#like can I live beyond the shadow of my mother | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thenighthekate · 10 months

Text

Bring me to heaven ( t.k. )

But all my soul was full of light. A joyful sense and purity. Is all I can remember; the very night to me was bright.

Her beauty was orphic, beyond explainable and out of the ordinary. The plush of her thighs glistened in the moonlight as she kneeled beside her bed, her eyes fluttering shut and her hands clasping together. Soft whispers were let out between her lips, something about father, mother, praising the man above. He wanted to ruin this part of her, this innocent, shielded part. He wanted to taint her, have her all to himself.

His hand traveled down his stomach, his palm grabbing the growing bulge in his baggy pants. He screwed his eyes shut, his mind buzzing with everything he wanted to do to her, show her a new world she has never seen. He felt the bed dip, the girl of his fantasies crawling towards his spread arms.

The rules from her parents were simple, he could date her as long as he didn't put devilish thoughts into her head, but at this moment he felt like sinning, he felt like breaking every law that was strongly placed down.

Her head rested on his shoulder, quiet breaths deep from her chest as she shut her eyes to sleep. He took a hold of her hand, his fingers drawing figures on the top of her palm. He softly moved her body, his own frame casting a shadow on top of her as he moved to get closer. He nuzzled his nose in the crook of her neck, her scent clouding his senses, sweet vanilla and cinnamon making him high.

" What are you doing?" Her soft voice was filled with sleep, her eyes barely open as she grabbed onto his head. Her skin tickled when he left kisses right beside her jaw, the small pecks traveling towards her lips. When their mouths met, Tom was on cloud nine. The kiss was sweet, filled with innocence and unsure motions. He leaned in deeper, his hand rubbing her cheek, the other one sliding down her body. " We can't." Her soft, pillowy lips broke away from his, doe eyes staring straight at him, making his head spin even more.

He didn't say anything, his gaze shifting all over her face, landing on her soft pout. The hand on her face slowly dragged closer to her chin. His grasp was tight, a gasp leaving her when his thumb grazed the corners of her mouth. He pinched her bottom lip, his finger sliding closer to her opening. When his digit pressed down on her tongue, flattening the curve her mouth closed around him in shock.

" But you want to." He whispered, her eyes wide, her chest heaving up and down meeting his own.

" I-"

" Do this for me, just tonight. Tomorrow you can go back to the good girl you're pretending to be." His words were manipulative, almost sadistic. She kept quiet, he could see the gears turning in her head, she was never good at deciding. With hesitance laced through her expression, she nodded her head, her hair falling off her shoulders, Tom's gaze suddenly on the newly naked flesh.

The room felt hotter, her shirt scrunched around her chest, his hands were groping her breasts, molding the skin into the shape of his palms. Soft breaths and whines left her lips as he kissed down her stomach. The new sensations tickled her brain, goosebumps appearing all over her body.

" Lift up." Her hands slowly rose, the white fabric of her top sliding all the way off. It was truly a sight for sore eyes, her nipples perked up, ready to be tugged, bitten. He could feel himself diving deeper into his obsession, like an addict straight on their high he never wanted to stop. As he took his sweet time exploring her body, her cheeks grew rosier by each passing second. She felt exposed, embarrassed, but yet a part of her wanted to carry on, felt like she needed to feel him pressed against her for the rest of their lives.

His hands slid further down, the hem of her shorts right underneath his fingertips. Spots of red were left on her skin, the bloody color soon turning purple and littering her chest. Tom tried to be sweet, be patient and take his time, but he simply couldn't.

With a simple tug, he took off her pants, now laying completely naked beneath him she felt like the odd one. Her hands slid from his shoulders towards his abs, the end of his shirt tight in her palm as she lifted the fabric. He helped her take his shirt off, his toned skin shining in the cool moonlight.

Time was moving fast, hours felt like only a couple seconds. His head was between her thighs, her legs spread as wide as possible to let his frame rest comfortably. Her back arched from the covers of the bed, his eyes glued to her shut ones as he let his tongue dance over her flesh. His mouth was all over her, his teeth slightly biting her soft bundle of nerves. At the motion her hips twitched to meet his face, her plump lips open, eyebrows scrunched, trying so hard not to let anyone hear.

The silver cross around her neck dangled with every move she made, the cold, shiny metal oftentimes grazing her nipple making her shudder.

The feeling was getting stronger, her gut twisting and wrenching whenever his tongue met just the right place. Her fingers were scratching against his scalp, her hands trying to push him away. " Let go." His words were slurred, sloppy sounds filled the room as he lapped up any spit and juices.

" I can't." It almost sounded like she was crying, the pleasure getting to her head, not caring anymore if anyone heard or saw.

Tom abruptly stopped, his own fingers fiddling with his belt trying to get the pieces of clothing off. " It will hurt, I'm sorry." At the moment the lack of protection didn't bother anyone, the only emotion they felt was lust and longing. Her hands wrapped around his neck, her forehead creasing ready to endure the stretching pain. They were both panting, their heads pressed up against each other.

A pained moan left her lips, her hands pressing his shoulders in a motion to make him stop. " I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." It felt like her body was ripping in half, and when he was fully in no one moved. Tom waited until her expression full of pain turned into mind blowing pleasure, and he didn't have to wait for long. As soon as he started to move his hips those same sweet sounds left her lips.

Her hair was a mess, sprawled all over the pillows, her skin glistening with a sheer layer of sweat.

" This is better than I could've ever imagined." He could tell that she was far too gone to make complete sentences, her legs slightly shaking around his waist, her mouth open, eyes shut. With her lack of experience her breaking point was coming fast, her whole body shuddering with pleasure and an adrenaline rush.

She didn't even know what was happening, but a strong wave of euphoria made her choke on her own spit, her head bopping against the pillows with every thrust.

" That's it. Just like that." His own finish was coming soon, but the girl below him looked spent. Her eyes were practically closing, her body limp and molding to his every order. When his own eyes were just about to shut with pleasure he pulled out, cold air immediately filling the empty spaces. He would do anything for her, including letting her rest and finishing himself off alone, after all he took everything he wanted.

#tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz fluff #tom kaulitz angst #tom kaulitz #thenighthekate #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you #fanfic

903 notes · View notes

readychilledwine · 2 months

Note

I know the solstice thing was supposed to be the last of them, but hear me out.

Lyria caring for Azriel's hands after he kills someone to protect her?

Oof. Yeah you got it.

Touch

Summary - After Lyria is cornered and attacked, Azriel takes matters into his own hands.

Warnings - mentions of blood, violence, attempted attack on defenseless oc, azriel being feral, implied smut at the end.

A/N - listen... when you all send me Lyria content, you're gonna get Lyria content. She's my baby. Enjoy this short little fic of them.

Peep her and Azriel's romance here 💙

Lyria could do nothing but stand there in Rhysand's arms, watching helplessly as Azriel beat a male to death with his bare hands.

She felt Rhys tilt her head, tucking her into his neck so she didn't have to watch her mate in this state.

The two of them could not blame him. This male had cornered Lyria, Azriel's world, his wife, his mate, in this dark alley, pining her against the wall with intentions Lyria had not fully processed or thought about.

She kept blaming herself for this. She had made the choice to have a night to herself while he was gone for a mission and treated herself to a few drinks. Had she stayed home, had she just waited for him. "Stop," Rhysand said softly. "You are not at fault here. You did nothing wrong."

Rhys winnowed her away, entering her apartment silently and looking her over. There was one cut on her face from the brick building she was held against. Some bruising. The worst of it was the male's blood splattering her face from Rhysand's fist.

He washed his hands first, refusing to touch her with more blood, refusing to taint her skin before grabbing a cloth and cleaning her face. Rhys kept his link to Azriel open, knowing the male was thrown into the prison in Mother knew what condition.

Shadows gathered in the corner of the living room, dark and frenzied, until Azriel stepped through them. His hands, the hands that so lovingly touched her late at night, hands that held her so closely, were soaked red. Lyria moved to him, Rhysand leaving as she did, and took his face in her hands. Azriel's found her hips, resting there as he lowered his forehead to hers. "Are you hurt?"

"No," a hand went to the back of his neck. "Let me clean your hands?" She didn't wait for him to respond, pulling him into her massage room and having him sit on the table.

She began setting up, grabbing a few lotions and one oil Azriel would allow her to touch him with. Then brushes and a bowls of water she was dropping lavender and rose petals into.

She sat in front of him, taking his hands, the hands of her husband, her protector, and set them in the warm water. "I love you," she whispered it to him like she wasn't about to remove the blood of a male he'd savage beat off his body. She took a rag, gently scrubbing and wiping them clean. She switched the bowl to a fresh one, rinsing the soft smelling soap she normally used for back scrubs off before grabbing a sea salt based scrub.

What came after she scrubbed them clean and dried them had Azriel's eyes beginning to well with emotion. Lyria took that oil, the one she had specifically made for Azriel, and began massaging his hands, awaking nerves he knew were damaged beyond what most saw on the surface.

He felt areas of scar tissue relaxing under get gentle touch, tension in those strained ligaments melting away with the barely there heat. She took her time each hand, kissing the pads of every finger as she went.

"I love your hands," Azriel stayed quiet at her confession. "I know you hate them, but these hands have held me tenderly in my worst moments, they've brought me to very threshold of bliss time and time again, they do the best they can to massage my aches when I have them."

Lyria paused, kissing each knuckle now. "And now these hands have saved my life. These beautiful hands have ensured my safety, something so few males have truly done for me. I love you, Azriel. Every scarred inch. But your hands will always be my favorite part of you."

His breath had stilled. She began using his favorite lotion in them. The oil from the mirthroot began sinking in, and he knew in a few minutes, he'd have no pain in his hands. No lingering tension. It would only be a few hours of relief, but those few hours would be spent worshipping her. Feeling her. Loving her until he knew without a shadow of doubt she was truly safe in his arms, that saving her hadn't been a dream he'd wake up from leading to a nightmare where he had not gotten there in time. He tugged the bond, smiling as her lips tugged up.

"If you lay down I can rub your back. You had a long mission, surely you need my hands other places?"

His eyes rolled back at the thought, a growl coming through him. "I need your hands everywhere."

She stood, her long red hair out of its normal ponytail and braids as she leaned in to kiss him. "Then we should get started."

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

#acotar #send asks #send anons #send requests #azriel x oc #azriel x vanserra!oc #acotar x oc

179 notes · View notes

thisblogisaboutabook · 10 days

Text

Bad Idea Right? - Part 9

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

What are friends for if not for meddling? A certain daughter of spring and her heir apparent lover scheme to bring a stubborn Shadowsinger and her Autumn High Lord mate back together.

A/n: remember when I said this would be the final part? I was wrong. Sorry! Don’t hate me. There will be at least one more chapter and an epilogue.

Part 8 Series Masterlist

Warnings: language, sexual innuendos, alcohol

In hindsight, perhaps I was a bit dramatic. But in my defense, what the fuck??

The High Lord of the Autumn Court is my mate?

And he’s known since the moment he met me?

I am a fool, truly. There’s no other explanation. Perhaps I may not be as perceptive as my father or nosey little sister but I’m pretty damned adept in reading a room.

Yet I’d been fucking my mate for two years with zero clue. No wonder my damned shadows enjoy playing with him so much. But to be fair, who wouldn’t? I mean look at him. The muscles, graceful stature, those auburn locks of hair, that arrogant smirk that I want nothing more than to kiss right off his stupid, gorgeous face.

And in the face of the truth, I fled. Like a coward.

“Sissy?” Azalea’s concerned voice interrupts my spiral of self-loathing.

Her little hand squeezes mine. “Ice cream makes me feel better when I’m sad.”

“That sounds wonderful, Azzie.”

With that, my mother gave a soft smile and strode to the kitchen to retrieve my favorite strawberry flavor from the ice box.

I looked down to my sister to find her brows drawn together and lips pursed, wings sagging just a bit. “What’s going on, Azalea?”

“I told Eris that what he did was bad but sissy, I don’t think he’s bad. But you were so sad.”

Oh.

“Oh Azalea, I’m sorry. I appreciate you and your loyalty. I’m lucky to have such a kind little sister and you know what? I bet Eris would prefer for you to stick up for me instead of ignoring my feelings. Because you’re right, he is not bad. He’s not a bad male at all.”

“Then why are you so sad?” question shone in her eyes as she waited for a response.

“I’m upset because I believed that he liked me for me - but now that I know he knew I was his mate from the moment we met, it makes me feel like he only likes me because of a bond that neither of us have control over.”

The winged little girl pondered before replying, “He can still love you for who you are even with a bond. I didn’t have control over being your sister, but I like you a lot. I wouldn’t want anyone else to be my sister.”

Her words stopped me in my tracks. Since when was my little sister so wise beyond her years? Yet still - it stings. It stings for there to have been so many secrets and perhaps he had good reason to hide it. Hell, maybe he didn’t even want me beyond the most base level of a mating bond. The sex was incredible. Yet, he was the one who took me on a date tonight. Still came around despite my father’s ominous presence. An ugly voice inside of me whispered that it was all to gain a political foothold, yet the more rational side of me could feel that it wasn’t truth.

A bang on the door interrupted my thoughts.

Azzie’s wings rustle, little legs bounding across the room in search of the unexpected intrusion, her hazel eyes peering out the foyer window. My heart fluttered briefly - could it be him? What would I say?

The racing sensation in my chest faltered as my shadows briefed me of the visitor’s identity.

“Azzie, can you go ask mom to scoop an extra bowl of ice cream?”

She didn’t miss a beat as her little feet took off into the kitchen where she animatedly informed our mother of the visitor at our doorstep.

Another knock and a shout of “Open up the door, bitch! I know you’re in there.” had me letting out a flustered breath and scurrying to allow the nuisance entry into my home, greeting her with “How do you even know where I live?”

“Well,” Layla let out an exasperated sigh, taking a step into the fae-light illuminated foyer. “For one, it’s nice to see you again too. Second, Daemati boyfriend, remember?” Pointing a finger to her head with an incredulous expression, she continued. “Third, you didn’t see me fleeing when my tits were out in front of your entire family. THANKS for that.”

Shame flooded my features but she cut off any attempt at an apology for leaving her in the uncomfortable predicament with Nyx. “Eh, I like to think of myself as a bit of an exhibitionist. I just never imagined my first foray into such endeavors would involve the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. ANYWAY-“ the blonde gave me a pointed look, summoning two bottles of wine from a pocket realm. “I brought vino for our troubles.”

Twenty minutes later and we’d all soothed our wounds with ice cream and Azalea peppering Layla with questions about anything and everything she could think of.

I could have fallen through the floor when she gleefully informed Layla that she did indeed try to stop us before barging in upon her and Nyx’s more private affairs. Layla only laughed and flashed me a vulgar gesture when Azalea wasn’t looking.

Azalea eventually dozed off somewhere between Layla and I’s second and third bottle of wine when she jumped up with a shriek. “Oh my gods! What’s the name of that bar you lot love so much? Rose’s?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Rita’s?”

“Yes! That’s the one. Let’s go! Girls night out.”

“Layla, why don’t we go somewhere the Inner Circle doesn’t frequent? Somewhere a bit more youthful?”

With a dismissive wave she shush’d me. “No way. Let’s be tourists. Wouldn’t anyone visiting want to go to THE spot that the Court’s upper echelon frequent? Let’s go dazzle the citizens of Velaris with our sexy moves. I’ll let you grind against me if you’re good.”

I laughed at my friend’s peculiar method of cheering me up but honestly, a night out to let loose before facing the rocky road ahead sounded like just what I needed.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

———

Rita’s was more packed than usual as an attendant led Layla and I back to the Inner Circle’s standard table, we snaked through the crowded floor, brushing shoulders with the ocasional dancing patron when I overheard a voice muttering about the “sexy High Lord” she’d bumped into at the bar.

I reached to grab Layla’s attention but it was too late as I looked up to find her cozied up to Nyx with my uncles, my father, and my- “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Looking past my friend with her shit-eating grin, I see the gorgeous face of my mate.

————————

Eris

He stood dejected in the basement of the gallery, trying to process what had just gone down.

Never did he imagine this was how the night would turn out. Under normal circumstances, he would be traveling back to his court to look into the father of the two Day Court denizens who’d tried holding him hostage but Helion would look further into it and send word. He was not in a place to fairly handle such a situation given that the thought of them laying a hand on his mate made him burn with rage.

So he stood there, taking steadying breaths about to leave when a low whistle rang out behind him and a large hand clapped his back. “Ouch. Not the ideal way to reveal a mating bond.”

Eris scoffed, readying an unbecoming retort when Cassian continued, “Been there. It’s not easy but you two will work it out. Beer helps. Care to grab a drink at Rita’s while Nyx and Rhys work their shit out? Probably not the best for you and Azriel to be alone together at the moment anyway.”

To his credit- Azriel only let out a semi-annoyed huff and rolled his eyes.

What the fuck was this evening becoming? Mating bond unveiled and now getting drinks with a male who had every right to loathe him.

But Eris didn’t have it in him to deny the offer. So with that, he found himself at Rita’s with the Night Court general.

“I’m just saying that these Archerons, they’re lovely and great but… they’re headstrong.” He put two palms up in the air. “Now before you jump to conclusions, it’s not a BAD thing. The gods know Nesta has handed my ass to me when I’ve needed it many times over the years but sometimes…. Sometimes you’ve just got to give them time to come around.”

Eris could have reminded Cassian that most females would need time to come around to such a reveal but… the male was making an effort and Eris had nobody else to talk to about such a situation.

He supposed he could have tracked down Lucien but the matter felt a bit too sensitive to address at the moment given the rejected bond between he and Elain and the very obvious fact that Eris’ mate was the result of that rejected bond.

“Hey- I’m here making an effort. At least try to appear like you’re not tuning me out.” Cassian waved a hand before him.

“Apologies.” Eris smirked, refusing to let the male see him too down and out. “Just processing everything.”

“Well, finish the rest of this beer and we can order some of that autumnal shit you all prefer in your court for the next round. Unless you’re too prissy and have some fancy shit you High Lord’s prefer.”

Eris recognized the bait for what it was, given that he knew Cassian would be the first to indulge in Rhysand’s top shelf liquors.

Eris lifted the foaming mug to his mouth and downed the entire beer before placing it back down on the counter. “Another Illyrian draft is just fine.”

The large male beside him let out a hum that almost seemed like approval. “Maybe you’re not such a cunt after all, High Lord.”

“Yeah, well keep that between us.”

Cassian held up two fingers as the bar keep gave him a nod and Cassian pointed to a table in the corner.

No sooner than they’d seated themselves did Rhysand and Nyx enter the establishment, a hesitant Azriel behind them.

“Sorry.” Cassian shrugged. “Rhys sent word a couple minutes ago. Figured we could all use a round after this evening.”

Rhys looking a bit disheveled in comparison to that usual air of arrogance he exuded, giving a cocky grin as eyes within the establishment fell upon him. His son on the other hand still appeared a bit out of sorts given the inconvenient revelation of he and the daughter of Spring to his entire family.

The Shadowsinger only gave a curt nod in greeting, expression remaining stony.

Through a boisterous laugh the general teased, “Welcome to the shit show.”

The tension at the table was palpable, Azriel glaring daggers through Eris, Nyx very clearly communicating mind to mind with someone, Rhys slowly losing his resolve in maintaining his collected facade. Cassian, ever the instigator, broke the silence. “So, mates, huh?”

Azriel’s cold gaze averted from the Autumn High Lord to the General, promising violence. “Hey-“ Cassian raised his palms again. “It’s not so bad. She could have been mated to Tamlin.”

Had it not been for the mating bond chafing his ass, Eris could have laughed but he only bristled at the thought of his mate with any other male.

“Ouch!” Cassian yelped as the violet-eyed High Lord kicked him under the table.

“Oh come on! None of us handled our mating bonds perfectly, and I know damn well that any of you would be enjoying this mess if roles were reversed. You’re just pissy, I remember very clearly the shit you gave me when this fucker,”pointing a calloused finger to Eris with a cheeky grin, “proposed to Nesta!”

Eris really wanted to fall through the floor at this point. “But she was my mate, and look at us now? Remember those days at the dining table, Az?”

Shadows whirled violently around the Spymaster. “You’re not obligated to speak every little thought that pops into your mind.”

Though it was clear the Shadowsinger was deathly serious, Cassian only waived him off and Nyx burst out laughing, egging his Uncle on.

“Mating bonds aren’t everything.” Azriel growled out, “You’re not entitled to her. She’s her own person and can choose what her heart wants.”

Eris raised an eyebrow at the implication. He was well aware that he played the bastard role well but he would never-

“Are you implying, Shadowsinger, that I would not let your precious daughter choose? And believe me, I’m well aware of the atrocities and the merits that can come from a rejected mating bind. I remember the physical and emotional pain inflicted upon my brother when his own bond was rejected, the uncontrollable waves of grief that still sometimes roll through him.” Azriel sat, stone faced at the reminder that his wife was not his mate. Eris didn’t give him time to react, continuing.

“But I’m also well aware that if not for that pain and that rejected bond, I would be without my beloved nephew, or my curious new friend who thinks of even the smallest of denizens of your court matter - who treats me like I’m just a person and not the arrogant prick the rest of the world views me as.”

Eris placed a broad palm to his own chest, clutching as if in physical pain as the next words left his lips. “And do you not think, Shadowsinger, that I don’t recognize the fucking treasure that came from that rejected bond? The irony that my brother’s rejected bond resulted in the greatest gift of my life? And while I’d love to covet that treasure, care for her, let her shine for all of those to see - to know that she’s mine - it’s not my choice. It’s hers. If she wants to shine with someone else? Gods, it will hurt like hel, but I’ll remember her with nothing but love in my heart. She wants to stay on her own, making her own way in the world? I’ll stand back and cheer for her. I think you’re well aware that NOBODY chooses for your daughter but her.”

Azriel remained stone faced, a hand resting to the handle of the foaming mug of mead before him. Cassian let out a huff. Nyx smirked and Rhysand only looked at Eris with something that almost appeared to be respect.

Azriel finally shook his head, raising the mug in Eris’ direction. “Then that’s all I can ask for.”

All eyes at the table darted to him in shock. The famed, merciless spymaster standing down.

Eris only lifted his own mug in return and that was that.

The next hour went by as smoothly as possible, the table ordering several rounds of drinks. Eris nearly pissed himself when the shock of a caress against his mental shields caught his attention, Nyxs’ amused voice only stating, “You can thank me later.”

Eris’ brows drew together, puzzled by what on earth he’d have to thank the heir for, as a blonde female fell into the seat beside the male. A familiar scent wafting into his nostrils.

His mate.

Gods, she looked fucking fantastic and Eris knew right away he’d have to glamour the involuntary scent of arousal wafting from him at the sight of her ethereal face, those fucking hips that he wanted to hug as tightly as that little dress did - his inhibited state not helping the situation whatsoever. She only glared at him, as she stood beside the table, sweet voice dripping with irritation,

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

She crossed her arms across her chest. Gods, she was trying to kill him. Her arms pushing up her immaculate breasts. Was he salivating? This had to be a dream. Or a nightmare if her father caught wind of just how the sight of her was affecting him.

But most of all, he only felt love and adoration as he stared at the prickly female glaring daggers through him. Truth-Teller would certainly feel less violent against his skin than the sharp gaze piercing into his heart.

“I didn’t know, I swear.” Eris pleaded.

“Right. I’m leaving.” She huffed.

“Oh no you fucking don’t” the blonde female interjected. “You’re not just going to ice him out. It’ll hurt you worse than any words ever could. You two need to TALK.”

Nyx looked to the female with pride.

“I’m not finished with YOU.” Y/N hissed with rage to her friend.

“Oh I have no doubt.” The female - Layla - fired back. “But first you’re going to work things out with your mate.”

With an irritated look to her friend, she grabbed Eris by the wrist with a reluctant “Come on, we’re LEAVING.”

Eris threw a grateful look to Nyx and Layla, standing with no resistance to the grasp his mate had on his wrist. Azriel grunted and began to stand, but Rhys threw an arm out, keeping him seated. And to Eris’ surprise, the Shadowsinger remained.

Cool air and the aroma of spices from the surrounding establishments greeted the pair, an otherwise perfect evening to drape his arm over her shoulder and whisper sweet nothings into her pointed ear as they passed the shops, but she only tapped her foot with impatience. “Well?? Winnow me to your apartment and let’s get this over with.”

Eris stepped forward, caressing her wrist in a lovers grasp, sensuous smirk forming on his lips. Fire in his blood or no, chill bumps rose up her olive skin, nipples pebbling beneath her dress.

“As you wish.” And winnowed her straight to the foot of his bed. He’d let her lead from there but if there was one thing he knew about his mate, she firmly believed all was fair in fucking and fighting. It was all in her hands how the night would go.

————————————————

A/n: Thank you everyone for your patience with this chapter! Life has been hectic (seasonal illnesses, end of the fiscal quarter, traveling sports, mental health struggles, etc) and my brain was just not cooperating with this chapter. After writing a few one shots I was able to get back into the proper headspace but found I was still struggling to transfer this chapter from my brain into print. I eventually realized I wasn’t ready for the story to end quite yet so with that being said this is NOT the final chapter. I hope you all don’t hate me for saying it was before changing my mind but it’s important to give the story the satisfying ending that it deserves. 🥰

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria

Eris general: @angiedsv

Series tags: @b0xerdancer @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams @yourmumsdumptruck @nebarious @glitterypirateduck @mybestfriendmademe @acourtof-wingspan @paleidiot @anae-naea-zacheria @fandomarchiveilyd @bloodicka @12358

113 notes · View notes

crystal-moon-101 · 1 month

Text

A while ago I had made up a Zak for each day of the week to match Zak Saturday and Monday for fun, and because I wanted to give Zak some more AU similar to how Ben gets a lot of them. So not only do they all have different last names, but each have their own backstories and colour theming! So I hope you enjoy my little AU concepts.

-Zak Saturday-

Classic original Zak. I decided to draw them all when they're 11, start of the series vibes. So that's why he doesn't look like the ways I normally draw him currently, since those are when he's 14. Nothing different with his design here, beyond still giving him those vivid orange eyes.

-Zak Sunday-

Also known as Zak Argost, having been taken in by the man after he had a certain encounter with Zak's parents, resulting in their deaths. When Argost found the young toddler, seeing the start of Zak's power, he was happy enough to take the child with him and use his powers to his benefit. Due to being taken when he was very young, Zak doesn't remember his parents at all, fully believing in anything Argost tells him, the only family he has. So he happily helps his guardian in keeping cryptids tamed during Weird World shows, or during trips to learn about them, even if Argost puts Zak in more danger than he should. Due to his appearances on Weird World, Zak is a celebrity of sorts, even if he doesn't get to go out often. Argost also gives him a lot of gifts, keeping the child in a positive mood to keep him under his thumb. So Zak truly believes that Argost cares about him.

Though things start to turn when Argost finally decides it's time to hunt down Kur and take his powers, hiring Van Rook and Doyle on the mission. This leads to Zak and Doyle getting to know each other, with Doyle feeling protective over this random kid for some reason. Eventually this leads to him taking Zak away when this whole Kur business gets out of hand. While Doyle can't seem to convince Zak that Argost doesn't care about him, the pair do at least agree to try and find Kur first, Zak worried that even Argost shouldn't handle such powers. However, only time will tell if the pair discover the truth behind their unknown family history.

-Zak Monday-

The good old twisted gremlin of a child, Zak Monday and his family were a result of the smoke mirror. They come from a world that twists the very nature of people, a poor reflection of their negative aspects. If you're naive, then your mirror self is incredible dumb. If you're a bit of a perfectionist, then your mirror self is a control freak. And Zak Monday represents the twisted doubts of Zak feeling like a monster, so why have any doubts when you can be the monster?

I decided to change Zak Monday a bit to have the green eyes and green shirt with his own logo, cause I liked the idea that after his first appearance, they switch back to what they're suppose to look like. But other than that I kept the concept of him looking just like Zak, minus the inverted hair colour.

-Zak Tuesday-

The young naga is the son of Rani Nagi. Born solely to have Kur's soul enter and be a host, but whoops! Looks like Kur's memories aren't there, but that wasn't going to stop Rani Nagi, who thinks if she keeps at her plans, eventually her son will become the old cryptid king she once knew. Even going as far as to solely call her child Kur, who secretly calls himself Zak due to him often watching humans in the shadow, curious about them and wanting a name for himself. Zak Tuesday has a lot of identity issues, not helped by his mother's teachings towards him, ignoring all his dreams and personal thoughts. Eventually he just got really good at lying rather than convincing Rani Nagi.

However, the young cryptid prince is suddenly kidnapped by Argost one day, as he figured out where Kur's soul was currently living. Zak knew he would have died that day if not for Drew and Doc recusing him, having been chasing Argost over this Kur situation. Though they're a little surprise that upon meeting the new Kur, they find it's just a young naga who really doesn't know who he is. At first Doc and Drew didn't know what to do with him, but Zak begged them to not send him back home, and let him stay at their place until he could figure things out. He wasn't foolish, he knew the nagas were planning a war, and he wasn't keen on being the face of it all. So now the Tuesdays just have a snake living around the house, but they can't exactly complain as he is a well mannered guest at least. And perhaps the house doesn't feel so lonely with him around either.

-Zak Wednesday-

Some of you might recognize this one, but this Zak is from my old Zur AU, where Kur was reborn via the Kur Stone due to it being an egg, and Zak is a dragon that shapes between human form and dragon form. I decided to update him, making him Zak Wednesday now, with a pink theme! I also decided that instead of Kur being reborn, I wanted to shake things up a bit and have it that Zak was directly Kur's son. His mother is unknown, and as Kur saw how the world was at the time, he put Zak's egg into a stasis situation until it was discovered again. After saving it from Argost, the egg hatched among the secret scientist, leading to them chasing the child of Kur. But upon using his shapeshifting abilities to look like a child of Drew and Doc, they just couldn't help but adopt him on the spot, siting there was no sense in blaming Kur's son over what happened years ago.

The growing dragon is very playful with a cheeky personality. He exhibits a lot of draconic behaviors, with a wild and free spirit. He is aware of his family history, but he doesn't like to think about it, unsure in how to view his father based on the stories he's heard. Besides, Doc and Drew are his parents, and that's all that matter to him. Though perhaps this sudden appearance by Argost, claiming he was going to far Zak's father, has been a bit rattling to deal with.

-Zak Thursday-

When Kur knew he was going to die, and also knew his soul wasn't able to live the mortal realm, he made plans to make it so his reborn self would both be born in hopefully a better time, and be without his memories. It was better that way, so that his new self could live a lovely life without the sins from his past. But that didn't exactly pan out properly, as Kur was reborn and sadly remembers everything. It took him a while to understand this growing up, his young human mind not processing it until he was roughly 7-8, and even then he needed time to think about it. And now he's a depressed 11 year old who now has to be stuck with the fact his plan didn't work, unable to run away from the person he once was. Doc and Drew found out the truth when Zak tried running away one day, their son sitting them down and telling them the truth in hopes they'd just leave him, it would be better that way. But to his surprise they disagreed, as he was still their son, Kur or Zak, and it would be too dangerous to leave him alone.

So now Zak lives with his parents? Are they really his parents? The family keeping this dark secret to themself, even from the other scientists. Doc and Drew still reach out to their son, doing their best to connect with him, but he can't help but push them away. He doesn't deserve this, and they deserve better. However, their secret might come out after Argost stole the Kur Stone and now hunts for Kur, not realizing the truth right in front of him. So now the family tries to get the stones back, wanting to protecting Zak/Kur from others finding out. Doesn't help that he has to go through being a child again with such dark memories lingering in his head, feeling tired and overwhelmed with the world. Hasn't he suffered enough?

-Zak Friday -

In a world where Kur and cryptids successfully wiped out humans, the king ruled the lands for a while after, before one day he mysteriously vanished. Many concluded that he had died somehow, the details unknown, but this lead to a prophecy that one day their king would return, leading to many claiming to be him, or praying that they will be him for the power and wealth. In this universe, Zak and his family are all cryptids, with Zak being a a Chuvash Dragon, Drew and Doyle are Epimeliads, and Doc is a Gargoyle (Other characters are also cryptids in this timeline). Zak is a serpent like dragon that breathes fire, as a very twistable body, and can freely shapeshift. He's heard about the legend of Kur returning, but frankly he thinks they don't need him, even if the cryptid world has been shattered without a king for years now.

But when a yeti named Argost claims that Kur is back, being backed up by the Nagas, everyone starts to gossip and run around trying to figure out who the new Kur is. So maybe it's best that Zak doesn't tell the whole world about his sudden new powers to control and communicate any fellow cryptid is walks by.

#The Secret Saturdays #TSS #Secret Saturdays #The Secret Saturdays AU #AU #Zak Saturday #Character Design #Creature Design #My Art

87 notes · View notes

cdragons · 6 months

Text

Blood & Pain - Druig x Hecate!Eternal Reader (Kaetlyn) Oneshot

Pairings: Persephone!Eternal Reader & Hecate!Eternal Reader, ft. Sephia x Ikaris, and Kaetlyn x Druig Word Count: ~3.5k Summary: A lil' oneshot to show how Druig and his wife got together, and what way to show that than with hot and heavy SMUT! Warning(s): SMUT (if you are under 18 DNI), some angst if you squint, mention of bullying (sort of), slight mention of blood, knife conjuring, Druig is obsessed and we love that, I just really wanted to write something to get me into the Halloween Spirit Notes: This a surprise oneshot to my wonderful beta reader, @valeskafics! She is in the middle of midterms, so I wanted to gift her a lil' oneshot to thank her for all of her help and encouragement! She is an incredibly kind and patient human and one of the best and most incredible fanfic writers for HOTD, GOT, and the Ewanverse on Tumblr! If you love any of Ewan Mitchell's works or are a fan of GOT/HOTD, I highly recommend checking her blog out! You will not regret it! Also, the BIGGEST thank you and shout of love to @ethereal-athalia my good man in the storm, I have never clicked so well with someone on this platform when it came to crazy ideas, and thanks to her, I can write out my ideas and share them on this site!If you want to read more from this AU, please click on this masterlist!

No matter how the rest of the team believed, what ideas his own children liked to conjure, how the tale was spun by generations -- Druig did not fall in love with his wife at first sight. He knew who you were, Kaetlyn, a fighter who could manipulate the shadows of every living being. You would later the mother of surgery and modern medicine- and even beyond that, a scholar and pioneer for feats of magic that remain untouched even by the greatest of the Supremes in the Mystic Arts.

He couldn’t remember the time he first realized that he loved you- he only knew that when he recognized it, he had fallen so deeply that he could no longer remember what it felt like not to be in love you. You were everywhere. There was simply no place left on this planet where Druig would wander that you wouldn’t be there beckoning him to you.

It was almost shameful how long it took for him to fall in love with you in comparison to how quickly you adored him. It had taken him over 100 years for you to fully gain his attention, and another 200 years for you to wait for him to confess his reciprocation. 200 years of clever banter and harmless flirting that shifted to longing gazes and lingering touches, until you finally had enough of his lame patience and reluctance. You dragged Druig to a secluded area- away from the Domo and humans alike, and took his face in your hands and forced his lips to yours. One kiss become two, two became five, and soon you and he had joined together in an explosion of passion that would bind you to him for the rest of eternity.

The sun had long set, and stars and moon glittered in the night. The two of you were as naked as the days you were born. Your need to have each other was beyond a matter of lust, it was primal need. Druig had torn your clothes without any thought- he starved for you. Any barrier that separated your body from him was flung away. Your skin glowed in the moonlight, every curve and line of your frame gloriously highlighted for his eyes alone. His lily-bloomed skin laid under you, ready for anything and everything you would give him. He still remembered the words you whispered to warn him all that would come as a result of your love.

“Druig, I must warn you,” you whispered. Druig kissed you across your collarbone, and you tugged on his hair to gaze into his eyes. “I can be very selfish- I will have all of you, or none of you.”

He could feel your wet center throb with each wince that escaped his lips. “You already do, my love,” he whispered back, silently pleading you to let him continue. “I swear you do.”

He craved you. He desperately wanted to map his tongue and lips across your body; he wanted to memorize the feel of your skin, the smell of your sweat, the taste of your cum. Whatever you gave him, he wanted it all.

Pushing him to lay on his back, you crawled forward to hover your soaked cunt over his cock. “I’m selfish- relentlessly so, any other woman that catches your eye will feel no end of my wrath.” You lowered yourself only enough so that his tip could paint its precum on your clit, the corner of your lips curled into a cruel smirk in response to the strangled moan he let out. Your body trembled from the sheer delight you felt at witnessing the surly telepath whine so pathetically from your touch.

“Please,” he begged, “please angel. Let me feel you- I need it- I need you.” Druig could feel his eyes filled with tears from the overwhelming pleasure that would fill him. “I want to touch you, please-”

Druig’s whimpers were brutally cut off as you placed a finger over his lips.

“Shhhh- not yet,” you breathily whispered, “you need to earn your pleasure, my love.” Your pupils dilated seeing him take your finger in his mouth, and used his tongue to suck on it. “I need to know if you understand what it means to love me, and have it in return.”

Before Druig could respond, you lowered yourself further- until he filled you to the brim with only a single thrust. You were so taken back by the sheer size of him that you felt your climax wash over as every part of you trembled from the intense euphoria.

“By Arishem,” you thought, “how is he so big?”

You wanted to make him beg, to drown him in so much pleasure that it would hurt. Whatever pain you inflicted on him now, it was nothing compared to the torture you experienced in having to wait for him to admit his feelings. You lost count on the number of times you pleasured yourself at the thought of the man beneath you. So many times, you wanted to sneak into his bed, and wake him to witness the maddening effect he had on you. But having him inside you was better than anything you could imagine.

Gripping his shoulders, you lifted yourself until only his tip remained-before slamming your hips down to his- repeating this motion until falling into a rhythm that was accompanied by a song of wild moans and gasps. Everything about this man- the aquamarine shine in his eyes, the glowing pallor of his body, the tone and strength in his muscles- screamed the image of perfection to you.

“Druig, Druig,” you could only cry out his name- as if it was the only word you knew, “I love you, I love you, I love- FUCK!” You screamed out at the feel of his hips moving to meet yours, and before you could blink, he shifted your positions so that you would be laying on your back as he caged your body with his frame.

Druig couldn’t take it anymore, it tormented him to not take you without abandon. For so long, he dreamed of having you like this- warm, teasing, and his. You called yourself selfish, so what? Druig knew what it meant to be selfish, to want to possess and devour every part of you until there was nothing left for anyone else to take or see.

You must have blind to not see his desperation for you. How could someone so bright and brilliant not understand that he would gladly let you tear him limb by limb if it meant to be loved by you.

To have you under him like this- writhing in ecstasy, crying from exquisite pain, your soft curves molded against his hard frame- it was as if this was his true purpose. It was not to assist in humanity’s evolution, but to belong to you as you would belong to him. It was to have you like this at every waking moment- filling you with love, and overwhelming you with desire.

As he continued to slam his hips against yours with reckless abandon, he trailed his lips down your throat, sharply nipping your collarbones, until all that he could reach were your heaving breasts that moved in tandem with his thrusts. He was so enraptured by your presence that when you peaked once more on his cock, his rutting only grew more relentless and rougher than what you thought was possible.

Stars, he loved the way you screamed his name. He wanted everyone to know it was him who made you mad with elation. He wanted the whole world to know that you, Kaetlyn- gloriously headstrong, brilliantly beautiful Kaetlyn- the wielder of shadows, and master of the darkness and night, was begging for his cock like a common whore.

“Look at you,” he snarled- jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth threatened to break from the pressure, “what were you saying m’darling? I could have sworn that you were trying to get me to beg- but look at you now.” Your head thrown back as your hair sprayed around you like a beckoning halo as you babbled nonsensically, legs wrapped around his torso to minimize any potential loss of distance, your wickedly sharp nails cutting into his skin to leave vibrant trails on his back as blood leaked from the wounds. “You can’t get enough of me, can you?”

Your only response was whimpers and cries, so Druig decided to be a bit cruel, and slowed down before pulling himself out and stopping completely. The loss of your warmth was complete agony, but the consequence was well-worth the pain at the sight of your immediate reaction.

“DRUIG!” You cried out in pain. You tried to move yourself to feel more of him, but the smug bastard had pinned your torso down- and your body was still recovering from the overstimulation of your previous orgasm. Still maintaining his grip, Druig towered above you in order to gain a better vantage point. Staring down at the aftermath of his onslaught, he almost came right then and there. You were the very likeness of desired perfection- tears had leaked from your eyes and were trailing down your face, your flush travelled down to the tips of your breasts, and there was not a corner of your body that wasn’t covered in marks left by his teeth.

“Please, Druig, please-” you begged him, “don’t stop! I need you!” You felt you were dying from his loss, you felt so empty. It was like you finally felt complete, and when he pulled away it was as if all the air in your lungs were completely snuffed out. You couldn’t bear the pain- it was tearing you apart. You tried to pull him down to get him to kiss- you needed his love; nothing would ever be enough- not when it came from him.

Your soul craved his.

Crystalline blue eyes softened momentarily before steeling once more to grip your hips even tighter, Druig barely lowered himself- just enough to mix his throbbing tip’s precum with your slick. No matter how much he adored you -- however much he wanted to give in to you-- he needed you to admit that you were his first.

“Open your eyes,” his rasp sent chills to run throughout your entire body, “and see what you do to me.” When you looked into his eyes, you were taken back by how dark they had become- that beautiful pale hue had minimized into a thin ring from how dilated his pupils had become. It wasn’t just lust that swam in his gaze, but also mania and lunacy. His piercing gaze, along with his heaving breaths created such a stark contrast to the calm and collected mask he showcased to everyone- humans and Eternals alike. Druig looked less like the usual apathetic god everyone thought him to be, and more like a raging terrifying beast that fed on savagery and only cared to fulfill his most primal urges.

You have never seen such a magnificent and enthralling sight before, and you prayed to the stars above that this time would not be the last.

Druig could hear your thoughts, and he didn’t care how insane he looked. He wanted you to see all that you did to him- how you engrained yourself into his very soul and being. You called yourself infatuated, but he was obsessed. And as aware he was of his own delusion; he didn’t ever plan to stop.

Fuck Arishem- fuck anyone and everyone who would dare keep you from him. He didn’t care the lengths he would have to go to keep you by his side. Let them paint him the villain- it was all worth it if it meant having your love.

“Tell me.” He pleaded you, “please, my angel- tell me your mine. Let me in, I want all of you and only you.” His eyes held so much love and trust that it took your breath away, and it made your heart swell with so much adoration for the man that caged you between his arms. There was only one thing to say, the only thing that mattered that would seal a vow between you both for the rest of eternity.

Summoning all your courage, leaving behind all your bravado, letting all your insecurities to be put on display, you whispered, “Yes.”

Immediately after you condemned your soul to his, Druig speared himself into you to the hilt with a single thrust, and pressed his lips to yours to drink in every one of your throes of passion. Setting off at a relentless pace, it was not long until another brutal climax sheared through your body. With each push, Druig’s cock hit that spot inside you – resulting in stars to bloom around you as your mind was clouded in lust. With each thrust of his length, tremendous stimulation tearing through your walls. The sound of skin-on-skin surrounded the area around you, creating a forcefield of bliss that could not be intruded by anyone but the two immortal beings engaged in their act of fervor. The only other sounds that could be heard were the gentle whispers of the night breeze, along the soft chirpings of the crickets.

Feeling his cock throbbing, Druig knew that he was reaching his limit. However, he refused to finish without you going over the edge with him. Setting an even more ruthless pace, he could feel the trembles that ran throughout your body as he fights to hold control over himself, and not releasing himself deep inside you. Only being able to get a few more thrusts in, Druig viciously cursed as he let out a snarled cry – the loudest you have ever heard from him. With one final push, he came deep inside your cunt, painting your walls with his cum as you felt his warmth flooding inside you. The sensation of the thick ropes of cum engulfing your cunt triggered your final climax, and you felt the evidence of your indescribable pleasure that washed over you mixed with his thick cum that overflowed within you to the point where it leaked out of your core.

Refusing to part, the both of you let yourselves bask in the bliss-filled bubble that was the aftermath of your lovemaking. But as happy as you were, dread filled your mind as you realized what you had done. You knew how the others saw you. How Kingo and Sprite liked to poke fun at your darkness, how Ikaris would voice his doubts of your ability to protect with ill-hidden snarks to Ajak, even the humans would whisper in fear at the sight of you soaked in deviants’ blood in the aftermath of your many onslaughts. It was bad enough that they looked down on Sephia for how she so faithfully remained at your side, you couldn’t let the man you loved be dragged down as well – it would have been too much.

No matter how Druig liked to present himself as cool and indifferent to human conflict – you knew that it was far from true. You’ve watched him for centuries, and there was no one else on the world whose soul was as gentle and carried more love for humanity than even Ajak and Sersi. You couldn’t let your own selfish desires bring his ruin, you refused to let that happen.

“This was a mistake,” you forced yourself to say as you faced away from him to locate your attire, you couldn’t bear it if he saw how much it killed you to say it, but it needs to be done, “I never should have let it go this far.” You crawled on your knees to reach your tunic, “Let’s just forget this ever hap-”

A vicious growl cut you off as Druig’s hands grabbed your wrist to the point where you were sure bruises would show tomorrow. “Don’t,” he snarled, “even try to insult me by suggesting to pretend that this never happened- that we never happened.” Pulling you back to cage you in his arms, Druig buried his face into the crook of your neck- as if imprinting the scent of your skin to his memory in fear that you would disappear before his very eyes.

Leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “How could you ever think for a second that I could possibly go on with my life after finally having you? Tell me angel, how do you expect a man to simply live on weeds after finally partaking a drop of ambrosia?”

Your heart melted at his words, but you could not let yourself be swayed. “Druig,” you started, “you don’t understand the cost of being with me. You deserve someone who is kind and warm and-”

Druig forced you to look into his eyes. “Stop. Don’t you dare let the words of those idiots make you see yourself as less than the perfection you are. Do you know what I see when I look at you?” His eyes softened for what he was about to ask next. “Let me show you, my love.”

As his pale blue irises glowed into a golden hue, making him transform into a sight akin to godliness, you opened your mind to his, and what you saw shook you to your core. You saw scenes of yourself travelling through your shadows, taking down dozens of deviants with only a few arrows from your quiver, as well as the aftermath of you standing alone in a field of mangled corpses dyed with black tarlike blood. You saw yourself as the humans did, embodied darkness that killed with cold precision and controlled beings with their own shadows.

But soon you saw moments that you had forgotten, moments that you believed were private. You saw yourself sneaking away at night in the cover of darkness to watch ghosts roaming aimlessly, along with the pity in your eyes from hearing their sorrows. You saw yourself in your room at the Domo, surrounded by scrolls from topics ranging from rare spells to hand-drawn diagrams of the human body. You witnessed the smile spread across your face when you helped a spirit finally reach their peace to the other world. You saw the time Ajak approached you to ask for your assistance in delivering the children from expectant mothers in the village. You saw yourself come outside the tent to hand over the child of your first delivery to the father, who thanked you with tears in his eyes after being informed that both the child and mother safe and healthy. You watched yourself stare in shock of his praise before seeing the child reach for your finger, and let yourself feel the disbelief that flooded you at the sight of pure innocence staring back at you.

“You call yourself selfish and unkind,” Druig’s voice brought you back to reality- his eyes returned to that familiar blue, “but that couldn’t be more untrue.” He softly pressed his forehead to yours as he continued. “Would a selfish person spend night after night gathering impossible texts to study for an unnamed spirit to finally reach peace? Would someone unkind research every possibility in order to ensure that a mother could hold her child? How could you let someone as pathetic as Ikaris and Sprite taint your own views of yourself so much? Kaetlyn, I was a coward for waiting for so long to tell you my feelings, I was selfish in thinking of my own pride and dignity was more important than your strife. But still you loved me, and I could not be more grateful for your existence for that.”

Tears ran down your cheeks as you felt all your walls crashing down, how could someone so frustratingly wonderful exist? If this was all a dream, you never wanted to wake up. But just to be sure, you took a stone that just fit into the palm of your hand and transmuted it into a silver dagger. Holding it just above his heart, you warned him one final time.

“Druig, no matter what sweet words you whisper, I am selfish. I could kill you now without hesitation. I could cut you and cause you so much pain that you would beg for death. Do you still wish to remain by my side?”

Staring back at you with only ardent love and unfiltered adoration, Druig grasped your hand and dragged the blade’s tip across his chest. Thin trails of dark red life leaked from the wounds, but there was no indication of pain. “If loving you is pain,” he whispered as he wiped the blood from his wound with his finger, only to smear it across your lips, “then let me bleed.” He repeated those same words a year later, when he married you in a private ceremony after the two of you sneaked away from the village’s harvest banquet.

Tagging: @valeskafics, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @3vergr3en, @its-actually-minicika, @fivebefore21, @asa-do-your-thing, @hypnoticmistake, @blog-100, @tacorice, @prettyvintageafternoon, @deanthomaswhore, @angelnyx, @henesseyhaven, @xcharlottemikaelsonx, @sunphyre, @beananacake, @atomwritez, @vikingqueen28, @getawaycardotmp3, @redheadspark, @heliosphere8, @bambiandbam, @americanprometheuss, @chaoticdetectivewidow, @mazerunnermarvel, @bryandechartisasmolbean,

Let me know if you want to be tagged! Have a happy October! Please be kind, and leave a like/comment/reblog!

#marvel eternals #marvel x reader #eternals x reader #druig imagine #druig x reader #divider #druig x y/n #druig x eternal!reader #druig x oc #druig x female reader #druig smut #dni if under 18

186 notes · View notes

merakiui · 1 year

Note

I stumbled upon your Ruggie fic where he accidentally knocked up MC and I was like "oh my god that's a banger." Then I scrolled to your tags and I short-circuited.

AS A RIDDLE STAN??? YOU'RE SO BIG BRAINED??? LIKE ok yeah with him being the perfect kid and all and his mom I always wondered (a perfectly healthy and normal amount) what would happen if he got MC pregnant?

That Ruggie fic was so real!! So well done!! If you don't mind, could you elaborate what you think would happen with Riddle? You don't have to write a whole fic or anything! Just briefly share your thoughts with the class (me) if you would be so kind please!! 🤓

Frothing at the mouth,

Riddlelover69

Hello, Riddlelover69!!! Allow me to share the thoughts. >:D

(cw: brief nsfw, female reader, accidental pregnancy, mentions of alcohol/intoxication, riddle's mother, fwb dynamic, mentions of abortion)

Riddle is floored when you break the news to him. He's in so much disbelief even after you've provided him with physical evidence (the pregnancy test). He insists you take another one just to be sure because he's so certain that you can't possibly be pregnant. He has always been so careful and responsible when the two of you were intimate; he made sure to wear protection each time and he never did anything reckless. But then the second test comes back positive and he's absolutely stunned. Where did he go wrong? How did this happen? He's never been careless. This must be a mistake!

Riddle lives in denial for three days before it occurs to him. Weeks prior to this discovery, the both of you were attending a stargazing party Cater had thrown in the Heartslabyul rose maze. He'd practically begged Riddle to let him host it. Apparently it was going to be "super cammable" and a "perfect opportunity for lots of stupid fun." Riddle should have known his angle when he slipped vodka into the fruit punch Trey made, and he should have realized the wine Cater had been discreetly serving everyone. "Stupid fun" must have meant stupid drunk. Where he even got the alcohol from was beyond Riddle. He had intended to scold him; he was ready to sever his head for breaking so many rules. But then you were passing a glass into his hand and he knew it would be wrong and inappropriate for him to drink when he was meant to be the upstanding, always obedient Housewarden.

You were smiling, nudging him playfully, saying something teasing. The two of you are close friends (fuck buddies, according to Cater), not lovers, and Riddle really shouldn't have entertained your blatant rule-breaking. But lately he's wanted to impress you; he wanted to show you that he can be cool—that he's not always so stiff and formal and boring. Great Seven, he nearly died from the shame when you had jokingly said that to him. He doesn't want to be boring. He wants to be fun and not so awkward all the time. He wants to branch out and have a lot of friends. He wants to be effortlessly relaxed like you.

He's not, but with the music swelling in time with his heart and your own melodious laughter in his ears he could delude himself into thinking so. And foolishly Riddle broke his own moral compass, NRC's rules, Heartslabyul's rules, and even the unspoken rules put in place by his mother. And for one night you thought he was cool and so did he. And for one night he was not boring. For one night he could kiss you silly without worrying about perfecting the technique or the placement of his hands on your hips or what to do about his reputation should anyone find out (not that it mattered to you, but it meant the world to him).

One night, under an inky canvas of stars (they looked more like chips of glass to Riddle, but then his mind was foggy and his senses were all tangled and he was so obviously intoxicated, but that didn't matter; ironically enough, he was having fun breaking rules with you), he did away with formality and fucked you raw in a shadowed corner of the rose maze, far enough from any prying eyes but close enough where you could still hear the music, feel the thrum of it between the both of you.

And now, weeks later, the result of such a reckless night rears its ugly head. And oh is it ugly. He's not sure what he should do. For once in his perfect, well-tailored life, he is completely lost. He tries not to panic—tries to act like everything's normal, but he has never been a particularly convincing actor and it doesn't take long for those close to him to suspect he's stressed. How you can be so calm about all of this is beyond him. You're pregnant! Aren't you worried what everyone will say and think? Aren't you even a little concerned for your future? His schedules are already complicated and cramped enough. Fitting a child in there is impossible!

And beyond all of that, past NRC's gates and all the way in the Queendom of Roses, his mother waits. He absolutely can't tell her. It's one thing to devote oneself to a no-strings-attached relationship (she would definitely disapprove of you); it's another to impregnate said friend with benefits, especially when he isn't even finished with school yet or married. He's meant to be perfect (he's not; no one is), but how can he look and be perfect if this is hanging over his head like a guillotine's blade?

His mother will definitely disown him. He can already hear her shrill screams. She'd probably say something like, "If you have the time to fool around, then you can spend that time acting like one." She wouldn't offer any support or comfort. It would just be harsh and cruel scoldings. She wouldn't acknowledge him or you. It would be so easy for her to snip him out of her life as if he was nothing more than a paper person on a chain of paper people, entirely useless and flimsy in her eyes. A failure—that's what he would be. She couldn't boast about him to friends and coworkers. Not after this.

You have to get rid of it. He tells you this a week later when the both of you are cooped up in his room to discuss the issue at hand. Riddle has never truly argued with you, but the both of you are going back and forth over what to do with the baby and his temper is rising. For some reason you want to keep it. He's so stressed and panicked and livid. No, you're not keeping it! He tells you to stop calling the baby a "them" because it's an "it" and that's all it will ever be. You look genuinely hurt when he says that, and his chest is heaving wildly as he catches his breath, throat raw from yelling.

He...went too far. He shouldn't have said that, and even when he sees the tears in your eyes he knows right away that he's doing everything completely wrong. And you admit in a hushed, broken voice that you're scared, too. That you feel so horrible for being reckless. That you know this isn't ideal. And it occurs to Riddle then that you have never been the calm and collected person he's often admired. You are just as frenzied as him.

He exhales a slow, exhausted breath, allowing his shoulders to deflate. He apologizes for raising his voice, for saying those terrible things, for panicking. He can give you time. It's your body; you're the one carrying the baby. Naturally he thinks it should be your choice, even if he's adamant that you get rid of the baby, but Riddle hates to see you so distraught. Arguably, he hates that more than he hates this situation. And he likes you. It's always lingered in a crevice of his mind, a romantic attraction that was getting harder to snuff the longer he stayed with you, the more he got to know you, the more he allowed himself to open up to you.

He walks you back to Ramshackle Dorm. It's the polite thing to do, and the both of you are silent during the walk. He bids you a stiff, boring, hollow farewell. It's more than fleeting admiration, Riddle muses as he turns on his heel and begins the trek back to the Hall of Mirrors. But regrettably he finds himself shying away from you in the following weeks, too frightened to touch you. He can't. He doesn't want to, and he thinks it's because this mistake is too life-altering for him to confront.

He broaches the subject to Trey some time later with a vague, yet extremely convoluted hypothetical: "If you did something wrong and another person was affected by it and the both of you were left with a difficult decision, would you let the other person make the final choice?" Trey considers it, always so level-headed and logical. He asks what this difficult decision entails. Riddle chews his lip, peers into his teacup, and mutters something about life and death and embryos and the science behind reproduction and how long it takes for something to be considered human—to be considered conscious and alive—and what one should do when contemplating such a thing and...he's rambling.

Trey gives him that look—that hardened stare that pierces his soul and seems to know of every secret he's kept buried (Cater calls it the "dad stare"—whatever that means). He knows. Riddle is a poor liar. Trey doesn't say it, but when he asks, "Who?" Riddle knows what the question means. He wrings his hands under the table, clasping and unclasping them. They're shaking; he's on the verge of tears. He whispers your name.

Trey lets the admission settle like sediment on the sea floor. He nods, hums, stirs the batter for the cake he's currently baking, and then hums some more. "I can't give you an answer," he eventually says, offering a sympathetic frown. "Sorry." He tries to say more, but nothing comes out and instead he returns to whisking, allowing the silence to console Riddle instead. It doesn't work as intended.

Riddle holds his head in his hands, elbows propped on the marble surface of the island. In the Heartslabyul kitchen, where everything smells so sugary sweet, he cries. He's never felt more lost.

Riddle can't avoid you forever. That same day he approaches you and tells you that if you're so determined to keep the baby you will have to convince him. Whether that's by powerpoint or bribery (at this point he's desperate to adopt your views, so please, by all means, bribe him with sweets and let him drown in sugar so that he can ignore the looming threat of his mother back home), he's willing to hear you out. It's only fair, and if the two of you can reach a decision (preferably as soon as possible) he can start planning ahead. You're not sure how you should go about convincing him, so in the meantime Riddle resolves to read up on pregnancy, if only to further educate himself.

He scours the library for information and finds Lilia who is, arguably, as ancient as some of these textbooks and might be a reliable source of information. Riddle doesn't intend to tell him anything, but when Lilia offers to aid him in what he notes looks like a "very important search" Riddle submits.

It doesn't take Lilia long to put a few clues together when Riddle tells him he's looking for books about child care and pregnancy. It also doesn't take him long to theorize who might be carrying a child. For some reason Riddle feels ashamed as he quietly admits the truth, thus confirming all of Lilia's suspicions. Somehow telling Lilia this feels like telling a parent or an adult or some authority figure; he expects a scolding. Instead Lilia smiles warmly and tells Riddle that children are like miracles: sometimes you can plan for them and other times you cannot, but what's most miraculous is the bond forged between those who raise a child. They are tough work and you might encounter many troubles and doubts along the way. But if you can look for happiness in miraculous, magical mistakes, you will find love. Riddle stares at him, dumbfounded. Is Lilia really just a third year?

The first time you try to convince him is with a poorly assembled slideshow displaying the benefits of keeping the child. "Think of the cute clothes we can get!" you say, to which Riddle responds with, "Think of the expenses, (Name)." You are not one to give up, puffing your cheeks out at him. He rolls his eyes, but he sits up straight and continues to listen, watching as you click through images of firsts. First loose tooth. First day of school. First drawing. First handprint and footprint. First word. First laugh. The list is endless, apparently, and so is Riddle's sanity as he endures it. But he's smiling as he watches your wild gesticulations.

The second time you try to convince him is just as bad, if not worse, than the first time. "Riddle me this, Riddle," you say while he's in the middle of studying. He does not want to riddle you anything, but he listens anyway. He always does. "You plus me equals..."

"That is not a riddle. That's an equation," he corrects, not yet taking his eyes off the page. "And it equals trouble. Nothing good."

You're silent for too long, so finally he turns to look at you. Your eyes are glued to your phone. Riddle furrows his brow. Did he say something wrong? Was he too mean?

"All right, I got it! Riddle me this. One plus one equals three."

"Again, another equation."

"Not true! This article says it's a pregnancy riddle, not an equation."

"Did you...look up riddles?"

"Pregnancy riddles, yes. They're not really good."

Riddle scrubs at his face, suddenly weary. "Three is too big a number."

"Maybe for you, but not for me."

There should only be two, he thinks. You and me. But even that is a troublesome combination.

The third time you try to convince him is with a box of mini tarts, all in various flavors. He peers at them and then at you. You're rocking back and forth on your heels, eagerly awaiting his reaction. When he doesn't immediately give one, you groan and sink into the chair beside him. "Can I please keep the baby?"

Riddle snorts through a laugh and then clears his throat, neutralizes his amused expression, and says, "Resorting to begging already? And you were so confident last week."

You huff and slouch in your seat. He intends to correct you, but then you're stuffing a tart in his mouth. "I would look cute pregnant, wouldn't I?" you ask, batting your eyelashes and catching him so off guard he chokes on his bite of tart. Riddle sputters, his face the color of roses, and stands from his chair, promptly excusing himself.

You are a nuisance, but he agrees. You would look very cute.

The fourth time you try to convince him is with the help of Trey. "Trey can make the sweets for the baby shower," you say. Your grip on Trey's forearm suggests he is not a willing participant in...whatever this is, but it has Riddle quirking a fond smile.

He folds his arms across his chest and glances between you and Trey, his next words addressing the latter. "You would do that?"

Trey grins boyishly and responds with, "If I had to."

You tut at him. "Trey, we rehearsed this. You're supposed to say, 'I'll make a strawberry tart so big it'll need to sit on two tables.'"

Riddle's laughter surprises both you and Trey, and as he wipes an invisible tear from his eye, he says with a playful smirk, "I'll hold you to it when the time comes, Trey."

As he makes his graceful departure, he hears your disbelieving exclamation: "Do you think it worked?!"

The fifth time you try to convince Riddle is in the bedroom. You're lying on your side, peering at him with a silly, sex-drunk smile. "What if we got married?"

"We have to," he mumbles absentmindedly, his mind replaying the past few minutes in a loop. He wonders if he was too rough. He doesn't want to hurt the baby... What is he thinking? There's still time to get rid of it. It doesn't matter if he was rough (it does; he's worrying).

"Really?" Your eyes are blown wide. "You'd actually marry me?"

Riddle gazes at you, collecting context clues to comprehend your angle. "I should be asking you that question."

"Why? I would marry you, not your mother."

"You might as well be, though," he mutters bitterly, glaring at the canopy that envelops his bed. "I'm aware she is not an ideal in-law."

"Then we'll run away. You, me, and Baby Riddle."

"That is a horrible name." He peers at you, his features softening. "We're not calling the baby Baby Riddle."

"Why not? It's cute."

"Hardly." His gaze travels to your stomach. Soon you'll show and when you're round enough it'll be impossible to hide this secret. "Well... Humor me. Where would we go if we ran away?"

"Anywhere you'd like." He opens his mouth to stop your wild imagination, but you beat him to it. "'Think of the expenses, (Name)!' Just hear me out. Anywhere could mean anywhere, but it could also mean nowhere. And maybe nowhere is our anywhere."

Riddle chuckles. "You sound just like Che'nya."

"Do you think he knows?"

"Possibly."

"Really?"

"He's anywhere and nowhere."

"Cheeky..." You shuffle closer to him, pressing your forehead against his. "So cheeky."

Riddle wants to say it. He wants to empty his heart right here, right now. He loves you and, though it took some time to warm up to the idea, he wants to start a family with you. He wants to be more than friends. He wants to marry you and experience all of your child's firsts alongside you. It doesn't matter if his mother disapproves because this is arguably the best mistake he's made in a while. A miraculous, magical mistake.

Before you can swallow the words in a kiss, he blurts them hastily. "I... I love you." But there's more, and perhaps he's confined himself in a misleading dream when reality and encroaching worries melt away. But he needs to tell you. "And I... I really want to be a father. A-And I want you to be a mother! I don't care about what others will say anymore. Admittedly, it was...fun to misbehave with you that night. It certainly wasn't responsible, but I enjoyed it. Far more than I should have." That last part is murmured, but you catch it. Riddle finds your hands under the covers and squeezes them. "You've convinced me. I'd like to start a family with you."

You smile and then tears are spilling and then you're smiling again. He knows he's crying because his eyes are wet and glassy, and for a while the two of you cling to each other, sobbing about everything and nothing, laughing through blubbery cries.

And Riddle realizes three isn't a big number. Rather, it's a pleasant number. Not perfect because nothing truly is, but it's more than enough for him. And that's really all that matters right now.

#twisted chit chat #tw: pregnancy

465 notes · View notes

multific · 1 year

Text

Married for Love Part 2

Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

Part 1

A/N: This is a Prequel to my other story. Enjoy

Summary: Alicient had enough of Aegon, so she sent him to a different kingdom, she hoped he would learn there. But Aegon found more than just a new home.

When you heard that a prince will be housed by your father, you didn't know what to think of it at first.

But then, Aegon joined your home.

---

You first met the Prince a day after his arrival, you were in your usual spot in the garden, watching the birds and feeding them from a bench in the shadows, hidden from the sun.

You noticed your mother and who you assumed to be the young Prince whom you heard so much about.

Both made their way towards you as you soon stood up and stopped feeding the birds.

"This is my lovely daughter, Y/N. Y/N, meet Prince Aegon Targaryen, he is the one we mentioned, he will live with us from now on."

"Lovely to meet you, My Prince." of course you heard about his reputation before his arrival, even your mother warned you about him, so you kept your distance.

Didn't help that he was handsome and the smirk on his face didn't help one bit.

But you saw his eyes. The same eyes a wolf would have who got caught in a trap, scared, confused and hurt, yet still ready to fight for its life.

Your interaction with the Prince was limited. This was thanks to your mother and the fact that he didn't seem to like to leave his chambers.

You did see him from time to time during dinners, but your first real interaction with him, came when you were alone a couple days after.

You were in the gardens as per usual, you asked your maids to bring more food for the animals as you were arranging the buckets and the place. You grabbed a bucket and headed for the well to grab water.

As you were carrying it back is when you noticed Aegon standing there, looking around as if he has never seen anything like this before.

You walked back and poured the water into the tub you had out for the animals. The Prince looked beyond confused.

"We feed the animals of the forest."

"You do?"

"Yes, I quite like them, they are great company."

"And you carry the water? Not your knights?" he finally looked at you.

"Of course I do. They are too busy doing other things. I can handle small buckets, you could help me, Prince Aegon, unless you are too weak." you teased and he caught onto the bait.

He wasn't weak and you knew that. But you needed help with the water. Servants soon arrived back with plates full of vegetables and fruits.

"Don't move." you said to Aegon who listened. You knelt down and put down some carrots as bunnies started to appear from behind him. "They get easily frightened but they are brave creatures." you said as then a deer appeared to his right, making him jump a little as it pushed him a little. You laughed a little.

"You do feed them..." he said the obivous as you gave an apple to the deer.

"Feed them, help them if they are hurt. Oh, Aegon's here!" the Prince looked at your excited face before you pointed behind him. "I named him Aegon, after you." Aegon turned and saw a deer, antlers missing, one of his legs bandaged. "He hurt his leg and he is thin, he is very much like you, so I named him after you." Aegon watched as the deer slowly walked closer to you, you mirrored the animal as you held out your hand.

"You named it after me?" Prince Aegon sounded offended, but you didn't pay him any attention.

---

After this encounter, Aegon started to leave his room more and more often. Seeing you often in the gardens, he watched from afar.

"She always enjoyed the outside." the voice of your mother scared Aegon to no end.

"My Queen, you sneaked up on me, gave quite the fright." your mother smiled.

"I wanted to keep her locked up from you, knowing your reputation, I feared it might rub off on my daughter. But I judged too quickly. She told me that she doesn't wish to be locked away from you, no matter how good or bad you are. She said she had fed wolves from her hands, they didn't scare them so why would you? She is smart, she is my only child, but I do see the adoration in your eyes as you watch her. During dinner for example, you left a piece of pie for her. She didn't notice but I did and so did my husband. If you wish, and if she agrees, you may marry her."

"My father would not have me marry her." Aegon said.

"No one said anything about your father." your mother had the same eyes as you, he noticed, daring, challenging him almost. She smirked without smirking, much like you. "Your father is not king here, my husband has a great relationship with him, if King Vicerys would have his head taken out of his own ass, he might see beyond his throne. He might question, he might disagree, but he will accept it. But only if she agrees. I shall not force my daughter into a marriage she doesn't wish. But I have a feeling Prince Aegon, she likes you. You just have to prove your true feelings for her."

Your mother spoke as if it was so easy.

Prove his feelings? How was he supposed to do that?! It was the first time he felt something so nice. He was usually filled with hate, fear and regret.

Not...this.

Was this what they called love?

It was wonderful, new and beautiful.

Yet scary. Scarier than the weight of the crown.

As Aegon watched you feed some foxes, he couldn't help but smile.

Your mother was closely watching him, understanding how he felt.

"I understand you more than you might think Prince Aegon. I also carried the weight of a crown, the thought of living for others instead of myself scared me beyond anything. But then I met my husband, they say love fixes everything. I would say love fixes many things. Not all, but to have someone by your side, someone you know will always be there, you have the feeling you can do anything." Aegon and your mother looked at one another for a couple minutes before she had to leave.

---

Aegon could only watch you for the remainder of the day.

"She's in the library." said the King to Aegon who looked at the man, confused. "My daughter, she usually reads when its raining, bring her this, she likes berries." your father said as he gave the young prince a bowl. Aegon could only nod before the King left. This is when he realized he forgot to ask where the library was.

You sat in the library, it was a rather cold evening with thunder and rain, you loved to read during those nights and the nice novel in your hand keeping your mind occupied.

This is when the door opened, you looked up to see Aegon walk in.

"Oh, the Prince, can I help you?"

He placed the bowl in his hands on the table in front of you.

"I got you this." you looked at him and then at the bowl of berries.

"My father got that for me, why did he give it to you?"

"H-He asked me to bring it to you, he wanted me to talk with you."

"You talked with my mother today." he nodded. "Do they approve?"

His eyes met yours. He couldn't find words, he opened and closed his mouth as if he was a fish.

"Approve of what, My Lady?"

"You courting me. Do they approve of did they tell you to leave me be?"

Aegon looked around the room for a moment.

"Your mother said, if you wish, we can wed." he whispered, he wasn't sure why. Maybe he was scared of the rejection? No, he was terrified of that.

You looked out the window before taking the bowl and eating a couple fruit.

"Why would you be a good husband?" Aegon was shocked at your question, which you noticed. "If I accept your... offer. I would like to know what awaits me. Sure, your family is bad, sure being the heir to the throne is a big weight, but what I'm asking is what kind of a husband you, Aegon, plan on being."

The seriousness in your eyes, the hope, the longing, it was hard not to see.

"When I arrived you said I was like your hurt deer. And I still feel as if I'm bleeding out. Slowly dying on the inside, but your smile helped me. I watched you in the gardens, feed all the animals, you walked to them, you were so kind and gentle. I wish someone would have treated me as such in my life. Maybe I wouldn't be so broken. My mother sent me here because she couldn't handle her failure, which she blamed on me. But I intend to get strong. A worthy husband for you. Someone to stand by your side and be proud. I want you to be proud." you almost finished your bowl by the time he finished.

"I intend to be a loving and caring wife. Not a Princess, not a Queen but a wife to you. I want us to be strong together, grow old together and have a happy life. I wish for children. As many as I can have. I can promise you joy and love even in the darkest of times. Even if your family won't agree with me, I want us to fight against them for our love." he nodded.

"I want that too."

"If a thought crosses your mind, thinking this was a plan all along for me to wed the heir, I wish to deny all doubts in you. My mother was heavily against your stay given your history with women, she feared for her daughter to fall in the hands of a monster. But if she spoke with you, then she sees you for who you are."

"My plan wasn't to fall for the Princess either, I never thought love for me was possible." his eyes were shining as were yours. Your hand met his as he squeezed yours.

---

A week later, you stood in front of your father with Aegon by your side. His face was full of life as your father held the ceremony.

Aegon arrived a broken boy, and yet here he was, standing tall and proud. Your husband has surely changed. You smiled as you two were declared husband and wife.

Then, the entire Kingdom celebrated. They celebrated the union of two houses, you celebrated your union with the one you love most.

As your finger traced his skin, his eyes shining with love as he looked at you, the small smile on his face, he swirled you around.

Your wedding was something else.

Endless celebrating, dancing.

You wanted to hand a glass of wine to Aegon but he refused.

“I’m already drunk from your love, My Princess.” he smiled as you laughed.

Your feet hurt, your body ached, begging for sleep, but the time for rest came much later.

After the dance, the drinks, Aegon took you to your now shared chambers.

Later, you held the sheets up to your chest, your back exposed as you sat on the bed, leaning on your other arm as you looked out your window, Aegon sleeping behind you on the bed.

Your window looked directly at the garden of course, seeing the place you fed the animals at. You watched as the hurt and broken deer that arrived into your care the same time Aegon did was eating. He too was now a healthy and strong deer. Antlers tall and proud as you watched him move, soon a smaller female arrived by his side.

Much like how your Aegon found you, deer Aegon found his own partner.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak

MFL Taglist: @heavenly1927 @minaxcarter @f4ll-for-you @fan-goddess @snixx2088 @bibli0thecary @loxbbg

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

376 notes · View notes

butmakeitgayblog · 3 months

Note

How is my favorite ball of floof, Sal?

I was just writing him today while waiting in the doctor's office 👀 he's good, he's good. Living his best life. Meeting one of his soon to be bestest friends ever

//////////////

The door swung up open before she could even finish her third knock.

Clarke felt all the air escape right out of her lungs.

Because framed in the picturesque doorway was - possibly, potentially, easily debatable once her brain would start working again - one of the most beautiful women Clarke had ever seen in her thirty nine years of life.

Just… not the one she'd expected.

“Can I help you?”

Clarke blinked back at the rounded, deep amber eyes that stared at her in gentle questioning. Blinked at the sight of a messy curled bob of black hair that fell carelessly across the elegant line of petite shoulders. Dark brown skin looked almost velvety in the shadowed threshold between inside and out, and Clarke physically swayed foward on her toes just to catch a stronger whiff of her floral perfume.

Mentally rolling her tongue back up into her skull, Clarke recovered enough to lean a sharp hook at the waist toward the left, just far enough to take another glance at the house number tacked on the side.

‘Hm… Yep, I can still read…’

“I uh...” Clarke managed to right herself and actually stammer out loud when whatever celestial being she was gawking at only continued to look at her with serene patience, “Does, uh… Does Lexa live here?”

“Yes?”

Clarke frowned when nothing else came. “O-kay… Is she… Is she here right now?”

“Well I certainly hope so. Otherwise I'm breaking and entering.” White teeth shined in a perfectly aligned row when this riddle-baring goddess's lips bent into a teasing smile. But rather than feeling like the punchline of some joke she was being left out of, the effect of this sweet angel faced woman's charm only made Clarke smile in return.

Before she could reconfigure the slog of words bumping around in her brain, a clatter of lazy tip-tap tip-taps grew loud enough to jerk Clarke's attention toward a rather large and decidedly hairy nose wedging its way into the exchange. A nose became a muzzle, became a panting white, black, and brown face. One with droopy eyes and even droopier jowls that nudged the door-guardian out of its way.

“Dude, c'mon.” Those ridiculously white teeth flashed in another soul brightening smile as the woman pushed herself away from where she'd been hip-checked into the door, and gave the beast-sized brute of a Saint Bernard a few scratches on the head. “Manners, my guy. What would your mother say about this kind of violence?”

Doleful eyes slid shut in a look of ecstasy at the rake of fingernails through his coat of cowlick laden fur.

A distant echo of muddled footsteps had the beautiful stranger turning, craning around to look behind her into the shadows of the house, which seemed entirely like an open invitation for Clarke to lift up on her toes and chance a peek into the darkeness beyond as well. Nothing gave itself away even as the padding of steps drew closer. Clarke rocked back onto the flat of her feet just before the door widened enough for another face to fit into the bizarre tableau, though it was the one single face that helped Clarke stop feeling like she needed to have an evaluation done of her own sanity.

“What is the hold up out here— Clarke,” Lexa breathed as a smile lit up her blessedly familiar face. Glasses propped on top of her head and normal school attire button down exchanged for a tight knit Henley, the sudden vision of this entirely different version of Lexa added itself to Clarke's mental catalog of the woman. Lexa slipped past the mountain of a dog, giving it an absent command of ‘Back it up, big man,’ along with a snap and a point at the floor beside her that seemed sufficient enough to have him reversing several feet out of her way. She elbowed past the woman in the doorway to beckon Clarke inward with a wave of her hand. “Sorry, I didn't know it was you. Come in. You're early.”

“Uh, yeah. I hope that's not a problem.” Clarke floundered as she stepped in at the urging, eyes darting between Lexa and the dog who'd sat itself in a flop of limbs at her side, and the stranger now silently watching it all.

“Not even a little.” The easy cadence of Lexa's words only helped to ease a fraction of Clarke's nerves. “You just said you couldn't make it for another couple hours.”

Clarke tugged upward at the collar of her sweater that suddenly felt a touch too revealing. “I dropped Madi off with her dad a little early. Much to her numerous complaints.”

The soft tilt of Lexa's lips dipped into a frown. “Everything okay?”

“Of course. Just, getting her to understand that I actually had plans was met with great disdain. It's a theme we've developed, she and I. Ever since she's gotten her license, she doesn't seem to understand the concept that my car is not somehow now her car.”

Lexa's face relaxed into a kind of relieved understanding. “Ah, I see. A driving teenager. I don't envy you.”

“We're braver than the marines,” Clarke said amidst a roll of her eyes.

In the quiet and fondness of Lexa's smile, Clarke let herself uncoil another fraction of an inch. She returned the soft sweetness of that green-eyed gaze with a herculean effort to not be the first to reach out. She'd pictured this moment more than a few times on the drive over - a few hundred more the previous evening, if she were being honest - but where'd she'd fantasized about just grabbing the woman and kissing her very pretty face off, possibly backing her into a hazy and ill-defined wall to have her way with her the second she would walk in, Clarke found herself rather perplexingly stuck to the spot. Unmoving in the relief of being in Lexa's space again. Unrushed and content to keep sharing smiles like a couple of idiots.

It was only an inelegant ruffle of fur and flapping jowls that broke the moment, followed immediately by a rather wet sounding sneeze prompting Clarke to finally drag her gaze away.

“You have a dog.”

Lexa glanced down at the mountain of black and tan fur at her side and back up. “I told you that I have a dog.”

“Uh, no,” Clarke laughed at that wild understatement and gestured to the device in her hand as though proof enough. “You text me an hour ago, ‘You're not allergic to dogs, right?’ And when I said no, you marked it with a thumbs up.”

Lexa seemed to pause in thought as her teeth worried at the plumped corner of her bottom lip. “... I did do that.”

“You did.”

“Okay, I think I might see where the breakdown in communication happened.”

“Solid work, Professor,” said a voice that drifted from over Lexa's shoulder.

“Your input isn't appreciated,” Lexa said to the startlingly still present but unidentified goddess hovering near the door. Forcing down a rather painful looking swallow as she nudged the glasses more securely up the slope of her nose, Lexa buried the obvious lede in the room and instead gestured to the hulking pile of dog sitting patiently where Lexa had left him. “Right, so I suppose introductions are in order then. Sal. This is Clarke. Clarke, this is my dog Sal. Sal, say hello.”

As if on cue, a giant paw went up in a clumsy mimic of a wave.

Clarke let out a surprised chuckle at the display, waving back on instinct before realizing that she was, in fact, waving at a dog. She let her hand drop. Idiot. “Hey, Sal. He's a… big guy, huh?”

“I'm convinced he's part moose,” Lexa sighed with an affectionate ruffle of Sal's ear. “In my defense, he was not this imposing when I got him.”

////////////

#anon #prof/stu au #teach me #lil sneaky sneak nothing special just a lil big guy Sal

55 notes · View notes

noxturnalpascal · 10 days

Text

Happy Ending [I]

Masterlist (with all warnings)

A/N: tía - aunt, tío - uncle, primo - cousin, dios mío - my god, chulo - pimp, bonito - pretty (masculine), mala - bad, cariño - darling, guapo - handsome, mi amor - my love

🩷 🌅 🌴

Friday nights at the boardwalk with you. He buys all the tickets and you buy all the snacks. A corn dog you alternate bites of. A funnel cake he knows is getting powdered sugar all over his poor excuse of a mustache. Stale popcorn you pop in his mouth in-between throws of his darts. He watches you lick your fingers clean before he hands you the stuffed toy he won you. Your prize.

He makes you ride the ferris wheel even though he knows you’re terrified of heights and pretends to tease you when you sidle your body alongside his, grabbing at him to hold you because you’re scared. You retaliate by making him ride the carousel with you, a ride he hasn’t been on since he was a child, but when he looks into your eyes, how can he say no? He can’t.

You ditch your friends in the middle of a skeeball game and drag him towards the beach. Pulling his hoodie down until your head pops out of the neck hole, your hair mussed around your face but your smile peeking through. You always get cold when the sun goes down but you never bring your own hoodie, opting to steal his instead. Every time.

The sound of your voice coming from his right is almost drowned out by the roar of the ocean coming from his left. Cold sand kicks up on the back of his calves with every step and he fights the urge to grab your hand, so close to his that your pinkies keep brushing each other as your arms swing back and forth. Just Friends.

A thump to the back of his seat interrupts his dream, waking Frankie from the nap he didn’t mean to take. He hears a whispered apology coming from the parent of the offending kicker. He turns to look at them through the crack in the seat cushions and tells them not to worry, that he has a kid himself and understands how it goes. And just those words kick him in the gut, since he hasn’t seen his kid in almost a year.

He pulls the shade up halfway on his window seat and admires the fluffy white clouds floating below him, casting shadows on the sparkling blue water further down. If they’re over water like this it’ll be the gulf, and that means they’ll be landing on the island shortly. Maybe this weekend will be good for him, give him a chance to catch up with family and get his priorities straight.

It’s been almost a year since his old friend Pope showed up with an idea in one hand and a stack of money in the other, asking for favors. Almost a year since he went against every voice screaming NO in his head, and agreed to follow a promise of riches beyond his wildest dreams. Almost a year since they came out of that jungle laden with the weight of their friend’s body and the guilt of a monumental fuckup.

As a recovering addict, Frankie thought he’d already hit his rock bottom but it turns out he could go so much lower. He subjected his girlfriend, Stephanie, to further heartbreak and himself to further humiliation, coping with the consequences of his time in South America by shoving more white powder up his nose. His job wasted no time in firing him and Stephanie just as quickly took their infant son and moved back to Arizona to live with her mother.

The plane begins to shake with turbulence, causing the can of coke zero on the tray table of the person next to him to undulate towards the edge. Reaching out to grab it before it falls off, Frankie notices they have their eyes clenched shut.

“This is perfectly normal,” Frankie soothes.

The young man’s eyes fly open and meet his, relaxing slightly at his words.

“It is?”

“Yeah, it’s just like hitting some potholes while driving.” He sets the soda can back in the center of their tray table. “Perfectly normal.”

“You fly a lot?”

“I’m- I used to be a pilot.”

He remembers telling you the same thing about turbulence the first time he flew with you. You were such a nervous flier. He’s able to grasp onto the last remaining tendrils of his dream before they slip out of his hands. He remembers that he was just dreaming of you. That’s been happening a lot lately, waking up with the ghost of you on his mind, hazy dream-thoughts swirling like fog around his brain, impossible to hold and harder to focus on the more he tries to. He’s not sure why you’ve been on his mind so much lately. Probably because he’s lonely and pathetic.

He’s got at least 45 more minutes until the plane lands in paradise, his home for the long weekend. He wonders if maybe he can get another quick nap in, pick up where he left off in his dreams of you. He thinks you were mid-laugh; your head thrown back and the shine of the moonlight reflecting off the water, highlighting your pinched eyes and wide smile. He just has to think of you hard enough and maybe he can make it happen.

---

He was just starting his junior year at the technical college on the other side of the state from where he’d spent his whole life. It was far enough away that he could revel in the freedom of getting to be an unsupervised adult but close enough that his mother didn’t cry (too much) when he told her he was going.

He was 20, wouldn’t turn 21 until mid-December, but he and his friends had been drinking at this bar for well over a year. His fake ID was pathetically bad but he’s pretty sure at least half the people in this place were underage. This bar was known to let anyone in, and that’s why they all came here. The bathrooms were filthy, the bartenders were rude, the floors were sticky, and the whole place seemed to reek of Axe body spray. There was a small dance floor in the back illuminated only by black lights, playing thumping music and giving a place for people to grind on each other once they’d plied themselves with enough cheap alcohol.

He was sitting at the bar with two of his roommates, drinking their quarter drafts and talking about the syllabus for their Vibrations and Controls course, when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He will never forget the moment he turned and locked eyes with you. He knows that time didn’t slow down, the bar didn’t get fuzzy and quiet, slowly spinning like it was only you and him in the world. But that’s how he remembers it. You adjusted the glasses on your face and opened your mouth to speak, a giggle spilling out. Your laugh was adorable. You were really pretty. And you looked way too young to be in a bar.

“Hi,” you manage to get out before another giggle spills from your lips.

“Hi,” he answers back.

He knows he should be playing it cool but your laugh is infectious and has him smiling, awaiting your next words. He really can’t believe how pretty you are. This is a technical college and most girls who go here aren’t focused on their looks. Not that Frankie thinks he’s hot shit or anything, but the small amount of girls on campus definitely don’t look like you do. And you don’t look like you’re even trying.

Unlike the majority of girls in his high school you haven’t flat-ironed your hair, you aren’t wearing makeup, and you aren’t dressed in tight, revealing clothes. You have natural beauty. Your hair is shoulder-length and has a slight wave to it, your skin is smooth and supple and there’s a sparkle in your eyes, peeking out from under long lashes behind your wire-rimmed glasses.

“My friend over there wants to know if you wanna dance?” you finally manage to say.

“Oh yeah? Your friend?” Frankie pulls confidence out of his ass, hoping that you’re actually the ‘friend’ who is interested in him.

“Yeah, her,” you point your thumb behind you to a table of two girls who look even younger than you do. “The one in the pink shirt.”

Frankie’s eyes land on the girl in the pink shirt. She has almond-shaped eyes, long dark hair, and she covers her mouth, erupting in laughter with her friend beside her when he makes eye contact. That’s more like what most of the girls on campus look like, he thinks. Not ugly but not cute. Boring. Plain. Blah.

“Uhhhh,” he starts, wondering what he can say to keep you standing here talking to him. Should he ask more about your friend? No, he doesn’t give a shit. He runs his hand nervously through his hair. Should he ask if he can dance with you instead? No, that would probably earn him a slap. ‘I can’t dance,” he blurts out. Way to go Frankie, smooth move. That’s gonna spark a romance to last the ages.

“Oh,” you say, looking taken aback. You recover quickly. “Well maybe you and your friends could just buy us some drinks?

You point to the bar, covered in five dollars worth of quarter drafts and he feels his friends poking him in the ribs from behind him, urging him to say yes and give them all a chance to talk with a girl tonight. All he has to do is nod his head, and he gets to keep talking to you. There’s no way he’s gonna give up this opportunity.

---

The shuttle van from the airport was mostly empty, just one other couple from his flight joining him on the short ride to the dock. Once at the marina they board a boat even smaller than the van, a speedboat that just barely fits him, the couple, their luggage, and the guy standing behind the wheel. The captain’s name tag says Charles and he wears a pair of blue linen shorts with a white button-up shirt; long-sleeved but rolled up to his elbows. The resort’s logo is stitched in blue script over the pocket. Paradise Cay.

Charles tells them to hold on to their hats once they’re out of the marina, and Frankie takes his off, holding it tightly in his lap. Charles revs the motor on the sleek little boat and cuts through the water, the wind whipping through Frankie’s uncovered hair. When the boat docks thirty minutes later at a tiny barrier island, they’re greeted by several smiling resort staff. Frankie shakes Charles’ hand, thanking him for the ride, and attempts to smooth his wind-blown hair before plopping his Standard Oil cap back on his head.

Two men dressed like the boat captain pass by him to grab luggage out of the back of the boat. Two women stand in front of him wearing similar outfits; instead of shorts they wear skirts that hit mid-calf, and their shirts are short-sleeved. One of the women steps forward - her name tag says Kiki - and she welcomes him to Paradise Cay, greeting him with a tropical flower that she tucks behind his ear and a brown-husked coconut that she places in his hands. He looks down at the pink straw and tiny yellow polka-dotted umbrella sticking out of the coconut.

“Ohh I- I don’t drink-,” he starts.

“It’s coconut water, Mr. Morales,” she says.

Well shit, he didn’t realize Kiki knew who he was. He looks over at the couple who exited the boat after him and sees they are sipping out of pineapples, slurping down a white frozen slush that he can only assume is a piña colada. His family must have told the resort already that he’s maintaining his sobriety. Don’t give Frankie any temptations. He’s just over four months sober now and he’s doing really well. He takes a sip out of the coconut.

“Follow me, please,” Kiki says, and he trails behind her retreating figure, hearing the footfalls of the employee carrying his bag behind him.

He wishes he could take his dirty, stained army duffel out of this poor man’s hands and carry it himself. This resort is super fancy. He’s probably used to pushing expensive roller luggage, the kind with hard metal sides and combination locks. Or hand-stitched leather bags, the kind with the letters L and V patterned across them. He probably gets crisp twenties pressed into his hand when they arrive at the room and Frankie’s not even sure he has a five dollar bill in his wallet.

Through the trees he saw a large building, stretching along the beachfront, but they turned on a trail that took them away from that building. He watches as they pass several smaller buildings, each one surrounded by dense palms and looking identical to the one before it. After passing nearly a dozen, they go down a short path leading to a side door on the left of one of the smaller buildings. Kiki opens the large wooden door and directs him inside. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust from the bright sun outside to the relative dim inside.

There is a king-sized bed against a wall of dark, rich wood while the foot of the bed faces four large sliding glass doors that open up to a small patio and private plunge pool, and look out onto the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean, seemingly just steps away. There is no ceiling, instead exposing the beams of the high roof, making the room feel even bigger. The side walls are a light-colored stucco and the room is dotted with plants, both large and small, that seamlessly blend the outside with the inside.

A plush sofa sits on the near side of the room while a small table and chairs sit in the middle past the foot of the bed. Kiki is walking around the room, motioning to the near wall, where there are bookshelves filled with some reading material, hand-crafted decorations, and some sleek electronic devices glowing with blue lights. She walks to the far wall where there’s a countertop with a small sink and a coffee bar. She opens an empty minifridge and then a double-drawer beverage refrigerator packed full - complimentary and non-alcoholic - she informs him.

Frankie is still taking in the sight of the incredible - and definitely expensive - suite before him when Kiki explains that there is a walk-in closet and a large bathroom at the back of the villa. She points to a door on the far side of the room.

“....and the outdoor shower is right through-”

“I’m really sorry but there’s been a mistake,” he interrupts

“A mistake? I don’t think so.”

“No, there's definitely been a mistake. This can’t be my room.”

“You are,” she pulls a small device out of her skirt pocket, flipping it open to double its size, “Mr. Francisco Morales, yes?”

“I- I mean, yeah, that’s my name,” he shakes his head. “But this is definitely not the room I booked. I just booked a regular room. Like one with a view of the parking lot.”

“No, we don’t have a parking lot,” she quickly corrects.

“Right, no… Sorry. I just meant whatever room was cheapest is the room I booked. And that’s…” he looks around, “definitely not this room.”

She presses several things on her tablet now, seeming to go back and forth on several different screens, scrolling and reading and trying to get to the bottom of this obvious mix-up. He most definitely did not book an oceanfront villa for his stay here. The rest of his family has been here all week, turning this destination-wedding into a vacation. He can’t afford that luxury. He can barely afford to be here at all.

Today is Friday. The wedding is tomorrow and his flight out would have been the next day if it hadn’t been two hundred dollars cheaper to fly out on Monday instead. With the wedding group-rate, the room cost him $180 a night, so even having to shell out one more night’s worth on the resort he still saved twenty bucks by staying the extra night.

“No, this is your room, Mr. Morales,” she finally says.

“But-”

“The outdoor shower is through that door,” she points again to the door and the sweeps her arm over to the bookshelves. “Please message me on your dedicated device if you need anything at all, Mr. Morales,” she finishes.

She passes him walking towards the door, causing Frankie to turn around and face the man who stands there, having been holding his stinking old duffel bag the entire time. Sorry, Frankie mutters as he juggles the coconut in his hands to pull his wallet out of his pocket, attempting to fish out as many crumpled ones as he can find.

“All gratuities have already been paid, Mr. Morales,” Kiki says as she slips out of the room.

The man gingerly sets down the duffel bag by the front door and follows Kiki out, seemingly not wanting to tarnish the spotless perfection of the room with Frankie’s filthy, well-traveled bag.

“Thanks?” Frankie manages to call out just before the heavy door closes, the sound echoing around him in the air-conditioned air of this gorgeous resort room.

---

Three hours later Frankie is walking through the double doors of the hotel’s main lobby bar. There’s a sign just outside the door set up for the private event that says: Thank you for attending the wedding of Rogelio Garcia & Liliana Schneider. Enjoy some drinks on us!

Rogelio - Elio - is Frankie’s cousin, his mother’s sister’s son, and someone he grew up living just two blocks away from, spending every holiday and most weekends playing with him and his brothers. Frankie knows Elio has been dating his fiance Liliana for many years, he’s heard her name out of his mother’s mouth countless times, but he’s never met her. Frankie’s been kind of a shitty family member for longer than he can blame his addiction for and he was honestly surprised to be included on the invite list of this destination wedding.

The decor inside the bar is bright and tropical, maintaining the island-vibe with steel-drum music playing over the speakers. Not putting enough foresight into his method of packing and the formal nature of the weekend’s events, Frankie is forced to wear an embarrassingly wrinkled outfit. He aimed a hair dryer at the khaki pants for a half hour and it didn’t make much of a difference. Luckily the busy pattern on his tropical shirt is forgiving enough to hide any imperfections there. He weighed wearing his emotional support hat versus having hat hair and left the hat in the room when he thought how his mamá would give him that look if he showed up with a ballcap on.

Frankie is sipping cranberry juice and talking to his mamá and some of his tías, waiting for the rehearsal dinner to be over and the wedding party to spill out of the private room at the side of the bar. Despite his mother’s dirty looks and attempts to change the subject, his one aunt keeps asking him questions he’s not even remotely interested in answering.

Do you miss your old army days? Are you ever gonna be a pilot again? Where are you living these days? Have you spoken to Steph recently? Do you know if baby Leo is walking yet?

The questions are grating on his nerves and he’s trying to remain polite but the clinking of ice in everyone’s glasses sound like cymbals in his ears. The too-loud laughter from his tíos, who are already over-served, is grating at the frayed edges of his composure and each question feels like a hundred pound weight being piled onto his shoulders. He keeps raking his hand through his hair, self-conscious without his hat on, missing the ability to lower the brim and hide his face away.

The side door opens and the wedding party spills out, a distraction of bodies and murmured conversation. He looks around for an exit, then back to the group, then back towards a door looking out over the beach. Wait a minute - for a split second he thought he saw you, coming out of the side room among a large group of other women. You’re decades older, sure, but it looked just like you. No, it can’t be. Jesus, his dreams have got him fucked up. He drags his eyes across the faces of the crowd spreading across the room again. He doesn’t see you. Of course he doesn’t, cuz you were never there.

Elio, the groom, bounces up to Frankie, pulling him away from the old hens he’s been surrounded by and introduces him to his bride-to-be, Lili.

“Lili-baby, this is my favorite cousin, Francisco.” Frankie takes her smaller hand into his massive one and they share a smile.

“Woah now Elio, we have a lot of cousins, that can’t be true.”

“Oh no primo, it’s definitely true, you’ve always been my favorite.”

“I’m so surprised I haven’t met your favorite cousin before, babe,” Lili teases him slightly.

Frankie winces, here comes the part where he has to explain why he’s been so absent all these years. The army. An addiction. His life falling apart. And then all the follow-up questions that come afterwards. He drags a hand through his hair before he responds, but before he can even open his mouth Elio is answering for Frankie, explaining how Frankie was in the service traveling the world and now he goes around to military bases helping to repair and maintain the same helicopters he used to fly.

At first Frankie isn’t sure if Elio was told this flowery-version of events by his own mamá or by Frankie’s, but when Elio winks at him over his fiance’s head, Frankie knows that he’s giving her the G-rated version to keep Frankie from having to get stuck in that inevitable uncomfortable situation he always finds himself in. Frankie smiles and nods slightly. He thinks Elio might be his favorite cousin too.

The happy couple break away for more introductions and shortly after the women all file out of the bar, heading to the spa for their evening of bachelorette activities. Once they’re gone the men gather around the bar, his uncles ordering shots of tequila, forcing them down all his cousin’s throats, and shouting loudly in Spanish. If Elio is too drunk to get married tomorrow, at least Frankie can say it’s not his fault.

Eventually he slips away from the raucous crowd and heads to the outside porch of the bar, which sits just above a large expanse of beach. He sits on the short staircase leading down to the sand and sips his third cranberry juice of the evening, watching the waves reflect colors from the setting sun. He can’t help but think about you again.

---

He’d spent that whole first school-year getting to know you, growing closer. Wednesday quarter-draft nights became a regular thing. Then you added Thursday study hall, Friday movie nights, Saturday evenings at the boardwalk, and Sundays at the laundromat. Pretty soon you were spending more days of the week together than apart, and on the days you didn’t see each other he was calling your dorm phone to talk to you for hours or chatting with you on AOL instant messenger into the wee hours of the night.

And yet you were nothing more than friends. The whole semester went by, and then phone calls and AIM chats all summer, but you never indicated you were interested in more and he didn’t dare make a move. You were just going to be friends, and that was okay. He wasn’t upset about it. He figured that you probably knew what he’d known since the moment he laid eyes on you - that you’re too pretty for him. The more he got to know you the more he learned that you were also probably too smart for him, too funny for him, and too outgoing for him. Too good for him.

He’d see the way people’s faces lit up when they met you and you smiled for them, made them laugh, made them feel like a friend, made them feel special. That’s exactly how you made him feel. You made him want to be the best version of himself. He felt lucky to be your friend and if that’s all you ever were, it was more than enough. His senior year was about to begin and after graduation he’d be getting his posting assignment and shipping out for training as a Lieutenant in the U.S. Army. He knew he had to soak up every minute with you these final two semesters.

He remembers move-in day his senior year, the Saturday before classes began…

You resumed your previous year’s tradition of going to the boardwalk with a combination of some of your friends, some of his. When you get there the sun is still setting and you grab his hand and drag him into the still-warm sand, saying that you have something important to talk to him about. Standing in front of him, wearing his sweatshirt, the pinks and oranges from the sky cast your face in a beautiful glow and you look like you’re illuminated from the inside out. Did you get even more beautiful over the summer?

Your hands feel cold even before the chill of the night air settles in, and he envelops them, trying to warm them as you begin telling him in a shaky voice the thing you’ve kept from him for months. Your mom caught your dad cheating and it blew up into a huge fight that ended with her kicking him out. He stopped paying the mortgage on the house and your mom had to sell it at a loss and find you all a new place to live. Their divorce still wasn’t settled and was already very contentious, your dad leaving your mom to pay for your school without his help.

Knowing how badly you wanted to go to this school, she took out some loans to cover the tuition for both semesters this year but the room & board bill as well as your bookstore account was on a payment plan that she needed help paying for. You’re trying not to cry as you tell him this story of how your life has been turned upside down over the last three months and he wants to ask why you hadn’t told him any of this sooner, but he can see how you are bearing the shame of your dad’s infidelity and your mom’s newfound poverty. This is a lot for you and you’re clearly still processing it.

“How can I help?” he asks.

You tell him that you need to get a job for the semester and he immediately takes over the conversation, offering to get you a job at one of the labs his professors maintain. They’re always looking for lab assistants, he assures you. You tell him that you already looked into that option and they only pay $6 an hour, you can only work 12 hours around classes during the week, and it would take almost two week’s worth of work to pay for just your $114 Statistics book.

He exhales in defeat, but you quickly tell him that you’ve already found a job. He wonders what you need from him if you’ve already found a job but then you tell him what it is. You’d be working downtown in a call center as a phone sex operator. He balks at this. You’d be working 3 nights a week, late at night, and you’d make $50 each shift, paid in cash. He’s not sure what to say until you laugh at his shocked expression, squeezing his hands.

“You okay, Pancho?”

Your pet name for him. On a late night phone call at the beginning of the summer he’d accidentally let slip that his whole family used to call him Pancho - a nickname for Francisco - before he turned eleven. The day of his eleventh birthday he got embarrassed about being called it in front of all his school friends, who knew him as Frankie, and insisted everyone switch to the more anglicized stylization of his name. Hearing that old nickname used to make him cringe, but now it felt like something just between the two of you. It was easier to hide his blushing when you were on the other end of the phone, but now that you’re face-to-face, he has to fight a bashful smile from settling on his face.

“Yeah I’m just…. are you sure about this?”

“Not really, but it’s good money and it’s not real sex, just talk.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

“I need your help,” you squeeze his hands again.

He can feel the flush creep up his neck and settle in his cheeks. How could you possibly need his help for phone sex? He gulps loudly and manages to grunt out a noise that sounds like, “Hm?”

“I need a ride into the city to work my shifts, I’m too scared to ride the bus that late.”

He exhales a breath he was holding. “Ohhh,” he says. You just need a ride. He’s the only person you know with a car, having been given his pop’s old Ford Ranger to drive last year when he and his roommates got a place off-campus. “No problem.”

“Really?” you squeal.

“Of course, anything you need.”

You usually worked three or four nights a week, earning more money than you would have working any on-campus job. Frankie would drive you twenty minutes into the city every shift you worked, helping you to avoid the hour-long late-night bus ride you’d have to take otherwise. Then at the end of your shift, sometimes three or four in the morning, he’d drive back and pick you up, making sure you were safely returned to your dorm.

You constantly offered to pay him for gas but he always refused. His tuition, room, and board was completely paid for by the ROTC program he was enrolled in, and he was fortunate enough to have a job back home that he worked all summer and every break, saving up spending money to use during the semester. He’d call you every night you worked, dropping $25 for each 15-minute phone call, paying with the debit card his mamá helped him get the summer before his Freshman year, and hoping she never looked too closely at his bank statements that got sent to their address each month.

He never wanted you to do your typical routine and talk sexy to him when he called, he just wanted to talk to you about regular things. How is Calculus going? Did you get your Chem homework done? What are you doing in your Systems Design lab? You’d tease him about waiting until after work so your conversation would be free but he’d say that’s 15 minutes you didn’t have to talk to some creep. You’d tease him by saying better the creep you know than the creep you don’t, and then have to stifle your laugh so you didn’t get in trouble.

---

Elio slaps him on the shoulder, drunk for sure but more sober than Frankie would have expected, breaking him from his reverie. He sits down next to him and asks how he’s doing. Frankie goes to give the scripted answer but Elio says no, seriously. Frankie tells him some of the truth, trying to balance being honest about the state of his life without overwhelming his inebriated cousin. Elio says that Frankie’s always been the smartest among all the cousins and he’s sure Frankie will find a way to turn things around.

“I think I’ve done too many stupid things at this point to feel smart anymore,” Frankie laments.

“Well I can’t speak to that, but at least you’re here in paradise and you can have a nice vacation,” Elio pokes him in the ribs.

“Oh shit that reminds me, they put me in the wrong room. They accidentally gave me an oceanfront villa!”

“Holy shit!,” Elio shouts too loudly, “See primo? Things are already turning around for you!”

“Sure,” Frankie laughs, clinking his empty glass with his cousin’s half-full pint of beer.

“Hey did you know Lili has three sisters?”

“Oh yeah? That’s coo-”

“You should totally hook up with one of them this weekend.”

“Dios mío, Elio,” Frankie huffs. “I don’t think a woman is interested in taking on all of this mess,” he motions to himself from head to toe.

“Three sisters though,” Elio repeats. “Well one of them is married… oh and one of them just got engaged.”

“My chances are rapidly decreasing, primo.”

“No, the third one is divorced and totally single,” Elio assures him. “Maybe you can take her back to your oceanfront villa, papi. Show her the front of your ocean.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Frankie laughs and Elio joins him, both of them dissolving into hysterical wheezing. Elio recovers first.

“I don’t know man, I just think you should have a good time. It’s my fuckin’ wedding, chulo!” Elio shouts, and they dissolve into a fit of laughter again.

Frankie helps him up off the steps and carries him inside - putting Elio in the seemingly capable hands of his father and eldest brother, who appear to be the most sober out of everyone - and heads to bed.

#francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #happy ending #noxturnalpascal #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #Frankie Friday #writing challenge 2.0 #iamasaddie prompt

44 notes · View notes