ton's social scene, or perhaps she has lost some of her shine now that her best friend has left for the countryside.

He cleared his throat, rubbing his thumb on his lower lip. Finally meeting your eyes, he said, "Well, I was wondering if you'd want to marry me."

You choked, completely taken aback. "Are you alright, Anthony?" you asked, nervously laughing. "Was the whiskey too strong for you after all?"

He pinched his nose, annoyed at your flippant response, but couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. "Be quiet! I'm trying to help you!" he said, laughing.

You were in hysterics now, too. "Help me?! Help me how, pray tell," you managed to get out between giggles.

"You are impossible! How Benedict deals with you so regularly, I have no idea!" he shot back, poking you in the arm as he said each word.

You gasped in mock offense. "Low blow, Anthony, even for you," you said, shaking your head at him, unable to keep from laughing. "Surely you're joking. Why should I let you marry me?"

"Let me marry– Bloody hell, Y/N, and excuse my language, but really, I am coming from a good place here, and you are making it so difficult," he responded, clearly exasperated by your inability to take him seriously.

You ceased laughing and looked at him directly, cocking your head and widening your eyes when you realized he was being sincere. "Anthony? Surely you're joking, right? Does Alex know? He'll kill you if he finds out you proposed to his little sister."

He sighed deeply, shifting in his seat. "Look, I am not joking. But let me explain first, and then you can ask me questions."

You could do little but stare at him, lips parted in confusion. "Go on, then," you said finally, very interested in hearing an explanation for this incredibly unexpected proposal.

Anthony looked over to where Alex was sitting, deep in conversation with your father, and then looked back to you. He turned in his seat so he was fully facing you, one hand on the back of his chair and the other on his knee, contemplating how best to explain himself without sounding insane. "I know it sounds like a crazy idea. Trust me, I can barely imagine it myself. But I do think it might be a good one," he said finally, hoping to get some kind of response from you, only to be met with a blank stare. You were still entirely unconvinced of his proposal, barely believing that he was being serious.

"Listen, what you said two nights ago is not something I take lightly, given that you mean so much to us, to me and Benedict and our family. And I can see that you're having a rough go of it. The roughest go of it, actually," he continued.

"And you think marrying me will solve my problems because...?" you cut in, not quite following Anthony's logic.

"Well, I've been trying to explain my thought process for the past five minutes, but you're making it awfully hard, Y/N," he shot back, raising his eyebrows at you, amused. You rolled your eyes good-naturedly in response but sat back so you could let him continue.

"This might make more sense if I explain my side of things a bit more, actually," he decided, mentally rearranging what he was going to say to you. "Alex and Simon already know this, but my intention has never been to marry for love. Above all, I view marriage as a duty to my family. Since my father passed, I have been the one responsible for them, and they are the dearest thing in the world to me, as you well know."

At the mention of Edmund, you reached out and placed a hand on Anthony's, remembering how difficult it was for the family when his father passed. He shot you a grateful smile, covering your hand with his and clearing his throat before he continued speaking.

"I will be perfectly candid with you, Y/N, because you deserve nothing less. I was planning on looking for a wife next season, but even so, I believe that pursuing love is an unpleasant and unimportant endeavor, at least for me."

You gasped, slightly taken aback at his cynical views, though yours weren't much sunnier. "Don't you want to fall in love, Anthony? Don't you think you'll find a partnership like the one your parents had?" you prodded, overwhelmed by a sense of sadness. But you also felt somewhat understood, knowing now that Anthony had an unconventional view of marriage.

He gave you a knowing look, saying only, "Don't you?"

Knowing he had a point, you let up. "Fair enough, I suppose," you answered. Is that how you sounded when you spoke of getting married? You were completely disillusioned with the notion, but you had given it more than a few honest tries, while Anthony was set on never looking for a love match. It was quite ironic, seeing how much your parents loved each other and the love between Daphne and Simon, that you and Anthony had developed such depressing views on marriage. You saw Anthony nod in your direction, seemingly happy with your answer.

After a slight pause, Anthony winced, knowing he was about to share much more than he usually would. However, he knew that this would potentially benefit you both, so he fought through the discomfort. "Seeing my mother fall apart after Father died was awful to watch, and I would never want to cause someone that pain. My goal is not to find passion but to secure my family's future. And I was hoping to find someone who would want this different sort of partnership," he said, looking at you pointedly. You had already started connecting the dots in your head and thought you were catching on to where this was going now.

"So you want to have an unconventional marriage together, then?" you asked, hoping you had understood correctly.

He patted your hand, relieved you finally understood what he intended the proposal to sound like rather than the abrupt and blunt question he had asked earlier. "Yes, precisely. Of course, I want you to take as much time as you need to consider this decision since it is quite important. I doubt we would seek an expedited marriage license, but obviously, we can sort out the minutiae later if you decide to do this. There is no pressure one way or another, I simply wanted to give you an option you had probably not considered before," he said, searching your face for any reaction.

However, you remained guarded, still unsure about your feelings. Saying yes to this proposal would definitively mean saying no to Benedict. But Benedict had not even asked you anything, you argued internally. There was nothing to say no to. In fact, he had been the one to say no to you. But you didn't know if you were ready to give up all hope yet. Perhaps you were a fool, but then again, you always were when it came to your best friend.

If you accepted Anthony's proposal, would the now-permanent ache in your chest worsen at the knowledge that you could never have Benedict? Or would you feel better, getting closure Benedict would never give you?

You felt a surge of anger shoot up your spine. Why couldn't Benedict be the one asking you this? After twenty years, why was he the one who left you alone and confused while Anthony was left to pick up the broken pieces of you Ben left behind so carelessly? Even setting aside the added issue of your unrequited feelings for Benedict, Anthony was being a much better friend than him right now. But your anger dissipated quickly, dissolving into desperate sadness. You missed Ben so much; the short letters he had been sending were unsuccessful in placating the ever-growing need to feel his presence beside you. The overwhelming sense that something about you was missing was almost too much to handle, and you felt yourself going around in circles in your head about what you wanted to do.

You knew it could never be the same with Benedict regardless, so you reasoned that you would at least consider Anthony's proposal. You owed it to yourself to consider someone other than Benedict and something other than perpetual singledom without any children to raise or read to.

Realizing Anthony was patiently waiting for you to say something in response, you spoke up. "In theory, this doesn't sound like a terrible partnership," you started, laughing when Anthony snorted and muttered a short "Why, thank you."

"Shush! I'm trying to consider your proposal, and you're making it quite difficult to spend longer than twenty minutes with you, let alone the rest of my life," you joked, stomach dropping slightly when you mentioned the concept of forever. Pushing through your fear, you kept speaking, "I know you, Anthony Bridgerton. And I know you would not do something like this without a plan. So tell me your plan, and I will consider it and give you my answer once I have one."

Anthony couldn't help but laugh at your scolding tone, "You're not wrong." However, he knew he had to be careful about how he presented his reasoning for this proposal. It was no secret that he thought his brother a complete buffoon for refusing to marry you. Anyone could see that your best friend was madly in love with you, and Anthony was beyond confused as to why Benedict was being obtuse and frankly stupid when you so clearly loved him just as much.

It was hard to miss the alarmingly fond looks the two of you exchanged, not to mention what must be dozens of sketches of you in Benedict's studio, try as he might to make it look like there weren't that many. But what really made it the most obvious was Benedict's manner of speaking about you. It was beautiful to hear when Ben forgot himself and spent nearly an hour discussing a fascinating observation you had made about one of his paintings. Or when he saw Eloise reading a book you had read and launched into a speech about your genius way of interpreting a particular passage. Or even when Anthony inquired about any of the paintings of you in his studio and his brother began a lengthy explanation of how he wanted to paint your eyes in a way that captured your thoughtful yet soft gaze, in Ben's words. Benedict's unwavering and wholehearted admiration of you rivaled that of his parents. It seemed to Anthony that you were the sun, and Benedict was happy to be in your orbit if only to relish in the warmth and comfort you brought him. And the same could be said for you.

So, choosing his words carefully, Anthony avoided saying anything that would upset you, knowing you were still raw from Benedict's sudden departure a few weeks ago. "To start, a legal union between our families would only strengthen our bond, and I know we both would still like to remain close with our families after we are married."

Gauging a positive reaction from your raised eyebrows and slight nod, he continued. "Perhaps the most obvious advantage is that we would have the marriage we both want. I would, of course, encourage you to continue pursuing your studies after we were married, and though I would like to have children, and I know you do as well, I am in no particular rush if you don't feel ready yet," he continued.

To be fair, Anthony made a compelling argument. Although your ideal marriage was still the one you had imagined with Benedict as a child, Anthony was realistically the best option for you, especially with the men of the ton being as dreadful as they were and Ben off in the countryside for who knows how long.

"I don't want to feel suffocated by my husband, Anthony," you warned, earning a laugh from him.

"I know you think I'm insane, but I promise I don't want to be a suffocating husband. We want a lot of the same things, just for different reasons," he responded, ready to answer any and all rebuttals you had. Anthony knew this would be a difficult decision, and he had come prepared with the utmost patience to ensure he got rid of all of your doubts to the best of his abilities. Having watched you grow up and grown up alongside you, he had a deep fondness for you, often feeling as protective over you as he did over Eloise or Daphne. Anthony cared about you and wanted the best for you, no matter what that might entail. And if he could find a wife a season earlier than he had expected while you got what you deserved, that was just an added bonus.

In the back of his mind, Anthony hoped that if you accepted his proposal, Benedict might come to his senses before the engagement progressed too far. But he would be a fool to count on his brother to do so, based on how Ben had acted so far. Anthony knew it would be cruel to tell you this and raise your spirits only to be disappointed again. If it came to it, Anthony would be happy to marry you. It was a very practical union, and Anthony quite liked practical things.

"It makes sense, in a way, I suppose. We do want similar things," you muttered to yourself. "And you'd let me read as much as I wanted?" you asked, needing reassurance.

"I promise," answered Anthony, smiling sweetly at you. "Besides, we are already very acquainted with one another, having grown up together, and I'm sure it'd be good fun to be married. Well, at least I think so. And you know me well enough to be able to make that decision for yourself."

You nodded thoughtfully, mulling over all of the possible caveats you could think of to bring up to Anthony. If you were going to go through with this, you needed to be absolutely sure that it was what you wanted. Although it was getting difficult to find negatives about this possible union. It seemed that you would have much more agency with Anthony than if you were married to anyone else, bar Benedict, or as a spinster.

"What about Alex?" you settled on asking. "Have you talked about this with him?"

Both of you subconsciously turned to look at your older brother and then at each other. Anthony gave a slight shake of his head. "No, not yet. But I have a feeling he'll understand and even be supportive. Especially after the other night. And especially now that Benedict left."

You furrowed your brow, confused. What did Anthony mean, especially now that Benedict left? You were about to ask for clarification when Anthony cut in.

"Anyway, don't worry about Alex. I will talk to him and your father, and I know they will be on board with whatever you choose. So all you have to do is decide if this is something you want to do or not," he said quickly, trying to make up for the fact that he had revealed too much before. Anthony knew Alex had similar feelings to Anthony, perhaps even more pent-up anger at Benedict than he did since Benedict was hurting Alex's little sister. But he hadn't meant to tell you so directly. Anthony mentally kicked himself for rubbing salt on your metaphorical wound. Although it seemed that you had let go of his comment, for now, he noted as he watched you rubbing your temples, deep in thought.

You sighed deeply, coming to the realization that this could be it. This decision could change your life forever, and perhaps Benedict's life, depending on how he handled the news. If you accepted the proposal, of course. You couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of guilt, knowing that you could never feel for Anthony the same way you felt about Benedict.

"And you'd be alright with me not being in love with you? I don't think I can do that again. After Benedict," you said softly, still wanting to avoid thinking about losing him as much as possible.

"Yes, I would prefer it, actually," said Anthony, smiling at you. But his playful demeanor was wrapped in a careful tenderness. He understood you better than most people, having learned to see you, above all, through Benedict's eyes. He knew you were terrified. Of being married and not being married, of losing yourself and of staying exactly the same as you were now.

He was terrified, too, to be honest. He knew Benedict would be impossibly angry with him, even though he really had no reason to be, and feared their relationship could be fractured. Not to mention that Anthony had been dreading marriage ever since that fateful day his father fell ill from a bee sting, leaving his mother alone in the empty shell of their loving partnership. He supposed the two of you did sort of make sense in a peculiar way.

"Alright, go away, please," you shooed Anthony away. "I have to actually think about it now. But no matter what happens, I want you to know I'm grateful for your offer. I know it's coming from a very generous place, and it really does mean the world," you added, squeezing his hand as he stood up.

"Of course, Y/N. I'm not Benedict, but you're very important to me nonetheless. Take as much time as you need," he responded, returning your squeeze and making his way over to Colin and Theo, giving you space to mull over your decision.

That was precisely the situation, you thought. Anthony wasn't Benedict. And you had to decide whether or not that was good enough for you. It was a very compelling offer, and you knew it might be your only chance to have anything close to the sort of life you had hoped to have before Henri and the rest of the men of the ton so pointedly crushed your dreams. Benedict was the only reason not to marry Anthony, and he had been quite clear in saying that he wouldn't marry you. But you wanted to enjoy a few more days of imagining that Ben could be yours in some capacity before you had to move on from him forever.

---

Shoving a pile of unsent letters aside, Benedict set a fresh sheet of paper down and started yet another letter he was unlikely to send to you. Now that he had ceased going to parties and bringing home a different woman every night, he found himself with ample bouts of time that he dedicated almost exclusively to thinking about you.

With each new letter you sent, Benedict found himself lost in your words, re-reading them constantly and clinging to any fragment of you that he could still claim as his. In response, he wrote pages and pages of prose he would never send. These ranged from letters he could plausibly send to you, responding to every comment you had made about the book you had read that day. Others were less tame. Sometimes, he found himself unable to keep his overflowing feelings inside of him any longer, choosing instead to write heart-wrenching confessions of a love so deep and all-consuming that it permeated every fiber of his being. But Anthony's words reverberated in his head, warning him not to lead you on, every time he contemplated addressing these letters.

But Benedict loved you. The real, soul-crushing sort of love that only came once in a lifetime. The kind of love that grew from years of being by your side, knowing every detail of you, and still wanting to know more. He was far past the point of denying it and had now stumbled on an agonizing feeling of wanting. He wanted you by his side while he painted, quietly discussing the colors or the shading he was working on. He wanted to put his head in your lap as you sat in the garden, feeling your fingers running softly through his hair. He wanted to look over at night and find your sleeping form beside him, less than an arm's length away as he fell asleep holding you. Most of all, he wanted to be content in the knowledge that he could hold your hand, breathe in your scent, and twist your hair in his fingers as he kissed you every single day for the rest of his life.

The moment in your garden by the rose bushes from the day before he left, where he came so close to kissing you, haunted his every waking moment. He couldn't seem to forget the way your lips parted, moving ever so slightly closer to his. The feeling of your soft breath against his skin, luring him in. He had been so close to just giving in and touching your expectant lips with his. It was all he had dreamed about doing ever since he had come back from Oxford and felt you in his arms, realizing that he never wanted to spend another day apart from you. He still wondered what would have happened if he had just done it. If he had just leaned over a few inches to join your lips and brushed his thumb on your cheek as he grabbed your waist. But he hadn't. Instead he had fled to the countryside, where he was missing you more than ever and ridden with jealousy at the thought of you with another man.

Benedict didn't know if the ache of longing would ever fade. All he knew was that you were a permanent mark left on him he would never be able to wash off even if he wanted to. A part of him would always be you. The proof of that was on his desk cluttered with letters that would never find their way to you and in his studio housing nearly a dozen unfinished portraits of you.

Clutching to a sliver of hope, he held onto the fact that no news of your engagement had reached him. Yet, each day brought with it a tormenting dread as he approached his unopened letters, torn between the desperate hope for a letter from you and the paralyzing fear that he would receive an invitation to your wedding. But for now, he could still pretend you were his, at least partially.

—

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tasteleeknow-remade · 2 years

Text

— lift

pairing: changbin x fem!reader genre: smut, established relationship, soft!dom changbin. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 2.9k

summary: gym smut with your jealous boyfriend in front of a mirror. strength and public sex kinks involved. that's it.

afab!reader. unprotected intercourse. oral (m. rec). public sex. exhibitionism. profanity. jealousy. possessive behaviour. pet names. mirror intercourse. gym intercourse. breeding. strength kink.

You hadn’t seen your boyfriend much at all over the past few weeks. Both of you had been so busy with work. You took any opportunity you could to meet up, which is why you took the bus straight from your late work meeting to his gym. There were very few people around as you walked the short distance between the bus stop and the 24-hr gym he frequented. When you’d finished work you’d texted him asking if he was free. He’d said he was just about to head to the gym and then he could meet you at your place when he was done. Honestly, you were desperate to see him now. The past week had been one of the roughest you’d had in awhile and you hadn’t seen him since Saturday. It was Thursday night. So despite his protests you took the bus the extra 20 minutes to his gym rather than going straight home. He worked out late most nights, it was usually the only time he had free. It was often so late that he was consistently the only one in the gym by the time he finished. Apparently, that wasn't the case tonight because when you knocked on the glass door a man that was definitely not your boyfriend appeared.

“Oh, thanks,” you said as the man pulled the door open for you.

“No worries.” He stood to the side, holding the door as you passed. You looked around the large room for your boyfriend, spotting him on a machine with his headphones on—the only other person still here. Honestly the bonus of seeing him working out may have been the deciding factor when you chose to come here instead of your apartment. Even if it wasn't the deciding factor, it was a great incentive. You made your way over to him, your reflection in the mirror catching his attention. He tore his headphones off his head and jumped off the machine—turning to meet you.

“What are you doing here?” He pulled you into his arms, your cheek resting against his black t-shirt. “It’s too late for you to be walking around alone.”

“I couldn’t wait.” You wrapped your arms around his back.

“You should have told me you were coming… I would have met you at the bus stop.”

“I’ll tell you next time. Promise.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead before speaking, “I’m nearly done, can you wait for me?”

“Sure,” you pointed to a lounge chair which gave you a view across the entire gym. “I’ll be over there.”

“I missed you,” he said when you tried to escape from his grasp—his eyes crinkling with a smile.

You pecked his lips. “Me too.”

You watched him resume his position on the machine and then turned and made your way to the chair. The man who opened the door for you was still here. You pulled your phone out as you fell into the chair, checking the time and then looking over to watch your boyfriend. When you were first getting to know each other, the amount of dedication he put into consistently working out and developing his body blew your mind. You’d never thought you’d date a guy who was really into the gym, the idea you had of those types of men was nothing like your boyfriend. You felt like you’d have nothing in common, on totally different planets. You looked over to the other man again, he was kneeling over a bench, lifting a dumbbell with one arm up to his chest. You hoped he would leave before Changbin was finished, you’d had this fantasy for ages of giving him a blowjob in the gym. His hair sticking to his forehead from his workout, his muscles pumped from lifting. You would kneel between his legs and kiss the tip of his cock until he was begging you to wrap your mouth around him in public. The stranger was walking towards you. When did he put the weights back? God you needed to stop zoning out staring at random people. Even on the bus on the way here you’d been zoned out and when you snapped back to reality the middle aged lady you’d been staring at was giving you a dirty look. You dropped your eyes to your phone as the man approached you, opening your chat with your friend and pretending to type a message.

“Excuse me?”

Oh, shit. You looked up at the stranger.

“I know this is weird, I swear to god I haven’t done this before… but I was wondering if I could get your number?”

Had he not seen you walk up to the only other man in here and kiss him?

“Oh, I uh- I have a boyfriend actually. He’s here.” You looked over to where you’d last seen Changbin. He was gone.

“Ah. Right… Well, it was worth a shot anyway.” You looked back to the man and gave a small smile. “Have a good night,” he finished.

“Yeah, you too.”

You watched him leave the gym and then stood to search for your boyfriend. You found him sitting on a bench in a blind spot which had hidden him from your eye line.

“What’d he want?” He was looking down at his phone as he spoke.

“He asked for my number.” You leaned against the floor to ceiling mirror that covered the wall.

“What did you say?”

“Sure, here you go.” You grinned.

“Ha,” he said bluntly.

You frowned. It wasn’t like him.

“I saw you watching him.” He looked up from his phone to your face.

“What?” You straightened yourself, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

“You were staring at him while he lifted.”

“I was zoned out. I wasn’t looking at him, I was just… looking in his general direction.”

“You had a look on your face; you looked like you were imagining fucking him.”

You scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What were you thinking about then?”

“I was… just zoned out. I don’t remember.” You did remember. You were imagining your boyfriend's cock in your mouth, but you couldn’t tell him that. Discussing fantasies about public sex wasn’t really a bridge you’d crossed in your relationship.

“Come here.” He patted his thighs with his hands. You dropped your bag on the ground and approached him—lowering yourself into his lap and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. “Did you think he was hot?” he continued.

“He was… okay, I guess. He was nothing compared to you though. Nobody compares to you.” Your lips curled into a small smile, attempting again to lighten his mood.

“Bet he was imagining fucking you… with you sitting there looking all pretty staring at him working out—how could he not?”

You played with a stray curl in his hair, “Only want you, Binnie.”

He pulled you closer to his chest. “Yeah, angel?”

“I can show you,” you whispered.

“Show me?”

“We’re alone… so I could… show you I only want you.”

He brushed your hair over your shoulder. “How you gonna do that, pretty girl?”

You climbed off his lap, kneeling on the ground. You looked up at him and then pushed his thighs apart so you could shuffle between them.

“My angel…” He sounded awed. “You gonna put your pretty lips on me?” His eagerness gave you the courage to confess your secret fantasy.

“That’s what I was thinking about… when I was zoned out. I-I have this fantasy about it… doing it here.”

“Oh, my special girl…. perfect girl...” He tucked your hair behind your hair. “Come kiss me first.”

You climbed back onto his lap, his lips finding yours before you’d fully lowered yourself onto him. His hand held you behind your neck. The way he could so easily hold you still always made you crazy. You loved feeling out of control during sex—like he could manoeuvre you anyway he wanted. Perhaps you had to add a strength kink to your newly discovered public sex kink. You had been learning a lot about yourself since you met him. His hand on your lower back pushed your lower body against him as he spoke, “Grind against me, angel. Get me hard.” He attached his lips to your neck, leaving sloppy kisses against your skin as you obeyed—rolling your hips against his cock. “That’s it… so good for me…” he mumbled into your skin. How could he ever think you were looking at some random guy in the gym when he was this good to you; when he made you feel like this. His kisses deteriorated the longer you rolled your hips into him, his breath tickling your skin as he panted into your neck. You’d felt him harden under you as you moved, his thin gym sweats a flimsy barrier between you. You stilled your hips and pulled back so you could kiss him, he moaned into your mouth giving you the confidence boost you need to get on with your mission. You climbed back onto the ground, returning to your position between his legs. He leaned back, hands gripping the back of the bench to hold himself up. Then he watched you, his breathing uneven. You ran your hands up his thighs slowly, his jaw clenching as he watched you. When you reached the waistband of his pants you pulled them down his thighs just enough to free his cock, his hips lifting off the bench slightly to help you. You quickly glanced around the empty room, suddenly feeling a little paranoid. “It’s alright, angel… you’re okay.” He turned your face back towards him, fingers under your chin.

“What if someone comes in?”

“Then they’ll get to see you on your knees with your pretty lips around my cock, lucky them.” His lips curved into a small smile. His hand moved to cup your cheek and you leaned into his palm—his thumb brushing back and forth against your skin. When his hand returned to the back of the bench you took him in your hand so you could direct the tip of his cock to your mouth. You kissed the tip softly, listening to him inhale a quick breath. You repeated the action until his thighs closed around your torso, trapping you between his legs. You looked up at his face to see his brows pulled together, eyes closed. You licked the underside of his cock, just below the tip, keeping your eyes on his face. You watched his eyes snap open—fixing to where your mouth hovered over him. You licked him again and his hand moved to hold you behind your head. You wrapped your lips around him. Motivated by his groan you began to move your mouth down him, his hand supporting your head as you went. “Angel,” he breathed. You moved up and down his cock, occasionally licking his tip until his hips started bucking up into your mouth. You pulled away, watching his face as he struggled to regain control of his breathing. “Stand up,” he panted, wrapping his hand around his cock. You stood, took a step back, and waited for him to speak again—hands fiddling with the hem of your knee-length dress.

“Take your dress off.”

You looked around again, “Here?”

“Mm, here. You’re gonna take your dress off, then your bra and panties…” You watched as he started stroking himself slowly. “Then you’re gonna come here and sit on my cock.” If you were ever going to have a chance to give into your dirtiest fantasies, it was now. So you took a deep breath and pulled your dress over your head, dropping it onto the ground beside you. “Now the rest,” your boyfriend encouraged. You started to look around again. “Keep your eyes on me.” You locked your eyes onto his as you unclasped your bra and slipped the straps off yours shoulders, letting it fall down your arms and onto the ground. His hand paused at the top of his cock as his eyes dropped to your tits, thumb brushing over his tip, moving precum over his slit. “Keep going,” he whispered. You pulled your underwear down over your ass, letting them drop down your legs and stepping out of them. You climbed onto his lap and he helped you align his cock with your entrance as you lowered yourself, your neck falling into his neck as he filled you. His arms wrapped around you, holding you still against him.

“So full,” you murmured into his neck.

“I know, angel…you’re so cute with your drippy pussy nice and full… get all desperate for me, don’t you?.” He pulled your face away from his neck, each hand moving to hold you on either side of your head. You gripped his biceps. “That guy is probably gonna go home and jerk himself off to the thought of doing this with you… imagining your warm little cunt wrapped around his cock… and it’s all mine, hm?”

He stood up suddenly, lifting you with him before lowering your feet to the ground—his cock slipping out of you. He turned you around so you were facing the mirror. He grasped your tits in each hand, massaging them for a moment—his eyes fixed on your reflection. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and then sat back down. “Sit down, angel. Face the mirror.” You lowered yourself back down onto him, cock filling you again—his hands lifting your legs and spreading them over his thighs. You could see where he entered you in the reflection. His mouth moved to kiss your neck and then he spoke, his breath tickling your skin. “Watch yourself as I fuck you.” His arms wrapped around your torso so he could grind himself up into you, your eyes were glued to the mirror. The way you looked so wrapped up in his hold, totally pinned against him in public? Filthy. It was like everything that turned you on wrapped into one moment and you couldn't help dropping your head back against his shoulder, failing to hold back a moan. He stopped moving, his hand coming to wrap around your neck, not squeezing, just holding you. “You have to look, angel. Look at the mirror.” You whined before managing to lift your head, his hand remaining on your throat as he looked into the mirror with you. “Look at yourself… look how fucked out you look, hm? All for me. Someone could come in any second… see me holding you down… cock buried in your pretty little pussy…” You rolled your hips, desperate to feel friction. “I felt that, angel. Felt you squeeze around me.. it gets you hot doesn't it? Someone walking in and catching me breeding you like this…” His hand dropped from your throat and you reached back to hold the back of his neck, attempting to pull his face to your neck. He relented—sucking on your neck as he continued to grind himself up into you.

“Binnie… please,” you whined. He kissed the skin just below your ear.

“What is it angel? You need me to fuck you properly? You like when I bounce you, don’t you? Like being my little fucktoy?”

“Y-Yeah, love it.”

“Okay, baby. I got you.” He gripped your hips and began lifting you up and down his cock. You watched his biceps flex as he lifted you, his eyes focused on the mirror. “Look at your tits bouncing, you look like a fucking mess… got my angel all messy…” This was your favourite position. The mirror was a new element but when you were on top with him lifting you up and down, milking his cock with your cunt—that’s when you’d lose your mind. The day he’d first figured it out he’d walked around the next few days like he was the hottest man on earth. It evidently made him feel almost as good as you. You couldn’t hold back the graphic sounds you usually made at this point, a combination of whines and gasps of his name. It would always spur him on, giving him the energy to thrust up into you as he bounced you. Seeing yourself in the mirror as it happened would be an image burned into your mind forever, destined to fill your brain every time you were in this position with him in the future. It was fucking obcene. His nickname for you, ‘angel’, seemed in total contrast to how you looked like this. Totally fucking debauched; corrupted.

“G-gonna come… can’t…” you gasped.

“I got you, angel.” He was completely out of breath, it was a wonder he was still going. “It’s okay, I've got you.” You couldn’t look away from your reflection as you came, your brows drawing together as you whined his name. His arms wrapped around your torso, one arm around your stomach and one around your chest—hand grasping your breast. He buried himself in you completely, pulling you into his chest tightly as he filled you. “Angel,” he groaned into your neck.

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

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#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #changbin smut #stray kids x reader #changbin x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #x reader

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f4iry-dvst · 7 months

Text

Futura Free

a/n: requests are always open for fic ideas!

pairing: Chris Sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: Chris is obsessed with putting a baby in you

cw: smut, daddy kink, breeding kink, cum eating

“Do you want it baby? Want me to come in you, huh?”

Chris already knows exactly what you want, how you want it and when — he much prefers to draw it out of you, though, even if it’s the last word to leave your mouth for days. He’s pounding into you, fast and with enough force behind his thrusts to throw you across the room, just the way you like it. Over time he’s grown to learn this is exactly how you always want it, there’s no need to even ask anymore, he just simply settles in you and surges forwards with all the strength he can muster in his hips to make you feel good.

A response is yet to breach your lips, whines and broken moans taking its place in your throat and flowing out like a fountain at the overwhelming pleasure your boyfriend’s giving you. He’s an impatient guy, you know that, and you’d respond at the click of a finger if you actually could. You can feel he’s getting aggravated with the radio silence on your end, if his harsher grip on your hips and ragged breaths heaving from his chest weren’t telltale enough you’d have to be dumb. He thinks you might be…honestly.

“Come on, tell daddy what you want sweetheart”

You stutter, tripping over every word you attempt to muster up, huffing in annoyance at yourself as Chris simply chuckles at your struggle. God, even when he’s just taking the piss, he has this effect on you that you can barely rationalise.

“Oh…fucked you dumb, did i? How adorable… Still need an answer baby or you get nothing, you know that.”

His thrusts have slowed down ever so slightly, but the difference between the paces is insane to you. Your hips instinctively grind down into him, messing the bed sheets up just that bit more as you move until a hand lets go of your hip just to slam it down into the mattress with his palm. He’s teasing you, working you up enough that you’ll break and spill every word that comes to mind — ashamedly, it works every time. A final pleading whine escapes your lips before the teasing grin that once adorned Chris’s face melts away and leaves his face cold; you realised then you really had to beg for it all.

“D-daddy…fuck- breed me, please!”

Your boyfriend smirks at that, diving head first into the quickest and roughest pace he could pick up. You both look down to see the way his cock disappears inside you like a vacuum with every thrust and you let out a moan louder than any tonight then. The combination of the overwhelming feeling inside and the sight of Chris pumping into you is driving you fûcking insane, you could cum on the spot, realistically.

Suddenly, the hand he was holding your hip down with was snaking it’s way down your sides, to your thighs, all the way to your middle, immediately dipping his middle finger in to tease your clit. Your hips shoot up and he can’t hold you down this time, so instead he moves with you, following the movement of your hips while his finger eagerly circles and tweaks your clit.

“Oh yeah? Want daddy to put a baby in that little cunt of yours“

You almost screamed them, or maybe you actually did, this was all so much for you but you loved it. Could never ask for less when your boyfriend had you speechless and in a puddle of yourself whenever the fuck you wanted it. You’re so close you can practically taste the orgasm on your tongue, and by the looks of things, so can Chris too. His hips are stuttering and his thrusts are not as smooth as they were before, signalling his own impending orgasm.

Chris’s finger twirls around your clit once more, and that’s the last straw for you as you tumble straight into the most intense orgasm. It feels so good you can’t help but clench down on his cock, watching his face change and overcome with pure glory at how good this is. You release all over him, feeling it drip down your thigh while your pussy just throbs and clenches out of your control. That’s what did it for Chris: the feeling of how tight you are around him no matter how many times you fuck sent him over the urge. You watched as the muscles in his stomach tenses again and you run a hand over it feeling the smooth plane of skin burn under your fingertips, just your touch sets Chris’s nerves alight.

“Fuck- God…baby you’re so…”

It’s his turn to be at a loss for words now as his cum empties into your cunt and fills you up so nicely, smothering his cock in it too as he continues to thrust ever so slightly. Your orgasm was mostly done with now, but the feeling of his cum painting your walls has you moaning all over again, rolling your hips down to coax even more out of him. The obscene squelch that sounds then almost breaks the sound barrier, and as gross as it is, it’s enough to get you horny all over again.

Chris pulls out slowly, watching his cock pull from your body and listening to your pretty whines at the loss. You always enjoyed being so stuffed and full with your boyfriend, in fact you’d keep him there forever if you could. A trickle of cum pumps out of you following his cock and hits the bedsheets,

eliciting a smirk from Chris you’d barely notice. You’ve closed your eyes, still breathing heavily and laid back to regain some life back into you — he knows this is the perfect time to play with you.

“Look at that…so full of my babies princess”

You whine again as you can’t muster up anything else, dick drunk and hazy from how good this is all was and Chris simply chuckles. He reaches forwards and dips his middle finger into your cunt, immediately feeling all the stick cum inside of you and a sense of pride drapes over him then. There’s something about fucking your partner so good and then leaving a little part of you with them afterwards. Your body twitches at the feeling of something inside you again, rubbing against your walls and working its way inside; it’s overstimulating, but you love it. He scoops up some of the cum he’d left inside you with his finger and retreats his hand, bringing it up to your face instead.

“Open up, baby”

Eyes closed, completely unaware of what he’s doing and still your jaw falls slack and drops open without a second thought. Your tongue lays in wait, because even if you don’t know what’s happening, your body does. His finger lays flat on your tongue, dragging it down until it slips off and all that’s left is the sticky white substance you always crave so much. He closes your jaw for you then and you open your eyes, staring up into his crystal blue ones with so much lust Chris is almost drunk with the look. He nods, and you swallow with a quiet moan.

“That’s a good girl…you love daddy’s cum don’t you, huh?”

You nod as well, you can’t deny that.

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fanfiction #smut #sturniolo smut #x reader

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multiharlot · 3 months

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giving him the papers // matt murdock x age gap!reader

summary: out of everything you'd planned for your future with matt, divorce wasn't one of them.

warnings: none? i don't think? matthew is the warning? idk?

series masterlist || main masterlist || add yourself to my taglist!

when matt walked into the loft and you weren't there, he'd just about lost his mind. he thought you were gone forever, and he wouldn't blame you for that. he couldn't. he'd dug his own grave. he hadn't bothered unpacking his bags, he just sat on the couch, waiting. hoping and praying harder than he'd ever hoped and prayed that you'd walk through those doors and come home.

home, he'd thought.

what a home you'd created for him.

a home filled with love and comfort and warmth. and then he'd ruined it in a matter of moments, like the desecration of the holiest of churches. now he'd be forced to kneel to prayer on the roughest of hardwood floors. the god he'd begged to grant him the grace of your love would turn his back to the mortal man now begging and pleading for your grace and love and forgiveness once more, yet his eyes turned only to watch you. he watched as you sat there, deflated, on your knees and entirely unsure of wether you should be praying to the god that would ever let this happen to you. unsure of what you'd even be praying for if you were to pray at all.

for a husband who would always be half there? a husband who'd so easily forgotten the woman he'd married and loved the moment he took one step out of your grasp? for a marriage that would always have foundational cracks. you knew you couldn't build a home on cracked foundation, but dear god did you want to.

matthew was everything you'd ever wanted.

was. is.

you weren’t sure anymore. you had no idea what your relationship stood for now. you’d always had trust issues always had each other. always had honesty. and now you had nothing. you were scrambling to pick up any crumb of hope that might’ve sprinkled itself between the cracks in the broken tile on your best friends bathroom floor. and you’d come up empty handed.

a big part of you was angry. so angry at him. you couldn’t understand why he’d do this to you? why he’d let everything fall apart and destroy the beautiful life you two had created with each other? but no one ever asks the snake why it bit them. they tend to the wound.

so that’s what you decided to do. you decided to tend to the wound. it will always be the nature of the snake to bite. there’s no reason in asking redundant questions like “why?”

you picked yourself up off the floor. you took your shower. you did your hair. you put on your outfit. and you went to work.

and that's what you kept doing. day after day. week after week.

and while you carried on, matt waited. waited for divorce papers in the mail. waited for you to come home. waited for you to show up in his office, screaming and shouting at him and trashing his entire office. he waited for anything from you. but nothing came.

until the fourth week.

your heart was pounding and thumping in your chest and you started to feel woozy. you weren't really sure what to do in this moment. this wasn't how you wanted it all to happen, but this is how it was happening. and before anything, you knew you had to tell him before he found out otherwise. because despite what he'd done, it was only right that you told him yourself. he deserved that much.

your hands were shaking as they hovered above the door to the loft. matt could hear you, of course. you figured he could. but he just waited patiently behind the door. he'd never been so nervous in his entire life. he could hear the envelope shifting in your hand, and he had a feeling that he knew what they were. he was waiting for the moment they'd come, but he was happy that you'd brought them to him yourself. happy that he had the opportunity to salvage your love from the mess he'd made.

when you finally gathered the courage to knock, matt waited a moment. hoping that maybe you wouldn't notice that he'd been waiting behind the door this entire time.

"i appreciate the patience and letting me keep my dignity, but i can see your shadow under the door, matt."

matt swore he'd never heard something as beautiful as your voice in that very moment.

you sounded congested. and your voice was hoarse. like you had a cold.

or like you'd spent the morning crying.

"hi" he let out, as he opened the door.

"hi matthew" you nodded, walking past him and into the apartment.

your heart was beating so hard in your chest that he was sure it was about to fall out.

when you'd walked in, you just stood at the end of the hallway for a moment. the memories of the place you once called home bringing a sinking feeling into your chest. and in that sunken pit began a burning fire of rage and disgust.

"so um...h-how are you?" he stutters out

matt wasn't sure he'd ever been this nervous for anything before in his life

"good" you nodded, taking a seat on the couch

matt sat down across from you on the arm chair and you'd both sat in silence for a moment. neither of you knowing how to approach the conversation.

"i'm sor-"

"please don't." you quickly interrupted, shaking your head.

you didn't want him to beg on his knees in front of you. you didn't want him to bow at your feet like he was attending sunday worship and you were the statue of his goddess that he was required to bow in submission to.

"i just...i can't just give in and roll over and give up on us without a fight. i can't do that. i messed up, i know. i really messed up. i took what we had and rubbed it into the ground like a finished cigarette under my foot. you deserved so much more than that. and i'll do whatever i have to do to fix this. to fix us." he pleaded, coming over to you and sitting on his knees in front of you, desperately clutching his hands in yours.

he could hear the envelope that you were still clutching in your hands crumpling beneath his grip. it encouraged him to tighten his hold in hopes that it would destroy the papers you were holding in your hands.

you weren't really sure what to say, and you weren't even sure you could remember how to speak in this moment. you barely knew how to approach this when the man you married wasn't on his knees groveling in front of you, let alone when he is. so you let the papers do the talking.

you pulled one of your hands from his and handed him the envelope, not saying anything.

"baby please-"

"just...please?" your voice quivered and matt could feel you shaking. but he had a sliver of hope that because you hadn't entirely let go of his hands, that maybe this was reparable.

he refused to let go of your other hand while he grabbed the envelope. the envelope wasn't sealed, so he'd just reached in and grabbed the papers. there was only two pages, which made him furrow his eyebrows. divorce papers were never this thin.

"what-"

"can you just...read it please"

he took his hand from yours and reached out to the paper, only to not feel any raised braille, and he chuckled for a moment.

"i know it's been a while but i'm still blind."

shit. you'd forgotten to translate the papers into braille. which means you were forced to tell him. to speak it out loud. to make it real. it was already real, but like...really real. very very real.

"it's okay....you don't have to tell me." matt attempted to console you after hearing how your heartbeat ticked up.

you shook your head, taking a deep breath in and looking down at the papers in his hand.

"no i...i need to. you...it um. i am..."you tried to sputter out, but then you just sighed, tears welling in your eyes.

this wasn't how you wanted this to happen, and it started to make you angry.

"this wasn't how i wanted this to happen." you cried, attempting to control your breathing but not doing a very good job.

matthew got up from the floor in front of you and sat down next to you on the couch as you let yourself sob. let yourself feel it.

"i know baby. i'm so sorry. i want to fix this, please let me fix it." he pleaded softly, reaching out to wipe the tears from your face.

"i want to be angry at you. and i want to hate you. but i don't and i don't think that i can. and when i thought about how our life was going to play out, this wasn't part of the plan. and now i don't know how to do this. i don't know how to tell you. this was never how i wanted this to happen."

"you can tell me baby. it's okay." he nods, wrapping his arm around your waist and wiping the tears from your face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

you reached down, grabbing the papers, staring at them as your tears dripped slowly onto the pages. you couldn't tell him.

so you didn't.

you stood up and grabbed his laptop that was connected to his printer and you printed out the pages from your email. you were determined to do this the way you planned. because you couldn't bring yourself to do it any other way.

matt sat there listening to the pages printing, and listened to you walk back over to the couch, taking a seat next to him.

"here..." you said softly, placing the papers in his lap.

he raised his shaky hands onto the page and began to read, and then his hands stopped.

"what...what is this?"

"please don't...make me say it. please."

his eyebrows furrowed as he kept reading, and then he stopped. his fingers hovering over the words.

"we....it- what?" he breathed out.

"i'm...pregnant."

___

BAHAHAHAHA I LOVE A GOOD CLICHE WOOOOO PREGNANCY TROPE (corny i know but i have a plan i promise)

taglist:

@luvr-bunnyy @glowstick-lesbian @anothersworld @Mrbillymontgomery @inas-thing @fuck-goes-on @eddiemvnsonss @nia_um @multibishh @takeyour-pants-off @afootnoteinyourhappiness @slut4murdock @multibishh @alexxavicry @drunkangels @desert-fern @caseket @dvredevil-s-initivls @thychuvaluswife @scoliobean @babyblue0t7

#x reader #marvel #daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel men #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #netflix daredevil #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine #marvel daredevil #matthew murdock imagine

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amhrosina · 1 year

Text

Favorite Kind of Trouble (Matt Murdock x f!Reader x Frank Castle)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

A/N: Hiiiii! I feel like it’s been forever since I posted anything, but it’s only been a little over a week! While I battled writer’s block and also had one of the roughest weeks of my life, there was a resounding desire in my asks/replies for another poly!fic with Frank, reader, and Matt, and I finally got around to writing it today! I hope you enjoy it! Also a big shout out & thank you to my lovely beta reader @wheredidiputmyfish for being so great!

**This poly fic can be read separately from the others I’ve written, but at this point, they all take place in the same universe and are just glimpses into their relationship at different times, so if you like their dynamic, you can find links to the rest of the fics here or here!**

Summary: Frank and you get up to no good at a gala event, and Matt’s enhanced senses can’t help but focus on the pretty sounds you’re making from across the room.

(Warnings: oh brother, smut, like pretty much all smut zero plot, somewhat dom!frank, somewhat sub!matt, switch!reader, semi-public fun!!!, fingering, dirty talk (frank mainly lmfao), blow job, choking, wholesome poly flirting, frank and matt think they’re unworthy of each other!!!, they’re all idiots in love)

The gala had officially stretched into its fourth hour, and you couldn’t believe how incredibly unperturbed Matt looked as he politely chuckled at, yet another, bad joke told by the snobby businessman in the too-tight tux. You shifted in your seat, subtly stretching your legs towards Frank, who at least had the decency to look bored. Under the table, your left thigh brushed against his right, and his attention shifted to you as he cocked an eyebrow in your direction.

God, he was so pretty. You didn’t tell him enough, but every time Frank looked at you, even when you were out in public and he refused to let his guard down, the subtle softening of his eyes when they landed on you made him the prettiest goddamn man you’d ever met. You flicked your gaze across the table to Matt, who was putting on a good show and pretending to listen to a rather boring anecdote – the only man that rivaled Frank in the looks department – and they were both wound so tightly around your finger that you couldn’t imagine being happier with anyone else.

Most of the public had no idea that you, Frank, and Matt were something of a trio. They didn’t even know Frank’s real name. To most people, and certainly to the prying eyes of the elites attending the gala, you and “Pete” were a wealthy, but private couple who knew Matt through connections in the art world. They had no idea that the three of you shared a bed, a home, a life together. As frustrating as it was to keep that part of his life a secret, Matt gladly played the part. They didn’t get to wake up wrapped in the arms of the people he loved, and that’s really what mattered to him, and that way, Frank could have the honor of staking his claim over you in public. It all worked out rather well, when he thought about it.

Your gaze returned to Frank. Your eyes slowly followed the trail of buttons up his torso, over the bowtie at the base of his neck, attention snagging on his lips before finally meeting his intense stare. To others, Frank might look stoic, bored, and maybe even annoyed, but you saw the desire in his eyes, felt the way the muscles in his thighs flexed as he shifted in his seat. He wanted it too, even if he didn’t realize it yet.

The gleam in your eyes told him you were up to something, and even if he wasn’t able to read the mischief in your smirk, the subtle twist in Matt’s neck as his ears perked up told him everything he needed to know. Frank leaned closer to you, brushing your bare shoulder with his lips before whispering in your ear.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, and you nearly swore when his fingertips brushed over your bare knee. An innocent stroke of the hand from a caring lover. A simple, loving gesture between the mysterious couple that kept mostly to themselves at events like these. That’s what anyone who might be watching would assume, and you knew it.

“What if someone sees?” You breathed in a hushed whisper, but your legs were already opening for him. The effect he had on you was maddening.

“No one can see us.” He assured you, promptly glancing around the room again to solidify his promise. His hand rubbed lazy circles on your thigh, fingertips barely ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh as he slowly made his way up your leg.

“What if someone hears?” You eyed him warily, though the spark of desire had shot through you like a bullet the second he’d made contact with your skin.

“If you’re worried about it, you’ll just have to stay extra quiet, sweetheart.” He lightly flicked your nose with his free hand, grinning as annoyance briefly crossed your face. “Besides, Red’s bored too. He’s probably harder than I am right now, wishing he could touch himself under the table like I’m about to do to you.”

The abrupt sound of Matt’s knee crashing against the underside of the table pulled your attention from Frank. The guests seated near him jumped as he fumbled to catch his wine glass before it tumbled to the floor. You bit your lip in an attempt to smother your giggle. For a moment, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Matt cleared his throat, apologizing under his breath as he took a hefty swig of his wine. As the conversations around the room picked back up, Matt glared in your direction. You looked back at Frank, who was smirking.

“Want to play a game, sweetheart?” He whispered, breath coasting over the curve of your ear.

“Is it at poor Matty’s expense?” You cooed, spreading your legs wider as his fingertips grazed the lace of your underwear.

“Maybe.” He smirked, kissing the corner of your mouth.

He shifted your underwear aside, and you had to take a deep breath so that you didn’t moan as the cool air kissed your wet cunt. Frank was normally a patient man when it came to coaxing an orgasm out of you, opting to draw out the experience so that you could enjoy it as much as possible, even if that meant teasing you for hours before finally giving in to your begs. But tonight, with his attention half on you and half on Matt, he had very little patience for games. Not that you were complaining.

He slid a finger through your folds, relishing in the warmth and slickness he found there. You tensed in your seat, flicking your gaze to Matt, who looked like he was going to be sick. Frank’s warm breath heated your neck as he whispered against your skin.

“How long do you think Red will last like this?” He asked, eyes briefly flickering to Matt before returning to yours. He gently circled your clit, eyeing the heat that was crawling up your neck. “How long do you think he’ll be able to hear your pretty little moans before it becomes too much for him?”

Matt tugged at his bowtie, clearing his throat as sweat beaded on his forehead. The tension in the air was electric, and when he parted his lips, allowing the fullness of your desire to hit his senses, it nearly undid him. You were so wet around Frank’s fingers, and the sounds of your soft hums of pleasure combined with Frank’s teasing tone was enough to make him so hard that it ached. He tried and failed to divert his attention back to the conversation around him, only able to focus on your quiet sighs and Frank’s encouraging mumbles.

“I know you can hear us, Red.” Frank teased, adding pressure to your clit. You gripped your seat with white knuckles, panting at the friction building in your core. “I couldn’t help myself. She looks,” he plunged an additional finger into your cunt for emphasis, “ravishing tonight.”

Frank could feel how close you were, relished in the tightness of your cunt as it clenched around his fingers. Matt, he guessed, was not far behind you. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, fumbling with his glass as he tried to look interested in the story being told.

“C’mon Red. You know it’s impolite for a man to cum before a lady.” He mumbled, breathing into your ear. His eyes flickered between you and Matt, and both of you looked like you were about to cry. Matt’s fingers tightened on the glass, and you clenched around him again. “Don’t you want to cum in her tight cunt later? Don’t you want to fuck your cum deep into her pretty pussy? She’s been such a good girl tonight. She deserves our cum, Red, don’t you think?”

His vulgar words were your undoing. You wilted against his chest as your orgasm crashed through you, the throbbing pressure easing as he coaxed it out of you. You moaned as quietly as you could, muffled only by the fabric of Frank’s coat as you shuttered against him. Simultaneously, as you came around Frank’s fingers, Matt’s hand clenched around the wine glass so tightly that the glass cracked, and then shattered all over the table, spilling a red stain down the front of his pristine shirt.

The crowd around Matt shrieked, and Frank watched as he calmly excused himself from the table and hurried towards the bathroom. Guilt crashed through him, though he was sure Matt wouldn’t be upset about the shirt. He likely wouldn’t be upset about the small cuts in his hand either. Matt was forgiving like that. Frank didn’t feel like he deserved one bit of his kindness.

“Is she okay?”

The voice drew him out of his thoughts, back into his body, which was half curled around you as you recovered from your intense orgasm. The stranger sitting diagonal from you and Frank eyed him warily.

“Too much,” you panted, excuse already on the tip of your tongue, “wine. I think I had too much wine, darling.”

You ungracefully attempted to stand, and Frank wondered how much of this was for show and which parts of it were genuine as you leaned into his arms for support. The shakiness in your legs was definitely real, he decided.

“I’m going to take her to the bathroom to sober up. Thank you.” He nodded at the man, who was already half engrossed in another conversation as he led you in the direction that Matt had come a few minutes earlier. As soon as the two of you were out of sight, you straightened, giggling at the show you’d had to put on.

“I didn’t know I was dating an actress.” Frank grinned, rapping on the bathroom door with his knuckles.

“I didn’t know either.” You laughed again.

The door unlocked, and you and Frank covertly slid into the bathroom with Matt, who was a heated, panting mess against the tile of the walls. You could clearly see his desire tented in his pants, and you smirked at Frank in response.

“We did that.” You murmured, stepping closer to Matt’s whining figure.

Frank hummed, reaching for Matt’s hand and inspecting the wounds inflicted by the wine glass. You paused, waiting for a signal from Frank that Matt was okay. Matt was so delirious and high on desire that you knew he could be bleeding out and would insist that he was okay. A slight nod of Frank’s head told you to continue.

You sank to your knees, quickly unbuckling Matt’s belt and pulling his cock free from his pants. Frank wrapped a hand around Matt’s throat, gently pressing him against the wall as you licked the underside of Matt’s cock. Matt whimpered, involuntarily bucking his hips in response.

“Be patient, Red,” Frank murmured, pressing a kiss onto Matt’s jaw, “We’ll take care of you.”

You wrapped your lips around Matt, bobbing up and down his length in a feverish haze. Matt was so worked up that you knew it wouldn’t take long to undo him. Matt tried and failed to keep his whimpers and groans quiet, and he was so loud at one point that Frank had to cover Matt’s mouth with his hand, smothering the noises he couldn’t help but make.

You pushed yourself further down his length, opening your throat to him as you hurried your pace. Matt tensed, grabbing onto Frank’s arm as he let out a stunted groan. He grunted, and you felt thick spurts of cum make their way down your throat. You swallowed around him, grinning when he rested his head against the wall behind him, panting so hard that it sounded like he had just finished running a marathon.

You stood, adjusting your dress as Matt’s consciousness finally returned to his body. He smirked as he adjusted his pants.

“You two are the worst kind of trouble.”

“We're your favorite kind of trouble.” You corrected, chuckling and eyeing the stain that probably wouldn’t come out of Matt’s shirt no matter how hard you scrubbed it. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“And your hand.” Frank added. Guilt flashed in his eyes, but it ebbed away as Matt kissed both of you deeply, hands gently cradling the two of you. Matt wouldn’t admit it so nonchalantly, but when he got the chance to hold both of you like this, he felt like he was holding his entire world in the palms of his hands.

“I’m not upset. I love you. Both of you.”

Frank nodded, humming in acknowledgment, and you noted the way Matt’s jaw ticked. You knowingly squeezed his hand. Frank didn't believe he was worthy of anyone’s love, let alone Matty’s, and you and Matt both knew it. But it wasn’t the time or place for that conversation, and you had no doubt he would breach that topic of conversation later, when Frank’s guard wasn’t so high, and he was feeling comfortable and loved.

“Wanna get out of here?” Matt smiled, squeezing your hand.

“Lead the way, handsome.”

“Good. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

You snorted with laughter as Frank ran a hand down his face.

“That was the lamest thing you’ve ever said, Red. I’m embarrassed for you.”

“I’ll make it up to you later.” Matt smirked.

“You promise?” Frank dared, arching an eyebrow.

“Trust me, Frankie. I promise.”

Tag List:

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @mymamalife @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @dnxgma @evyiione @megmastersgf @soft-emo-enby @purple-amaranthe @alina02 @thedevilwearsblack @violet-19999 @shoxji @layazul @lazyxsquirrel @honeysucklepotter @m0nster-fvcker @matthewmurdockswhore @infinityisbright @myguiltypleasures21 @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @goddesspsyche @mxxnligxt @ladamari68 @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @dreadfulxives18 @schneeflocky

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undercoverpena · 9 days

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Hello fellow scout,

I’m here on official scout business! I would love, love, love to know what your writing process looks like - do you meticulously plot out everything beforehand or are you a dash out ideas in note form and see what your characters are up to kind of person? Does everything get written on your phone or are you a big screen only kind of writer? Do you only get inspo first thing in the morning or last thing at night?!

I’d love to hear anything you’d like to share!

Much love,

Al 🖤

Al!! 🩷 i love this question, but i need to apologise now for how lengthy this is likely about to get, because your girl does not have a linear process.

for your eyes and ease, i have listed in bullet points:

sometimes, i need a detailed plot if there's lots of moving parts within the piece. so if there's lots of build up and i need to weave, then a chapter by chapter (but this isn't rigid) process needs to be built.

but often, I'll have the summary, and then i write the ending/last scene first. because then i have a direction.

i try to then write the beginning scene/opening chapter, even if it's the roughest (because first chapters and opening scenes are always - in my opinion - my weakest) because then it's there.

from then, i fuck about and find out. sometimes i know X, Y and Z needs to happen before i reach the ending, and sometimes a scene will pop up in my head that I decide needs to be in it, and so i then have to move things around to make it work.

if it's a series, I'll have a document of rolling ideas, a document of dialogue (dialogue comes to me easier than scenes) and then my plot. if it's a one shot, I'll separate the document into sections to achieve this so i can work in one place.

before i get into the gritty of it, i need to know my characters. for pedro boys, it's a little easier as I'll already have a concrete-ish idea of who they are, but the person they're paired with often i need to spend a bit of time with. usually they either come to me or i have to work a bit harder (use spotify to find their song, pinterest to find their vibe and play around with dialogue to find their voice).

phone versus PC: i write on both, i tend to find i can write my first draft on my phone - this does also allow me to move around rooms. sometimes, i start something in one room, and then need to sit somewhere else. i can write on my laptop, but the vibe and the mood needs to be right, but my phone doesn't need a lot of that. i can only edit on my laptop though, and usually in a quiet room (i'm dyslexic, so i dread to think what would happen if i didn't). when i edit on my phone, it's for a quick drabble and I'll spend so long editing that i give myself a headache... not ideal.

poor @goodwithcheese and @secretelephanttattoo know the wind can blow and i get inspo. i am somehow incapable of having ideas, it's just that some are like fun "OMG IMAGINE" and some are like, "i need to write this". but i can only write either later at night (post 7pm) or early in the morning (4am-7am) anything between 7-7pm has to be like so good i can't put it down. it does happen, but it's rare and special when it happens. (do me yourself is the exception, if i can squirrel myself away, i can write it, it's the most fun I've had writing in a really long time).

EXTRA BONUS FACT: music is always involved. i have playlists for almost all moods and some fics, and often, i can't begin something without a song. music matters to me a lot.

EXTRA EXTRA BONUS FACT: my commute is 30 mins each way and i usually turn over difficult ideas or issues in plots, and so this either leads to a voice note that i have to cringingly listen back to, OR a note OR, i work out i need to rewrite the chapter. ugh.

I am sure there's likely more jo-weirdness, but i feel I've talked so much, so i'm going to stop, but feel free to ask follow ups if I've not been clear hahaha.

ily, thank you so much for this lovely ask

#schnarfer #asked and answered #asknado

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oscar-fastri · 7 months

Text

one single thread of gold (tied me to you)

ongoing | rated t | lestappen | time travel kid fic

🔗 ao3 : 5/16 chapters currently available!

fic summary: Juliette Sophie Pascale Verstappen-Leclerc crashes into the life of a 23-year-old Charles Leclerc with the grace of a locked-up Haas. He’s stuck in the midst of one of the roughest seasons he’s had with Ferrari, who can’t seem to figure out their own issues, much less support their drivers. Sebastian’s departure still hurts, and as if to add insult to injury, he has no idea how to deal with his new teammate. The last thing Charles needs in this tumultuous period is the appearance of a precocious and headstrong girl who claims to be his daughter — a daughter he shares with Max Verstappen, no less. As Charles struggles to help Juliette return to her own time while balancing his career and frankly depressing personal life, he can’t help but wonder if the life that Juliette insists he has in the future — a happy, fulfilled existence spent with those he loves most — is truly possible.

do i know what i'm doing? no. am i doing it anyways? hell yes.

#av.writing #cl16 #mv33 #1633 #charles leclerc #max verstappen #lestappen #lestappen fanfic #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic

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sarahrogersevans · 1 year

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Let Me Take Care Of You- Tom Hiddleston shy!xreader fan fic

Summary: Y/N is really anxious and having a hard time & Y/N’s bf Tom grabs all of her comfort stuff & takes care of her

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, fluff comfort, angst, soft Tom, ends really well, let me know if I miss anything

~Y/N’s POV

Living with anxiety is really hard, it’s changed how I do things. Today has been the roughest time I’ve been feeling super anxious all day and could barely get up this morning to do anything. I got really hungry so I finally got myself to get up to go make something to eat & I started to make some ramen soup and I heard my boyfriend Tom walk into the kitchen and he wrapped his arms around my waist and said “hey darling what do you making? I stirred in the chicken flavoring then turned around to hug him and said “I’m making soup.” and then I started feeling anxious again.

Tom hugged me noticing how I was feeling and got concerned and said “hey Y/N I got you darling? Is it your anxiety?” I nodded my head hiding my face in his chest which he kissed the top of my head and saw the ramen was all cooked and said “alright give me one moment my dear your food is ready, I’ll pour it in a bowl for you. Want a fork or spoon?” I pointed to both the fork and the spoon and said “both please, if that’s ok?..” Tom kissed my forehead and said “of course sweetheart, how about you go sit on the couch and I will bring you some soup with your favorite crackers?” I smiled at Tom and said “alright thank you babe, can I go lay down for a few minutes? ” Tom nodded after getting a bowl from the cabinet and said “great idea darling, go relax Y/N you deserve it. I’ll be there in a minute I promise.” I went over to the couch and laid down and hid my face in my hoodie wishing my anxiety would just go away.

~Tom’s POV

I put a bowl of ramen and some crackers together on a tray and went to go join Y/N in the living room and saw the state she was in and it broke my heart seeing her struggle so much with anxiety. I put the tray on a nearby table and went to kneel over by Y/N rubbing her back carefully & said “Y/N? I have your lunch, are you ready to try and eat?” She sat up slowly and said “the soup smells so good, thank you for bringing all of this to me honey you didn’t have to.” I picked up the tray and handed it to her and said “darling not to worry, I wanna take care of you.”

Y/N blushed and I felt so happy that I got her to smile, “there’s my girl’s beautiful smile” I said to her and then I had an idea that her essential oil diffuser and her comfort movie would help her relax. I got up to go get everything and Y/N panicked and said “oh no!.. please don’t go..” I kissed her head and said “oh it’s alright sweetheart I’m just gonna go get something alright?” She nodded and I left the room for a moment to find her diffuser and her favorite movie & then went back to the living room and Y/N walked over to me wrapping her arms around me.

I loved whenever Y/N hugged me, I kissed her head and said “how are you feeling my love?” She shrugged and said “eh ok, what are you holding? By the way I finished eating.” I kissed her and said “I’m proud of you Y/N and I have your oil diffuser and your favorite movie, I thought having the scent of lavender in the room would be comforting plus we can cuddle and watch lilo and stitch together.” Y/N smiled at me and leaned in to kiss me and said “Tom you are the most wonderful man, thank you for everything I love you, I wouldn’t be able to get through all this without you.” I took her hands in mine and said “darling, you are never alone I will be here for you whenever you need me I love you so much and I hate seeing you suffer I really do.” I set up the diffuser and the movie and sat down by Y/N wrapping my arm around her and I felt her cuddle up close to me and she looked so relaxed and fell asleep on me a little later due to the lavender oil and I let her rest knowing she needed sleep and I was relieved knowing she wasn’t anxious now.

~Y/N’s POV.

I woke up two hours later surprised I had fallen asleep and saw Tom smiling me and I faced him smiling and said “hi babe, when did I fall asleep?” Tom kissed my forehead and said “hmm halfway through the movie love.” I covered my face feeling embarrassed but Tom moved my hands away from my face and said “hey hey don’t worry Y/N I’m glad you were able to take a nap you needed it.” I smiled at Tom feeling so lucky and then looked at the tv to see if the movie was paused or not and it was thankfully and Tom said “can I get you anything darling? Water or some chocolate?” Both did sound kinda good but I didn’t want him doing everything for me so I got up and said “no it’s ok honey I can go get stuff, I’m gonna go get some water and a bit of my KitKat ice cream.” Tom got up with me and said “darling you sure you don’t want me to bring anything to you? I don’t mind.” I shook my head saying “don’t worry Tom you’re so sweet but it’ll be good for me to move around and stay busy, I’lll even do a round of dishes while I’m up.

Tom rubbed my back while I scooped out the ice cream and said “at least let ne help you with the dishes alright? I wanna help.” I went over to Tom wrapping my arms around his neck and I said “I would love the help Tom I love you” He kissed me once more and I saw him wink at me which made me blush, I felt my body relax more snd I felt so relieved and proud of myself for making it through another day with anxiety.

Hey lovelies ❤️🙂 I hope you will enjoy this comfort fic,I really did my best 🥺 I’ve been dealing with anxiety a lot lately so writing this was very comforting 🥹😌 to anyone going through anxiety know your aren’t alone xx

Taglist:

@lokiandbuckysdoll @iamlokisgloriouspurpose

@jessybarnes

@sunshine-on-my-mind

@nana1000night

@writersblog20

@delicatecoffeepeanut

@imyourbratzdoll

@anotherfuckingmarvelfanaccount

@precious1610

@marvelstarker-mha98

@vrittivsanghavi

@chrisevansdaughter

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writing-badger · 4 months

Text

The Drifter and the Stationary One

Pairing: Al-Haitham x Cyno

Summary:

The Mausoleum of King Deshret is a shrine to the dead; haunted by the mistakes of a man driven into madness. Only the dead linger there, waiting for the end of time to finally relieve them from their duty. At least, that's what the scholars who reside in Sumeru City are told.

After being exiled after a failed coup, Al-Haitham finds himself wandering into the abandoned mausoleum and inadvertently stumbling across something that he had never expected.

"Genre": Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting

Word Count: 3,946

Warnings: None

Ao3 Link

You and I are different. I'm a drifter; you're stationary. That's what it boils down to. When you're incompatible, you can't live together. You should know this.

- Atsuko Asano, No. 6 (Volume 9)

~ ~ ~

It is often difficult to find beauty in dangerous things; fear manipulating the beautiful into the revolting. What was once a source of comfort can quickly become an intolerable nightmare, threatening to consume everything it touches.

It's a survival tactic; nothing more, nothing less.

Human perception has very little effect on physical reality outside of itself. A spider is a spider, no matter how much a certain roommate claims that it is some incomprehensible abomination. The Akasha is simply a system, not the replacement for a supposedly absent archon that the sages keep claiming it to be.

No matter how much Al-Haitham rationalises it, however, he can't shake the revulsion he feels when he thinks about Sumeru City. In all the ways he knows it, the city is the same now as it was when he was a child... and perhaps that is what causes him the greatest discomfort. The idea that, if only a few weeks ago, you had asked him to describe the city he calls home, he would have called it one of the most beautiful places in Teyvat makes him nauseous.

Sure, his reasonings would have differed from his roommate who would have pointed to the architecture, or his colleagues who would have focused on the views offered by the lush landscape. Al-Haitham would have looked to the countless books which line the House of Daena, or dwelt on how his home always has a warm glow emanating from deep inside. If he had been in a particularly sentimental mood, he may have even gestured to the divine tree which caresses the sky, or the crystal waters which lap at the harbour.

But the root of the problem is still there, buried underneath a fanciful illusion that there was ever beauty to be found there.

Now the very thought of the place sends a shiver running down his spine. He can only see Sumeru for what it truly is; a façade to hide the self-absorbed arrogance of the sages who yearned to become more than what they ever deserved to be. Even the divine tree, once a shelter from the roughest storms, ended up holding a prison for an archon who was never given a chance to grow.

Is it possible for something so corrupt to ever be beautiful? How could the word even hold meaning when it is so loosely used and so easily defiled?

These would be the types of discussions he would roll around in his head, sometimes seeking the opinions of others be them from the scribbled ravings of scholars from long ago, or from Kaveh’s impassioned ramblings about the most recent infringement on his artistic sensibilities. They would inform him of his own opinions, adding depth to his understanding, and anchoring his thoughts.

All he has left is desert which spreads out in front of him. The only sound which breaks through his thoughts is the sand-dusted wind, whispering in an illegible tongue. Small grains sneak under his clothes and bite into any exposed skin they can find.

It irritates his skin, but he presses onwards.

There’s no telling how far he would have to go to escape the shadowy claws of the Akademiya.

The desert is the only place where he can have at least some guarantee of safety, with the Traveler pointing him to the Mausoleum of King Deshret. Apparently, they had opened up a path through the previously inaccessible temple, one that no scholar would be able to set foot in thanks to a copious amount of red tape.

Perhaps, he muses to himself, that is one of the few advantages of his self-banishment. The laws of the Akademiya now hold little meaning to him. And with nothing to hold him back, a once muted curiosity begins to stir under his skin.

~ ~ ~

From the instant he crosses over the threshold, Al-Haitham feels a chill sweep over his body, wiping away all traces of the scorching sun. Only the sand clinging to his skin remains. He readjusts his cloak, rubbing the exposed parts of his arms in an attempt to smooth the goosebumps which cover his skin. His attempts prove futile, however, as the unsettling sensation only becomes more prominent.

In an effort to distract himself, he begins working through the Akademiya's protocol for entering unexplored ruins. It's exceedingly long and mostly pointless. Still, it makes him feel a little more sure of himself; rooting his thoughts back to reality.

Since there are no immediate traces of activity, it’s likely that Al-Haitham is the only one wandering the mausoleum aside from the remnants of Deshret’s technology which sluggishly continue their endless patrol. It doesn’t necessarily mean that he is safe, but it is a damn sight better than wandering aimlessly in the desert.

The Traveler claimed that there would be a vast network of barely explored hallways beneath his feet although Paimon had been quick to warn him of the primal constructs. Her attempts to mimic the machines had almost been enough to bring a small smile to his face. It was the best she could do to try and alleviate the consequences of their failure to usurp Grand Sage Azar.

The others tried to play it off, sharing responsibility and placing the blame at Azar’s feet. Dehya spent their last hour together cursing the man’s name while Candace sat next to her, sometimes brushing her partner’s arm in an attempt to calm her down. Nilou was still in Sumeru City, rallying all those she could, smuggling out updates whenever she could for the desert-based group. Tighnari had returned to Gandharva Ville in order to recover from his inures, but promised to help the second he felt able to. Al-Haitham knows that the blame lies at his feet. All he can do is put his trust in them now, leaving them with as detailed of a plan as he could conjure in the short time he had before his escape.

Placing his trust in others, however, is something far easier said than done. He finds himself wondering if the Traveler was going to abandon him in the mausoleum, to add him to the collection of forgotten souls consumed by the desert. It’s a silly thought, one he acknowledges as nonsense, yet his mind still toys with it.

Usually, he would turn up the volume of the music that plays through his headphones, but they ran out of power a couple of hours ago. If he's lucky, he might be able to repurpose one of the non-functioning constructs which litter the halls to become a makeshift battery. Some must have been taken out by the Traveller, based on the scratches which cover their metal coats. Others appear to have simply stopped working, perhaps giving up or running out of power.

For a moment, Al-Haitham wonders what they must have looked like when they were first built, diligently guarding a near-empty Mausoleum.

They wouldn’t have been lonely, being machines created for a rather singular purpose, yet there is something rather… Al-Haitham can’t quite find the right word to describe the sensation in his chest as he thinks about it a little too hard. He can feel the vestiges of Kaveh lingering in the sentiment, perhaps born from one too many rambling speeches about Mehrak and the Akademiya’s callous approach to machinery. To be condemned to a fate that they had no control over, patrolling the halls until they grind to a halt, it doesn’t sit right with him. Those were the words he had used and Al-Haitham finds himself agreeing with them.

Shaking these thoughts from his mind, he finds himself at a crossroads.

Ahead is what he assumes to be the central chamber, a place where all of King Deseret’s wealth would have been hoarded. It would certainly be a spectacular sight although Al-Haitham isn’t the type of man to be impressed by gold. To his left and right are doors, leading to some other chambers which could be filled with who knows what treasures. What stands out most to him, however, is an elevator pad which is almost inconspicuous save for the dull blue button which juts out from the floor. While it would appear to not have any power, he can spot recent disturbances around the edge which means it’s been used recently. The Traveller hadn’t mentioned any underground passageways, which makes him wonder if someone else had dared to step foot in the Mausoleum. It piques his curiosity enough and, with a little bit of tinkering, he manages to get it working again.

The lower levels of the Mausoleum are far less well-kept than the upper level. Sand pools in the corners, wild fungi pop out every couple of metres, and the walls are marked by deep scratch marks. If he had to compare them to something, he would say that they resembled claw marks before immediately pointing out how foolish of a comparison that is. The only beings that would be capable of making such damage, in Sumeru at least, would be the consecrated beasts and, even then, they would lack the power to cut through stone.

It would be wise to proceed with caution, he ends up deciding. The last thing he needs is to inadvertently piss off whatever creature calls the mausoleum its home.

The thought of returning to the safety of the upper Mausoleum never once crosses Al-Haitham's mind.

~ ~ ~

There are dangerous creatures that scour the Mausoleum of King Deshret, some more so than others. It’s something that Al-Haitham is aware of, but he had no idea how much danger he was in until he came across a room that he suspects lies directly underneath the grand gallery.

It was probably once a subterranean chamber. Nowadays, the crumbling of its walls means that twisting roots have invaded it. The natural world, so opposed to the technology that King Deshret had once pioneered, entangles itself with the deactivated constructs. It's difficult to tell what its original purpose was. He only manages to light a small handful of torches with the equipment he has on him.

Al-Haitham would have spent time trying to light the room properly, but his attention is drawn to a pile of consecrated beasts that sits in the centre of the room. Each one has been torn to pieces, deep wounds marking any flesh that hasn’t been torn away from the bodies. Serpents, scorpions, and vultures make up most of the corpses, but he can spot the remains of a few crocodiles towards the base of the pile. With such a mix of elements, Al-Haitham is aware that his dendro vision may end up being of little use if he ends up confronting whatever was able to tear through the monsters as if they were little more than paper.

He's aware that there are two options for him.

The first would be to return the way he came, heading back towards the elevator and hoping that he doesn't run into whatever caused this carnage. The second would have been to try one of the other doors which line the hallway. If he had the time to think about it, he would have chosen the former. His curiosity may have been riled up, but he has the self-awareness to know when he is completely outpowered.

Unfortunately, before he had been given the chance to consider his next course of action, his skin begins to prickle. Following it, the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up, accompanied by a faint whiff of ozone. It’s such a crisp smell that it cuts through the stagnant air of the mausoleum and almost makes Al-Haitham feel like he is outside, waiting for an oncoming storm.

The vision clinging to his cape glows in warning as he summons his weapons, knowing that he stands little chance without them. As he begins to slowly back up against one of the crumbling walls, his eyes darting around in an attempt to prevent an ambush, the faint sound of crackling electricity fills his ears.

“You should not have come here,” a low voice warns, drifting through the room with the same enrapturing energy as rolling thunder.

Al-Haitham turns his eyes to the chamber’s entrance just as a purple glow begins emanating from the once-dark corridor. He starts to move toward the most collapsed area of the wall, thinking that he might be able to make a quick escape to whatever underground cavern the underground chamber intrudes upon.

There are no distinguishable sounds, most being buried under the sound of crackling electricity, for him to be able to figure out how close the threat is. Instead, he finds himself relying on his instincts. The only reassurance he has is that the voice sounds remarkably human, perhaps giving him a chance to reason his way out of trouble. For now, he decides to keep his mouth firmly shut.

“This is not a place for the living.”

It’s closer now, and Al-Haitham readies himself in response. His ears ring in warning, drowning out the crackling sound and making it even more difficult to concentrate on the entrance. Then it falls silent, the thunder disappearing which leaves only the lightning to strike its target.

The room is plunged into darkness, the torches lining the chamber blowing out in an instant. It disorients the scribe, but not enough to completely dull his instincts as the ozone smell gets stronger.

Without wasting a single second, Al-Haitham launches himself towards the door; dodging a flash of lightning which lands where he had just been standing. The impact is so solid that the reverberations shake the ground, dislodging sand from overhead, and crumbling the wall he had previously had his back to. Stifling the burning urge to turn around, Al-Haitham keeps moving forward, managing to dodge a couple more strikes as he goes.

Based on his estimations there should only be a couple of metres left to the elevator, but he doesn’t make it.

Claws latch onto his shoulder, piercing his skin as he is dragged backwards, spun around, and pinned against the wall. The impact of his head against stone sends a sharp pain shooting through his body, his eyes screwing shut in response.

“Who are you?”

The voice is so close that Al-Haitham can feel the words brush against his skin as whatever it is on his shoulder tightens its grip. He knows that he should look his attacker in the eye, otherwise, he risks looking weak, but he feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Fear.

No part of his body seems to be doing what he wants it to. His eyes won’t open, his breathing won’t steady itself, and his heartbeat is so loud that he can barely think. He knows that he could die in an instant, and no one would know where he went.

“There is no bravery to be found in death,” his captor says as if Al-Haitham isn’t already acutely aware of this.

The thing seems to scoff at the lack of response, loosening its clawed grip on Al-Haitham’s shoulder as the sound of crackling subsides. For a moment, he finds himself able to breathe when a more human hand wraps around his neck and lifts him up, raising him off the ground. His feet swing limply in the air, not even trying to kick his attacker.

“Open your eyes,” the voice orders and Al-Haitham obeys immediately.

If he hadn’t already been struggling to breathe, Al-Haitham is certain that the sight in front of him would have knocked the air out of his lungs.

Rather than a monster towering over him, he finds himself staring down at a shorter man. White hair flows down from a jackal-shaped headpiece, and red eyes stare up at him, narrowed in warning. Al-Haitham can’t be sure whether it is fear, adrenaline, or some unknown feeling that stirs within him, but he feels like he is falling.

“I will only ask once more, who are you?”

The man loosens his grip briefly, allowing Al-Haitham to take a choking breath in.

“A lost scribe,” Al-Haitham struggles to answer, bowing to the implicit authority that the other holds but cryptic enough to maintain a sliver of control.

“I’ve known many scribes,” the man’s eyes are cold, “and they’ve always had a name.”

“Al-Haitham,” he cedes.

“Scribe Al-Haitham, you must leave this place.”

If it wasn’t for the precarious position Al-Haitham finds himself in, he would have made a snarky comment about his attacker not knowing the meaning of the word ‘lost’. Instead, he settles on a far deadlier response.

“A name given deserves one in return.”

The man frowns, his grip remaining loose, but Al-Haitham doesn’t move.

“Cyno.”

“That’s it?”

“You expected more?”

The muted surprise in Cyno’s tone doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Well, I figured you would have a title,” Al-Haitham clarifies.

“Most would call me ‘Monster’,” Cyno says, fully releasing Al-Haitham who collapses to his knees and his hand shoots to his throat. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that bruises are already forming where the man’s hand had once been. Cyno, for his part, considers his words for a moment before adding, “I suppose, before that, it would have been something akin to General.”

As Al-Haitham steadies his breathing, he finds himself looking up at Cyno and wonders how anyone could dare call the man a monster. Everything about him is as close to ethereal as you could get, from his piercing eyes to his overwhelming strength. He hesitates when the word he should use graces his tongue, stung by it one too many times, but there is nothing else that fits.

Beautiful.

Cyno looks so very beautiful.

~ ~ ~

Al-Haitham was quick to tell Cyno his story, detailing the events that led to him wandering the desert in search of shelter. He spins a tale of a traveler, mercenary, leader, and dancer who are putting their lives on the line to save an archon. He mentions a forest ranger in Gandharva Ville, and sprinkles in some other things that may be interesting. He complains about a hapless architect, and an overbearing professor who is far too passionate for her own good, sharing a couple of anecdotes to illustrate his points.

Cyno, for his part, simply listens. At points, Al-Haitham is certain he has transformed into a statue with how still he could be. Not even the slightest muscle twitch, or feigned acknowledgement, makes its way to his face.

It’s understandable, Al-Haitham reasons, with how long Cyno must have been alone. Practising conversation must be extremely difficult when all you have are fungi and machinery to call friends. It would also explain why Cyno still struggles to talk for long periods of time, his throat growing hoarser after only a couple of minutes. Al-Haitham can’t help but muse to himself about how endearing the general is, especially when he starts talking about his passions. It took only one stilted conversation about ley lines for Cyno to spill his heart out, relaxing far faster than the scribe had anticipated. Although it still took some effort on his part, carefully choosing his words to avoid having a spear tip shoved in his face.

Still, the mausoleum wouldn’t be able to shelter the scribe for long. All the water sources had been depleted, and food was running scarce. After only three weeks, Al-Haitham finds himself standing at the main entrance to the large pyramid with a heavy decision to make.

He could try returning to Sumeru, braving the threat of the Akademiya... and end up putting the others in danger. He could flee to another nation; Inazuma or Mondstadt being the safest bets... leaving him completely. Or he could stay, allowing the Mausoleum of King Deshret to claim another soul but at least having company in his final moments.

“You’re leaving already?”

Cyno’s voice cuts through Al-Haitham’s thoughts, drawing his attention to the shorter man who now stands beside him.

“I won’t last here for much longer,” he says, acutely aware of the other man. Cyno doesn’t say anything for a moment, his hair swaying in the sandy breeze.

“This is a place of death,” he acknowledges, “it wasn’t built to keep people alive.”

“Yet here you stand,” Al-Haitham mumbles, his gaze tearing away from the endless sand to stare at the captivating walking contradiction.

“Would you really say I’m alive?”

“I can't say that you're anything else,” he says, watching as Cyno’s gaze turns to the floor. It is as stoic as ever, but Al-Haitham knows it’s because he’s feeling a little bit flustered. It's a look the scribe has learned to recognise, usually after the general shares a particularly painful pun that stops a conversation dead in its tracks.

Al-Haitham knows that this should be the moment he leaves; delivering a last verbal jab before walking into the desert never to return. It would be the best option for both of them, yet he can’t move an inch.

“Don’t you ever want to leave?”

The question falls from his lips before he can fully process what he is doing, the last vestiges of logic and reason fleeing from his grasp.

“I am bound to this place as the last remaining general,” Cyno finally says, an uncertainty briefly flashing through his eyes but not escaping Al-Haitham's attention, “I cannot abandon it so freely.”

“But there is no one left,” Al-Haitham counters, playing on the general's momentary doubt, “you owe this place no loyalty. They condemned you to… to this loneliness.”

“You see it as their condemnation, I see it as my duty,” he says, his tone not quite matching the feigned smile which falters on his face, ”of course, I would never expect a scribe to understand. Your loyalties are as fickle as your interests.”

“My interests are not so fickle,” Al-Haitham argues, although he doesn’t push his previous point any further. He can recognise when someone is deflecting from the real crux of the issue.

“Oh, only yesterday you were obsessed with a bunch of scrolls, and now you’re talking of abandoning them without a second thought,” Cyno counters, briefly glancing at Al-Haitham from the corner of her eyes.

“You got me,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. The scrolls may have been left at the wayside, but that's only because he has something far more tantalizing in his sights.

A comfortable silence falls over them as they watch a lone construct drift across the sands. It spins in a lazy circle before continuing on its predetermined course.

Cyno is the one who breaks the silence, his voice far softer than anything Al-Haitham had heard before.

“Even if I wanted to leave, I can’t live anywhere else…”

Al-Haitham is quiet again, his mind turning those words over in his head as he gathers all the courage he can muster. In a swift movement, he turns to Cyno and reaches out his hand, leaving the palm turned up in front of the other.

“Then will you die with me, Cyno?”

It’s a selfish question born from a desire that Al-Haitham doesn’t fully understand. Later, when time has taught him and taken more in exchange, he would come to truly comprehend what he felt in this moment. But, as Cyno places his trust in the palm of Al-Haitham’s hand, he can only think one thing.

Falling alone is a terrifying thing, so it would be best to drag someone else down with him.

#fanfic #fanfiction #genshin impact #cytham #haino #alhaitham x cyno #Inspired by Gintama of all things #Happy birthday to Alhaitham #genshin fanfic

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imsparky2002 · 10 months

Text

Grimwood Gays

What if Ghoul School was about Shaggy teaching the daughters of a polycule consisting of some of the greatest monsters of all time?

Count Dracula - An eccentric but distinguished vampire with a flair for the dramatic, Dracula loves to play up the theatrics of being a creature of the night. He’s a huge flirt, who especially loves to playfully tease the Wolfman, bickering in a loving sort of way. His daughter Sibella is his little princess, and he has a hard time telling her no. Overall, he may be a bit cliche at times, but he’s a loving partner and father.

The Wolfman - The bear of the dad group, the Wolfman has a love for all things manly, especially football, wrestling and hunting! Despite his tough exterior, he’s a loving partner and father who’s always up for a hug, he’s also a Papa Wolf through and through, always ready to protect those he loves. He’s very close to his daughter, Winnie, the two do everything together, and he couldn’t be prouder of her strength.

Frankenteen - A dedicated scientist, Frankenteen is an even-tempered and kind man who sometimes gets a *little* too into his experiments. He loves to craft and build things with his partners, especially gifts for their daughters. Though he may do a lot of groaning and growling, he is a caring man who loves to conduct experiments with his daughter, Elsa.

The Mummy - Described by the girls as their ‘hippie dad’, the mummy is typically the one keeping things chill and relaxed around the house. While typically nonchalant, he is very protective of his family and will curse anyone who messes with them. He loves his beauty sleep, and despises cats. He loves spending time with his daughter Tanis, being the guest of honor at many of her tea parties.

The Phantom - A fun-loving and mischievous spirit with a taste for music and cracking jokes. His vocal inflection has the tendency to make anything he says sound sinister, but he’s a kind soul. He loves to serenade his partners and always delights in performing with his daughter Phantasma and the rest of their family.

The Lagoon Creature - The suavest of the bunch, The Lagoon Creature can make any of his partners weak in the knees with little more than a look. He knows just what you say and it’s hard not to feel breathless around him. He’s the most proficient at girl-dadding, always up to go for a shopping trip or offer advice.

The Martian - An overall nice and jovial fellow, the Martian isn’t particularly inclined to act terrifying, though he enjoys the sounds of screams. He has unique way of speaking and expressing himself, which is something that only makes his partners love him even more. He’s always up to learning new things about Earth, though he can be a bit awkward socially, a trait he shares with his daughter.

Godzilla - A true gentle giant, Godzilla is never one to go out of his way to scare people, though he can’t help doing so anyway. He’s also a massive geek with a love of anime and film culture, just like King Kong and Mothra, his lifelong best friends. He’s also one of the best at girl-dadding, and helps his daughter in becoming a ballerina. He may not be the roughest guy around, but lord help you if you mess with his family. Overall, he’s a big guy with an even bigger heart!

More will be coming soon, but this is just to give you and idea of the dads and how they interact with each other. Thank you to Weeby for helping with the summary and writing the lore with me! Make sure to reblog, reply, post and ask. @artzychic27 @msweebyness

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vibin-down-here · 11 months

Text

Little Writeblr intro post!

Hi! I’m Arabella, transfem 18yo high school student (with no clue where to next) from Leipzig, Germany. Writing is my main hobby, I love spending hours in a coffee shop creating little stories at a table in the corner. Other than that, I love doing pencil sketches and dm’ing ttrpg’s with friends.

I mostly still post on twitter (@ vibe_but_tiny) until they let me into BlueSky, but this is where i go for writing / art stuff and fandom media.

Now, little intro to writing stuff i do, and all of my wip’s!

Angel of Small Death // Devil of Forgotten Things

My main wip! It started out as inspiration by a Hozier song (“angel of small death and the codeine scene”). The starting idea was a romance / opposing narratives between a security person and a thief in a Sci-fi / Cyper Punk dystopia. I don’t like writing the hard systems of Sci-fi and didn’t want to set this story with the elites, so the main conflict evolved into what it is now. Mars became the setting mostly because of how dismal life in a mars colony would actually be (and the current, frankly already dystopian plans for a corporate kingdom on mars that are driving private space ventures). I’m on 4 chapters, 5k words.

After a heist gone almost wrong in a facility way too secure for how unknown it is, Felix’s life is spared by an stranger on the security team he nicknames “Angel”. They keep encountering each other as Angel tries to prevent a major leak without killing Felix or alerting his teammates and Felix slowly uncovers the truth of how eldritch gods from the darkness beyond want to extinguish life and how the elites in space stations above made a deal with them for temporary fortune.

Like a Moth to the Stars

This started out as a self insert short story after I read a webtoon i really liked but thought had more potential (or, tbh, i was just getting impatient with waiting for updates). I’ve since written a proper framework, and mc2 is no longer just me.

Aimless high school graduate (yeah ok that part is still just me) Amelia suddenly changes her life when a temporary gig at a festival let’s her meet celebrity rock star Maria. (For complicated reasons) the two fall in love, and Amelia is lifted from her life to a turbulent maelstrom of celebrity drama and tours against both their wills (bc the label thinks it’ll boost Maria’s image mostly).

All that we Intend is Scrawled in Sand

Here I go again with the Hozier lyrics. This is just a writing exercise (start of a first chapter), but i think it has potential.

Gods don’t die, not really, but they crumple into basically humanoid beings with only small scale powers. That is as close as you can get to killing a god. A strained couple, a god of forests and one of the night, both killed by a new-fangled city god after one betrayed the other, must now set out to accomplish just that to save their god-children and, incidentally, the world.

Romance over Coffee

Despite what the *everything* about this might imply, this is actually not self-insert fic. It’s just inspired by a real series of events i actually experienced, where i started writing in a cafe, started dating the barista, applied for a job there and was rejected shortly after we broke up. It was just so fic-worthy, i had to. I’m one chapter in and have only the roughest of plans on where to go next.

No summary, i’m not an inch further than what actually happened to me.

Some others:

- Glimpses of a Venice Beyond the Veil (God apologises for past relationship misdeeds with scenic retreat to eldritch horror Venice to watch a world ending event like fireworks)

- Catching Fire on her Burning Heart (Girl accidentally becomes messenger from the beyond bc she can travel the path between and her new fae girlfriend asked for her help)

#writing #writeblr #writers #writblr #writeblr intro #introduction

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summer-fisher · 2 years

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Can you write a little friendship story between Steven and Conrad before Belly and Conrad get engaged? Conrad telling Steven his intentions and just overall gushing about how much he loves Belly. Then Steven approves.

Blessing

Pairing: Friendship!ConradxSteven / ConradxBelly Summary: Steven is a bit dubious about Conrad’s intentions with his sister but they all get cleared up when he talks to him. Word count: 1.4k words. Warnings: Grammar mistakes, light swearing A/N: My first work!! Decided to change it up a bit but the main idea still remains, hope you all like it

Steven had just gotten back from work. He was now a senior at Princeton studying to get a computer science undergraduate degree. He was extremely proud of how far he had come but also recognized it wasn’t an easy road. Stay-in nights, dozens of cancelled plans, horrible classes hours, egndless late nights studying while everyone was asleep, all because of a job he had to get in order to help his parents afford the prestigious college. It wasn’t easy but he made it work with help of the people he loved.

Of course some friendships didn’t survive but the important ones did: The Fisher brothers for example. Speaking of which he was about to meet up with in about an hour. It was a half hour drive from campus to the usual restaurant they randomly chose four years ago would be their “escape spot”.

In the beginning they would meet up every weekend, but then Jeremiah started ditching here and there to go partying, Conrad had started dating Belly and instead of this usual drive to their spot he spent weekends in New York with her where she went to school at, and as the years went by the regular schedule they had for “men time” started to flatter. Now they saw each other every month or two if lucky but still texted and spent summers together, so they never really had a problem with their friendship.

After doing some laundry and showering he was out the door an on the road. His playlist on full blast as he drove the empty roads to the small town nearby.

Steven looked at his watch 28 minutes later once he was at the door waiting for both brothers. As his gaze went back to the street on his right he saw a familiar black car parking a few spots behind his car. In the time he made his way to the vehicle Conrad was closing the drivers seat and smiling in his direction. His arms spreaded and they hugged like they hadn’t seen each other for years when I’m reality it had been almost two months.

“Good to see you, man” Conrad spoke up once they broke the embrace. “Nice mustache you got going on here” his thumb and index finger tried to get a hold of Steve’s upper lips baby hairs before his hand was swatted away by his friend.

They both laughed. “Shut up, I didn’t get time to shave today” something was off. “Where’s your brother?” He squinted his eyes to try and see if Jeremiah was still in the car, it wouldn’t be the first time he got distracted checking his curls were bouncy enough or his shirt looked good on him.

“Oh, Uh.. about that, he texted me on the way here telling me he had to cancel last minute because of some exam he has on Monday. Thought he would be done studying by now but, y’know..” his eyes met Steve’s ones only twice and only for a brief second during the mini speech.

“Of course, yeah, I get it” a beat passed before anyone said something again.

There was this slight tension between the two of them that could perfectly be unrecognizable for the outside eye, but deep down they knew there was a big fat elephant in the room when they spent time alone.

Don’t get me wrong. The boys loved each other. They were inseparable since they can remember, were there for each other in the roughest of times and on the best ones too. But everyone knew Steven was bothered by something Conrad did. Quite literally. His sister.

Two years ago Conrad and Belly made their relationship official, but they had been sneaking around far longer than that. Steven always ignored it, he thought it was just a stupid phase they would both grow out of. He never saw Conrad as “good boyfriend material”. He had seen him high, drunk, borderline depressed, and knew how dark he could get if sad or pissed off. So imagining him next to his sister kept him uneasy. They might not be the closest brother and sister in the world but he would still move the earth and sky for his baby sister, and as the time went by and they didn’t get over said phase Steven grew more and more worried. Uncomfortable even.

“Wanna go inside?” Conrad spoke after a few seconds of silence, still avoiding eye contact.

“Let’s go” And side by side they walked to the main entrance of the cute restaurant they frequented. As they sat in front of each other in the square table they just kept quiet and inspected the place. Jeremiah wasn’t there, but something este was off. “So.. how’s work going?”

“Good, it’s great man. The hospital has a spectacular view. I can see the whole city from my floor “ vague, but safe. A few seconds went by before any of them spoke again “What about you and Shayla? Did you guys finally moved in together? A soft smile adorned both of this faces.

“Next week I’ll start packing and in two weeks I have to give the apartment keys to the owner.“ Steven looked down with the same small smile as he remembered his now fiancé. He started inspecting the menu asi if he wasn’t going to order the same thing he’d been ordering for years. “I just hope things don’t get complicated with the whole wedding arrangements. She can get a tiny bit annoying with all that stuff” He chuckled to himself as his head went back up Conrad was already looking at him. A serious expression on his face. “What’s that look about?”

“There’s something I want to talk about, Steven. It’s about Belly” immediately Steven’s face straightened up.

“What? What did you do to her? I swear to god Conrad, if you hurt my sister I’m gonna kill you” He rushed out before being dished by his friend.

“No, it’s quite the opposite actually” that got the boy to stop imagining bad scenarios involving his best friend and sister. “I’m- I want to ask her to marry me”

Steven didn’t know how to react. He was genuinely out of words. Conrad expected Steven to blow up, make a fit, scream at him, but he wasn’t even speaking which somehow felt worse.

“Steven I’m only telling you this because I don’t want to do it without your blessing” Conrad desperately said on an attempt to get his friend to react. “You are my best friend and she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Steven blinked slightly shaking his head. Conrad mimicked him as the movement became more aggressive.

“No.” Steven denied. “No. You weren’t supposed to last”

That hurt Conrad more than it should. “Yes we were, Steve. You know that. Everyone knows that.”

“Why would she even say yes? What makes you think she will?” The younger guy raised his voice trying to grasp what his friend was telling him. “I don’t think that’s the right choice Conr-“ he was cut off before finish the sentence.

“Because I fucking love her. Because when I think of her my whole day get better. And when she comes out of the shower singing all I think about is her singing our kids to sleep. I want to be the one she comes home to when she has a great or a terrible day. Because I want her to be the first and last thing I see before I go to sleep.” Slowly Steven’s face started to relax so he decided to keep going. “Did you know that when she is anxious she bites her cheek? Or that every afternoon during the week at 6:37pm she lights up that huge candle your mom got her for her twentieth birthday? Only for sixteen minutes, then she’ll blow it out and wait for the next day. And did you know she drinks tea all the time? Except on Tuesdays and Fridays where she has coffee because she has classes with that stupid professor she’s been afraid of for years?” His friend shook his head no. How was he supposed to know that? “Only I do. And I want more than anything in the world to have the privilege to get to know more of those little things. So please. Please give me your blessing to do this.”

They stared at each other for some seconds. Seconds filled with anxiousness, fear, confusion and much more. But after a few more Steven broke the eye contact. He cleared his throat before speaking up again.

“Just- Don’t hurt her Conrad.” The older Fisher began to smile. “And promise me this won’t change this. Our friendship.”

“I never would.”

#tsitp #tsitp x reader #tsitp imagine #conrad fisher imagine #the summer i turned pretty imagine #the summer i turned pretty #jeremiah fisher #conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #conrad x belly #conrad fisher x belly conklin #requests open #request #belly x conrad #belly conklin #tsitpedit

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goddessapostle · 10 months

Text

The Makings of a Mess

Fandom: Genshin Impact Characters: Kaveh, Minor Alhaitahm, still Kavetham Warnings: Violence, Suicide threat/reference, Non-consensual kissing Summary: Mehrak comes to him on day six. No, wait, that's not true. Mehrak comes on day two; it only feels like it's been six days. Alhaitham isn't sure why time has tripled in Kaveh's absence. It never has before. Ah, but then, Kaveh's not just absent, is he? He's missing.

5.8k // AO3 // Masterlist

Kaveh doesn't know when the best years of his life happened.

Was it when he was a child, young and carefree and careless enough to kill his father?

Or was it when he was freshly graduated, hopeful to bring art into an increasingly artless climate?

Or perhaps it was building the Palace of Alcazarzary, despite the fact that it left him broke and homeless.

The weeks following that certainly did not count. Not when he spent every morning trying to gain control over his new Vision and every night deliriously drunk.

It was only Alhaitham that provided him solace in that time — everyone else, save for Lambad, thought he was just living the life accompanied by his title. He's never been sure just how Alhaitham saw through his ruse. But since moving in together, it's been….

Well. It hasn't been great but it hasn't been terrible, either. Alhaitham gives him free reign of the house, whether to live or to decorate, and while his beer seems to 'mysteriously' disappear, other drinks are left to take its place. Not all are alcoholic, and Kaveh's half sure it's meant as a discouragement to drinking. So he makes a promise to himself — no more drinking, save for those nights he's out with Cyno and Tighnari.

He's actually grateful for the chance to sober up when a cup of sake is set in front of him.

"It's imported," says the man — Aizen? Aziz? Something with an 'A' and a 'Z' — before he downs his own cup. "Straight from Inazuma. You should try it." The man gives a cruel grin.

"Mm," hums Kaveh. "I wish I could. But my hands are tied at the moment."

At this, Azia guffaws. "See?" he says, cuffing Kaveh on the shoulder. "I knew it was a good idea to let him keep his Vision. He's a riot!"

Kaveh grits his teeth as he's jostled. He does not want any of these men touching any part of him. Not unless it's to let him go.

Because his hands are tied, not just by the promise — they've been wrenched behind his back and secured with the roughest rope known to man. He wasn't trying to be funny, but maybe Cyno has rubbed off on him without his noticing.

"Here you go, Little Light." Aizik(that will be his name from now on, Kaveh decides) stands and moves to Kaveh's side of the table. One of his hands gingerly picks up the clay cup, the other yanks Kaveh's head back with a fistful of hair. Kaveh cries out, Aizik dumps the sake into his open mouth.

He gasps and it floods his airway.

His scalp burns as he jerks forward. His chest heaves, he coughs and gags. The sake spills from his mouth and nose, pooling on the surface of the table.

"Hey!" Aizik shouts. His hand slams against Kaveh's cheek, splitting the skin where his heavy ring hit. "Do you have any idea how expensive that shit is?"

A rage the likes of which Kaveh has never before felt blooms alongside the blood on his tongue.

He hears one of the other Eremites gulp.

"Hey, boss?" a woman stutters. "Maybe, uh, maybe we should take his Vision."

"Pah!" Aizik waves her off. "We took his weapon already. What's he gonna do? Besides," he sinks onto the bench across from Kaveh, "have you seen that little Rtawahist girl? She can barely swing a sword!"

Wait a damn minute–

Is he talking about Layla?

Now that makes Kaveh's blood begin to boil. Layla may not be the strongest physically, but she's a bright student and dependable ally! The number of times she's saved his life with her quick shielding is immeasurable. He glares at Aizik, letting his rage simmer between them.

Aizik bursts into laughter. "Got a problem, Little Light?" he asks.

"Don't badmouth her!" Kaveh hisses.

Aizik smirks. "Touchy subject, huh? She your little girlfriend? Maybe we ought to go collect her, too."

Kaveh lurches forward as far as the table allows. "Don't you touch her!"

Aizik smiles and forces him back down. He waves his hand to the crowd, and two come forward to tie Kaveh to the bench.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," Aizik says. "We're not looking for your sidepiece." He takes Kaveh's chin and tilts his head back and forth, studying everything from his red eyes to the blood dripping down his cheek.

"You know," Aizik says, "you'd make a killing in a whorehouse. Everyone would line up for a piece o' you. We could sell you to the highest bidder." He drops his hand back to the jug of sake. "But I have a better idea.

"You're worth a pretty penny on your own, but to the right person, you'd be worth the world, I bet."

Kaveh raises a brow. "And who do you suggest would pay the world for me?"

"You don't know?" Aizik pours himself another cup of sake, this time sipping at it. "We catch you together all the time."

Tighnari or Cyno. It has to be one of them.

"And from the way he looks at you, it's clear just how much you mean to him."

….wait. Tighnari and Cyno are together. And, as much as Kaveh would love to be included in their lives, he knows that is not the case. He frowns at Aizik. "There's no one who looks at me like that."

"He does." Aizik shrugs. "Looks at ya like your worth… oh, say, five million mora? Guess we'll see if he really does value you that much."

Kaveh's mouth drops open. "Five million?!" There is not a single soul in Teyvat who would consider him so highly.

Then again, kidnappers don't really care for that, do they? All they see when they look at people is a pile of mora.

Kaveh wants to slam his head into the table, but his chest has been secured to the backrest of his bench. "You're an idiot," he says instead. "There's no one in Sumeru that even has that kind of money!"

Except for Dori, of course. But Kaveh would much rather be sold to the whorehouse than end up in more debt to her.

"Maybe not individually," Aizik agrees, "but he has access to all of Sumeru's finances. I'm sure he could figure it out."

Someone who has access to all of Sumeru's finances? The only people with that kind of authority are the sages. And considering that most of the sages are still exiled or injured….

"You don't mean Alhaitham?!"

Aizik's smile widens.

Ooooooooh, Kaveh is screwed. Literally, considering the whorehouse is more likely to pay his ransom than Alhaitham.

Kaveh sighs. "You're making a mistake. Alhaitham doesn't like me like… that."

ʚїɞ

Mehrak comes to him on day six.

No, wait, that's not true. Mehrak comes on day two; it only feels like it's been six days. Alhaitham isn't sure why time has tripled in Kaveh's absence. It never has before.

Ah, but then, Kaveh's not just absent, is he?

He's missing.

Alhaitham paces the space between their sofas. One for Kaveh, the other for him.

It was a plain box. It didn't have an address. It didn't even have a name. He must have skipped over it several times.

Because Kaveh was missing.

It was a regular outing. Kaveh, Cyno, Tighnari. At Lambad's. Alhaitham passed because of the book he wanted to read. (The unfinished book is now a pile of ashes in his fireplace.)

Kaveh got very drunk that night. He was barely awake and stumbled every time he tried to move. That's what Lambad said, anyway. It's why he stepped out to send someone for Alhaitham. Kaveh was gone by the time he came back.

As if that wasn't worrying enough, Cyno revealed that Kaveh was only slightly tipsy when he left ten minutes earlier.

So Kaveh was not drunk.

He had been drugged.

ʚїɞ

Kaveh tilts his head as far back as it can go, but Aizik is relentless. He grabs a fistful of Kaveh's hair and forces their lips together. Sake floods his tongue, carried to him by Aizik's mouth and followed by his tongue. A hand pinches his nose, and Kaveh has no choice but to swallow the alcohol to breathe.

Aizik leans back, licking his lips. "Told you it was good. Let me know if you want more." Kaveh thinks he winks, but it's hard to tell behind the ribbon that covers his eyes.

Kaveh wrinkles his nose. "Let me take the whole thing back to Lambad. I'm sure he'd cut a deal with you."

Aizik waves his hand. "Too slow. Kind of like your roomie. It's been, what, a day since we dropped off the ransom note?" He looks around for confirmation.

"Even if," Kaveh begins, "and that's a very big if, Alhaitham did decide to pay, he'd need more than a day to gather the funds. Even the Grand Sage has limits."

"Right," Aizik nods, "like your newly freed god." He plants his chin in his hand. "You have a point, Little Light. We gave him three days. I thought he'd be out looking for you by now, but he hasn't left his house."

Kaveh frowns, tilting his head to the side. That's doesn't sound quite right; if his timing is correct, it's a weekday. Alhaitham should be in his office at the Akademiya.

But then, Kaveh was out for who knows how long. "What day is it?" he asks, just to be sure.

Aizik hums. "Tuesday?" he says after some deliberation. "Yeah, Tuesday."

Kaveh raises a brow in confusion. "He should be at work."

"Nope." Aizik shakes his head. "Hasn't left since we took you.

"He hasn't? But how would you…. Wait, have you been spying on us?!"

"We were spying on the Grand Sage." Aizik swirls the jug of sake around before pouring another cup. "Imagine our surprise when we saw that the Light of Kshrewar shared a life with him.

"Our original plan was to nab the Grand Sage and demand payment from Kusanali. But you know, dealing with humans is much safer than dealing with gods. Gods can kill ya just by looking at you funny."

Kaveh, while he has never personally met Lord Kusanali, knows she is not so cruel. She would let Cyno and his unwavering morals deal with apprehending any criminals, then pass judgment based on evidence and give a fair punishment.

"I don't think you know your Archon very well," Kaveh says.

Aizik shrugs.

Kaveh sighs. How did he get into this? He remembers Cyno escorting Tighnari from the bar, both lightly drunk. And while Kaveh had a bit of a buzz, it wasn't enough to pass out on the way home. His memories turn to fuzz, then, at the juncture of one drink and another. When he woke, he was already bound.

He tests the bonds now, wrists scraping against rope. They were tightened when his torso was bound. No wiggling out.

Aizik stands, lightly tapping Kaveh's cheek. "That's enough chit-chat for now. It's late, and we need some rest."

He motions for the Eremites to leave. Two of them stand back; probable guards appointmented in some way Kaveh didn't catch. "Boss," says the one with long hair, "shouldn't we move him to the steel cage? His Vision is Dendro…"

"Bah!" Aizik smacks him over the back. "You worried about the bench? Thing's wood, not grass. That tree's been dead for ten years! He won't be causing any trouble."

Both guards relax. Aizik begins to leave.

"Wait!" Kaveh shouts. "You're going to leave me tied up? I can't sleep like this!"

"Aww." Aizik walks back over to him and leans down. "If you want," he says, sneaking a hand down the back of Kaveh's shirt, "you can come to bed with me. Give ya a taste of life in the brothel."

Kaveh shivers at the touch, disgust rolling through his stomach. He grits his teeth against the bile that threatens to rise in his throat.

Aizik leans closer until he can shove his tongue into Kaveh's mouth.

Kaveh tries to stop himself. He really, truly does.

He bites. Hard. Hard enough to taste copper from blood that isn't his.

"Son of a bitch!" Aizik falls backwards, landing on his ass. Kaveh spits the blood to the floor between his legs.

Aizik rises and backhands Kaveh. His ring cuts another gash on his cheek. Both of his hands squeeze Kaveh's throat. "Think you're clever?" he seethes.

Kaveh's jaw drops, trying to breathe.

His vision darkens.

He's on the edge of unconscious when the hands pull away. He gasps, letting air fill his lungs. His head is still fuzzy, still unable to process the movement beside him.

It clears at the thunk! of a dagger.

One that's dangerously close to his hand.

He blinks up at Aizik, holding his right hand by the wrist.

Aizik forces his palm flat against the table.

He drives the dagger through the middle.

Kaveh screams.

ʚїɞ

Cyno paces Alhaitham's office.

It's very distracting.

Not that he's been able to focus in the last three days.

"I know you two are stressed," Lord Kusanali begins, "but you must rest. Kaveh cannot be rescued if you are unable to fight."

"We will find him," Alhaitham says, "and we will be well enough to take him back. Trust me." He leans his elbows on his desk, hands clasped before his face. There's a darkness in his expression that Lord Kusanali also finds in Cyno's face.

She sighs. "This is a personal case for both of you. Just… try not to take things too far."

"I do not let personal matters cloud my judgement." Cyno hisses for perhaps the fifth time.

Lord Kusanali doesn't bother looking to Alhaitham. He cannot make such a promise. His fingers burn already with the desire to slit the throats of whoever conspired against him.

The ransom note sits on his desk.

5 million, 3 days written on a scrap of paper, the handwriting rough and unpolished. The other side is a crudely drawn map with an 'X' at the dropoff point.

Alhaitham doesn't have the mora. Nor does he plan to prepare it. He has Cyno. He has the matra. He has his own blade.

And he plans to put them all to good use.

ʚїɞ

The blood is sticky, even after it dries.

Kaveh thought blood flaked if it wasn't absorbed. But his fingers stick to the table.

Or perhaps he just can't lift them.

He's not sure if that's a physical limit or a mental one. The dagger still pins his hand to the table, after all.

Aizik didn't bother to remove it when he left. And that was hours ago. Maybe days? Time has blurred together, marked only by the pain in his hand. (A deep throbbing at this point.)

His head spins. When did he eat last? When was he given any water? His stomach turns, far past the point of grumbling for food. He's not sure he'd be able to keep any down, anyway.

His own blood spreads across the table, puddled where spit-up sake once was.

Gods, is he glad he's ambidextrous. He won't be able to use his right hand to work for quite a while. Maybe never, if he doesn't get medical attention soon.

He won't get it from these mercanaries. He knows that much.

Kaveh finally tilts his head to the door of the chamber. Two guards — different than the ones left before — regard him with cold gazes before turning their backs to him.

What kind of idiot leaves a hostage in a room with an open doorway?

The same kind of idiot that ties a Vision bearer to the element of their Vision.

The wood is dead.

The Dendro inside it isn't.

Kaveh has felt it — small pulses of energy reacting to his Vision — since the moment he woke. It's just a little harder to manipulate than a live tree.

Every moment not spent in agonizing pain was focused on gathering that energy into his fingertips. His blood seeping into the wood helped, actually, to share his own energy with it. He’s managed to create a small blade in his left hand, no bigger than the dagger buried in his right.

The ropes slacken. Slowly, gently, he presses his left hand to the bottom of the table under his right. The wood dissolves, freeing his hand in a more silent, less painful way than pulling the dagger free. It’s still stuck through his palm, rendering his hand useless.

Kaveh wishes now more than ever he had learned to fight with a sword. Alhaitham has often offered, after sparring sessions that left them both winded and bruised, but he’s always declined. His claymore is enough, he’d said, and hits plenty hard.

Just a shame it takes two hands to wield.

Kaveh grabs the handle of the dagger and begins to force his own power into it. It doesn't take much until the dagger is his and he's able to dismiss it to the same space he keeps Mehrak and his claymore.

Blood drips from his hand. He can bend his fingers, but only a tiny bit. His grip is completely gone.

He glances at the door. Both guards ignore him.

His gaze travels the room. It's a plain space, no furniture save for the table and benches, and dimly lit by candles. There are, unfortunately, no windows. He'd been hoping to sneak out, but he has no option except to fight.

He summons the metal dagger and uses it to cut strips from his shirt. He wraps the strips around his right hand, using them to secure the dagger to it as well. Grip won't be a problem if the weapon is tied to him.

He ties the point opposite of his thumb. He doesn't want to give them a chance to use it against him.

He carefully slides the bench back. It makes a single scrape on the ground.

That's enough for one of the guards to turn.

Kaveh jumps over the table and punches him in the face before he can speak. Then he holds the metal blade to his throat.

"Not a word," he says to the other one, pointing his wooden knife at her. "Get the rope."

She lifts her spear and calls for backup.

Kaveh curses. He shoves the other guard at her. They both fall to the ground.

But there are footsteps ringing in the distance, coming from her direction.

Kaveh runs the other way. Eremites surge from every doorway he passes.

He loses count of how many he has to stab.

He only hopes they're not dead.

Kaveh only stops when he slams into a behemoth of a man.

The man lifts Kaveh by his shirt and slams him into the ground. He coughs, spittle flying into the air. There is going to be a huge bruise on his back tomorrow.

Or maybe he won't be covered in bruises tomorrow. Maybe he'll be dead long before then.

The man pins Kaveh with a knee on his chest and a hand on his throat. Kaveh stabs the man's arm with both blades. He only grunts.

Kaveh stabs again. And again. "Let go!" he shouts. "I don't want to kill you!"

"Killing is your only option," says a voice that makes Kaveh's skin crawl. Aizik leans over and pats the man's shoulder. "This one's more scared of me than he is death." He lowers the collar of the man's shirt to reveal a chest full of branding scars.

The man lifts Kaveh by the neck and carries him to a dining hall. A fire blazes against one wall.

Kaveh squirms as the remains of his shirt are ripped away.

"Now," Aizik says, pulling an iron poker from between the burning logs, "I don't have that particular seal here. But this will work just as well."

He jams the pointed red tip into Kaveh's side.

It burns.

Gods it burns!

It's the only thing he feels, the heat spreading up his ribs. He tries to scream, he tries to plead, but his lungs freeze. The best he can manage is a choked cry.

Aizik twists the poker deeper before he removes it. Kaveh hangs limp in the other man's arms. The scent of burning flesh rises to his nose, and it takes more than a moment to recognize it as his.

Aizik stabs his other side.

Somehow, that is worse.

Kaveh gasps when Aizik twists the poker again and throws it back into the fire.

Kaveh can't think. He can't even breathe.

"Come on," Aizik says to the man restraining him. "We'll put him in a proper cell this time. I'll teach him the same things I taught you."

No, Kaveh's addled mind objects. I won't go. The man shifts him, forces him to his feet with one hand around the back of his neck. I won't go!

His claymore appears between his captor's shoulder and elbow. The arm falls to the ground.

Kaveh falls with it. He rips the hand from his throat and dismisses the dagger.

He picks up his claymore, ignoring the pain in his back, his hand, his hips. Then he begins to swing.

Left.

Aizik shouts something.

Right.

He doesn't hear.

Left.

He doesn't see.

Down.

The sun warms his face.

He's out. He got out! He can run, now, run for help—

His feet slip in sand. He falls on his face.

He might as well have never felt hope with how quick it dissipates into the dry desert air.

He has no idea where he is.

He will never make it home.

He leans against his claymore to stand again. His makeshift bandages have fallen from his right hand; his blood makes it difficult to grip. Aizik and his Eremites exit a fortress ruin. Kaveh turns, claymore angled between them.

There are ten, fifteen of them? How is he going to fight?

Two arrows sink into his left arm. His claymore falls.

He grips his left shoulder with his right hand.

"Come now, Little Light," Aizik says. He has a sword in either hand, both leaning against his shoulders. "You can't survive on your own. You don't even know where the closest town is. Come back. I'll even let you join us!" Aizik twirls the blades around. "We have a few sudden openings in our ranks. Oh, but," he smiles with too much teeth, "I will have to punish you for creating them."

Fuck. Fuck! Did he– how many–

Kaveh's hands begin to shake. He shakes his head to distract from them. "I'm not going back."

"You are," Aizik says, "you don't have a choice." He eyes the arrows in Kaveh's arm. "You can't even hold your weapon."

Kaveh frowns.

He can't hold the claymore, true. But it is not his only weapon. He summons the dagger to his right hand.

Aizik laughs. "You can't fight us off with that!" He gestures to the roof of the ruins with his head. Lined across the top are a row of archers, crossbows aimed lazily for Kaveh.

Aizik is right. He can't fight.

But he can bargain.

He holds the point of the dagger to his own throat.

Aizik raises a brow. "What do ya think you'll achieve with that?" he asks. "We get the money either way."

Kaveh grits his teeth before he shouts. "Do you know who I am? Do you know who I know?" His chest heaves; he has to breathe before he can continue. "My best friends are the Head Forest Watcher of the Avidya Forest. The Acting Grand Sage. The General Mahamatra. What do you think happens if I die under your custody?"

He laughs, wild and frantic and half delirious. "It won't end well for you. They will hunt you down until your very last breath. It won't take long, either. Cyno's a master hunter. He will find you."

Kaveh presses the knife into his skin until a thin line of blood trickles down his neck. "Give me food and water, and then let me go. I won't say a word. I'll forget this ever happened."

It's a reach. Gods, is it a reach. But he is not scared if this is how he dies.

He's only scared of what they will do to him after.

Aizik stares. For a long, torturous moment, he stares without saying anything. Then he smirks.

"Let them try."

Aizik lifts a sword from his shoulder to point to the sky. The archers ready their crossbows, hone their aim.

Kaveh shuts his eyes to offer one final, silent prayer.

The result will be the same either way, a voice whispers, soft and sweet inside his head. Please, please, don't do this to yourself.

Yes, Kaveh agrees. Kaveh will die, right here and right now.

But there will be no more debt. There will be no debt, there will be no more drinking himself into a stupor, there will be no more annoying roommates.

Gods, if Alhaitham could see him now. Would he laugh? Would he mourn? Would he try to stop Kaveh, place himself between Kaveh and the thing that threatens his life?

Alhaitham is not here.

Kaveh will die, and his blood will spill across these sands, and his body will be carted off to the depths of the desert, and it will be used to feed vultures and coyotes and foxes.

And he will not give these mercenaries the satisfaction of killing him.

The trickle turns into a flow.

"You idiot!" Kaveh hears. He opens his eyes to green-tipped arrows flying above his head. The archers on the fortress drop their crossbows as their hands are pierced.

The relief is sudden; it takes every ounce of restraint Kaveh has to not collapse.

Aizik's eyes widen. "Run!" he calls out. "Retreat!"

The mercenaries scatter. Some return to the fortress, likely to run from another exit. Others go around, only to run into waiting matra.

Aizik scans the dunes around them — he's been completely surrounded.

Kaveh drops his hand from his throat.

Aizik raises both of his and throws his swords straight at Kaveh.

He has no strength to block or dodge.

He doesn't need it.

A flash of purple fills his vision, and metal clashes against metal as the swords are knocked away. An impressive figure stands before Kaveh, his element dancing along his spear.

If Tighnari came for him, Cyno did as well.

This is when Kaveh allows himself to fall. His knees finally falter, and he crumples to the ground. Cyno spares him half a second — far more than the stoic general would allow any unknown stranger — before he shouts to someone behind them. "Get him out of here!"

Cyno waits until there are hands on Kaveh's waist to follow Aizik into the ruins.

Kaveh is thrown unceremoniously over someone's shoulder. He gasps as something hard and hot digs into the burn on his stomach.

"Wait," he chokes out, "please, stop. It hurts."

The person slows, but doesn't stop. Kaveh grips at the cape swinging from their other shoulder…

Wait…

Wait! He knows that stupid fucking cape!

"Alhaitham?" he asks. Alhaitham turns his head to meet his gaze from the corner of his eye.

Kaveh blinks away tears. He starts laughing.

His vision blanks.

ʚїɞ

The woman above him is beautiful. She has rich dark skin that shines in the candlelight. Her hair is in tight curls, even darker than her skin. Her forehead is adorned with a silver-gold circlet, a crescent moon rising from the back of her head.

And her eyes — her eyes! One a deep blue, the other the color of amber. They are, perhaps, the most unique eyes Kaveh has ever seen.

Kaveh does not know who this woman is, but if he had to guess? One of those terrifyingly beautiful death gods Celestia sends to ease a soul's passing.

She must be able to read minds, because her mismatched eyes crinkle in a smile. "I am no god," she says, smoothing the hair from his forehead, "and you are not dead. Not even close."

He doesn't feel quite alive, though. Just breathing sends tremors of pain through his chest.

"Then who-?" he tries, but his voice rasps from his throat like it's filled with broken glass.

"Ah-ah," the woman says. She helps him sit and brings a glass of water to his lips.

Kaveh hisses at the pressure of her hand on his back. She whispers apologies.

"Well," he asks as she leans him to sit up against the pillows, "where am I?"

"Aaru Village," she answers. She puts a hand on her chest. "My name is Candace. I'm the guardian of this village."

"And what-what happened?"

He asks like he needs to be told. Like it isn't seared into his memory. Like the scars won't last forever. Like his body doesn't ache with the memory of pain.

Candace purses her lips before she answers. "Alhaitham brought you here after you passed out."

Alhaitham? Wait, no, that's right. It's the last thing he remembers, being carried off while thrown over Alhaitham's shoulder.

"How long has it been?" Kaveh asks.

"A day and a half. Your experience with the mercenaries must have worn you out." Candace sets another glass of water on the table beside the bed.

"You could say that." He lifts a hand to the bandages wrapped around his throat. Then he studies the ones around his right hand. He curls a finger, hissing when pain shoots up his arm. "How bad was the damage?"

Candace frowns. "We don't have any healers here, nor do we have proper doctors. I patched you up while Alhaitham went to fetch one. The doctor was able to repair most of the damage, but there will be some lasting effects."

Ah. Great. Just what every artist wants to have: a permanent hand injury.

That's alright. It's okay. He's always drawn better with his left hand anyway. His right hand was always better for fighting. Kaveh isn't a bit close to panic.

(He really hopes Candace can't read minds.)

Candace holds his hand between hers. They blur behind a rush of tears.

"What about the mercenaries?" he asks. "What happened to them?"

At this, Candace gives a small smile. "Cyno is relentless. He found every single one that tried to escape." She rubs her thumb over his knuckles. "They won't be able to hurt you again."

Join us! We have a few sudden openings in our ranks.

"And what of the dead?"

She hesitates. She hesitates, and Kaveh's heart plummets.

"Candace," says a voice by the door. Alhaitham stands, arms folded across his chest as he leans against the doorframe. He is way too relaxed for someone who looked half-panicked a day ago.

Candace stares, and when did Alhaitham ever make friends? She nods and stands, leaving at some sort of silent request that Kaveh didn't think anyone else could read from Alhaitham.

Alhaitham takes her chair by his bed. Kaveh's heart pounds.

"You came for me," he struggles to say. He struggles to keep it at that, to not ask why he would do such a thing.

Alhaitham pulls an apple from his pocket and summons a small knife. "I did," he answers only after he begins to peel it.

Kaveh has always had a terrible poker face. He knows this, and he knows this is why he often loses games against anyone. Questions burst in his throat, whether out of curiosity or guilt or some unknown aspect of being a scholar.

"Two were killed in battle with the matra," Alhaitham says before they can choke him. "Two more took their own lives to avoid punishment."

“And the others?”

Alhaitham hasn’t broken the peel yet.

“I know there are others, Alhaitham. He said so.”

Alhiatham does not lie. Nor is he cruel. He is simply blunt, and he does not hesitate to deliver bad news. It is best to get it dealt with quickly, if you ask him.

So why, why oh why, has he decided to shave off another three inches of peel before he asnwers?

“They were criminals, Kaveh,” he whispers.

If there is a right thing to say — if, if, if — that is not it. That implies that there were other deaths, that the fleeting hope he had of Aizik lying was false. That there is blood on his hands that he has no hope of washing away.

“How many?” Kaveh asks, hands pressed into his temples.

“They were trying to kill you,” Alhiatham says.

“I have a right to know.”

The peel falls to the floor in one long strip. Alhaitham cuts the apple into slices. His lips thin. He's unsure of his words; a rare sight for a scholar of any kind, much less Haravatat. Much much less Alhaitham.

“Four,” he says finally. “Four were already dead when we arrived,”

Kaveh gasps. “Four?” he chokes out, “Four?”"

He doesn't even remember. All he remembers is blood and pain and the sting of desperation in his veins.

He curls in on himself. His fingers clutch the front of his oversized shirt.

"Hey," a soft voice whispers. There is a weight on the bed beside him, and hands unfurling his fists. Someone shushes him, a gentle thumb running under his eye to catch his tears. He finds his face buried in the dark fabric of that stupid cape. A hand sits on the back of his head, another holds his fingers out straight.

Kaveh curls his left arm around Alhaitham.

And then he sobs.

There are so many things running through his head, his heart, his soul. Relief fights with fear fights with grief. And above it all, looming over him as it has his entire life, guilt.

The guilt of losing his father.

The guilt of selling his childhood home over one stupid mistake.

The guilt of living in Alhaitham's house, wasting Alhaitham's time, ruining Alhaitham's life.

And now that he's ruined four others…

"Please," Alhaitham says, "please don't mourn them."

Do-don't mourn? Them?!

How does Kaveh explain that they are not the cause of his mourning? That, as much guilt as he's felt in his life, he knows it will wash away in time, sculpted into a facet of himself in the same way as all his other attributes:

His blond hair and red eyes.

His genius architecture.

His kind heart, much too large and much too soft, that cares for every being that crosses its path.

Save for four.

He sees nothing when he thinks of them. Not their names, not their faces. Not their deaths. Nor does he feel any remorse for the families his mind would fabricate had they been anyone elase.

There is nothing, not even the spark of relief.

How can he mourn someone he has no feelings for?

How can he explain that he is able to understand that he should be upset, but isn't?

It is not guilt, this time, that causes him to fracture.

It is the absence of it.

#genshin impact #kavetham #haikaveh #genshin kaveh #genshin fanfic

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