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acourtofwhatthefuck · 9 months

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Practice On Me — Part Three — Azriel x Reader

Summary: It’s not an Illyrian party without at least one person starting a fight. Azriel is a jealous little shit. Y/N wants to put the smile right back on his face.

(I really don’t want to ruin this chapter for u but I finished writing it and all I could hear was Camilla Cabello in my head singing “I’llll be hooome for chwismois” — you’ll see why)

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: Some fiiiilthy language. 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni 🌶️

It’s not that you and the others are trying to take advantage of Rhysand’s mother’s absence. But having an empty property at your disposal definitely comes in handy.

Particularly on nights like these, two weeks later, when the cottage is packed full with more people than it can reasonably host. There’s drinking and conversation and faces you don’t even recognise, and someone has brought Elpys Vine, a herb grown by someone’s sketchy great uncle on the continent that’s supposed to make you hallucinate.

Judging by the empty chair that a male opposite you keeps winking at, you think it’s probably having the desired effect.

The spot next to you dips down as Azriel takes a seat at your side. He hands you a drink, and so naturally, his arm drapes around your shoulders. It’s comforting — and also a relief, to know that things are still normal after what happened on this very couch two weeks earlier. Not a slither of awkwardness.

But your eyes have most definitely been snagging on every unfamiliar female around you and wondering if one of them could be the target of Azriel’s affections. If Kaeda is here tonight, he hasn’t said so.

Part of you wants to ask, and part of you…doesn’t. For whatever reason.

“This is definitely already way out of hand.” Az comments, cocking an eyebrow as he takes in the volume of people packed into the small space. “I thought it was supposed to be a small gathering.”

“That’s what Cassian told me, too.” You say, and then curiosity gets the better of you. You try to make it seem casual as you study the various females dotted throughout the room. “Is Kaeda here?”

Azriel’s eyes find yours, and he gives a small shake of his head. “No.”

“You didn’t invite her?”

“I didn’t invite anyone. That was Cassian’s job.”

You heave a very dramatic sigh indeed. Sometimes, Azriel is his own worst enemy.

Not that you’ve minded helping him so far — not at all. But surely there must come a point where he directs all he’s learnt at the intended person.

“I will make my move.” He tells you. “I’m just…not quite there yet. Still working on it.”

Fair enough, you suppose. Before you can say anything else, Cassian is suddenly slumping haphazardly into the space at your other side. One of Azriel’s shadows snakes out and clasps your drink before it can slosh down your front.

“Time for a game.” Cassian calls to the room, and you want to groan. Games with Cassian usually ensure chaos. “Let’s play Knife Point.”

There are enough enthusiastic responses that you know your reluctance will be wildly outnumbered. Knife Point is a game that’s used as a ruse to kiss as many people as you like — something you delighted in at fifteen, when kissing was still new to you, but you don’t feel quite the same excitement five years later. It’s pretty simple: a knife is placed in the centre of the table, and the players gather round. One-by-one, everyone takes their turns spinning the knife, and whoever the point settles on when it stops is who the spinner must kiss.

Basic, really. But Cassian loves kissing people.

You and Azriel share a look — one that says he’s no more excited for this than you are. And then you both crack a grin and settle into your seats, because you’ll always go along with Cassian’s shenanigans, even if you complain about them first.

“It seems only fair that the future high lord starts us off,” Cassian says, and slams a dagger down on the coffee table with unguarded enthusiasm. He grins at Rhys, who’s sat in an adjacent armchair with a curvy redhead on his lap. “Rhysand, darling — would you do the honours?”

Rhys flutters thick, dark lashes and gently removes the female from his thigh. “It would be my pleasure.”

The room watches closely as he spins the knife in a sleek way that has a few gazes heating. It spins fast, and then slows, slows, before landing on a female to his right whose name you don’t know. He angles himself towards her, and the smile he gives her most definitely has her falling head-over-heels in love, and the heated kiss he lands on her mouth most definitely has her falling head-over-heels in lust. She looks genuinely heartbroken when it comes to an end.

But then it’s her turn, and she’s kissing Jonan, an ex-fling of yours, and then Jonan is kissing Cassian, and then Cass is spinning the dagger and it’s pointing at you.

Your friend bellows a comical shriek of delight and jumps up so enthusiastically that this time, Az’s shadows can’t stop your drink from spilling. Cass is utterly oblivious as he turns to you with a wicked grin, holding his arms out.

“Come here, sweetpea.” He uses the nickname he’s called you for as long as you can remember. “Come make all my heated dreams come true.”

You snort, handing Az what remains of your drink and pushing to your feet. You intend to deliver a quick peck to Cassian’s lips, but so typically, he clasps your face with enough force to lift you from the floor, and his mouth lands heavily on yours.

Immediately, a chorus of jeers and laughs ring out around the circle. Cassian’s huge hand cups your jaw, and he kisses you like you’ve seen him kiss countless males and females before. It doesn’t matter that you’re his friend, an old comfort blanket — he gives you the exact same energy he gives them. He doesn’t do things by halves.

And the kiss certainly isn’t bad, if not a little strange. You can think of far worse people to be doing this with right now.

It goes on a little longer than necessary, and when you feel it deepen, feel Cassian’s tongue probing yours, you break away. Make a dramatic show of grimacing and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Damn.” Jonan snorts. “You didn’t kiss me like that, Cass.”

Cass smirks. “You’re not half as pretty, nor half as arousing.”

They squabble, and the game continues, and you slump back down by Azriel’s side, already tuning out the noise. You turn to retrieve your drink, only to find Az draining the rest of it.

“Hey.” You knock your arm against his. “I was going to finish that.”

He stares forward, not even looking at you as he quietly replies, “I figured you were too busy.”

Your face creases into a frown as you take in the stiff, rigid set of his body. He’s damn near hunched in that corner of the couch, and it can’t be comfortable with how his wings are a little squished, but it seems almost as if…as if he’s trying to put some space between you.

You try not to think too much about it as you return your attention to the game once more. The knife continues spinning and people continue kissing, and only once does the blade point in Azriel’s direction, to which he tersely announces he was never playing to begin with.

It’s that which makes you realise the reason behind his mood going south. He’s only just started exploring the art of kissing with you, only just started becoming comfortable with it. The last thing he’ll want to do is make a whole song and dance about it and kiss a near stranger in front of a group of people.

Combine that with his natural aversion to huge gatherings, and it makes sense, now, why he’s clutching your empty cup so tightly, and the muscle in his jaw keeps moving.

When everyone else is distracted, you place a hand on his arm.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” You suggest. “Get some fresh air.”

But he barely looks at you. Just keeps staring forward. He shoots a quick, hard look in Cassian’s direction and rips it away just as fast.

“I’m fine here.” He says. “You knock yourself out.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You know Azriel well enough to know when his social tolerance is at an all-time-low, and being at a party is the worst possible thing for him.

He goes more and more into himself, his brooding, and he seems to emanate an invisible signal that warns people to stay far, far away. Not even the drunken, giggling females approach him. The Shadowsinger is in a dangerous mood, and it won’t take much to set him off.

He doesn’t seem all that interested in talking to you, either, given that all your attempts have been met with quiet, one-worded responses. And so, figuring he’ll come to you when he feels like it, you wander off to get yourself another drink, and you sink into the throes of the party.

At some point, you feel a warm touch on your forearm, and you turn to find Jonan there. He’s a damn nice male — for an Illyrian. A little cocky, maybe, but kind. Not the sexist brute that so many of them turn out to be. You and he had been two eighteen-year-olds, excited about exploring each other’s bodies and sex in general. Realistically, it was never going to go anywhere, but you ended things in good spirits, and you’ve very casually fallen into each other’s beds on a few occasions since.

Judging by the way his dark eyes drink you in, you’re sure he’s hoping that tonight will end in the same manner.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” You say as you pull back from the hug he gives you.

His eyes seem to glimmer with flirtation. “Perhaps you haven’t been looking hard enough.”

You snort. “Or perhaps you don’t train close enough for us to run into each other all that often.”

That’s definitely it. The Illyrian males are sorted into different training groups based on a whole host of different things. Unsurprisingly, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel are in the most skilled group. Jonan is in a different one.

And it’s Jonan’s group, you know, that has just got back from a harsh training exercise that takes them away for weeks at a time. Which is the most likely cause of you having not seen him in passing.

Azriel’s group will be the next to go on one last training exercise before everyone breaks for the winter solstice. They’ll be setting off any day now, as soon as they’re called forth by their general. A few weeks without your three closest friends is a thought you don’t want to linger on.

“How was the training exercise?” You ask, genuinely interested. There will always be a part of you that wishes that was you, out there, putting your skills to use.

But you’re female. And females stay behind.

“Fucking brutal.” Jonan answers. “The weather is bad this year, so we were out there a week longer than we were supposed to be. My sleep pattern is still fucked.”

“Sounds like you need to relax.”

“Oh, I do.” His eyes trail down your body. “Perhaps you can help me with that.”

You open your mouth, not entirely sure what you mean to reply. All you know is that you’re not jumping at the offer of easy, mindless sex like you have done in the past.

But before you can respond, Jonan is stumbling forward, into you. Thanks to a huge, muscled body knocking into him.

He whips around to face Azriel, spilled drink forgotten in his hand. You didn’t even see Az‘s approach.

“Watch it, Shadowsinger.” Jonan narrows his eyes at him. “You almost knocked Y/N over.”

Azriel stops and eyes Jonan with clear dismissal. A rare, antagonising expression sits on his flawless features. “Are you talking to me?”

“Do you see any other shadowy fucks around here?”

One side of Azriel’s lips twitch up in satisfaction. So rarely does he waste his time looking for a fight, but he’s looking for one now — and has found one.

“What I see,” he says, and steps closer to Jonan, towering over him considerably, “is an irritating little cunt who’s in my way. Move.”

But Jonan doesn’t move. Like a typical Illyrian, he salivates at the prospect of a punch-up. He looks a little pathetic as he tries to square up against Az.

“Now, now, Azriel,” he sneers. “That’s no way to talk about Y/N, is it?”

And the mention of your name in Jonan’s mouth is all it takes for Azriel to launch himself at him. There’s not nearly enough room for this, and as he grabs Jonan by the front of his tunic and slams him against the wall, all sorts of surrounding objects go flying.

At once, everyone is turning to watch the confrontation. And so fucking typically, of all the people in the room, neither Rhysand nor Cassian are anywhere to be found.

Which means you’re dealing with this alone. Because nobody else will care to break this up.

You curse quietly and jump in just as Jonan goes to land a hit on Azriel’s jaw. He falters as you throw yourself between them as best as you can at the angle. It’s not great, but you manage to wedge an arm between them.

“Hey. Enough.” You snap, and it feels like all the times you’ve reprimanded the camp younglings. “Cut this out right now.”

Jonan scowls. And actually says, “He started it.”

It makes you never want to have sex with him again. Never have you been drier between your thighs.

“I don’t give a shit. It stops now.” You stare between them seriously, and then you’re firmly grasping Azriel’s arm. “Az, we’re leaving. Now.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation, like Azriel really, really does not want to give up the fight. But then he’s letting go of Jonan’s shirt, more or less dropping him to the floor.

“Fine by me.” Az fucking smirks at the male. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

You don’t spare Jonan a single further look as Azriel grabs your hand and pulls you through the thralls of people, all disappointed at a fight not coming to fruition. But their attention is quickly stolen by something else, and you don’t look back as you and Az step out into the cold.

Az begins to walk as though the past minute never even happened. You’re quick to catch up to him and grab hold of his forearm.

“Hey.” Your breath clouds in front of your face in the cold night air. “What was that?”

Azriel shrugs. “It was nothing. He is nothing.”

“You—”

“It’s fucking freezing, Y/N. Can we just go?”

You stare back at him. The urge to pry more, demand an explanation, is a strong one. But it is freezing, and in this frame of mind, you’re not certain he’ll tell you anything, anyway. He’s in a strange mood — probably in anticipation of the upcoming training exercise. Perhaps unwisely, you decide to drop it.

“Go where?” You concede. The biting cold makes the decision to do so much easier.

“Dormitories. You can stay with me tonight.”

Dormitories is a very generous term for the limited accommodation that is offered to each training legion. Most of it sits unused, due to the majority of Illyrians preferring the harsh, toughening dwellings of tents and crumbling old houses in all extreme weathers. But a certain amount of small, draughty rooms are available, and Az tends to make use of his when the cottage begins to feel too crowded, and he needs a break from living on top of Rhys and Cass.

There’s no hammering droves of snow tonight, and you’ve patched up your boots enough to hopefully last you a little longer. A broad expanse of stars glimmers above you, making it a rather pleasant night for a stroll — or it would be, if not for the unavoidable presence of Azriel’s bad mood.

Your attempts at conversation are met with non-committal responses, and by the time you’re kicking through the peeling wooden door to the accommodation, you’re fucking exasperated.

Azriel can be very, very insufferable when he thinks himself into a foul mood.

You could go home, back to your father’s house — you certainly consider it as you follow Az into his cramped dwellings, but…you don’t know. You wouldn’t like to leave him like this. To walk away without seeing him crack a little smile. In nine years of friendship, you’ve never done so before. So you shut and lock the door behind you, and resign yourself to a very silent, very tense night.

You press your back against the door, watching as Azriel perches on the edge of the bed and removes his shoes. Through the walls, you hear the distinct sound of skin slapping against skin, and the building moans of a female close to climax. This miserable building is more often used as a place for a quick fuck than it is to actually sleep in.

But Az doesn’t seem to notice as he shrugs out of his clothing, quickly slipping on a pair of low-slung cotton sleeping trousers, and sprawls out across the mattress, wings fanning around him.

You’re not sure why you don’t move, at first. Or maybe you are.

Your gaze snags on the toned muscles of Azriel’s torso, and the smattering of dark hair that maps a line from beneath his bellybutton to what sits under his trousers. You’ve seen it countless times before, and yet you can’t stop staring.

Particularly when he stretches his arms above his head, and then drags a hand down his stomach. To him, it’s a subconscious act, but to you—

You can’t stop yourself zeroing in on his hand. The very hand that touched you and bathed you in a pleasure so stunning, so splintering, that you hadn’t dared to try and replicate it yourself since. Such inexperienced fingers had coaxed such expert sensations—

“Are you coming to bed?” Azriel’s voice drags you from your thoughts.

“…Right.” You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

“There’s a shirt for you in the armoire.”

You shuck off your clothes, digging out the tunic you often borrow from Az to sleep in. He barely spares you a glance, his eyes glued to the ceiling. You can’t help heaving a sigh as you pad over and slip beneath the blanket. The faelights wink out, and for a while, you both lie there in silence. It’s you who eventually breaks it.

“Are you going to tell me what that fight with Jonan was about?”

Az slings an arm above his head. “You were there. I’d hardly call it a fight.”

“No, I’d call it an overreaction.”

“Jonan’s an arrogant bastard and everyone knows it.”

He brooks no room for argument. And he’s not exactly wrong, either. You know Jonan gets himself into more brawls than the average person. But Az wasn’t exactly justified tonight.

But before you can think of a response, he says, quietly, “Sorry — if I ruined your night.”

You pause. And then roll onto your side, staring at his outline through the darkness. “You didn’t. I didn’t want to go to the party, anyway.”

There’s a tiny, soft snort. “Me neither.” He agrees. “But going along with Cassian’s ideas is the story of our lives.”

“That it is.”

Az says no more, does no more. And you…you hate it. Because it’s not simply that he’s sleepy and dozing off beside you. He’s just as awake as you are. And his mood is still heavy and tense.

You can’t stand it.

It’s perhaps against your better judgement that you inch closer to him, your mind already made up about how you might lift his spirits. It’s dangerous, because your arrangement has simply been about helping him, and he’s always been the instigator, knowing what he needs and when he needs it. Which he most certainly isn’t doing now.

But you would be helping him…in a way. And you can’t lie and say that it hasn’t bothered you, over the past two weeks, that you didn’t get to return the pleasure he gave you.

It would still be a learning experience. That’s what you tell yourself as you press against his side and drape your arm over his stomach.

Az pauses, but this isn’t unusual for the pair of you. You’ve cuddled like this plenty of times over the years — with your other friends, too. And so there’s no hesitation as he slides an arm beneath you and tugs you closer, his wing tucking you in.

You rest your head on his chest, and you murmur, “I don’t want you to go on the training exercise.”

You really, really don’t.

You always miss your friends when they’re sent away, but it seems…heavier, somehow, this time. Like there’s more between you to miss.

That…that is not a good thought to have.

You banish it from your mind rather than dwelling on it.

Az’s hand presses against your back. “I’ll be home in time for Solstice.”

You hear the unspoken promise in that statement; the one Azriel knows you need to hear. Because this isn’t just about simply missing his company.

Solstice is…hard for you, to say the least. Being holed up with your father, him drinking from the crack of dawn until he collapses in a chair by the fire. His unpredictable, volatile moods and tendency to pick at you over every tiny thing. It’s the time of year you rely on your friends the most, and you spend the entire day waiting for your father to pass out so you can sneak away and forget him for a while.

Azriel’s bare skin is so pleasantly warm, lulling you back to the present. You shelve your worries for the time being, press your cheek against his pectoral, and breathe in his frost-and-cedar scent. His wing drapes over you, cocooning the two of you in your own little world.

And there’s no better place than inside that world to ease some of Azriel’s tension. Bring the smile back to his lips.

“…Az?” You whisper, slowly gliding a hand over his stomach.

His body tenses beneath you. There’s a pause before he answers, “Yes?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing…” He clears his throat. “Nothing much. What are you thinking about?”

The question is an opening for you to stop this right here. You could return a similar, half-assed response, remove your hand from his stomach and go to sleep. Like any sensible, reasonable friend would do.

Or you could be honest.

You could tell Azriel that your close proximity has you thinking all about the magic of his fingers, the sensations he wrought from you. You could admit that it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve thought about it since it happened — not at all. You could tell him that you’re still a little stunned, because besides yourself, nobody has ever made you come that hard.

You could tell him how badly you want — need — to return the favour.

And never one to back down from a situation, however daunting, you do exactly that.

“I’m thinking…” you murmur, and your finger begins to just slightly trace lines over his stomach. Your touch is so light, and yet you feel his body react beneath you. “I’m thinking that there’s more I’d like to teach you about touching.”

A little breath escapes him. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” That finger of yours gets a little bolder, making bigger sweeps over his skin and dancing close to his waistband. “But this time, I want to touch you. You made me feel so good, Azriel. I want to make you feel good as well.”

“You…you don’t have to do that.”

Gods, you know you don’t. You know this situation has never been about him expecting anything from you. Just a friend helping a friend out. No big deal.

But who says you can’t both get something out of it?

“I know I don’t have to.” You answer him. Your hand stops its movements, and you stare up at him, your eyes accustomed enough to the dark to make out certain features. “And I won’t, if you don’t want me to. Do you want me to?”

A tiny, tiny little pause.

And then Azriel rasps, “Yes.”

It’s a guttural, gasping sound, and it’s so delicious that you want to swallow it.

You don’t hesitate in moving your hand up to his face. You angle it towards you. Slant your lips over his.

And you smile. There’s a mulled wine that Azriel far prefers drinking over the piss-poor ale that most males around here favour, and it’s not the first time you’ve tasted it on him. It’s pleasing to explore — the spices and berries and damp heat of his mouth a combination that coaxes you to slide your tongue between his lips.

Az seems pretty well comfortable with his kissing technique, now. He leans into it, not at all tentative, his tongue meeting the strokes of yours. And then he suddenly breaks away.

“I like—this.” He pants heavily, breath fanning your face. “I like doing this.”

The words make something glow inside you, because that is precisely what you want. This isn’t just about teaching him the technicalities of physical touch. It’s about liberating him from the barriers he’s built in his mind, and showing him how much he can enjoy it.

And your friend deserves that.

You plan to really show him.

You slide your hand over his hip and haul him closer, eliminating the tiny little gap that existed between your bodies. An act that makes him suck in a breath.

“If I do anything at all that you don’t like, you need to tell me, Az.” You stare at him. “Okay?”

He nods.

“I need your words. Swear it.”

“Gods, Y/N, I swear it.”

He kisses you this time.

He really does like doing that.

The kiss is hot and hungry, loitering on the precipice of being frenzied. Azriel’s hand slides to the back of your neck, his fingers kneading the skin there. A dim faelight blinks back to life, bathing the two of you in enough warm light to see each other. His tongue pushes past the seam of your lips.

But you don’t give him the chance to stroke at your mouth. There are a million other places you can think of kissing; a million other places you’re just as desperate to get your mouth on.

Your lips glide along Azriel’s jaw with the lightness of a breeze. He goes still, appearing to wait with bated breath to see what you’ll do next, and how it will feel. He’s never been kissed here before.

Nor at his neck. You kiss the skin gently, at first, and smile to yourself at the little breath that hitches in Az’s throat. Something told you he’d be amenable to neck kisses.

Indeed, he is, as you attach your lips to the column of his throat and suck.

It’s a soft ungh, this time, that escapes him. A noise of both surprise and delight. Perhaps he never before considered the sensitivity of the neck, how enjoyable it might be to be kissed there. It’s one of many things you want to be the one to teach him.

You suck and lave at the area until his stomach is caving beneath your hand, and then you’re moving on, dragging your mouth over his collarbone. Down to his pectoral.

His skin is hot but its taste is cold — cold, like his scent. Frost and snow, icy starlight, the whipping winds and thrill of flying. Gods, it’s all delicious, and you close your mouth over his nipple, desperate to taste more.

Azriel starts, his back arching just a little. Your eyes flit up to his as your tongue teases the peaked flesh.

“This okay?” You check, allowing your teeth to graze just a little.

“Yes.” Az breathes. “I never considered that that might feel good for—for a male, too.”

You smile, repeating the action, fastening your lips totally around the nipple and giving a gentle suck. It earns you another quiet sound in response.

But you don’t want quiet. You want to make your friend feel so good that he can’t keep a lid on those sounds. The muscles of his stomach are quivering under your palm, and you decide it’s unfair to make him wait any longer.

So as your tongue circles his nipple, you slip your fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers.

You’re careful, even though you know the sharp intake of breath is a positive one. Nobody’s hands but his own have ever ventured here. You want him to be aware of every touch, every feeling.

Your fingers skate over the dusting of fine, coarse hair. And lower. And then your hand is on his cock.

The mere weight of your touch drags a breathless little noise from Azriel’s throat. And you pause.

Azriel is big, even by Illyrian standards.

From touch alone, you can feel its length, its thickness. You’re not entirely sure you can fit him in your hand, let alone anywhere else.

But gods are you willing to try.

You take your time exploring every detail, starting at the smooth, swollen head — already leaking a droplet of moisture —and circling its rim with your finger. Azriel’s hips jerk, and you smile, removing your mouth from his nipple to kiss further down,

“Still doing okay?” You ask, coasting your lips over his ribs. The pads of your fingers stroke over the head of his cock slowly, casually.

But there is absolutely nothing casual about Az’s voice as he grounds out, “I’m doing great.”

“Want me to keep going—”

“Please.” The word escapes his mouth before you can even finish the sentence. “Please.”

You smile, and you scoot lower down his body, giving yourself the perfect angle to explore the muscles of his abdomen with your mouth, your tongue.

It allows you to feel the exact moment you glide your palm down the length of Azriel’s cock, following the long, jagged vein.

Gods, it feels like it goes on forever.

The skin is velvety, smoothing over every vein, every bump and ridge. You explore it all, as much for your enjoyment as for his. You can’t imagine what it must be like to feel it sliding in and out of you, hitting a spot so deep inside you that you’d have to bite the mattress—

A thought you should not be having. It isn’t going that far.

And there’s a twinge of disappointment at that fact. But now isn’t the time for disappointment.

You trace the length of Azriel’s cock all the way down to his balls, and he’s trembling beneath you. You tug at his trousers, whisper, “Can I pull these down?”

It might be silly to ask, given that your hand is already well beneath the fabric. But you want him to have a choice in everything.

So when he gives a firm nod and lifts his hips for you, you tug the cotton trousers down, peeling them easily from his hips.

Azriel’s cock springs up. And it…it might just be the most perfect cock you’ve ever seen.

You damn near moan at the sight of it.

But before the sound can escape you, you smother it by pressing your lips to Azriel’s stomach. You kiss the skin, lap at it, graze your teeth over it. And your hand returns to his hardened length.

Finally — fucking finally — you wrap your hand around him.

Azriel makes a gasping sound at your touch, his hips canting up into your hand. He’s so responsive to your touch that you have to clench your thighs together to ignore your own arousal. This is about him. Entirely about him.

It’s about him as you slowly begin to pump his shaft, peppering kisses down and down until you’re at his hip. It’s about him as you squeeze gently and hear the hitching of his breath.

“So responsive,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hip.

“Is that—gods—” He hisses between his teeth as you pump a little faster, “—is that a good thing?”

“Very good, Az. I want to know that you’re enjoying it.”

“I am. Fuck, Y/N, I am.”

“Good.” Another kiss lands on his skin. “You’re doing so good for me.”

The praise drags another noise from the depths of his throat — the loudest he’s made so far. You don’t know whether he’s simply gaining in confidence, or whether he’s losing control. Maybe both. Hopefully both.

And you think you might lose control, too. Watch with rapt fascination as the head of his cock leaks, and it’s swelling, thickening in your hand, and you know he’s not going to last much longer.

You really want to taste him before he falls off the edge.

“Holy gods,” Azriel pants, his teeth biting into his lower lip. “Y/N, I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

“Don’t fight it.” You lick your lips. “Can I put my mouth on you?”

The question makes him fucking groan, and he chokes out an affirmative response, his cock rutting into your hand. You know he’s close, and you want him to finish. Preferably on your tongue.

And when you slide your mouth onto his cock, you know that’s going to happen.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking him into your mouth as much as you can.

Azriel shouts, his head falling back, eyes screwed shut. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You suck on him, tongue tracing the length of the vein that’s beginning to throb. He doesn’t seem to be aware of the way he slides his hands into your hair, his hips rolling.

“Y/N,” he pants, your name languid and slurred on his tongue, “m’sofuckingclose.”

You pull your mouth off of him long enough to say, “Look at me. Watch me while you come.”

And then you’re sucking him again, your hand wrapped around the base of his length. You pump and lick him and bob your head in time to Az’s hips canting against you, and you think the sounds he’s making may just be the most beautiful ones you’ve ever heard.

And he watches you so closely, his brow furrowed, his lips parted, his chest heaving. Your gaze collides with his, and you’re hollowing your cheeks and giving a particularly harsh suck.

“Oh, gods, Y/N, fuck!”

Azriel spills into your mouth, shot after shot coating your tongue. You take it all, swallowing greedily, savouring the saltiness and the hint of something else that is just Azriel. It seems endless, and so do his groans, his constant string of curses, the jerking of his hips and the trembles wracking through his entire body.

You damn well suck him dry. Not a drop is spared.

As you finally pull him out of your mouth, wipe your lips with the back of your hand and glimpse his shaking, sated form, you know you’re committing the sight to memory. For when this is all over.

He’s…he’s a vision. Head still tipped back. Stomach and chest still heavily rising and falling. Pleasure still pinching his face. His hands are fisted tightly in the bedsheets.

You leave him to come down from his high. He’s still panting a little when his head lolls forward, and his eyes meet yours.

“That was—” His voice cracks a little. “God’s, Y/N, I don’t have words.”

“It’s okay.” You press a gentle kiss to his stomach, tucking his sensitive length back into his trousers. “Words aren’t necessary. You did so well.”

His arms are suddenly around you, tugging you up and against him, your body slanted slightly over his. All the earlier tension from the night is gone, and it’s just you and him, your love and friendship, your unbreakable bond.

Az holds you tightly, burying into your hair. And you think that this was maybe more than just…you returning a favour. You think this might have been a soul-shifting moment for him. Something that released him from the invisible bindings that have held him back for so long.

And it saddens you a little to think that that might be the end of it. That you’ve done all you can do.

But still, you’re honoured to have helped him this far. To have guided him through it.

“Thank you.” He whispers, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head. He’s still trembling, and he tucks himself in tight as if he’s worried he might break. “Just…thank you.”

You don’t quite know what to say. It feels a little…final, and you don’t like that.

So you simply nestle into his side, and you repeat your earlier truth, your voice a whisper. “I don’t want you to go on the training exercise.”

Because you know you’ll miss him more than you ever have before. It’s going to be far harder this time.

What, exactly, that means…you can’t bear to think of it right now.

And there’s no need to as Az holds you tightly, kisses your head again.

“I’ll be there with you on Solstice.” He says. “I promise.”

azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden

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honestsycrets · 1 year

Text

Amor y Respeto I: Mi Alma || [Miguel O’Hara x Latina!Reader]

Chapter II: Corazón

❛ pairing | Miguel O’Hara x FB!Reader, platonic Hobie x Reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | the moment you want a sign of love from Miguel is the moment that your relationship is fucked.

❛ tags | fuckbuddies, a very latinx piece, jealousy, jealous Miguel O’Hara, a sparse hobie appearance, spidey!reader, latina!reader, no translations of the spanish included, gif credit to the original owner, nsfw, female reader, some mention of blood and wounds, some creative liberties, slight spoilers.

❛ sy’s notes | not my usual fanfare and i’m a little rusty but miguel hit me straight in my heart. i consciously omitted spanish translations in this work. consistent pet names include mi alma (my soul) & muñeca (doll). this is not my usual fandom and i may have missed some fandom nuances, so i apologize in advance for creative liberties. lastly, emotions impact the reader’s healing capabilities, hope that's clear enough. thank you @lisinfleur and @ivarsrideordie for your help. i’ll be dropping an ivar fic soon, see you then!

In your cultura, disrespect was unacceptable.

You knew it. Your lover knew you knew it: but for you, there was something greater than respect. Amor. If he knew that you knew about her little escapade, oh, it would be unforgivable. It undercut the very foundation of what he did at HQ. But even between lovers, where the time you spent was fleeting and unstable, there were things you could not share. Besides... how would he know?

The day had been long. Your body ached with the dizzying speed of patrols past the vine-covered high-rise apartments of your beautiful city. Your room was stuffy with the tropical air struggling against humidity. With dried blood on your skin, the perfect remedy was a shower. Its warmth soothed your aching muscles after a long day. You found your mind wandering to problems that didn’t immediately demand a solution. How you’d avoid cotton mouth the next time you saw him. Sooner than you thought.

The shower door whizzed aside, plumes of steam fading into the cool air. “Shit!” you shouted, reaching to cover your body. Miguel bent his head as he stepped into your cramped shower and cupped the frame. He shut the shower door. Did he already know? You nipped your lower lip raw and the taste of blood turned your tastebuds. Somehow, you knew that he hadn’t slipped off from HQ just to have you. Not tonight. He had that glazed-over look in his sharp eyes, considering you the same way he might consider anyone else.

“Miguel?” you fluttered your lashes at him which winked off plump droplets of water. “Mi alma, que paso?”

“Did you know?”

You reached out to turn the knob of the water off. It creaked to a stop. Despite tracing the droplets that coasted down your curves, he watched you with otherwise uninterested eyes. When you failed to respond, he stomped closer, kicking up the water that swirled under your bare feet.

“Did you know?” His fist pounded the side of the shower wall. Your heart leapt into your chest where it fluttered painfully, encased in your chest. Miguel bared his angular teeth at you. Teeth that usually marred your neck with possessive bites, loving kisses, and teasing scrapes. He never bared them at you like this. It was always a possibility, never the reality.

You met his eyes. The certainty you had moments earlier that oh, he wouldn’t find out, was gone. Of course, he found out. Your Miguel always found out. With that dead, blank expression, you knew the gravity of your situation.

“Of course, I knew.” His chest swelled with forceful inhalation of air as you spoke. “But Gwen… I, they’re only kids. Kids who--”

“Kids? They are not just kids. Coño, I’d expect this of them,” he prompted your name and took a step forward. You took one back. Then another, knocking your back into the shower walls. You were like a small bird in an even smaller cage. Nowhere to run and still, he wasn’t about to give you the luxury of personal space. You were pinned between his firm chest and the two stony walls against your back. His voice lowered dangerously low, barely a murmur against the shell of your ear. “But you? You know what’s at risk.”

“They love--”

“Y que?” he snapped your name out again. “Tell me, when those kids destroy thousands of lives, what does that change? Have you ever stopped to think of that? Of the lives this will ruin?”

“I just... wanted them happy. If even for an instant.” You hung your head. He set his clawed hand to the side of your head, combing through the stringy strands of your hair down with a false care that you wanted to believe in. But it was entangled in the strings of his manipulation. “Of course, you have, muñequita.”

“Then can’t they--” His hand balled up into a fist and careened with the wall behind you. Your head snapped away as his claws unfurled and released crumbling bits of the wall by your naked toes. You’d have to clean that up-- later. You took a deep breath and exhaled the frustration that packed away in your belly. “Sabes qué? I am sorry that love isn’t enough for you, I am sorry that I have never been enough for you.”

“No. No puedo con esto,” he looked down at you. As he leaned in, his forearm above your head supported his body weight. “Muñeca, por favor. This isn’t about us.”

“Why can’t it be?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I just want to be with you, but you won’t let me in,” you reached out. The soft pads of your fingertips hovered by his sharp jawline eased past his ear and into his ruffled hair. For a second, brief as it were, his eyes softened. He leaned into the touch. You had your window. “Why won’t you let me in?”

Whether or not he was past the anger, the disrespect, his thick arms wound around the small of your waist. In some bid to bring you back to your senses-- to him, he set his forehead against your own, dwelling in the soft scent of your floral soap that filled his nose. You tilted your head, capturing his lips in a kiss. His body became as sturdy: unmoving and guarded.

“I can’t give you what you need.” He reached back to remove your hands from his hair and with care settled them back on your moist chest. As he made his way out of your bathroom, his warning echoed through your mind. “Stay out of my way.”

Miguel’s love was unstable. Affection, not love. If you were honest with yourself, you would admit that you always knew it was bound to fail. You were lucky for what time you had with him. It made subsequent missions all the harder, wrapped up in this innate desire to be loved by a man who allowed himself to be loved by none. Without his affection, HQ felt barren. Its many corridors held no life, no love, and no prospect of a better future. Yet, for Miguel, there you were. Your ballet flats tapped furiously alongside the ringing stomps of your partner’s steel-toed boots.

“Ay bendito, this isn’t healing,” you dabbed your fingers in the blood at your shoulder, storming past a sea of red and blue that parted for the pair of you. Your neck was oozing-- well, not oozing so much as soaking your outfit. The mission could have gone better. Sometimes your mind wandered at the worst of times. It didn’t matter, not now. It was done, he would be happy, and it would be enough for today. All that you did you did for him-- and he knew it.

“Your man won’t be happy about that,” Hobie cut through the crowd while walking backward. He made it look so easy. Conviction, you guessed, made life much easier.

“No,” you took the end of your silky rebozo and held it to your shoulder. “He only cares about results. We have good results. What does he have to be angry about? He has everything he wants.”

“Hm.” Hobie hummed, span around, and leaned over your shoulder. He was on your tail with his aggravatingly long legs no matter how quickly you walked.

“Hobie, por dios.”

“He broke up with you, didn’e?”

You didn’t have to answer him. You didn’t even need to talk to him. You could just keep walking and leave it to his imagination. Yet, your face faltered. The perceptive man he was, Hobie twisted in front of your path. He leaned his hips back and sank his face inches apart from yours. Hobie quirked a smile in his lazy eyes and an adorable lip pout. Your eye centered on his piercing to avert your focus from his words.

“Yeah,” he answered his own question. “Bet he did.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you swerved around him.

“Maybe.” Hobie shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and sped after you. “But I’m with you.”

“How sweet.”

You knew your Miguel would be there: on that stupid platform, staring at multiple screens, at a lost life, departed from his reality in any other capacity but maintaining the happiness of others. Well, others that weren’t like you. You found him in that very same position when you pressed into his lab.

“What is it now?”

“We’ve taken care of it-- Hobie and I.”

“Good,” came his dry response. “Is that all?”

“Not in the mood to talk to your girl, eh?” Hobie clicked, throwing his arm over your shoulder: not out of care, or friendship, but spite. No matter the institution, Hobie always seemed to harbor harsh feelings for those in charge. If it meant pissing him off a little, rattling up the flow of HQ, Hobie was always an eager volunteer. Hobie turned his lips to your ear and prompted your name, “C’mon, leave him. Let's go get a drinky drink.”

You bit out a cry at the pressure on your neck, the damn thing wasn’t healing nearly as fast as it needed to be. You blamed the bundles of anxiety that rattled up emotions low in your belly. It was still open, soaking Hobie too. He didn’t mind a little blood on his shorn uniform. Good for the image, and all that.

“That hurt, Hobie!”

Miguel threw a glance over his shoulder. Just a moment, but enough to spot something else that agitated him. Your normally white outfit, fluttery and light, splattered with the blood that painted your red rebozo a little redder. Or maybe it was Hobie’s lips on your ear, making remarks about beer-- or whiskey-- or-- Molotov--

“Get off,” Miguel pounced down from his kingly stoop and flicked Hobie’s wrist. He snaked his wrist away, shoving his palms back into his pants. You threw him a look knowing that it was not because Miguel told him to but because he felt like it. The devil’s advocate that he was. Miguel unraveled the rebozo from your neck. His hand grasped your chin and angled it one way, then the other, rumbling in clear agitation “You’re wounded.”

“Déjame quieta. Don’t touch me.”

“And you?” Miguel rocked back on his heels, setting his well-corded arms on his hips. Then, he angled his body toward Hobie. “Where were you?”

Hobie lifted his pierced eyebrow. “He serious?”

“I can handle myself.”

“Can you? And you-- why are you still here?” Though Miguel asked the question, it was a statement. Hobie held his palms up, fluttering his fingers in mockery. You watched Miguel run his fingers down the bloody rebozo, counting its bloodied inches.

“Vente conmigo.” He leaned into your ear. The trill of his voice danced down your spine, low and husky. Your mind wandered to the many nights he whispered just the same in your ear. You suppressed the shiver, your heartbeat trembling so violently you were sure you could hear its pathetic thumping, nearly a cry. It hadn’t been long but... you missed this.

“You told me to stay out of your way. I am staying out of your way. Give me--”

“I won’t ask again. Either you come or I’ll make you.” That was it then. A flash of disbelief snapped across your face. The gall of this man. Even though he told you to stay out of the way, he demanded that you leave the lab with him? You caught Hobie perking up to look your way with shiny curious eyes. He pointed to his chest and then yours, suggesting… something you’d ignore. Hobie slipped out a smug hum.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Hobie.”

There were no good alternatives. You knew he would make good on his threat. Not that you particularly would want to fight him anyway. Whether it was respect or obligation, you ran after your Miguel, who already walked away. You snatched the rebozo from his waiting hand, suspended in the air.

Yes, your life was a delicate balance between love and respect. You weren’t sure which of those guided you back to Miguel’s dimly lit room. Only that as you sat on his bed, your once-was lover was behind you. His fingers worked swiftly on your neck, furiously tugging at your sore neck with what felt like a needle. No point complaining. It would eventually end. You could go find the boys. They could rail you about your dating choices as they always did.

“Lyla will find you another backup partner,” he broke the silence. You rathered he didn’t operate in this limbo of false intimacy. Your lips parted into a sigh rife with agitation. The drawback of fucking your boss was this, you supposed. He controlled your life.

“No, she won’t. I like working with Hobie. I want him.”

Miguel paused short of dipping the needle back into your skin. “What do you mean-- you want him?”

“What does it sound like? I like working with Hobie. I trust Hobie. So I want Hobie by my side.” You slapped your lacey thighs and turned to gaze into those familiar eyes. “Así que, no, I do not need another backup. I don’t need you controlling every inch of my work life. I need you to hurry up.”

“Muñeca. If you’re emotional, you’ll heal slower.”

“Do not call me that,” you jumped from his lush bed. Your neck squealed for you to stop and let him fix what was clearly broken with the slack thread that connected your body to his. Oh, and what a metaphor it felt like. Your life was sewn together by a man who held all the strings in his hands. “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore. You made it clear how little you feel about me-- and my feelings.”

He lifted his eyes to yours. A long, slow look. The sort of look that made you question it all. As if the things you said weren’t really from your lips, no matter how sure you were of them. You broke the exchange first and grasped the long strand embedded deep in your neck.

“Your feelings,” he held out his hand and tugged the line, “tend to get in the way of what needs to be done.”

Startled, you looked down at his open palm. You slipped your smaller fingers into the middle of his palm and sat back on the bed. He slid behind you, pressing his core against your backside-- because that was completely necessary. With soft care, he shifted your hair over the opposing shoulder and continued his work.

“Apart from that, you shouldn’t have gone on that mission. You were distracted. If you weren’t so emotional,” Miguel murmured. “We wouldn’t be here.”

If you weren’t emotional? You screwed your eyebrows together in a pathetic attempt to ignore what he just said. To ignore the way that he demeaned the fuel of your abilities, what guided you through this traumatic thing called life. Meanwhile, Miguel functioned on minimal emotion-- the suppression of what he’d lost by protecting what he was.

“It’s your fault I was distracted in the first place.”

“You should be able to control your own feelings.”

“Fine. Apúrate. I’ll get out of your way.”

Miguel snapped the healing aid thread and ran his clawed fingertips across the long streaks on your neck and shoulder. It was mere moments that he lingered there circling your neck. As your breathing evened out, you felt your body pull together fibrous strands of tissue and heal. Yet, you couldn’t care.

“Done.” Miguel refused to address your gaze but opted to draw your top back into place to over your breasts. You stood and secured the buttons of your halter top behind your neck. That was it. You’d return to your duties, healed half by your emotions and half by Miguel. You would need to learn to ignore the love you had for him. One day, all this would be well. Miguel rolled up the excess thread around his reel.

Fine. If he was going to ignore you--

“Do you think,” you paused long enough to debate your words. Enough for Miguel to glance up with his stoic red eyes and lift an eyebrow at you. It irritated you how unemotional and consistently unbothered he could be when you stood there just the opposite. Always desperate for a sign of his feelings. “Hobie wants to fuck?”

There were some lines you should never cross. While you would never actually fuck your partner, the mere mention of the thought ever crossing your mind was one step too far. It was terribly disrespectful. Miguel’s reel plopped onto the floor and rolled short of your feet.

You slid your palms over your hips before hooking at the bend in your waist. His gaze focused on the glide of your hands trailing slowly down your sides. Sides that he often snatched in the dead of night after a warm shower. Or that he’d cling to during lovemaking. Your following words caused him to lurch off the bed. “Qué piensas? He might still be in HQ, no?”

“What,” His hand fit along your neck like a tight collar. The next moment, pain radiated from your skull and blurred your vision. The pain licked flames of excitement to life in your belly. A gasp slipped from your lips. Instead of shock, your cry was tinged with delight. With his wild brown hair slumping forward over his scarlet eyes, he was more beautiful than ever. His claws squeezed your neck, jerking and slamming your head once more. His breath tickled your cheek. “What did you say?”

Of course, he couldn’t help himself: the control freak. He was a genius. You knew he knew it was bait. He had to. But your looming threat was enough for him to take the risk. Your lips curled, laughing your words rather flippantly. “I said-- do you think Hobie wants to fuck?”

You eviscerated his already thin patience. The searing pain of his fangs piercing your battered neck seared all thoughts of Hobie from your mind. Your hands choked out a pitiful cry. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel-- calma.”

The familiar burn of his frantic biting, his violent ownership of your body, made your body slick. He lifted your hips onto his, legs dangling over his slim thighs. Crunched up against his massive body, you felt small but as if you were the focus of his world. Just how you loved to feel when you were encased in his arms.

“You think he could fuck you like I can?” His gravelly voice rumbled. His face pinched tight, daring your response. “That you can replace me— so easily?”

No, the answer was a resounding no. But he didn’t need to know that. If Miguel thought he could play games with you, you’d play games with him. The last forty-eight hours had been a blur of his rejection. It was only fair that Miguel felt the same.

Blood seeped down from your neck, a feeling you were accustomed to today. On the other hand, you weren’t accustomed to how he tore into your uniform as if it were as offensive as your harsh words. You calmly noted that you were glad to have multiple: a consequence of doing this work too long.

That was it. You slid your hands up his forearms, around his firm biceps, to his broad shoulders. There you rested your arms, knocking your foreheads gently together. Past the rage, you recognized the slightest hint of fear in his eyes. The promise that you were lying. For security under another name. You refused to give it to him: he never gave it to you.

“He is Spiderman, isn’t he?”

He shifted the pad of his finger between your lips. Your tongue slid over his thumb, crooked in your mouth to suppress any more words that he may regret hearing or that you may regret saying.

“He may be,” Miguel rasped. His lips quirked into a wicked grin. With Miguel’s sudden sharpness, you weren’t expecting to see his smile. You welcomed it, a rare delight that you found yourself loathing the more he spoke. “But you’re mine.”

His. The inklings of fear you previously spotted in the depth of Miguel’s eyes seemed to weaken, sliding his thumb from your lips, rolling past your nipple, and the muscles of your stomach. He slid past your vulva, trailing with expert care along your slit. It was barely a touch if even a graze. Words failed to form. They were a thick bolus in your throat, congealed and thick.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I thought so.”

Your eyes trailed Miguel’s strong jawline and ambled up toward his lips. Your gaze lingered there as his fingers slipped between your lips, finding your cunt soft and wet. His eyes flickered toward your shy gaze and danced his lips against yours by virtue of his words. “It doesn’t seem like you’re that interested in finding him.”

“How would you know?” you cried out when one of his clawed fingers dipped inside your body. Your hips jerked onto his hand to seek out more of him. Your traitorous, awful body. It wasn’t comfortable when he scratched you while stroking your velvety inner walls. But you always needed more of his touch.

“Oh,” Miguel hummed. He bent close-- your eyes now focused on his high cheekbones. You couldn’t look him in the eyes and know that he knew how weak you were for him. “I know. It’s the way you look at me.”

“As if--” You dropped your eyes, reveling in the pressure of his prodding fingers, the delight in having him here, with you, once again. It shouldn’t have felt as intimate, as comforting as it did, but it did. His fingers withdrew, pleased with his work. “You know I can give you what you need.”

“You said you couldn’t,” Miguel slipped his fingers into your mouth: sweet and sour with your own excitement and the scratches of blood. His hands worked at the waist as you secured yourself on the wall with your hands, knowing what was next-- and expecting it.

“I lied.” he drawled out, a long hum. He spat on his hand and rubbed himself as you watched, anticipating the soft prod of his cock’s head at your entrance. It hadn’t been long. Yet, as he buried himself in the warmth of your body, you inhaled a wealth of air into your chest, exhaling it in soft shudders. Perhaps it was the fear of never having this again.

His large hands shifted underneath your ass and pinned you square against the wall. His claws drew blood to the surface of superficial cuts. Your hands snapped to his shoulders and clung onto him for some security. You found no rest between the wall chafing your back and Miguel’s long, pointed strokes into your body. Your body burned with the pull of his dick dragging in and out of your cunt, fighting to keep him inside with every squeeze and pull. He wasn’t lying, you knew. But it didn’t matter. Not when you were his complete and utter focus.

Miguel let a word of praise slip free as he ground into you. With a wall of muscle before you and the sturdy wall behind, breathing was slight and hard to come by. It had to be what he wanted-- to make you focus on him and him alone. It’s what you deserved after antagonizing the man. Your hands found his hair, knotting your fingers in it, and accepting the ferocity of his deep, then shallow strokes into your core. Your eyes flitted shut as he bottomed out, grinding his hips in tight circles. As you came, your body furiously clenched onto his cock, slowing his sweeping thrusts.

You craved it: the moment of Miguel’s weakness. Your body urged out his orgasm with a noise tempered by pleasure and annoyance. Your cunt milking earned you a particularly firm slam of his hips. Miguel would drag you down to take it all. He spilled into you with a deliciously unique warmth, grinding his hips until spent. His forehead rested on the crook of your neck. In place of another hard bite, he gently kissed your collarbone and throat. After he finished, he settled you down onto the floor. But your legs were sloppy, weak shaky things. Miguel snatched your hand as you swayed to keep yourself upright.

“I have to go,” you held his hand begrudgingly for support. Then bent down to pick up strips of your clothes. Yet another victim of your relationship with him. You would have to... mend this. Somehow. Probably not. “They’re expecting me--”

“Muñeca,”

“Cálmate, Miguel. You know I’m not going to fuck him,” you swiped the coursing fluids down your thigh. You dragged your hand down Miguel’s firm chest and danced your finger up his chest to flip up his chin. He glanced down, puffing air from his nostrils in protest. His eyes rolled, oh so slightly. “He’s not my type. I like them big, mm?”

“You would if he was?” he bristled.

“I never said that.” You said. Despite this fact, certain needs needed to be met. Ones that if he didn’t fill, someone else would. You both knew this. Your work was long and stressful and done in the name of the man who was before you. If for nothing but that love, you knew you would keep going. You believed in Miguel: his choices and his heart.

“You didn’t need to.”

“Mi alma--” you stopped, waving your hand at his pet name. “All this is fleeting. I need someone that will meet my needs. To tell me they love me. Can you?”

He pressed his lips together and stewed on your request. You knew without a question in your mind what that answer was. In the aftermath of sex with Miguel, he was closer to you than ever. And yet, it was impossible to convince him of an actual connection. For him, it was easier to leave you than love you.

He didn’t need to say it.

“I know you, Miguel. You didn’t lie. It was the truth,” you slipped your hand from his. Instead, you opted to set a fleeting kiss on the side of his lip. For better or worse, he didn’t reciprocate. Your steps carried you backward. Then, you afforded him a small deprecating smile. “Other than sex, you can’t give me what I need.”

#Miguel O'Hara x Reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman imagines #spiderman imagine #spider 2099 x reader #sy writes #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel ohara oneshot #across the spiderverse imagine #marvel imagines

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dnd-smash-pass-vs · 2 months

Note

Have you seen Dungeon Meshi? Laos is such a monsterfucker I can’t get over it. He asks one of his companions if it felt good to be caught by the tentacle-vine plant monster. He waxed poetic about how cool animal-hybrid monsters are. (I’m sorry if you don’t like a show or this feels irrelevant to your blog, but also I can’t tell my friends ‘hey I like this character because I also think it would feel good to be caught by the tentacle monster’)

Anyway he’s how I imagine this blog’s audience would approach an IRL dungeon expedition

Sorry to take this way too seriously, I mean no ill will. But I've been a MASSIVE fan of dungeon meshi for... oof, almost 7 years apparently, It's a perfect storm of everything I love with fantastic writing and characterization, and I don't think I could disagree with that more. I think you missed a primary running gag of the series. He keeps saying lines that, if anyone else said them would be sexual, but the people around him know he's just a super obsessed wildlife researcher. He does not want to fuck monsters, that's kinda the entire point. Like you need to understand that some biologists will happily and unnecessarily lick poison, get bitten, and pick up dangerous things without hesitation. It's not that they get off to poison play, it's that they love the topic so much that it's their life and they want to know every aspect. When he's zealously asking what it's like for the vine monster to grapple and stab you with seeds, he's saying that because he's just that into learning and wants the firsthand experience! He's here because he doesn't want to just read about his special interest, he wants to live it, be PART of the ecosystem!

...actually, incredibly relevant spoilers below for a monster later on (chapter 58-60, so likely end of this season or start of the next)

They later find straight-up succubi. Chilchuck talking about how they turn into your perfect match, you ALWAYS have to fight them as a pair or you're just screwed because of irresistible magic charming powers. One finds Laios alone...and he's completely unaffected, immediately chokes it and goes to kill it without any issue. The only hesitation is a bit of embarrassment that "Oh no, it misinterpreted my feelings as attraction, if the party finds this it'll lead to a HUGE misunderstanding. This could ruin my friendships, I need to immediately kill it and hide the body." That gives it enough time to convince him "hey, it's impossible to resist a succubus, so obviously I'm not a succubus right?" And it works because he knows that yes, nobody can resist a succubus charm. Except apparently him. Even trying again by combining his thoughts with his all time favorite monster didn't daze him like it did the others. It had to convince him that it could turn him INTO a monster, and that everyone else was ok with it too, to get him to hesitantly submit to being drained. They didn't have to reason with marcielle or chilchuck, but lust just didn't work with Laios, not as a person or as a monster. It's like how nobody gets panty shots except Senshi. it's a subversion joke. There are quite a few in this series, especially ones centered on Laios.

#not tournament #answers #dungeon meshi

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houserautha · 29 days

Text

These Destined Ends

Part Thirteen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: poorly timed erections, humiliation kink, cockwarming, you spit in his mouth, unprotected sex, unnecessary angst

Summary: I’m not super happy with this chapter. I wanted to go into detail with the Gom Jabbar scene but I couldn’t get any words out😂 so I skipped ahead to the smut part I wanted to write. Big things happening next chapter👀

The doors to the study burst open.

You look up from your spot nearby. Patience was not your strong suit, and you had grown bored while waiting for the Reverend Mother to administer the Gom Jabbar. Confusion flickers through you as you quickly assess the Reverend Mother's hastened steps.

"How did it go?" You ask, craning your neck to see into the study. Though you hardly thought Feyd would actually succumb to the test, it still worried you, and you feared you would see his body slumped on the floor.

"Never in my life," the Reverend Mother mutters. She stops in front of you. "The na-Baron is human, it seems, but not a man. Not like any that I've ever known."

You blink stupidly, her form retreating before you can even inquire about what she meant. She had been insistent that you weren't in the room with them and clearly she did not want to recall what you missed. She didn't even adhere to her usual courtesies of formal manners, scurrying away without even a backward glance.

Curiosity grows like a vine, winding up around you and inspiring you to creep into the study, unsure about what to expect. "Feyd?"

Your gaze sweeps the room. There's no jumble of limbs to suggest that he perished under the Gom Jabbar, which alleviates your fears slightly.

Finally you spot him, reclined in one of the plush chairs that had been pushed aside to make room for the assessment. Afternoon shadows cast him in a strange light, mostly hidden except for the faintest outline of his body.

"Feyd? What is she talking about?" You cross the room to him.

"That witch's test had...unexpected results."

"But you passed it?"

"Would I be here if I didn't?" He asks.

"No." You allow your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, so different from outside of the study where you had waited. "What —?"

The words die in your throat.

Feyd sits, infuriatingly regal, in the chair, legs spread wide and arms draped on either side of the curved back. You notice for the first time his very obvious erection, straining against his pants and sufficiently flushing you with a perverse mixture of desire and shame.

"Feyd-Rautha," you gasp out, baffled.

"She thought she could deter me with pain, but clearly she is not as intelligent as she believes."

You hiss back, "You are abhorrent."

"Perhaps." He inclines his chin. "Show me."

His words pull behind your navel, the familiar tugging answer to his call. An image of Feyd, poison needle to his neck, deriving pleasure from the box entrapping his hand, flashes through your mind. No wonder the Reverend Mother was so horrified. It brings the slightest of grins to your face, and a subsequent wave of affection for the twisted, beautiful man before you.

"Show you what?" You ask coyly.

His voice is silk, red wine, life's greatest pleasures gliding over your skin. "Just how abhorrent you find me."

You close the space between you. Feyd keeps his gaze trained on you as you insert yourself between his legs, leaning down to work the fasten of his pants. Cock liberated, it springs up, red and pulsing. It invokes a low, savage growl from him when you pointedly ignore his hardened length in favor of your own wanton needs, gathering your skirts in one hand while dipping the other down to your cunt. His cock twitches in response.

"So abhorrent that I don't know if you deserve this pussy," you murmur to him. "You disgust me. Why would I even want to fuck you?"

Feyd's jaw clenches and he wraps his fist at the base of his cock. "Shit."

Emboldened, you keep the steady rhythm of your own self-pleasure, sneering at your husband.

"People have perished under the Gom Jabbar and yet it arouses you, the unspeakable pain enticing your cock. You should be ashamed of yourself." Feyd gasps out, stroking himself. There's a dark intensity in his eyes. You realize that he craves this from you, needs to hear you flay him with your tongue. "Look how hard you are. You're pathetic."

His head rolls back, exposing the pale column of his throat. Your fingers hitch and you inhale at the sight of him like this. Wound tight with want, you remove your hand and climb into his lap. Feyd is only too eager to accommodate you, pushing his hips up in an effort to drive his cock into you, hands grabbing for your waist.

"Don't touch me," you snarl at him, swatting him away. Feyd whimpers. "You think I want your hands on me after what you did?"

A keening sound splits the room as you slip the swollen head of his cock between your folds, a display of his frustration — you keep still, refusing to provide the friction that he is so desperate for. He fills you thoroughly, stretching you until you feel you might burst, and you have to fight the urge to roll your hips against his.

"Don't do this," he snarls at you.

"What? Punish you? You practically asked for it, dear husband."

You sit on his cock, unmoving. He stares back at you with contempt, fingers digging into the arms of the chair. When he looks at you like this, like you are some unobtainable treasure, you might as well be seated on a throne. And, you suppose, it is an honor to have him buried to the hilt in your cunt, this man who has searched for pleasure in others, in violence, and now clings to you like none of it compares.

"Please," Feyd breathes out.

"Don't talk to me," you snap, shifting your hips just the slightest bit. His eyes flash. "But since you're so eager to use your mouth."

You grab hold of his jaw, squeezing tightly as you pull him closer. Despite the roughness of your grasp, it might as well be a caress, Feyd's cock flinching in response.

"Open," you instruct him, though it doesn't matter. With force, you pry apart his lips and slip your thumb inside his mouth, pressing down on his tongue and holding him in place.

It's an intoxicating experience — his hardened member resting in your cunt, his face in your hand, the pleading in his eyes as he gazes up at you. Power was addictive. You thought yourself above it, once. But all it took was the right person to hold it over.

Spittle sprays his face as you spit in his mouth.

Feyd's throat bobs. If it's possible, you swear you feel him grow harder inside you. "Close, but don't swallow," you murmur to him, revoking your thumb. Feyd obeys. At this point he's trembling with want and frustration. You remove your grip on his jaw but he keeps it lofted in the air; with more fondness than you care, you wipe the spittle from his face, the pads of your fingers swiping over the bannister of his cheekbones, his eyelids.

Finally you whisper, "You disgust me." Leaning back on your heels, you indicate for him to swallow, which he does. A smile curves your mouth. "You should be fucking grateful that I pity you. Grovel. Tell me why you deserve this."

"I don't," Feyd gasps. "I don't. I don't."

"Is that all you know how to say?" You sneer at him.

He shakes his head, desperation crossing his features. "No. I—I don't deserve you but that's..." he trails off, the words sticking in his throat like he can't quite work them out, "that's exactly why I need you."

To express your approval, you grind your hips against him. Feyd whimpers. His admission pleases you, injects you with a fervency that lifts you up on his cock and then back down. Feyd's thighs clench beneath you as you persist with the movement, steadying yourself by reaching behind him and grabbing the chair, and expletives falling from his mouth as you do.

"That's right you fucking need me," you hiss to him. You quicken your pace.

In retrospect, you should've milked the moment for all it was worth, but Feyd was already on the edge and you weren't far behind; his eyes roll back in his head as he comes, and you clamp around him, seeking your own finish. His cock softens in you. You do your best not to let any cum escape from between your thighs, vaguely grateful that its consistency is thick and doesn't normally demand much cleanup.

Smoothing the wrinkles from your dress, you ask him, "Tell me you got it."

Eyes half-lidded, Feyd gestures to the side of the chair. The Gom Jabbar rests, glinting in the dim lighting. Your gaze cuts to him.

"You didn't ask," he says, reading your mind.

"You didn't tell me it was right there?" You bark at him, bewildered. "I could've —"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I wouldn't have let you."

You hesitate, knowing that he's right. Anger drains from you then, replaced with curiosity, and you wait for him to tuck himself back into his pants. Feyd rises to his feet.

"She didn't notice?"

"She was...distracted," Feyd says.

"And you replaced it."

"Yes."

"Good." Your gaze roams his face. "I must say I’m relieved you’re alive.”

Feyd lets out a laugh, deep and rasping. “I never thought I would hear those words from you.”

“Hopefully you don’t think less of me for it.”

“Nothing could make me think less of you,” he murmurs, then grins. “Though I might send a physician to check you for fever.”

You can’t help but laugh at this and you gently push his chest. Feyd captures your hands there, though, holding you close to him. You jest, “You’re lucky that I love you.”

Feyd’s expression shutters. Horror yawns in you, an all-consuming mouth threatening to swallow you whole. Why did you say that?

“Feyd, I —”

He takes a step away from you, dropping your hands. Even though he’s only a few inches away, a chasm might as well have opened between you. Feyd grabs the Gom Jabbar. “This needs to be taken care of.”

He brushes past you and, paralyzed with panic and disbelief, you let him.

Hours turn into days, which turn into weeks. A month. The longest glimpse you have of your husband is in passing; conveniently, a smuggler operation was uncovered the day after the Gom Jabbar, which demanded the full attention of the na-Baron. Feyd immersed himself in dismantling the enterprise. You, on the other hand, were left to the simple task of “carrying out your duty” — which, to your best understanding, meant to conceive the Kwisatz Haderach — an impossible task considering your husband refused to look at you.

You spent most of your days in your parents’ study, rifling through whatever documents were salvageable from Rabban’s raid. Most of them were meaningless to you, stocks of supplies and financial reports. But at least they kept your mind from drifting.

You’re in the study when the door opens and Feyd-Rautha steps inside, as solemn and impassive as he’s been ever since that day. Seeing him like this, so close and without distractions, pierces you like a dagger. The worst part of this whole ordeal is the fact that you missed him.

You missed his unwavering confidence, the flow of your banter, the slightest changes in his expression that only time had revealed their meaning. And, infuriatingly, you missed the sex. Missed the sear of his hands on your body, his cock in your cunt. You prayed to whoever would listen that he couldn’t see this on your face.

It definitely wouldn’t help your case after telling him that you loved him.

“The smugglers have been neutralized,” Feyd says first, breaking the silence.

You dip your chin. “I assumed they would be.”

“To celebrate this feat the Baron has requested that we host a feast with our allies, and to showcase our new rule over Arrakis.”

“Ah,” you reply. You wanted this to happen as part of your plan, but you weren’t sure what it meant now that you weren’t on speaking terms. You pause, waiting for Feyd to offer some sort of hint, but he just continues his blank stare.

Even when you first met, when you swore that he was the most wretched creature to exist, he did not treat you like this. Like you were nothing.

Courage thrums through you like a second heartbeat. “And what will your uncle, our allies, think when the na-Baron won’t even spare a glance to his wife?”

“I don’t care what they think.”

“You used to care what I thought,” you whisper back to him. Your throat works. It’s the first time you’ve uttered what you’ve been thinking. “And now you won’t even look at me, which is a punishment unlike any I’ve known.”

If it’s possible, Feyd stills even more. There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes but it’s gone before you can name it, like the glint of a fish on the surface before disappearing into the depths.

He rasps, “You don’t understand.”

“No, Feyd, I don’t understand, because you’ve been fucking avoiding me,” you growl. “So why don’t you enlighten me?”

His jaw clenches. “This isn’t the time.”

“If it’s up to you, it will never be.” You stand and cross your arms. “Just tell me. Then we can fuck until you get me pregnant and we’ll never have to speak to each other again.”

Feyd just stares evenly at you. You think that he might never speak but when he does, his voice is so low you can barely hear it. “This isn’t…this isn’t because I don’t…reciprocate…your feelings.”

He chokes out each word. Still your heart flutters traitorously.

“If what you said is true, then I am a liability to you. I am not meant for…I just wanted to give you time to think,” he finishes awkwardly. “Love is a weakness. It’s messy. It complicates things.”

“If you haven’t noticed, everything about us is complicated,” you reply, laughing bitterly. You feel your features soften. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“You’re wrong to love me, jewel.” He steps towards you, and you realize that there’s a startling vulnerability to his face, nearly childlike in its sincerity. A boy pleading for the care that he never received. “I will only hurt you.”

A wistful smile tugs at your mouth. “You’ve hurt me many times already, and yet I’m still here.”

“You’re a fool.”

“I know.” This time you’re the one to inch closer, bridging the gap between you. You can hear Feyd’s breath hitch. “Don’t hide from me. I cannot bear it.”

Feyd nods, once, almost imperceptibly. “Fine.”

You can’t help it — you reach out and straighten his collar, graze your fingers over his skin. He inhales sharply and it’s in that moment that you realize his avoidant behavior has been just as punishing for him, a matter of self-preservation.

“I will tear off your balls and use them to store my jewelry if you ever do something like that again,” you tell him. Amusement crosses his face, on the tail of his obvious relief.

“Mm, careful, I’d risk anything if it meant you would touch me.”

Part 14

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1 @unnisumi @aoi-targaryen

#feyd rautha #dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd smut #writers on tumblr #fanfic #writing #these destined ends

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seonghwaddict · 10 months

Text

★ NEVER SAY NEVER. [ 009 ] flowers on vines.

synopsis. something about the eight most well-known boys of your campus just didn't sit right with you, so you never gave any effort to interact with them. but after a series of… interesting incidents, they can't seem to leave you alone. pairing. college students! vampires! ot8! ateez x fem! reader. genre. fluff, angst, eventual smut, college au, vampire au. chapter warnings. mildly suggestive content, implication of size kink. word count. 3k

　　　　　　　　chapter viii // chapter ix // chapter x

With a week left for the project, thirteen out of the fourteen had come and gone with the snap of a finger. You were aware time seemed to go so fast because of the person you were partnered with. Wooyoung had a way of getting the most stubborn of people to have the most fun. Meeting with him—and his friends, or, you supposed, your friends—nearly every day a week for months, it wasn’t a surprise that it went by so quickly.

You worked very well together, a shock to you initially but after getting so close to him it made sense. Not to mention how close you’ve gotten to his friends, who you now also considered some of your own best friends and loved. Not that you loved them, but you thought they were cool and fun and nice and unbelievably handsome and-

Your thoughts were quickly cut off by a knock on your studio door that cut through the music playing from your bluetooth speaker. Well, “studio” was a bit of an exaggeration.

When you and Sangmi first moved into this apartment, it became apparent to the two of you that there was an extra room. Of course, knowing that she was a dance student and probably practised for the majority of the day, you let her have the extra room but she quickly shot you down and told you to use it for your art instead. It wasn’t spacious enough to be a dance studio, anyway.

There was space for your assortment of shelves and easels, a long table stretched the length of the wall under the single window in the room, paint tubes, brushes and palette knives scattered all over the surface and various filled sketchbooks, new and scrapped canvases crammed just below the table on the equally long shelf.

You set a small couch next to the door, the wall behind it decorated with several of your paintings you favoured over the others. Sometimes, while you were working, you let Sangmi sit on the couch and relax, either watching you or doing something of her own as you enjoyed each other’s presence.

You set your paintbrush down next to your palette on the table and wiped your paint stained hands on a cloth before opening the door.

“Hey, I’m gonna go to the dance studio for a few hours.” Sangmi told you as you stepped aside to let her in. She looked at the painting of Wooyoung you were working on, the reference picture a screenshot of the dance video he filmed, taped to the top part of the easel. “Oh, it’s coming along so well!”

Over the past weeks she’s been checking on you and your progress, reminding you to eat whenever you get too carried away with painting. She’s seen all the stages and all the discarded versions of the painting, as well as all your frustration when you couldn’t get things to look quite right.

The canvas was fairly large, a magnificent oil painting of Wooyoung finally living up to your visions on the fabric—so you figured there wouldn’t be a need for smaller paintings as well. The dance was a contemporary one, choreographed to a song that made use of traditional instruments and performed on the stage of the university’s auditorium. The part you chose to paint was an almost breathtaking point of the choreography where he switched from sharp movements to an almost trance-like slowness, looking up with one hand elegantly reaching upwards. There was no denying his talent.

The lighting from the stage’s spotlight was already dramatic, but you tweaked it on your canvas, adding more contrast and a soft glow to his illuminated features to create a more jarring effect. He looked ethereal with the way you painted him.

A couple minutes later, Sangmi left and you could continue painting in peace. Well, until the doorbell rang, at least. With a groan, you set your paintbrush down and walked into the hall to see who you needed to buzz in. As soon as you saw who was waiting outside the building, your eyes lit up and you wasted no time in hitting the button to unlock the door.

You practically ran to the bathroom to wash the paint off your fingers. By the time he arrived at your door, you already cleaned yourself up a bit and made a bit of an effort to sort out your messy hair. With a deep breath, you opened the door and practically threw yourself on him.

“Gosh, I thought I’d never see you again!” You pretended to cry into his chest as your embraced him tightly.

But Yunho only chuckled, ruffling your hair. “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”

You were only half joking. With you focused on your painting and him having to attend shootings and rehearsals for the end of year movie of the acting students, you hadn’t seen each other in a while. Each of the artistic majors had some kind of collaborative showcase near the end of the year; this year art majors and dancers worked together, the film majors worked with the actors, and the music majors worked with the theatre students. For that reason, you couldn’t find a lot of time to see half of the boys in general.

“That’s an ironic thing to say for an actor.” You stepped away from him with a giddy laugh, noticing the bags in his hand and pointing at them. “What’s that?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Yunho smiled and walked past you to set the bags on the small breakfast table between the kitchen and living area. “I brought food. I didn’t know what you wanted,” he began taking different containers out of the bags, “so I got a variety—some soups, tteokbokki, fried chicken, japchae, gimbap and, of course, rice.”

“Thank you so much, but really didn’t have to get all this-“

He cut you off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it, I want to treat you to some delicious food.”

After a moment of you biting your lips with uncertainty, you nodded gratefully and moved to the kitchen to grab utensils and bowls.

The two of you conversed comfortably as you stuffed yourselves full with the food he brought. You asked about the movie but he’d only give you answers so vague he may not have said anything at all; “What is it about?” “Well, you know, characters and stuff.” “Yunho, please!” “Ok, ok, fine… it’s a romance and involves characters.”

Though you didn’t really notice it, he paid a lot of attention to you. Whether you were talking or just eating, he was constantly taking notes in his mind. When you briefly mentioned a movie you liked, he later reminded himself to watch it when he had the time. Or when your eyes gave a slightly different reaction to a particular dish that showed you enjoyed it, he later reminded himself to make sure to order that dish next time he brings you food. Even when he was the one talking, he was so focused on the warmth in your face as you listened to him that he nearly lost his train of thought several times.

You told him about the progress of your painting, but adamantly refused to show it to him even when he begged so prettily. However, he quickly quelled his curiosity as you said something about wanting to surprise him and the rest of the guys. Something unfamiliar in his chest clenched when you giggled at his pout, reaching your hand over to pat his forearm.

“But I want to see your paintings!” He huffed jokingly, making you laugh again.

“I can just paint something for you out here.”

He seemed to be considering the offer for a while and then his pout disappeared, his eyes lighting up even though there was a darker glint in his eyes you couldn’t quite decipher. A smirk spread across his face.

“What if… you paint me?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ve thought about using you as a reference so-”

“No, no, you misunderstood me,” he let out a mischievous little chuckle that twisted your stomach, “I mean, what if you paint on me?”

“O-oh…” Mildly surprised by the request, you blinked. “Are you, um… are you sure you’d want that?”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you. “Of course I do! But if you don’t feel comfortable doing it, you don’t have to.”

With a newfound determination to make him happy, you nodded and got up, telling him to stay where he was seated while you went to grab some paint. Deciding oil paints weren’t the best idea, you settled on gouache, something between watercolour and acrylic that would wash off easily. You grabbed a few clean brushes and walked out with everything in your hands.

The sight that waited for you in the living room had your breath caught in your throat. Yunho was still there, as you had asked, but he had gone to the bathroom and grabbed a towel to lay on the floor.

He was on top of the towel.

Laying face down.

Shirtless.

You were glad he wasn’t facing you, otherwise he would’ve seen the way you had to turn around to pull yourself together. There was no denying how well-built Yunho’s body was—or any of their bodies, in fact—but seeing it so bare, despite only seeing his back, did things to you. For the sake of the friendship, you swallowed down the nervousness bubbling inside you and turned back around, grabbing a cup of water and a small towel from the kitchen before walking to where he laid himself down and kneeling next to his body.

You set your supplies next to you and took a breath. He sensed you next to him and turned his head to look at you sideways.

“Something wrong, tiny?”

The nickname only added into that static feeling of nervousness but you still shook your head, beginning to dip one of the brushes in water. “Everything’s fine, just relax, please.”

Yunho nodded and sighed softly, turning his head to the other side and closing his eyes. As you inspected your colour palette, you took a moment to think of what to paint on him. What would he like?

Finally, you decided to just let your hands take over instead of thinking about it too carefully. Knowing him, he’d be happy no matter what you decided to draw. Holding your breath, you let the brush lathered with paint touch his skin. There was no mistaking the way the hair at the nape of his neck stood up with goosebumps as he shivered ever so slightly. You briefly apologised about the paint being cold, but he didn’t mind at all.

You drew a wavy, thin, sage green line from his left shoulder diagonally down to the left side of his waist, watching as the damp bristles glided over his muscles. They weren’t as defined as an athlete’s, but they were there, soft indications of his fitness.

As you let your mind and paintbrush wander, you found yourself turning that line into a vine of flowers and leaves. The style was almost impressionistic, barely abstract and precise smudges of colours that resembled plants you didn’t know the names of. With each stroke of the brush and twitch of his muscles, your shoulder relaxed and you let yourself bask in the moment just as he was.

Soon enough, you were happy with your creation and sat back to inspect it. Feeling the absence of your brushstrokes, Yunho turned his head to look at you again.

“Done?”

You tilted your head one way and then the other, looking at it from different angles before nodding with satisfaction. He gave you a toothy smile.

“Do you wanna do the front too, tiny?”

“Sure- wait, what?” Your eyes snapped to his, his question making your face feel warm. Painting on his naked front torso seemed considerably more… intimate than painting on the plane of his back.

“Yeah, like, paint on the front? Maybe you can connect the designs.”

And so you found yourself painting a similar vine on his chest after he laid himself on his back—of course, he had waited until you told him the paint was dry in fear of ruining your hard work. This vine started from his waist where the vine on his back ended and creeped up to his neck, disappearing behind his ear.

Throughout the process, you had to keep reminding yourself not to let your hands indulge in a few caresses of his porcelain skin, gaslighting yourself into believing he was just a canvas. But the way he was looking at you didn’t help much.

His eyes almost looked glossy as the reflection of the ceiling lamp’s light danced in them, looking at you with something you could only compare to adoration. You didn’t hate it at all, but you weren’t sure how to feel about it.

You also weren’t sure how you ended up in this position. At some point you must’ve been so focused, you didn’t notice him move you to sit on his upper thighs. Straddling him. But you didn’t want to make things awkward and move off him (not to mention that you greatly liked this position), so you stayed and continued your work from on top of him. You desperately tried to ignore the size difference that seemed so much more obvious when you were on him like this while he, on the contrary, revelled in it.

And at first you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, threatening to break through your rib cage. But the erratic beating soothed itself; it calmed down quickly when it came to terms with the fact that you were safe in his vicinity. He was safe.

Painting his front was similar to his back, his muscles twitching every time you brushed over them with paint. Now that you were seeing him like this, you nearly asked him never to put on a shirt again.

You found yourself adding details that were ultimately meaningless and would most definitely go unnoticed, but you weren’t quite ready to move away from him. Not when he was looking at you with such round, tender eyes.

“Can I take a picture of this?”

His voice seemed slightly deeper than usual, perhaps because he hadn’t used it in a while. His question briefly caught you off guard, but you realised that it was kind of cute, really. So you nodded without lifting your eyes from the area you were painting just next to his abs.

Yunho’s hand reached over to the coffee table and he slid his phone off the surface. First he took a picture from his own point of view, looking down his chest to see one of your hands painting gorgeous flowers while your other one rested on his free hand’s forearm, the way you straddled him so perfectly just further down the shot.

The next picture he took was a landscape oriented photo, his hand outstretched to the side. This shot depicted the scene from the side, both of your smiling faces in the picture, as well as the bend of your arm as you painted near his neck and the soft arch of your back as you leaned over him ever so slightly. The way his free hand’s fingers rubbed and tapped their way up your thighs until they reached your waist went unnoticed by the camera.

While you were very focused on painting, you did eventually relax enough to let your own free hand explore his torso. With one hand focused on refining the flowers, the other glided over wherever the paint wasn’t touching, following the dips and rises of his body. It wasn’t until you accidentally passed your thumb over one of his nipples that he made an effort to stop you.

When it happened, he let out a shaky breath that seemed somewhat like a silent whimper, he raised a hand to close around your wrist and lifted it away from his chest. After he muttered a “tiny, please” you nodded and relaxed your hand in his grip, face flushing out of embarrassment.

Instead of dropping your hand, he repositioned his hold on it to cradle it gently, pulling it to his face and consequently pulling you further up his lap. You gaped at him as he pressed an electric kiss to your knuckles. But he didn’t stop there; he flexed your wrist to present your palm to him, his eyes never breaking contact with yours until his kisses trailed to your wrist. His lips lingered over your pulse point and you watched as his eyes fluttered shut.

It was impossible to deny the dark tint appearing on your cheeks, but you were glad to see he looked just as affected. Pink blush adorned his soft cheeks, his eyes seeming slightly dazed when he finally dropped your hand and looked up to you.

It wasn’t long after that that the paint fully dried and he had to leave, voice hoarse as he explained that he had an early shooting the next day and should probably go rest. After helping you clean up, Yunho pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, barely missing the corner of your lips, and took off into the night.

If you collapsed onto the couch and squealed into a pillow as soon as he was gone, that was nobody’s business but yours.

And if as soon as he got home, he practically ripped off his shirt and gushed to his brothers about how small and pretty you looked when you were on top of him—foregoing showing the pictures because those were for him and only him—that was also nobody's business but his either.

　　[ lilo's notes ... ] thank you all for waiting so patiently for this chapter <33. as you can see, you and yunho are quite… close 🤭 i honestly had so much fun writing this, possibly too much- but anyways, i hope you enjoyed it!! also, don’t worry, i did not forget about that little yeosang moment from the previous chapter, it will most definitely be brought up~~

　　ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ network ... @cromernet @blankjournal

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#★ — › NEVER SAY NEVER !#cromernet #ateez #ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #vampire au #college au #fluff #eventual smut

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awkward-tension-art · 4 days

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Darkess on Umbara Chp.12 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 11.

Friendly-Fire

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Canon character death, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, Grief, Dissociation, SUICIDE, friendly-fire, POV of dissociation, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

MINORS DNI

“Stay alert. The enemy has our weapons and our armor, they may try to trick us with an ambush.”

You kept your head up as Rex led the few squads through the dark umbaran forest. He was at the front, pistols ready.

Your location was near the back, keeping close to Tup and Dogma. You’ve learned the two were from the same batch, and it made you wonder.

How could Tup be so…sweet and polite while Dogma was so vindictive and tense?

“Watch out, Dogma!” Case in point, the trooper with a painted tear stopped his friend from stepping on a vine, “I saw that thing attack Hardcase. It'll chew you up and spit you out.” He warned, picking up a fist-sized rock, “Here, watch.” The soldier threw the stone, hitting a dark mound hidden in the ash-colored dirt. As soon as it hit the camouflage beast, the creature growled before waving its tendrils and opening its fanged mouth.

Dogma jumped back, “Ew!”

“Try not to get eaten by them,” You deadpanned, “I won’t be trying to rescue you if you do end up in its mouth.”

He was about to respond before being cut off by a barrage of blue blaster bolts.

Blue? So Krell was right. The Umbarans stole clone weaponry.

“We're under attack!”

The squads began to step backwards, getting behind cover. Two soldiers went down and you rushed past Tup and Dogma to their side. Your training kicked in as you assessed. The closest one to you had a smoking bolt right through his helmet.

Fatal shot. Instant death. His name was Uno.

The other soldier twitched and you grabbed his arm before dragging him behind one of the dark-wooded trees. Two other troopers were behind the cover firing in the direction of the shots.

“I got you,” You spoke to him, taking off his helmet.

No head injuries. Burn on his side. Most likely a graze. His name is Ryder.

An explosion, most likely a grenade, hit the ground a few feet from you. Despite that, you remained calm, “Stay awake, I’m going to fix you right up,” In one swift movement you had a patch out of one of your packs and placed over the blaster burn. You worked quickly, getting him stabilized.

Ryder flinched and groaned, but nodded, “Thanks Doc.”

“Where’s the enemy!?” One of the troopers next to you shouted, clearly unsure where to shoot.

The one kneeling beside him answered, “I don't know! I can't see anything!”

The trooper who asked the question flew back, hitting the ground. His chest had two smoldering holes through it. The plastoid melted and burned, his skin turning to embers from the heat.

Blaster bolts through the heart. Fatal. His name. What was his name? Barr. His name was Barr.

You looked up, spotting Kix tending to a writhing trooper. Another missile hit the tree above him, raining glowing red branches and burning ash down on them.

A blue shot nicked your cover, barely missing your head and you ducked.

“Get those mortars up here!” You heard Rex command. He was somewhere behind cover in front of you.

Good. Stay safe, cyare. You prayed silently to yourself.

Tup and Dogma ran forward, heavy weapons ready. They were followed by a group of about six other men, also armed with mortars. They knelt, keeping low to the ground. They fired, and the sky rang out with a familiar whistle of falling explosives.

The ground trembled with the power from such shots, and smoke began to billow from the woods in front of the 501st squads. You peaked, taking the brief moment to dash to Kix’s side and aid him with the wounded.

Just as you got safely behind cover, blaster bolts fired again from the enemies side.

“Anyone have a visual?” The clone captain asked, keeping behind the massive, black trunk of an umbaran tree. Several shots scraped the wood narrowly missing Rex, but he didn’t even flinch.

Kix stood, leaning out from behind his own cover, he steadied his scope, “Negative. It's too dark.” He dove back, barely dodging a shot directly to the head. After a moment, he peaked again, “Wait! I see them! They're disguised as clones, all right.”

The squads surged forward, charging the moment they had a visual.

Chaos reigned as blasters and grenades littered the air and ground. You kept back and out of sight, grabbing any wounded and getting them behind cover. You could manage with the supplies you had, even if the Umbarans seemed more skilled than usual.

One of the troopers, Filter, beside you cried out and stumbled back. He knelt down, gripping his smoking upper arm.

“Don’t move.” You got to his side and began to tend to his wound.

Direct hit. Bone visible. Muscles burnt. This was similar to the injury you sustained before taking the airbase. You knew exactly what to do.

As you treated him, you looked up, taking in the battlefield. Dead and injured littered the dark ground. Troopers were firing. The very earth shook with each explosion that went off. With dread, you realized you couldn’t see Rex.

You commed him, immediately, “Captain, where are you?” Your heart raced when you didn’t get an answer. You searched the battlefield again.

Your eyes landed on a dead Umbaran wearing clone armor. A puddle of crimson blood was growing larger around the body. You recognized the gold of the 212th.

So that's the supplies that were stolen. Weapons and armor of the 212th…

Your thoughts halted. Do Umbarans bleed red?

“Captain!” Tup’s voice came through the comm, “We're sustaining heavy casualties!”

You were frozen, eyes searching the field, “Rex!?” In your desperation, you commed him again.

He answered, sprinting past you, waving his arms, “Everyone stop firing!” He cried out, clearly panicked and distressed.

Rex? What was going on-?!

“We’re shooting at our own men!” The 501st captain shouted, running straight into the line of fire. He threw off his helmet as he continued to clamor, “They're not Umbarans! They're clones!”

Abandoning safety, you stood, getting out from your cover, eyes wide.

Clones!?

Rex continued forward, commanding his men in a desperate attempt to end the battle, “Take off your helmets! Show them you're not the enemy!”

As he ran through the field, the shots began to wean, but the fight wasn’t entirely over, “Cease fire! They're not Umbarans. They're clones!” Your despairing lover tackled the 212th trooper in front of him and ripped off the trooper's helmet before standing, “Look! We're clones! We're all clones!”

The battle halted in shock and anguish.

The soldiers around you took off their helmets, some dropping them on the ash colored dirt. The 501st began to step out behind cover, coming face to face with the 212th.

Their own brothers.

There was the sound of a blaster loading next to you. Filter had the barrel of his rifle settled under his chin.

“No!” You reached out, only to be too late.

He pulled the trigger.

Your stare was on his unmoving body, eyes wide and arm stretched out.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia. Silk. Forty. Thrall. Hardcase. Uno. Barr. Filter.

You looked up, eyes spotting Rex across the field. He looked devastated. His knees were on the ground and his head was in his hands.

Be strong. For him.

“Kix, give me your supplies!” You barked, shutting down your emotions. Coldness filled your body and blood. Your focus became sharp. The only sound your ears registered was a high pitched ringing. You no longer felt like yourself.

Save as many of them as you can. Now!

You got to action, searching the dead and triaging the wounded. The world was gone. All that mattered was saving the troopers.

You lost time. At some point, you realized that whenever you blinked, your hands were on a different soldier. The wounds didn’t matter. The blood didn't matter.

You were going to save them.

Someone else joined you in your mission to aid the wounded. Kix, you think. He gathered himself together enough to help.

Save them.

Then, you realized the medic of the 212th was beside you, helping stop the bleeding of a 501st soldier.

Save them.

You blinked again, more time had passed, and you were straddling a 212th soldier. He writhed under you from the pain of you breaking his ribs to perform CPR. Hurt but alive.

Save them. Save them. Save them!

You moved on to another soldier. You held his hand as he died, surrounded by others of both the 212th and the 501st. He had a painted twi’lek girl on his helmet. Once you stood, someone grabbed you.

Hardcase? No. he was gone.

Silk? No. you had gotten him killed earlier.

Your name was called, not your title. Not your rank. Your name. They were trying to claw you back into the present. Your mind refused, you moved on to another trooper. Tending to his wounds before someone else grabbed your wrist, halting you.

Who were you staring at? You knew you recognized them…but you had forgotten names.

Tup? Was Tup alive?

You grabbed the wrist of someone else approaching to your left. In their hand were sedatives, you recognized. The needle was aimed for you.

No. You had work to do. You had to save as many of them as possible.

They dropped the injection, and you stepped away, only to be tackled. The hard earth slammed your mind back into focus.

“You did it! There's no more injured!” Rex was on top of you, keeping you pinned. His brown eyes were wide and full of fear, “You can stop now, Mesh’la.” His breathing was shaky. His cheeks were marked with tears, “You don't need to save anyone else.”

It felt like you woke up. The world around you snapped into place. The ground beneath you was solid. The air in your lungs was crisp, and tasted of smoke and iron. The ringing in your ears disappeared.

With shaky hands, you held your lover's face. He was alive. He was here. So were you. The both of you were here, in the present.

“Are you hurt?” You whispered. Sighing in relief when he shook his head, “What happened, Rex?”

“Krell,” He answered, helping you to your feet, “Krell sent them to these coordinates to stop the enemy. He told the 212th that Umbarans were wearing clone armor.”

He fucking tricked everyone!

Your eyes roamed the former battlefield. The survivors had managed to collect the fallen, and lay their bodies down. You noticed that Kix and the 212th medic were getting names and CT numbers, all to add to the list of casualties. Too many good clones were still, waiting to be marked as dead.

Krell killed them all.

The five stages of grief ran through your body. They hit you in waves, but you remained standing, surveying the world around you.

Denial.

Anger.

Bargaining.

Depression.

And acceptance.

But right now. All you felt was one thing, creating a sixth stage of grief.

Vengeance.

“Something has to be done.” You looked to the captain. The coldness had left your body the moment Rex tackled you. Instead, every cell in your body burned with the heat of rage.

“We all know who's responsible for what happened here,” Like you, your lover held the same wrath. His beautiful eyes were a storm of righteous fury, “I’m getting a squad together. Krell will face justice.”

You wanted in.

#reader insert #captain rex #captain rex x you #captain rex x reader #star wars tcw #star wars x reader #tcw x reader #umbara arc #darkness on umbara #clone trooper tup #clone trooper dogma #501st #212th #star wars #clone wars #my writing

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wangxianficrecs · 6 months

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💙 The Sun Will Rise by vespertineflora

💙 The Sun Will Rise

by vespertineflora (@vespertineflora)

E, Series, WIP, 129k, Wangxian

Summary: For centuries, the villagers surrounding the Qianlian Forest have been beholden to a fearsome creature. A once loved Prince was long ago cursed into a monstrous form, and ever since has required the sacrifice of maidens to ensure the safety of the forest and the people living around it. This forlorn tradition might have continued for centuries longer... but when it comes time for Lotus Pier to send a maiden as tribute, Jiang Yanli is chosen, and Wei Wuxian won't stand for it. His plan is simple; he'll send Jiang Yanli off to live the long life she deserves with her fiancé, and offer himself as a sacrifice to the Prince instead. Kay's comments: Series is marked as incomplete, but feels complete! Part one is the main story and part two is an additional kinky scene added as an extra. This story is incredibly hot and not gonna lie started reading it for the smut, stayed for the plot, because not only are the explicit scenes perfect, but the story is also very compelling and I loved the slowly unravelling mystery aspect of it. I first read this story when it came out and could hardly wait for the next chapter, because I was just so hooked. Here we have Wei Wuxian being sacrified to a mysterious creature in place of Jiang Yanli, only turns out the mysterious creature is plant-tentacle-creature Lan Wangji, known as the Prince, who's not interested in killing Wei Wuxian, but will still make a meal out of him. Slowly but surely, the two of them become closer and Wei Wuxian can't help but want to figure out, what happened to Lan Wangji for him to have turned into this form. Excerpt: Wei Wuxian’s brow furrowed, finding that particularly strange, but just as he was about to kneel down and try to loosen the vine from around his foot, he felt something curl and tighten suddenly around his wrist, directly against the skin--his eyes darted down, just barely registering another vine that had grabbed onto him when-- A question seemed to spill into his his mind. He felt... strangely breathless at the unfamiliar sensation of impression, at the way he could almost feel the echo of words that hadn’t been spoken inside of his head, and at the inexplicable sense of familiarity he was left with. He didn’t actually hear anything, there weren't even really words, so much as just sensation... but he somehow knew what he was being asked all the same. It... this... whatever it was that reaching out to him... wanted to know who he was. “Wei Ying,” he gasped out, his words stumbling slightly as he tried to cope with the intimacy of having something pressing a thought directly into his head like this, before realizing what he’d said. “Ah... Wei Wuxian. I came from Lotus Pier. Are you... are you the Prince?” He... he had to be, didn’t he? Or if the legends were wrong, this was at least whatever entity that everyone called the Prince. It felt like a bit too much of a coincidence to expect one spiritual being at a certain location and run into a completely different one instead. There was a hesitation, something almost unsure, before Wei Wuxian felt the flicker of affirmation in his head. “Well, I... know you’re used to something a little different, but... I’m your offering this time,” Wei Wuxian continued explaining, because he knew this thing wanted him to. His heart was already racing again, the fears that had settled in the lull since his arrival immediately reviving, his thoughts spinning as he was immediately left confronting his mortality once more. “Is that... is that acceptable? Will I work for that?”

pov wei wuxian, canon era, alternate universe, fairy tale elements, human/monster romance, fantasy, tentacle monsters, monster lan wangji, tentacles, human wei wuxian, plants, vines, top lan wangji/bottom wei wuxian, eventual romance, slow burn, strangers to lovers, angst with a happy ending, mystery, bamf wei wuxian, homesickness, falling in love, bdsm, reincarnation

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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seenoversundown · 9 days

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For Death Or Glory : Chapter Two

Warnings: uncomfortable tension, drinking/alcohol, brief mentions of depression (if you read the context clues it’s there), anxious themes, the boys are yet again being ridiculous.

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Charlotte’s first encounter with Jake is none other than memorable. Battling her internal monologue is how she lives her daily life, so this situation is only letting those voices run wild.

Author’s Note: Early chapter two because I am so so so excited for you to meet Charlotte! She’s been one of the most fun characters to create because she has such a specific personality. I hope you love her xoxo see you on Thursday 🥰

Looks That Kill - Motley Crue “If you don’t get her name, you might not make it back.”

“In 300 feet, turn right,” plays through my car’s speakers as I slowly drive through these cramped streets. All the buildings are covered in red brick, some with vines attached; it’s a quaint little area in the city.

I pull into a parking space and check the maps on my phone again; okay, it’s only a street over; I can just walk that. Grabbing my bag and the folder I’ve been sent with, I step out and promptly lock my doors. Looking at my reflection in my windows, I gently adjust my pants and ensure my shirt is still tucked in. Leaning in and reapplying my dark red lip, I need to make sure I look professional.

It’s mid-afternoon and fairly quiet, so all I can hear is the click of my shoes as I walk towards the bar. Well, Tavern, rather. The sign jutting out from the building, the ocean peaking out just behind it, that’s a beautiful accident, now isn’t it? As I approach, I notice the cobblestone street directly across from it. Which must be a nightmare at 1:30 am.

I took a deep breath before grabbing the door and mentally prepared for this conversation. Or so I thought. The door chime rings loudly, given only ten people are in the bar. The red glow is intense even though it’s still light out. I can’t help but notice the immense amount of pirate memorabilia on the walls and the cute vintage jukebox in the corner.

As I take it in, I hear the chatter from the patrons sitting at the bar slowly increase in volume. I look over to see a petite man with a curly head of hair laughing loudly at the girl he’s sat next to. Quickly startled out of my focus by a tall, slender gentleman.

“You look lost,” he quietly says, a completely different vibe from the rest of this place, taking me aback, “Do you need something?”

“Uh, yes, actually,” I stammer a bit, not expecting someone to come out of thin air like that, “I’m actually here because some paperwork wasn’t completed when the bar opened.”

“Oh!” his eyes go wide, “he will be the one you want to talk to, darling,” he says rather quickly, pointing towards the bar.

“Could I speak with Mr. Kiszka?” I ask, attempting to sound as confident as I can.

Suddenly, the two sat at the bar looked over to me, with the one behind the bar turning to me before, in unison, they asked, “Which one?” The long-haired ‘girl’ turned to reveal that I was, in fact, very wrong. How many long-haired men are in this bar right now? Jesus Christ.

I looked into the folder, and seeing his name at the top, I thought, “Um, Jacob Kiszka, I’m sorry.”

They both point at the one behind the bar, with his hair tied into a low bun, shirt halfway open, and towel tossed over his shoulder. He’s definitely not who I expected to run into here; I figured I would be dealing with a larger, burly sailor-type man who just quit working at the shipyard.

“What do you need from me, dear?” his voice soft and raspy, which continued to throw me off.

“Well, I’m sorry to do this to you randomly, Mr. Kiszka,” I start, with him quickly interjecting.

“Mr. Kiszka is our father. Please call me Jake,” the three of them giggling at his comment. Are they all brothers? I mean, I guess they do look similar the harder I look at them.. Unimportant.

He extends his hand over the bar, and I quickly shift everything into the other arm to meet his.

“Charlotte Rhodes,” I tell him, trying to focus on my grasp being firm on his hand.

“Well, Jacob, unfortunately, you did not finish filling out some of this paperwork when you opened the bar officially,” I tell him, watching his smile falter a bit. This is the part I hate.

“I’ve been sent here to tell you what is needed from you. It shouldn’t take too long to get situated.” I start flipping through the paperwork, looking for the pages that he needs.

“Jesus, Jake,” the long-haired one pipes up, “Paperwork’s the only thing fucking you right now, huh?” followed by the most accurate description of a “ha ha ha” laugh I’ve ever heard.

“SAM,” the petite curly-headed one interjects, his eyes widening. “Not the time.”

The one who I’ve now learned is Sam mutters, “Tough crowd,” under his breath.

I inhale deeply, letting out a “Riiiiiiight” on the exhale. I grab a blank piece of paper from the folder, set it in front of myself, and scribble down little things to not forget. ‘Long hair, facial hair, taller = Sam.’

As I’m informing him, I watch a young woman waltz behind the bar, starting to wipe down wine glasses and put them away. She is minding her own business, but nonetheless, she’s behind the bar.

“Um,” I pause, “Who is that?” I quietly ask, pointing at her subtly.

I swear I watch the color in his face drain out like a cartoon. Oh no, he hasn’t filed paperwork for her either. Well, that’s karma for you!

“I just hired her,” the subtle panic lacing his voice, “Uh, I just haven’t had time to, um,” he keeps stumbling over his words. One of his hands finds its place on the back of his neck, giving away that he’s getting overwhelmed.

I don’t know what comes over me; I open the folder, pull out a packet of stapled paperwork, and flip through it.

“According to your payroll, Joshua M Kiszka and Daniel R Wagner are the only two employees currently.” Noticing the handful of hired and terminated employees below them and choosing not to bring them up.

“Only I call-” Sam speaks up, locking eyes with the girl behind the bar, “WE call him Daniel.”

“Unfortunately, ‘Daniel’ is the only name I was provided,” I know my confusion is apparent on my face. What is going on here? He’s defending Daniel’s name but also grouping this girl into it.. Are they..?

“The rest of us call him Dan or Danny,” the small one informs me.

‘Don’t use Daniel, or Sam gets emotional.’

“I really don’t mind either way-” Daniel starts to speak, quickly interrupted by Sam.

“No! That’s my- our name for you!”

I feel a slight breeze as a slender, brown-haired girl swiftly passes me, walking directly up to Sam and grabbing his arm.

She looked at me, her face twisted into an uncomfortable expression, and said, “I’m SO sorry about him.” Then she glanced at Jacob and said, “Good luck, Jake.”

She tugged on his arm, and he stood up. Much taller than I was expecting, he grabbed his drink before walking away.

“But Bird, she called him Daniel!”

“I’m very sorry, but can’t you see the professional pants she’s wearing? She’s IMPORTANT, Sam!”

“Why would I look at her pants?”

“Just leave them alone!”

I quickly shake my head, trying to remember where I was in the original conversation before things got… weird.

“Anyway,” I start, “You only have the two boys and yourself as employees, so if she is also bartending, you need to get her paperwork filled out. Otherwise, then you’re also violating payroll.” I’m watching him process everything I’ve told him, his eyes finally looking to meet mine. I can see the anxiety on his face. His eyes look so sad.

“Um,” I turn to the small man beside me, “Do you mind giving us a minute?”

“Absolutely. I’m Josh, by the way,” he reaches his hand out to shake mine,

“Nice to meet you, Josh. I’m Charlotte.” I firmly shake his hand before he prances away to the booth where Sam, the girl who stole him away, and someone else is sitting.

“I’m sorry about them, or well, all of this?” Jacob finally said, “I definitely didn’t realize that I hadn’t finished things. I double-checked even before submitting it. I really had no idea. This is the first business I’ve ever run, and I’m doing it alone, basically.” His voice is still riddled with panic, and it sounds like he’s trying to make sense of it in his head.

I pull out a barstool, set the folder on the bar, and make myself comfortable in the seat. Trying to make myself seem less intimidating has always been funny to me, being a more petite girl.

“I know you’re working, but the least I can do is offer you a drink,” he says, grabbing a glass from behind him and gently shaking it to get my approval.

“Well, thank you. Whatever is easiest for you, I appreciate it.” I start looking through the folder for what I need, realizing I don’t have everything. I can just email it to him. He seems nervous. I’m sure he’ll panic to get everything in order.

“Wine? Beer?”

“Actually, if you have bourbon, that would be fine.”

I watch his eyes go from sad to almost excited. His emotions are evident on his face right now. The corners of his mouth slowly turn into a little smirk, letting out a laugh of disbelief.

“That’s my kinda girl,” he says, turning around to grab a bottle from the shelf.

Is it warm in here? Did he just- You’re working, Charlotte, get a grip.

He sets the glass of amber liquid in front of me, still smiling to himself.

“Okay, so is there anything else I messed up?”

“Not to make things worse, but is she certified?”

His eyes shut as his head drops back; I see his chest rise slowly and then fall, “Oh, I’m sure she isn’t.”

“Okay, um, so that’s not as important. Let’s just get you situated with this stuff first?” Why are we being nicer to him? He’s clearly behind on everything; just let him have it.

“Yeah, whatever I need to do. I really am sorry I didn’t do this before.”

I’m literally ruining this guy’s entire day. Which is his fault. Well, yes, but he feels so bad about it. I’m more used to having owners storm off, not talk to me, or the opposite, yell directly into my face about it. Also, to be fair, I’m not used to bar owners being close in age to me. I’m definitely more accustomed to older gentlemen who would rather risk tax evasion than get their employees on an actual payroll.

“It’s okay, Jacob,” I look back at him, setting the papers on the bar for him, “Honestly.”

His eyes look back and forth between mine like he’s trying to decide if I’m lying. The only thing I’d be lying about is that he is kind of cute. Charlotte, you’re here to do your job and leave. Yes, but he’s been very receptive and isn’t trying to degrade me for doing my job. Plus, his smile is pretty.

‘Nice smile’

I take a sip of my drink and then surprise myself.

“How about I leave all of this with you and come back in a few days to grab it? I’ll be in town for a little bit, and I don’t want to overwhelm you more than I already have.” Okay Charlotte?

“That would be perfect,” he breathes a sigh of relief, “I can absolutely get everything sorted out. Thank you so much.” His voice is back to a more stable sound, and the anxiety seemingly has subsided.

The door chime sounds off, causing him to glance over as a handful of people come in. I grab my phone from my bag, tapping the screen to reveal 6:07 p.m. Ah, everybody’s out of work. I watch as he looks back at the girl behind the bar, back at the customers, and then at me.

“Mel,” he addresses her. Can you just find out what they want, and I’ll take care of it?” She salutes as she drops what she’s doing, mumbling, “Yes, Sir,” as she passes him. His eyes roll slightly at the comment, turning back to me. “I can have Josh clock in if you need me still.”

“No, you’re fine. I’m just going to finish doing some work, and this,” I tap my glass lightly, letting a small smile slip through. His face softens a bit at the gesture.

“Okay, well, please just stop me if you need anything.”

I scroll through my emails, continuing to make little notes for myself. This bar has been interesting so far, but, the longer I sit here, the more things continue to happen. I’ve just been trying to take in everything while I’m here. Places like this are few and far between.

I look up from my phone to see Jacob fiddling with his hair, pulling the hair tie out slowly and sliding it down onto his wrist. He ran his fingers through his ends to loosely comb it out and then wrapped it back up into another little bun. His hair is so long? Also, it’s fun to watch a man pull out his baby hair. I didn’t think they knew about that.

He flips the sink on, rolling his sleeves up slightly so they sit just above his elbows. I don’t mean to stare at him while he’s doing menial things, but something is holding my attention while he washes his hands that I can’t figure out.

I try to focus on anything else, turning to see Josh walking up to Daniel with his hand held out. I can’t make out what they’re saying to each other, but Daniel grabs his hand and kisses his knuckles quickly, releasing Josh back into the chaos of the bar. Wait- so.. Who is actually with Daniel?

A notification pops up on my phone, and it’s an email from my boss.

‘Charlotte,

Again, I’m sorry to hear that you’re going to be out for a few days. How much time off do you want again? I know we just talked about this. Anyway, I hope everything goes smoothly with the Caravel Tavern. It’s a new business, so it would be a shame to see it go under quickly. I know you’ll give them hell, though.’

It’s a bit disheartening to see that the entire reason I was even coming to Portland has been dismissed, but I guess that’s just business for you. Not that I was necessarily excited to be here for a few days and not work, but at least be mindful of the reason. I offered to stop by to take care of this since I would be in the area, and maybe that should have been my sign that he didn’t care about whatever else I would be doing.

“You okay over there, Red?” his small, raspy voice somehow cut through the chatter of the bar. I look up to find him opening a beer for someone and setting it on their napkin, his smile fully displayed for them.

Taking a little sip of my drink, slowly becoming water with a hint of bourbon, I nod once.

“You really run a tight ship around here, huh?” I say as he walks back over to me. Something in that moment shifts; I don’t know what it is. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, like the subtle compliment caught him truly off guard. I can’t read what emotion he’s feeling, but his eyes are conveying something different.

“Uh, I do my best,” he finally choked out, “I probably drive them all crazy, but we’re still afloat, so something must be working.”

Mel laughs as she’s drying glasses behind him, “You’re definitely something.”

He slowly blinks with a tight smile at her comment, with a quick shake of his head. I lift my glass to my lips, taking the last bearable sip before it’s quite literally just water.

“I think I’m going to head out,” I tell him, gathering the paperwork he needs, “I’ll leave this with you; if you can please try to get it done in the next couple of days, that would be great.” He just nods at my request.

“Also, I didn’t have the physical paperwork on me to get Mel on your payroll but I can email the forms to you if that works?”

“I will do whatever is easiest.”

I’m still not used to someone cooperating as easily as he has. I came in too prepared for him to be an ass about everything, on top of surprising him with more issues. I’m grateful he isn’t making this more complicated than it needs to be.

I fold the blank sheet, hide my notes about his brothers, and slide them to him with a pen.

“Here, can you write down your email and phone number for me?” I ask quietly.

“Trying to get my number already? We just met.” He smirks at me as I cringe internally.

I just stare at him for a second too long, not able to come up with any sort of response to that.

The silence is deafening between us as his cheeks flush, his eyes darting down to the paper. He swiftly grabs the pen, scribbling down his information for me, writing his name above them, ‘Jake,’ as if I would forget.

He clears his throat before speaking, “Well, I need to, uh, go work on this, so,” his embarrassment slowly taking him over, “Drive safe, and I will see you, um, soon. Sorry about.. Everything today?”

I choke back the laugh threatening to escape me, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable than he’s made himself. But it was kind of cute watching him shove his foot in his mouth. I tuck the paper into my bag, grabbing my things as I stand up from the barstool.

“Oh,” I speak up, “how much do I owe you?” tapping the rim of my glass.

He leans over, grabbing the glass with a slight smile on his flushed face, “I think you earned it; it’s on me.”

“Well, thank you. Have a good night, Jacob. I’ll see you in a few days.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I hadn’t been to our lake house in a while—years, probably. We used to spend weeks at a time visiting the lake and spending time on the water. As I got older, so did my parents, we slowly stopped frequenting, but they would never get rid of it. I’ve spent countless hours convincing them to rent it out as an Airbnb, but they refuse.

The roads are a little daunting at night, with so many sharp turns and practically no street lights. I suppose I should be used to living so far north, but I know that area well. I’ve never really had to drive myself around here; I was always in the backseat for this drive.

Pulling into our dirt driveway, there she is. Our sweet little house absolutely has seen better days, but that’s okay. It feels enough like home to make the next couple of days bearable. I had been dreading this week, but even seeing the outside, in the dark no less, has made me feel a bit of relief.

Walking through the mud room and into our kitchen, it smells like a basement. It’s apparent that none of us have visited in a while, and to be fair, it’s October at this point. It’s probably for the best that I’m here for a few days so I can clean things up, and then maybe, next time my parents come, it won’t seem as… musty. It will also distract me from my own brain.

We do tend to get the better of you. Speak for yourself.

I toss my bags onto my old bed, unable to remember the last time I slept there. I finally sit, letting out a long sigh. Closing my eyes, I let my head drop back, letting the muscles stretch for a moment. The sadness building up and threatening to escape, I grab my laptop from my bag; I need to be doing something.

‘Hi,

Sorry for the late response. I stopped by the bar today. They had a lot going on, so I left the paperwork with him to fill out, and I’ll stop back there to grab it before coming home. He seemed eager to get everything done; he’s much younger than I think either of us anticipated.

As for days off, I think at least this week, and then I’ll be good to go.’

I’m not particularly good at giving myself days off, but I love my job, so why would I not work? Also, I rarely have to really connect with people, so it makes it easier to just zone out and get my work done. It’s not often that we have to hound people for their paperwork, and even when we do, it’s usually for the new employees to do. It builds character, I guess. Having grown adults scream at you definitely gives you thick skin.

Reaching down, I pull the folded paper out of my bag. Typing his email into the To: bar, attaching the documents he needs.

‘Thank you for being so flexible about this. - Charlotte’

I added a subject line, ‘New Employee Payroll Forms’, and double-checked that everything was there. I hit send. Perfect, everything is done.

Charlotte: Hi Jacob, sorry for the late text- I just sent over those forms to your email. If you can get those done ASAP, that would be wonderful. If you need assistance with anything, feel free to reach out. - Charlotte.

Feel free to reach out? Why are you offering the opportunity for him to text you? It’s literally the least we can do; you saw how overwhelmed he was.

I can see the way his face drained of color when I clocked Mel behind the bar. The way he stumbled over his words, his hand finding comfort on the back of his neck, probably to prevent from fidgeting endlessly. He definitely didn’t realize he had messed up. I don’t know why you feel bad, this happens to you all the time.

I set my laptop on my nightstand and plug in my phone. Everything is done, so now I can just do what I need to. I take the time to make something small to eat and shower, killing just enough time and relaxing enough to where I’m about to sleep. I crawl into bed, pulling my hair up into a bun on the top of my head before snuggling in.

I reach out to grab my phone and set an alarm for tomorrow morning. I opened my messages just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything or forgotten to reply to anybody.

Unknown Number: oh don’t apologize. Thank you for being patient with me, i really appreciate it.

I tap on the number at the top, saving the number, ‘Jacob’. I lock my phone, placing it back on my nightstand. Staring up at the ceiling, I attempt to fall asleep. Replaying thoughts of her in my mind, I feel a slight prick in my eyes. Finally, I succumbed to the feeling. I’m not ready. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter One

Chapter Three

FDOG Masterlist | Masterlist | FDOG Playlist

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ilovecupcakesandtea · 3 months

Text

Chapter two My master list

Title: Chapter one

Word Count: 1356

Archive Warnings: Smut in future chapters. Slight angst. Alcohol misuse.

Rating: E

Pairing(s): Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham

Character(s): Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham, Benny, Uncle Wayne & The Party

Tags: Smut. Angst. Steddie. Buckingham. Steve Harrington. Eddie Munson. Robin Buckley. Chrissy Cunningham. Band AU. TW Alcohol use.

Summary (optional): Two different styles of music, two boys that really don't like each other. What could possibly go wrong?

Beta Reader: Thank you so much to my beautiful beta readers @slippy-slip @ladydarklord & @dontwasteyourchances

Art link and credit: Art is by the wonderfully talented @pink-luna-moth (as is the banner)

Fic link and credit: Ao3 Link

AN: First off thank you to Alex for the art and being just amazing to work alongside. Thank you to Slip for dragging me back from the edge so many times over this. I really am so excited to have this out here!!

I wrote this for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang event and had a lot of fun doing so!!

Divider links: reblog and music notes

The scent of gardenia flooding her senses was the first indication that someone was sitting next to her. If she had been more awake she would have realised it was a scent familiar to her – not in a creepy way, as she has to point out to Steve on a regular basis. The smell of gardenia and other floral scents was something that Robin associated with one person, and one person only. Chrissy Cunningham. Robin's long-term crush, the first person she ever really noticed she had a crush on, Chrissy Cunningham, who was actually talking to Robin, who was probably just sitting staring at her.

“Hi, sorry, I didn’t catch anything you said” Robin apologised, holding up her headphones to show why.

“I just asked if I could sit here” Chrissy giggled, pointing at the seat next to Robin.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, I mean I’m not saving it for anyone obviously, and I can’t stop you from sitting where you want, so yeah the seat’s yours if you want to sit there” Robin rambled, ending with an audible snap of her teeth as she stopped herself from rambling any further.

“Thanks, I’m a good seat mate, I have snacks” Chrissy grinned, pulling some pretzels and some red vines out of her bag.

“What are you listening to?” Chrissy asked, nodding towards Robin's headphones.

“Oh errmm, it's The Clash” Robin smiled sheepishly.

“I love them! Stumbled across them ages ago and really enjoyed them” Chrissy declared.

“No way!” Robin exclaimed in reply.

This couldn't be happening. Robin didn't need any more reason to have a crush on this girl. Now she had good taste in music too!

“Yeah! Not the normal kind of thing I listen to, but there's something about them” Chrissy giggled.

“Want to listen with me?” Robin asked, offering an earbud towards the other girl.

All kinds of things ran through her head. Was Chrissy this chatty with everyone? Was she staring at the cheerleader? Did everyone else think it was weird them being sat together?

“So what else do you listen to?” Chrissy questioned, breaking Robin out of her spiralling thoughts.

“Oh, I listen to a lot of Ramones, Misfits, The Damned, Black Flag, Dead Kennedys, Agnostic Front, The Vandals, Pennywise. Punk mostly, I mean you could probably tell that from the bands” she blushed. “What about you?”

“A lot of Metallica, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, some Ozzy, Children of Bodom, System of a Down, and Evanescence. Metal mostly, if you couldn't tell” Chrissy winked and then giggled.

The rest of the journey to the game consisted of eating the pretzels and red vines, Chrissy insisting if Robin didn't eat them with her then she would be sick as she was cheering, and sharing music suggestions via 2 iPods and a shared set of headphones.

The game was in full swing and Robin knew she should be paying a lot more attention than she was but she couldn't. She was certain Chrissy kept looking back at her, every time Robin caught her eye she got a shy smile back and then Chrissy would look away.

On the way back home Chrissy sat next to Robin without asking and the girls fell back into their previous conversation regarding music and different genres and any overlaps they have in them.

“I had fun, we should do it again sometime” Chrissy blushed as they both stepped off the bus back at Hawkins High.

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Definitely, like I definitely had fun and we should definitely do it again” Robin rambled.

“Maybe at the movies after school on Monday?” Chrissy asked, clearly nervous.

“Yes. Absolutely” Robin squeaked.

“Come along Buckley, I don't want to be here any longer than I have to be!” The sound of Steve Harrington, her best friend and ride home, came from across the parking lot.

“I'd better go,” Robin laughed. “Bye,” she waved, walking backward before turning round and heading towards Steve, luckily without falling on her ass.

“We don't have to discuss it tonight but I 100% just saved you from a Robin ramble. Everything ok?” Steve asked as soon as Robin was in the car.

“Yeah, it's ok, thanks for saving me,” Robin smiled.

The next morning, after a long night overthinking everything that Chrissy and Robin herself had said, Robin spoke up.

“So I sat next to Chrissy Cunningham on the way to the game yesterday and we talked about music all the way there. Then she actually chose to sit next to me on the way back and we talked all the way back as well. And then when we got off the bus she said we should do it again sometime. What does that even mean Steve?! Did she have a good time talking to me and so really wants to do it again or was it more of a being polite thing? Plus I think she kept looking at me during the game so yeah, what does it mean?! Oh yeah, and I may have agreed to go to the movies with her after school tomorrow” Robin rambled at a mile a minute to Steve who just stood there with his coffee to his lips waiting for her to finish.

Taking a sip Steve contemplated his next words. He couldn't give Robin false hope but he had heard rumours about Chrissy and a couple of girls from the cheer squad so maybe Chrissy did want to take Robin on a date.

“So, Chrissy Cunningham, who's a well-known metalhead, listened to your punk, asked you to the movies and you still don't know if she wants to take you on a date or not,” Steve asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Maybe she was just being nice!” Robin exclaimed, throwing her hands up.

“I’ll talk to her at school tomorrow, ok?” Steve ushered Robin out of the kitchen and they both got ready for the day they had planned.

It wasn’t until between 3rd and 4th period the following day that Steve managed to speak to Chrissy. He caught her pretending to put things in her locker and trying to take sneaky glances at Robin.

“She’s really pretty isn't she?” Steve whispered, sliding up beside Chrissy and pretending to check his bag for something.

“Yeah, she is” Chrissy replied softly before blushing and looking at Steve wide-eyed, “I didn't mean it like that, just that she’s objectively pretty, nothing else.”

“Secrets safe with a fellow friend Cunningham” Steve chuckles “Have fun at the movies later,” he said before winking and walking away.

“I’m telling you now, it's a date. She wants to date you. Sit in those back seats and ignore the movie” Steve laughed as he dodged a soggy chip thrown at him by Robin, as he told her about the interaction he’d had with Chrissy earlier in the day.

“You know it’s not that simple Stevie, it’s not safe. As far as we know she’s straight and as far as she thinks I’m straight too. I can’t just tell her I'm not. What if it gets out? My parents don’t even know Steve.” Robin sighed.

“Birdie she was literally looking at you and agreed when I said you’re pretty. I’ve heard the stories about her and the cheer squad as well. Either way, she’s a safe person to tell, I’m certain of it.” Steve reassured, squeezing her arm lovingly.

“Maybe” Robin responded, smiling at him sadly.

Steve knew it wasn't as easy as he made out to her. He was destined to explore his sexuality in dark corners and dingy bathrooms, maybe a cheap hotel if he was lucky. But the chances are he would settle down with a wife and a kid or two, maybe he'd tell his wife he too liked men or maybe he wouldn't. But he was certain he would do anything to help his soulmate find her girl.

“Anyway, what's this about the cheer squad?” Robin asked suddenly, as though her brain had finally caught up to what he'd said.

“Oh Robin, see if Chrissy will tell you” He smirked back at her before he continued to eat his salad.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #tw angst #tw alcohol #tw smut #smut #steddie smut #buckingham #stranger things reverse big bang #stranger things fanfiction

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apuckishwit · 9 months

Text

See, it's a METAPHOR

A preview of Chapter 31 of Rolled a 1 on the Check, Rolled a 20 on the Save by APuckish_Wit on A03

The boys are acting weird.

Not bad weird or anything. He doesn’t think that anything’s wrong per se. They’re just super giggly and clearly are having private conversations in their Discord messages that they’re not letting him in on. Like…way more private conversations than they usually do during a gaming session.

It's their last gaming session before a two-week hiatus so he can attend Origins (and take a little side trip to Chicago to meet the man of his—increasingly explicit—dreams face to face for the first time and hopefully sweep him off his feet with his epic love confession), and he’s been planning an epic cliffhanger for the last month. He just needs to get Will or maybe Dustin to take the bait and convince the others to investigate the Upside Down version of the mysterious Apothecary Brenner’s estate. Ordinarily he wouldn’t care too much, besides being a little miffed that they aren’t giving his masterful storytelling its proper attention…but Steve’s acting weird, too.

He has been for the last couple weeks, honestly. Again, not so much a bad weird. He’s just been quieter than usual. Distracted, almost. Eddie kind of feels like Steve is only half paying attention to their conversations lately, but when he asks about it, Steve just says he’s fine. Has something on his mind that he’s trying to work out. Eddie tries not to be saddened that Steve hasn’t asked for his help or opinion…Steve’s his friend, not his significant other (no matter how much Eddie’s hoping, praying, and fantasizing that that might be different soon) and if Steve doesn’t want to talk about what’s bothering him, he doesn’t have to.

He tries not to let the weirdness get to him, and in the end it’s actually Lucas who takes the bait and convinces them to check out the apothecary in case there are any healing potions or herbs that could be useful. The boys howl in delighted outrage when Eddie springs his trap—dozens of the sentient vines that have been harrying the party bursting from the floor and walls of the apothecary as soon as they start searching the building and ensnaring Xerxes, Will the Wise, and Sir Stephen as loud, ominous footsteps descend from the building’s upper floor.

“And that, unfortunately, is where we’re going to have to leave it for the next two weeks,” Eddie announces gleefully, eliciting more howls and bright laughter from the boys. “I do thank everyone for joining us tonight, and don’t forget to check out my Twitch and YouTube channels for live streaming events from Origins next week! I’ve got a great panel planned and a few announcements about future projects!” For some reason, that sets off more laughter from Dustin before he quickly mutes his mic, and the boys all sign off much more quickly than usual, until it’s just him and Steve in the Discord.

“You excited for the convention?” Steve asks. In the background, Eddie can here pots and pans being moved, the clink of dishes and running water. He closes his eyes for just a moment, pretending that he’s right there with Steve, the two of them debriefing their day together over the remains of a nice dinner. God, what is his life that he’s fantasizing about clearing away dirty dishes?

It would be worth a fantasy if it was with Steve, though.

“So be honest—scale of one to ten, how fucked are we when whatever it is gets down those stairs?” Steve asks, and Eddie lets out a short bark of laughter.

“Eh, I’m not saying I’ll definitely get my first character kill in…but you might want to have a backup ready.”

“Already done.”

“Is it a human paladin named Stephano?”

“No,” Steve replies in mock-offense. “It’s a human barbarian named Stefan. Totally different.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Eddie says, so much fondness coloring his tone he was sure someone looking at him would be able to see cartoon hearts circling his head. “Dustin will hate it.”

“You say that like it’s not my main motivation.”

Eddie laughs again, gathering his laptop up and heading out into the living room. Gandalf is waiting at the door to his recording room, immediately winding around his ankles as he makes his way over to the couch. A copy of Men at Arms he’d gotten from the local library is lying on the arm of the couch, face-down and open to the page they’d left off on a couple days ago. “You up for more of Sam tonight? We’re getting to the thrilling finale.”

“It’s his wedding—how much more chaos can there be?”

“Oh, Stevie, Stevie, Stevie—haven’t you been paying attention? There’s always more chaos in Discworld.”

“Hah, true. But, um—he and Sybil get a happy ending, right?”

Eddie tilts his head, curious at the sudden shift in Steve’s tone. He sounds almost…tentative. “I mean—do you want spoilers?”

“Maybe? Shut up, I know it’s stupid. I’m just…rooting for them. They’re so different, but they really love each other.”

Eddie can feel the soft, goofy smile splitting his face. “That they do. And yeah, I promise, they get a happy ending. Don’t get me wrong, they’re not perfect. Sam gets caught up in his work…kind of a lot now that I’m thinking about it. But they always make it work. Sir Terry wasn’t real big on fairy-tale perfection. His storytelling is so real. Sam and Lady Sybil…they have problems and challenges, but they just keep, I dunno, choosing each other? No matter what. So the differences don’t matter in the end, and the mistakes can be forgiven.”

Steve is quiet for a moment. “Choosing each other. I really like that.”

Gandalf leaps up on Eddie’s lap, and he absently scratches behind the cat’s ears. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, me too.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #rolled a 1 on the check rolled a 20 on the save #fic preview #steve harrington #eddie munson #Discworld as a love language

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hyprfixate · 9 months

Text

soul vine ↝ [L.M.] :: part three

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: when you decide to get an ear piercing as part of your transition to adulthood, you expect a lot of things, like the pain and the high price tag. what you don’t expect, however, is finding out you’re soul-bound to the angry blonde from the parlor. or that you’re technically not human.

but hey. adulthood, right?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ pairing: lee minho x she/her reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ chapter word count: 2.0k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tags: magic au, grumpy minho, fantasy, medium burn, strangers to enemies to friends to lovers, soulmate au, gang au, minho has some issues to work out

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ author’s note: sorry i like, fell off the face of the earth LMAO. work got so hectic, then I had to prepare to move back in for school and get used to my schedule. but! i'm here now and I will be updating more regularly. feel free to scream at me (kindly) in the notes or my ask box

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tag list: @mal-lunar-28 @dutchessskarma @weakforskz @liknws @goddessraven2371 @beaann @deadpoetsandhoney (comment on this post to be added!)

part one - part two - part three - part four

An hour or two later, you were seated on the couch next to Hyunjin, who was holding your hand and rubbing his thumb over it protectively.

After Minho returned from doing God knows what, he sulked in the corner like an angry toddler. His anger radiated in the room you three were in, and he was pissed. After deciding to sit, he had spent the better half of 20 minutes mumbling angry, incoherent sentences under his breath. It wasn’t until Chan returned that he had settled down a bit.

Emphasis on a bit.

Now, the two men were sat in chairs across from you and Hyunjin, Minho scowling at you, and Chan staring at you with an unreadable look. You could sense his feelings of disappointment in the air, and it made you shrink in your seat. Hyunjin bit his nail anxiously and his eyes bounced between his friends.

“She’s innocent,” he spoke up. Chan held a finger up to silence him, and continued to stare at you questioningly.

It’d been dead silent for the better part of 5 minutes now, and you were starting to get anxious. For many reasons, like being in a room with three men you only met last week, but mostly because Hyunjin had touched the bruise on your back and healed it, and you needed to know what was going on before you decided to freak out. If you hit your head on the sidewalk and this was some vivid comatose dream, cool, it was a great one. But if you were actually awake, that was another story.

Chan’s facade broke, and he let out a small laugh. “You’re not in a coma,” he said. “You’re awake.”

Oh, he could read minds now? You were definitely in a coma.

Unconvinced, you blinked at him, and slowly his stoic expression morphed into something closer to his normal face. Minho, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to smother you with the pillow next to your leg. You shifted next to Hyunjin for support.

“Alright, get to talking,” Minho barked. “Explain what the fuck you were doing in my shop and what you were trying to accomplish. And don’t try lying, we already know everything.”

“Min—”

“Don’t interrupt me Hyunjin. This doesn’t concern you.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “It kinda does.”

“I’m sorry, what exactly is going on?”

All the eyes in the room turned their attention to you. Minho looked indignant at your question, as though he couldn’t believe you’d have the nerve to speak. Chan, on the other hand, let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Well, before anyone says anything else, are you okay? You got choked out for a while back there.”

Your fingers brushed against the bruise on your neck as you blinked at them. It seemed like a distant memory at this point, albeit a terrifying one, but as you ran your fingers along the surface of your skin, you let your focus come back to the present. “I… I actually feel fine.”

Hyunjin smiled, and Chan continued. “Good. That confirms our theory, then.”

“Your theory… about what exactly?”

Chan stood up from his seat and folded his arms over his chest. After a beat of silence, he began pacing around the small room, humming a tune to himself. He paused in front of a small window off to the side and stared out of it.

You furrowed your eyebrows and turned to Hyunjin, who rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘Dramatics,’ he mouthed. Still unsure, you nodded and looked back at Chan.

Finally, he spoke. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re a Sirid?”

You blinked, having no clue what word just came out of Chan’s mouth. Was this some new kind of insult? Probably not. You’d expect that behavior from Minho, not Chan. You’d never heard this word before, and there was no context in his sentence to help you out.

At your silence, Chan tilted his head. “You seem confused… why?”

“I have no idea what that word means,” you confessed. “I’m genuinely concerned that you might have insulted me.”

“She’s obviously lying,” Minho spoke up. His arms were still crossed over his chest as he looked you up and down. “There’s no other explanation.”

You chose to ignore Minho, staring at Chan as he restarted his pacing. “Are you going to let me know what a Sirid is, or am I going to continue to believe I’ve just been insulted?”

Chan paused in his pacing again and turned around to face you. “I should’ve known when you came in, but your energy didn’t set off any alarm bells. My only question is, why didn’t you tell us yourself? Certainly you felt our energies.”

“Chan,” you deadpanned. “I’m telling you right now, I have no clue what you’re talking about. I came for an industrial piercing, and that’s it.”

Hyunjin pressed his hand into the curve of your back tightly, and the rising anger in you began to settle down. You closed your eyes before continuing.

“I’m honestly very confused and a little frightened, so if you please, I’d love an explanation.”

When you opened your eyes, Chan was staring at you with a different look. The disappointment was gone, replaced with something akin to sympathy. Even Minho, who still looked like murder was a considerable option, had his eyebrows raised and was giving you his undivided attention.

Chan let out a breath and slid back into the seat next to Minho. “Alright,” he breathed. “We can do that.”

He leaned back and blew air through his mouth. “So. We, as in all of the workers here at the shop, are Sirids. I guess the human equivalent is like… witches and wizards. We’re not from here, we’re from a different realm, a place called Iphorus.”

You allowed Chan to continue, skepticism flowing through your veins like an essential vitamin. ‘They’re crazy,’ you thought. ‘Cute, and great tattoo artists, but crazy.’

“You remember Hyunjin grabbing you and bringing you back here, right?”

You nodded. “Then he touched my back, and the pain went away.”

“Well,” Hyunjin cut in. “I started healing you way before that. Being held in the air by your throat for close to 5 minutes is not exactly a recommended daily activity.”

You turned to the redhead with confusion. “What are you saying?”

“You were going to die, idiot.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “You were being choked out by a man 15 times stronger than you are. If Hyunjin hadn’t sensed the danger, you would be dead.”

Your memory flicked back to seeing Hyunjin at the bottom of the hill earlier that day. You remembered that when you felt the impending sense of doom and froze, he also seemed disturbed, as though whatever you were feeling, he was feeling.

Your heart thundered in your chest as panic gripped your brain. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“Sirids are divided into different groups, called clans.” Chan’s voice softened as he explained. “Your clan determines what your powers are. Hyunjin is from the Ellituary clan. He’s a healer, a protector– do you notice how calm you feel with him?”

Yes, actually. You did. You remembered the overwhelming sense of peace that washed over you when he walked into Minho’s studio. You thought it was relief from having a third person around so you wouldn’t have to deal with Minho alone.

You felt your head shaking before you even realized it. “No,” you said. “You guys are messing with me. You’re lying to me because you want to keep me here.”

Hyunjin reached over to touch you again, but you pulled yourself away as though he was poisonous. You could see the hurt in his eyes before they pooled with tears.

Chan called your name gently, reaching over to calm you down himself, but you shot up from your seat and backed away from all of them.

“Magic isn’t real,” you said, more to yourself than to them. “You’re liars, and I’m going to walk down these stairs and go home, and I never want to see any of you again.”

“That wouldn’t be wise.”

You whipped around to look at Minho, who wasn’t even looking in your direction as he spoke. “We know you’re a Sirid because Sirid magic doesn’t work on humans, and humans can’t detect each other through their energy.”

His eyes lazily looked up at yours. “Hyunjin was able to heal you, and that asshole was able to sense you to know to attack you. If there was one, we have to assume there are others, and if you leave this shop with that earring in your ear, they can and will come after you.”

He scoffed. “And we will not be able to save you next time.”

You reached a shaking hand to your ear, gently touching the new addition to your appearance. “What does the earring have to do with any of this?”

Hyunjin sighed. “Do you remember what I told you? That the earring has a cultural significance that no one knows about but us?”

Of course. Hyunjin’s stuttering and hesitation all made sense now– well, if you chose to believe them. As much as you wanted to think they were just being weirdos, too many things were starting to add up.

“What’s its significance then?” You remembered how the man called Minho by name after seeing the earring. “Is this like, your symbol or something? Did I accidentally initiate myself into a gang?”

“No no,” Chan held his hands up quickly. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just…” He trailed off, biting his lip as he tried to find the proper words to use.

Hyunjin jumped in. “Minho invented the earring years ago. It’s called the Soul Vine. On humans, it doesn’t do anything, but on Sirids, the shadow of the squiggly part reveals the name of your soul tie.”

“Soul tie?”

“Like a soulmate,” Chan explained. “The person that your soul is tied to.”

So that's why Minho didn’t want to make the earring. If you’d known it would cause so much trouble, you would’ve been fine picking something else out. Granted, there was no way he could’ve explained it to you that wouldn’t make you think he was entirely insane. Actually, you’re still not sure if you believe in his sanity 100%.

As you began to process everything in the silence, Minho shot out of his seat like he’d been sitting on hot coals. His eyes were wide, and he looked both angry and terrified.

Chan gave him a look. “Min? You okay?”

Rather than answering Chan, Minho turned around in your direction and made his way over to you quickly. Without warning, he pulled your hair away from your ear and stared at the earring intently.

You gave Chan a pleading look, and he stood up and started making his way towards you two.

“Minho,” he sighed. “You have to ask before you touch people. I thought we’ve been over–”

“Fuck.”

Minho pulled away from you and pressed his palms over both of his eyes. “Of fucking course– of fucking course.”

Hyunjin blinked from his spot on the couch. “What.. what’s going on?”

Chan turned his attention back to you, squinting at your ear. After a moment, his eyes widened and he staggered backwards like someone punched him.

You were about to ask what happened, but a memory from the day you got your piercing rushed full force into your mind. You could see yourself sitting in the chair and holding the mirror, decoding the letters that appeared from the shadow.

Your stomach sunk into the floor as you returned Chan’s widened eyes.

“Oh my God,” you stuttered. “If I’m a Sirid–”

“Then the earring shows your soul tie.”

Slowly, your eyes shifted to Minho, who’s palms were still over his face. He parted his hands slowly, and in the silence of the room, you could hear his wavering voice repeating two words like a mantra.

“It’s me,” he whispered. “It’s me. It’s me. It’s me.”

#stray kids #hyprfics #skz chan #skz changbin #skz felix #skz hyunjin #skz jeongin #skz jisung #skz lee know #stray kids changbin #stray kids minho #stray kids felix #stray kids hyunjin #skz minho x reader #lee know x reader #stray kids fic #skz x reader #skz

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universecorp · 10 months

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Temptation: Chapter 5

Chapter Warnings: Smut (MxF), Oral (F receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Unprotected sex (what's new), praise, degrading, slight exhibitionism, fluff

W.C.: 3.5k

Mood Playlist: Temptation

Day 19

“Gyu, stop!” You whined at the fairy who was currently trying to drown you in kisses.

“Why, I’m just showing you how much I love you.” The fairy made an obscene puckering sound as he pressed his lips to your cheek.

After your day with Hueningkai, you had grown a lot clingier towards the others. Your room was now simply a space for your clothes, since you had basically moved into the fairies room. Even if you wanted to sleep in your own room, you knew they wouldn’t allow you. You didn’t mind though, waking up an onslaught of kisses and cuddles was nothing you could complain about. Usually it was Beomgyu or Hueningkai who would wake you up, peppering kisses all over your face until you stirred awake.

Currently you were battling Beomgyu, who was being particularly clingy today, you didn't mind it, you just enjoyed teasing him. The animal fairy had been attacking you with kisses all day, as well as keeping you confined to the bed with him. “We should get up, Taehyun is gonna be mad if we miss breakfast.” Beomgyu groaned at you, but ultimately sat up, because you were (unfortunately) right.

After a few more kisses you and Beomgyu entered the kitchen giggling while hand in hand. You probably looked like loved up teenagers, but it would be the same no matter who you were with.

“Good morning you two, sleep well?” The two of you nodded in tandem as you approached the garden fairy who appeared to be frying up some sausage in a pan. You looked at the counter where a fluffy stack of pancakes sat, next to a bowl of fresh berries, no doubt grown only a few moments ago by the pink haired man.

“Everything looks really good.” Beomgyu praised Taehyun, kissing his nape.

“Is Binnie in the study or did he have to go in today?” You asked Taehyun as he set down a plate in front of you,

“He’s here if you want to keep him company while we're at school.” He answered, placing a quick kiss on your lips before returning to the stove. “Gyu, you need to go get ready.” The garden fairy scolded the animal fairy who was pressed against his back.

“But I haven’t eaten.” He pouted, slotting himself even closer to Taehyun.

“You can eat… on the way to school.” Taehyun deadpanned, growing a vine to pull the taller man off of him. Beomgyu groaned, but ultimately relinquished his efforts and made his way back into the bedroom to get ready.

After helping Taehyun clean up, you saw the two fairies off to school before joining Soobin in the study. You were currently reading a book, sitting on your favorite pillow which was right next to Soobin’s desk. He had woken up in the early hours of the morning to ensure you wouldn’t just be sitting by his side all day. You didn’t really mind, but it was sweet of him to keep you in mind like that. “I’m almost done for the day, is there anything you want to do?” You looked up at the blonde man, his thick framed glasses were situated on the bridge of his nose.

“We should nap, and then maybe go to the big lake? Hyuka was telling me how you guys sometimes hangout on the big lily pads.” Soobin hummed, in agreement, before turning back to his work.

“We could nap at the lake, we have some pillows and blankets stashed there that we usually put on the lily pad.” The suggestion intrigued you. Those lily pads must’ve been humongous if it could fit all of them on one.

“Sure, let's do that.”

After an hour you and Soobin were now comfortably situated in the lake. The warm sun mixed with the heat from being under the blanket was heavenly. If it wasn’t for Soobin and his love of making out, you would probably be asleep. You couldn't complain though as you kissed slowly, using your hand to cup his cheek, giving you better access to the inside of his mouth.You and Soobin had spent quite a lot of time together since he was at home the most. Most of your time was spent in comfortable silence, but since your unspoken rule of you joining the five men had come into play, most of your days were spent like this. You would sit with Soobin until he finished his work, eat lunch and nap, in no particular order. Then spend the rest of the day together until everyone else got home. What was happening now was nothing you weren’t used to. You and Soobin had yet to actually have sex, but you weren’t rushing anything. Kissing him was addictive enough, so adding sex might be dangerous.

“Binnie you should sleep, you woke up so early.” Soobin hummed against your lips, but made no effort to pull away.

“Let's just fall asleep like this, it’s fine.” You pulled away and couldn’t help but giggle at him, not just from what he said but also the way he whined at the loss of your lips.

“Come back, I’m not done kissing you!” Shaking your head you attempted to roll away from him, but he quickly began rolling towards you, trapping you against the edge of the lily pad and lake.

“You either fall or kiss me, your choice.” Huffing you reluctantly rolled back with him to the middle, giving him a quick peck before ducking your head into his chest.

“There I kissed you, now sleep.” Soobin wasn’t having it though, he lifted your chin and quickly slotted your lips together again. You responded to the kiss immediately allowing Soobin to take the lead. Once again, Soobin’s plush lips had you hooked, unable to pull away from him as he held your chin in place. You allowed him to slip his tongue between your lips, swallowing all the needy groans he was releasing as he began grinding into your leg.

“Y/N… I want you… please.”

God, how could you say “no” when he sounded that good. The timbre of his voice stirred something inside of you. His hooded eyes made you want to fold instantly, but you knew you couldn’t make it that easy, you had to rile him up a bit.

“Really?” He nodded in response, holding eye contact with you; pressing his hard on into you, as if to prove a point. Almost as if it was his way to show you how much he wanted you. Soobin moved his hand from your chin to one of your breasts, fondling it through the thin fabric of your tank top. You had forgone a bra since you knew you would be taking a nap, so the pleasure felt more heightened. You couldn’t help the whimpers that began escaping you, but from the way his cock was pressing into you and the harsh grip on your breast, you could tell he liked it. Soobin pulled away from your lips and slowly trailed kisses down your chin until he reached your neck.

“Fuck you sound so pretty.” He mumbled against your skin, sucking purple and red marks wherever his lips touched. “Can’t wait to ruin you, my perfect slut.” He moved his hand from your breast down to your legs, leaving teasing touches everywhere, but where you really needed. You felt hot all over and unable to focus. You wanted him to touch you properly, but couldn’t find the words to ask. You were curious how much he would allow you to do, watching as his lips trailed lower and lower down your body. Soobin spread your legs apart using his shoulders to keep them open. “I need these off.” You could tell he was just thinking out loud since the comment was mumbled also because it was followed by him hooking his fingers into your skirt and underwear.

You couldn’t help but giggle as Soobin haphazardly tried to pull your skirt and panties down. The small huff let out as both garments got stuck around your ass made you grin down at him.“Someone’s impatient.” You commented, lifting your hips off of the plant beneath you. Soobin didn’t seem to like your tone and took it upon himself to deliver a quick slap to your pussy in retaliation. You couldn’t help the way your back arched, seething painfully through your teeth at the harsh stimulation.

Soobin only looked at you with a sort of bored expression when you glared down at him. “There’s more where that came from, if you want to keep being a brat?” Looking away from him you let yourself go lax, allowing yourself to be at his mercy. You weren’t particularly in the mood for a punishment so you figured it was best to listen to his warning. “Good girl, just relax and let me make you feel good.” You nodded, bringing your gaze back down to the mop of blonde hair that was now buried between your thighs. You could only shiver as his hot breath fanned over your cunt, becoming wetter by the second as you anticipated his next move. Without warning Soobin licked a fat stripe over your core, pulling a small whimper from you. The warm muscle began to prod and tease at your entrance, all while his hands were gently caressing your thighs. After teasing you for a few more moments he allowed his tongue to enter you, causing you to whimper louder this time. The sounds you were making were driving Soobin crazy, so much so that soon his entire mouth engulfed your heat. He slurped messily at your cunt, moving his mouth against it much like how he would when you were making out. “Sound so gorgeous for me, so filthy, so perfect…” He trailed off in a groan as more of your wetness spilled out of you. He was taking note of everything in this moment, what made you squirm the most, what pulled more sounds from you, what made you spill more of your sweet fluids into his mouth. Anything that meant you were feeling good was exactly what he wanted to give to you.

At some point Soobin brought his head up to just suck at your clit, so that he could look in your eyes. He wanted to know how fucked out you looked, and the sight didn’t disappoint. There you were, hands holding your breasts as you fondled and alternated between flicking at pinching at your nipples. Your whimpering only began to grow in volume as you lifted your hips to move against his mouth which was skillfully bringing you to your climax. You had tears in your eyes, which only spurred the water fairy on, wanting to see more of those tears as you moaned out his name. “Soobin… s-so good…” You could barely form a sentence from how good he was making you feel and when he began pushing two fingers into you, you thought you were going to lose it. “Fuck! I’m so close, please, please don’t stop!” You pleaded, moving against him to create more friction. All Soobin could do was groan in response as he sped up the two digits inside of you. With one final curl of his fingers you reached your peak, shaking as Soobin instantly latched his mouth back onto your pussy, lapping up everything that he could. “Too much, Soobin, wait!” A loud huff came from the man as he lifted his head up, a small pout decorating his features.

“Not my fault you taste good, can’t waste a good meal.” Soobin licked his lips eyeing your chest as it rose and fell slowly.

“My eyes are up here.”

“I don’t think so. The ones down there are challenging me to a staring contest.” The fairy challenged leaning in closer to your breasts. Your nipples were erect from the breeze but also a bit swollen from you pinching them earlier. Soobin brought his hand up and harshly flicked the right one, causing a whimper to tumble from your lips. “They blinked… I win.” Soobin finally met your lust filled eyes with a cheeky smile, you really wanted to push his head back between your legs and wipe it off. Soobin climbed up your body to meet your lips in another heated kiss. You could feel him pressing against your core and you needed him to slip in before you went crazy.

“Soobin, put it in… please!” He looked at you with a bit of amusement, but nevertheless grabbed his cock and began pushing it into you slowly.

“Thought it was too much dew drop, or are you just that much of a slut?” You could barely form a response back as he pushed into you at an agonizing pace, making you want to grab his ass and push it in for him. You tried to reach out but the moment he could tell what you were doing, he pulled out. Another embarrassing whine escaped from you as you looked at Soobin pleadingly. “You need to be good and take what I give you, stop being a greedy slut.” Nodding you laid back and allowed Soobin to take the lead again, letting him take every moment as slow or fast as he wanted. Once Soobin was about halfway in you felt like you were on the verge of tears. You wanted to move so bad it hurt, but you also didn’t want to risk him pulling out again so you stayed as still as possible, just allowing him to use you as a sleeve. Without warning suddenly Soobin thrusted into you, bottoming all the way out in one swift motion. The action was able to finally punch a loud moan out of you as opposed to the needy whimpers you were making only a beat ago. “God you’re so tight, so perfect for me.” Soobin looked like he was in pure ecstasy as he set a steady pace, holding your leg on either side of his waist as he used them as leverage to reach deeper inside you.

His blonde hair fell over his eyes as he thrusted deeply into you, head hanging low because the pleasure was almost unbearable. “Baby, fuck me harder please!” Soobin looked at you in amusement again, a devilish smirk playing at his lips as he slowed down his thrusts. He leaned over you, doing his best to make eye contact with you in the wired position, practically stopping his thrusts just to antagonize you more.

“Do you even deserve it? You’ve been kind of a brat.”

“I deserve it, I deserve it please! M’ sorry for being a brat, I'll do better.” He was reducing you down to nothing all while making you feel like everything at the same time and it was almost embarrassing how much you loved it.

As if thinking over and ultimately coming to a decision, Soobin repositioned his hands to have a better grip on your things before pulling all the way out and slamming back in. The pace he set this time was brutal and you could feel the lilly pad moving with the motion of his rough thrusts. Soobin looked down at you with nodded eyes, and contracting as he put all of his encrypted and force into fucking your. “God fuck you’re so loud, anyone could walk by and see us too, you think if they heard you they’d come? If they did they’d get to see you for the slut you are- fucked dumb on my cock.” Soobin sounded so mean but you couldn’t get enough of it. The usually mild mannered fairy had a side to him that you never expected, and you loved it. “Bet you could cum from just my cock alone, think you can do that for me?” Blinking tears out of your eyes you nodded in response, back arching as he punched your sweet spot with a particularly hard thrust. “Words please.”

“Yes, can cum… from…” You were trying your best to get the words out, but your head was so foggy from pleasure that you could barely formulate a sentence, much less say it. Soobin tsked, but let it slide, usually he would stop and make you finish your sentence, but it was clear that you were too gone.

“Can’t believe I fucked you dumb this quick, s’cute.” All you could muster in response was a wet sob mixed with a moan. You felt like you were going to pass out of them the pleasure especially as you could feel your orgasm approaching.

A quick and airy “close,” left your lips and before the rope could finally snap Soobin pulled out and flipped you over. Now on all fours you wanted to cry at the loss, but soon he filled you again, wasting no time settling up the same pace while gripping one of your hips tightly. His other hand was busy pushing your head down onto the lush pillow below you. You could feel him even deeper now and wanted to go redder than you already were as you heard the sound of skin slapping reverberate and echo throughout the forest. You were probably drooling and could barely see from all the tears clouding your vision, but you felt amazing, pleasure coursing through your body as you took everything he was giving you.

You could feel Soobin’s hips beginning to grow erratic, which helped you know he was close, and despite his growing fatigue he never let up in his pace once. You could feel your own release fast approaching and after only a few more thrusts you were cummimg, Soobin’s name falling over and over from your lips as you shook from the force of your orgasm. Soobin followed almost immediately from how hard you were squeezing him, a loud groan leaving him as he stilled inside you before draping himself over your back. “Thank you, did so good love, so perfect for me.” Soobin placed kisses on the shell of your ear and the back of your neck as he praised you, rubbing his fingers over the areas that might be sore later on due to how harsh his grip was.

“Thank you Binnie.” It was barely audible from how hoarse your voice was, but you know he heard you based on the kiss he planted on your cheek.

Soobin turned you around and cleaned you up with the water and a small rag that he must've stashed away for occasions like these. He kissed you slowly, caressing your cheek with his thumbs and the two of you fell asleep like this, limbs tangled and faces close.

“So this is where you two disappeared too.” Yeonjun piped, effectively rousing you from your sleep. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you were finally able to make out the four figures of the fairies. You smiled sleepily, reaching out for them to join you. All of them quickly took off the ground to join you and a still sleeping Soobin on the lily pad. You placed a quick kiss on each of the fairies lips, before Heungkai tackled you back down to the plus blankets on the lilly pad.

“Did you all have a nice day?” You asked, reaching out for your discarded clothes. Taehyun helped you find them, going the extra mile with helping you redress so that you could pay attention to Hueningkai.

“We did, but we all got home and we’re confused when we didn’t find you in the room. Seems like you had other plans aside from a nap though.” No matter what, Yeonjun always made it a point to tease you whenever you did anything with his other lovers. It didn’t bother you much, but it never failed to make your checks bloom red. “I’m gonna wake up this oath so we can all go eat.”

You nodded and while Yeonjun’s was preoccupied you reached out for the other three fairies to come lay with you. Beomgyu and Hueningkai ended up fighting for a spot next to you and while they were preoccupied Taehyun managed to slip in next to you. The two of you tangled up sharing a few sweet pecks before looking over at Yeonjun’s who had successfully managed to wake up Soobin. The two seemed to be in their own world, making out slowly while whispering sweet nothings to each other about how much one missed the other. It was sweet, it wasn’t like you never saw them being intimate, but knowing that they had been together the longest made it feel more intimate than it probably was. As if they could feel your eyes on them the two of them turned to face you, a playful smirk playing on their lips since they caught you staring. Surprisingly they didn’t tease you and after another half an hour you all returned to the tree to eat and sleep for the night.

Previous Masterlist

Taglist: @ditzydaisyy, @goldenchunkycat, @tinkw1nks, @amara-mars, @kim-jonghyun948, @emohazuzworld, @ningka, @yagsoobin, @dal-gaeul

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prettygoododds · 4 months

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Thanks you @artsyunderstudy @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @nausikaaa @nightimedreamersworld & @shrekgogurt for the tags!

I’ve been on the struggle bus. I have the next chapter of Suger “done”, but it’s not my favorite and I keep holding onto it like I think I’ll get a sudden burst of inspiration and know how to fix it. I also just might say the hell with it and post it. We’ll see how I feel tomorrow.

So instead, I’m going to share a few words of another, much older wip. It’s been in my drafts for a long time, but other works have always taken precedence. It’s non-magical au where Baz has commissioned Simon to fix up the manor. Let me know your thoughts… should I move this one up the priority list?

“It’s unlocked, come in,” the voice says.

“Hullo?” I’m looking around to find the source of the voice.

“I can see your intellect hasn’t improved much, Snow. Please enter, and remove your mud-covered shoes. You’ll find me in the study.”

I finally see, hidden behind some overgrown vines, a Ring doorbell. He most likely saw me stumbling up the steps, and trying to talk myself into knocking. I’m a little embarrassed, and it shows itself by mumbling insults about the house’s occupants.

“I can hear you.” I flip the doorbell the V and walk in.

Here’s my late, no pressure tags: @thewholelemon @ic3-que3n @dohrnaira @shemakesmeforget @ivelovedhimthroughworse @martsonmars @iamamythologicalcreature @aristocratic-otter @supercutedinosaurs @facewithoutheart @imagineacoolusername @ionlydrinkhotwater @wellbelesbian @rimeswithpurple @cutestkilla @blackberrysummerblog @valeffelees @ileadacharmedlife

#six sentence sunday #prettygoododdsfic #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on fandom #simon snow series #snobaz #carry on series #snowbaz #simon and baz #simon baz

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anonymousewrites · 3 months

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A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Chapter Sixteen

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Sixteen: Near-Death Imaginings

Summary: (Y/N) attempts to stay alive in their mind palace.

“You need to stay alive.”

(Y/N) lay on their back. The skies above them were stormy and grey. The grass around them was damp as rain began to fall. They blinked and tried to focus.

Sherlock—(Y/N)’s interpretation of him in their mind—leaned over. “Good. You landed on your back. Gravity and the bullet with control the blood loss.”

“That’s what’s going to kill me,” murmured (Y/N).

“Yes,” said Sherlock. “But you fell.”

“I did it right,” said (Y/N). The storm clouds flashed with lightning, a warning. “What’s…happening now?”

Sherlock knelt beside them. “You’re going into shock. That’s the next thing that’s going to kill you.”

“What do I do?” asked (Y/N) as he supported them to stand.

“You have to stop yourself. You can’t go into shock. Being unconscious is bad enough. You need to calm down,” said Sherlock.

“How?” said (Y/N). “I can’t—I can’t regulate my emotions.”

“Find a memory,” said Sherlock.

(Y/N) stumbled towards the plants around them. Memories, memories, memories. I need something to calm me down. The vines reached out and pulled them into their memories.

Years ago…

“Welcome, (Y/N). I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time here.” A smiling face, too wide. Even young (Y/N) had known when the adults were lying.

Not that one.

Arriving at the home wasn’t a pleasant memory. It was so soon after their mother’s death. It was lonely. It didn’t have Sherlock.

Sherlock.

The memories fast forwarded, running through all the loneliness and discomfort around people unwilling to understand them or let them be themself. It was exhausting and stressful to see.

It all slowed down, and (Y/N) stood inside 221B.

“This is my flat,” said Sherlock. “There’s a room for you to the right, and the kitchen is to the left. Don’t take anything out of the refrigerator or freezer. I’m running experiments.”

(Y/N) nodded and looked around, holding the trash bag with their few belongings to their chest. Their first time in 221B. The first moment with Sherlock. The first moment they felt accepted. Sherlock treated them like another person instead of a strange creature or freak.

(Y/N) walked to their room and put down their bag. They unpacked the clothes and went back down to the main room.

“You’re done,” observed Sherlock, sitting in his armchair.

(Y/N) nodded.

“Good. We have work to do,” said Sherlock. “I have a case to get to.”

“You’re bringing me?” asked (Y/N), but their present self knew the answer.

“Obviously. It would be a waste to leave your mind bored,” said Sherlock. “You have a lot of potential.”

(Y/N) straightened at the compliment. No one had ever thought of them as anything more than a bother, an emotionless kid who couldn’t connect with people.

“Are you coming?” said Sherlock, standing and pulling on his coat.

“Right,” said (Y/N), and they followed him out. The London chill hit them, and Sherlock glanced down.

“We’ll need to get you a coat,” said Sherlock.

“It’s alright,” said (Y/N), not wanting to be a trouble.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and just pulled off his scarf. He threw it over (Y/N)’s head to protect their neck from the cold. They blinked in surprise.

“There,” said Sherlock, turning away.

(Y/N) watched him before touching the scarf, smiling, and following him.

(Y/N)’s present-day self let out a breath. They were calm. The first time they had felt accepted—their first moment in 221B—that was what they needed to fight off the shock of getting shot. After all, Sherlock had saved them and given them a home. That was what they were fighting to stay alive for.

Pain shot through their stomach, and (Y/N) doubled over.

The memory faded away, and (Y/N) fell to their knees in the grass of their Mind Palace again.

“Without the shock, you’re going to feel pain,” said Sherlock, crouching next to them.

“Right,” said (Y/N), grimacing.

“You need to control the pain,” said Sherlock.

“I need to control the pain,” repeated (Y/N), but the sensation was too much. It rose up like a tidal wave. “I need to control—”

The ground opened up beneath them, and like Alice, (Y/N) fell to a wonderland nightmare of pain.

They landed on rough stone. The cave around them was cold and dark, and the pain in their stomach was too much. They rolled over and curled in on themself, groaning.

“You’re weak.”

(Y/N)’s blood chilled as a familiar face stepped into their view.

Moriarty smirked down at them and crouched by their head. “Pathetic. You can’t control your pain at all.”

“I should’ve…made you feel pain,” spat (Y/N) through their agony.

Moriarty grinned widely. “I’m dead. I can’t feel anything.” He patted their head, and (Y/N) shivered. “Don’t worry. You’ll be dead. Pain. Heartbreak. Loss. No more. Just death.”

(Y/N) coughed, and the cave crowded in around them as their energy abated.

Moriarty laughed. “It’s raining, it’s pouring, (Y/N) is boring!” he sang. “I’m laughing, I’m crying, (Y/N) is dying.” He leaned over (Y/N). “Just die, (Y/N). Just give up. It’s so easy, and your life is oh-so-hard,” he pouted.

“I can’t…not when…family…danger.” (Y/N) blinked, trying to stay aware of their own mind.

“Oh, right, right. The dear doctor, his wife, the Iceman, the inspector, the housekeeper, and lovely little Sherlock himself,” jeered Moriarty. “It’s so hilarious I might laugh myself to death again! You pathetically dying while danger eats the rest of them right up!”

(Y/N) blinked, and their vision focused. Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, even Mary—(Y/N) couldn’t let any of them get hurt. Especially not if it was what Moriarty would want. (Y/N) had to keep fighting.

“I don’t care how hard it is,” said (Y/N), turning and pressing their palms to the ground. “I have to…survive.”

Moriarty raised a brow. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to live.”

(Y/N) pushed themself to their knees. “It’s my life.”

“Oh, god, making speeches now? Pathetic,” said Moriarty.

(Y/N) pushed themself to their feet and glared at Moriarty. “Yeah, well, it’s my mind.”

Vines erupted from the ground and pulled Moriarty down with them. The cave around (Y/N) opened up to the blue sky.

“And dying or not, I rule here.”

(Y/N) heard the beep of the heart monitor before their eyes opened. They coughed and blinked.

“(Y/N),” breathed a relieved voice. Sherlock appeared at their side, gazing at them in worry.

“Dad,” said (Y/N), voice croaking with the effort of speaking.

“Here, here’s water,” said Sherlock, holding out a glass he had held ready for them.

(Y/N) took a drink. “How long…how long has it been?”

“A day,” said Sherlock. “I’ve been here the entire time.”

“Thank you,” said (Y/N). “I needed you.”

Sherlock reached out and squeezed their shoulder. “I thought I was going to lose you. It took everything in me to stay here and not…handle who caused this.”

(Y/N) sat up and instantly winced. Sherlock supported them carefully.

“It’s not Mary’s fault,” said (Y/N). “It seems it was Magnussen’s.”

“She shot you,” said Sherlock. He was furious. His kid had almost died, and it was Mary’s fault. He wouldn’t forgive her so easily. Even if Magnussen had something on her—obvious enough now—he couldn’t just let Mary off the hook.

“She was aiming for a non-vital spot on you,” said (Y/N).

Sherlock frowned. That was true, but that wouldn’t get rid of his anger. “But she got you hurt.”

“I know, but I decided to push you out of the way,” said (Y/N).

“(Y/N), you were hurt—” said Sherlock.

“I know,” said (Y/N). “But, please, I—I managed to come back because of what I care about.”

“What you…care about?” repeated Sherlock.

“Knowing you and John and Mary and everyone else is in danger, I knew I had to, you know…not die,” said (Y/N) quietly. “I want to help you all. Especially since, I assume, Magnussen is still alive.”

“He is,” said Sherlock.

“Then I want to help,” said (Y/N). “We need to know everything.”

“(Y/N), you need to rest,” said Sherlock.

“No, Dad, I need to help,” said (Y/N) quietly.

“…You’ve got so much spirit,” said Sherlock. “It’s impressive and worrying.”

“Well, I had a strange dad raise me,” said (Y/N), smiling. They frowned and looked down at their medical equipment. “Now, can you help me out of here?”

“…Fine,” said Sherlock. He was worried, but (Y/N) wasn’t going to let up.

It didn’t take much work for their intelligences to figure out a way to get out of all the equipment without setting off alarms. Sherlock had brought clothes for (Y/N), so they got bundled up, and he supported them as they walked towards the exit.

“Do we tell John?” asked (Y/N) as they went.

“I don’t know,” said Sherlock.

“…I think he should get to know. He needs to decide what to do himself. He deserves the truth,” said (Y/N).

“He does,” admitted Sherlock. He’d give up his warpath to help (Y/N). Even if he was furious with Mary, he’d support (Y/N)’s decision. (And once logic ruled his mind again—difficult in the face of (Y/N)’s pain—he would know that finding out Mary’s true identity was the right decision).

“We can’t see John until we figure it out, though,” said (Y/N).

“He’ll be worried about you. He wanted to see you, but I kept him and Mary out,” said Sherlock.

“John is always worried about us,” said (Y/N).

“We have given him reason to, it seems,” said Sherlock.

(Y/N) smiled and leaned into their dad. “Yeah, but he forgets we have each other.”

Sherlock smiled softly. “We do.” He was (Y/N)’s father. He’d always been there to protect them and help them. That was his duty. That was his proud duty.

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aloneinthehellfire · 1 year

Text

Chapter 11: Déjà Vu

Season One | Season Two | Season Three | Season Four

Raining Hellfire: Season Four

Word Count: 3810 words

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, blood, violence/ attacked, traumatic flashbacks, knife

[A/N: i felt like reader deserved a moment to show just how badass she is. also yes the majority of the word count is just flashback sequences... i may have cheated]

Déjà Vu

You woke up to clash of red lightning, body aching like you had been dropped to the ground from a height.

Which, to your realisation, is exactly what happened.

On the ground next to you lay the bodies of three dead bats. Demobats, Dustin would probably call them. Up close, you saw the razor-sharp teeth, the scaly skin that made your own crawl. The pain in your abdomen was a memory of what just happened. The demobats eating away at you and Steve.

“Steve.” You gasp, sitting up too quickly and feeling the repercussions in the form of a sharp sting to your stomach. With a groan you clutch down on the wound, attempting to stand.

There’s a flutter above you and you almost start running on instinct. But something in you told you not to be afraid. And, as you look up, your breath hitches.

A swarm of black particles hovered above you and, with chill down your spine, you realised what had happened. The dead creatures, the tingling of power through your veins. Even unconscious, the dust had sensed your anger and you had somehow used that to your advantage. It explained the black blood dripping from your nose. You had promised not to use your power, to yourself and to your best friend. That didn’t work out as well as you hoped.

Stumbling away from the scene, you watch as the particles seem to disappear, trailing away to somewhere you’d rather not follow. You struggle to move properly, body still aching from the drop. Pulling your hand away from your stomach, blood stained your skin and you felt faint. But you couldn’t stop here. Wherever here was.

A quick look around and you recognised the woods, almost instantly. In fact, your small and uneasy steps led you straight to a place you thought you’d never see again.

The bench in the middle of the woods was covered in vines. Considering earlier events, you knew not to touch them. You just hoped they wouldn’t spring to life and drag you away. If another happy memory was tarnished by the Upside Down, you might scream.

“Eddie?”

He didn’t turn, your headphones blocking you out.

“Eds!” You placed your hand on his shoulder and he almost jumped out of his skin. He sprung up and got into a karate stance, his arms held out in front of him. The sight made you double over with laughter.

“Y/n.” He breathed, removing the headphones and letting them rest around his neck. “Hey, it’s not funny. I could have-”

“Karate-chopped me straight to hell?” You laughed. His eyes brightened as he smiled at you.

“You never know.” He ran his hand through his hair and you calmed down, taking a seat.

He pretended to shake off his reaction, walking to the other side of the bench when he looked up and stopped. He just stared at you.

“What?” You say, your hand raising to your face, “Is there something on me? I swear if it’s a spider I’ll-”

“No! No. You just-”

“What?” Your inner panic was showing. Alternate dimensions with human-eating creatures you could probably handle. A spider in your hair? That was the ultimate fear.

“You look different.” He said, sitting.

“Different good?” You asked, looking down at yourself.

“Yeah! Not that you didn’t look good before. I just mean that you look… different. From usual, I mean.”

“Thank you?” You said. Deep down, you were blushing.

“Uh, so…” He clasped his hands together. “Not that I’m not happy to see you or anything but… what brings you to the middle of the woods all dressed up like that?”

He smiled again. You could barely concentrate when he smiled.

“Funeral.” You managed to say. His smile faded and you snapped back into reality, clearing your throat. “Uh… Will Byers. It’s his funeral.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He said sincerely.

“Yeah…” You replied quietly.

“Can I… help at all? I don’t know what I can do but-”

“Oh you don’t have to. I’m okay. I mean… it’s upsetting, of course it is but…” You struggled to find words that didn’t suggest you thought he was still alive, “I’ve had time to mourn.”

“Then why do you look so sad?” He smiled softly, seeing through you.

“I-” You took a breath. “I don’t like funerals. Not that anyone does, it’s a shitty occasion. I’ve just been to more than I like to admit.”

You looked up and he was agreeing with your words.

“I get it.”

For a few seconds, you just sat in silence before you took in the scene.

“Wait. Is this the famous bench I’ve heard so much about?” You changed the subject, your eyes widening with your smile.

“Thank you for noticing.” He smiled back, sweeping his arm out to display the bench in question. “This baby has gotten me through five whole years of self-reflection. You see, I’m working on myself.”

He held his hand to his heart, sarcasm marking his words.

“So it’s a spiritual bench. I feel honoured to be sat here.”

You smile at the recollection before it turns sour, sadness creeping in. This place held value to you; your first kiss with Eddie, in particular. Your relationship with him had only just begun and you had already been blurting out lies.

You just hoped he knew that your feelings for him were true.

A distant screech caught your attention as you stared back up at the sky through the layers of leaves. The trees provided good protection from the demobats, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other creatures lurking around.

The pain from your wound was worsening with each step you took and you search yourself for some kind of bandage. Your hands fumble across the material wrapped around your waist and it wasn’t until you focused that you remembered the yellow jumper.

Steve’s yellow jumper.

Fear flooded in. You had left him there, demobats tearing into his skin with no chance of escape from their claws. Swallowing the guilt, you tie the jumper tightly around your abdomen, wincing when it adds the pressure you need to your wound. Steve could be dead. You could be stuck in the Upside Down forever. And your only reminder of him was now soaking up your blood.

You didn’t know which way to go, your memory faltering at the flipped version of your home. You desperately wanted to go back for Steve, to find him regardless of if his heart was beating. But you didn’t know the direction you came from. All you knew was the path to the graveyard. So, with a heavy heart, you knew that was the path to take.

With every turn, you had convinced yourself you were going the wrong way. These trees looked similar yet so different to how you last remembered them, and the darkness didn’t help you navigate your way. You wondered if this place even had a daytime.

It was a relief to see the gravestones line the grass, as morbidly wrong as that was. But you knew your way home from here. Even if it wasn’t really your home.

You throw quick glances at the stones, mentally saying the names in order to focus and calm your nerves. You were alone in a monster-infested land, covered in blood. You had every reason to be nervous. You pass a familiar patch of land, images of your floating sister burned into your brain. You stopped when you realised that Billy’s headstone wasn’t there.

“What the...” You mutter under your breath, double-checking you had the right spot. That was impossible.

If the Upside Down truly was a flipped version of Hawkins, then the stone should be there. In fact, as you look around once more, there were many missing from the land. Every theory ran through your mind as you stand motionless.

Dr Mornt, a man that had died at the age of 60, had a headstone placed for him, marking the year he died; 1984. Although you hadn’t known him, you had walked past that grave so many times, always remembering the name. And it definitely wasn’t there.

Your eyes widened. That meant that the Upside Down hadn’t aged since-

A loud roar echoed through the graveyard, making your hair stand on end as you immediately duck for cover, hiding behind a statue of an angel, careful to avoid the covering vines. Your breathing was heavy, a sick feeling in your stomach.

You knew the roar all too well.

You heard a gasp and turned your head, seeing Nancy run behind a tree with the creature stalking behind it. That was just you a few minutes ago.

Y/n! Nancy! Follow my voice!

You noticed light shining through the bottom of the tree just next to the one Nancy currently used as a shield. If she moved, it would definitely catch her. She turned her head when she noticed you, her eyes wide. You glanced between her and the creature. You took a deep breath and slowly raised your bat, nodding at her.

She shook her head aggressively, figuring out your plan. You only pointed to the gate. When she went to argue again, you let out a scream.

“Hey!” You yelled, its attention snapping towards you. Your mouth went dry.

The creature roared, its face opening like a flower that held dozens of rows of teeth, blood still dripping from its earlier meal.

You risk a peek over the marble, immediately ducking your head once you saw the grey, faceless figure. Your hands start to shake, chest tightening while tears formed in your eyes. You needed to control your breathing, not make any loud noises.

Not if you wanted to escape the Demogorgon.

Silent tears rolled down your cheeks as you heard its heavy breaths, body slowly making its way through the graveyard. You look down at yourself, the blood smeared across your body. It would be able to smell you. And if it got any closer, it would find you.

Just as the creature swiped at you with its claw, you ducked, swinging your bat to hit it squarely in the legs and it toppled over, rolling in the leaves. You hid behind a tree and you heard it roar again. The gate was so close in front of you. You could still see the light coming through.

But Nancy was still trying to make her way through. The light was dim. It was starting to close. You had a limited time frame to get both Nancy and yourself through before it closed for good.

You grabbed a clump of twigs from the ground and launched them in the opposite direction from the gate. The action caused the creature to lunge away from you and you ran to Nancy, pushing her through.

A distraction. That’s how you had managed to run last time. The Demogorgon never reacted to sight, the lack of eyes proving your theory. But sound and smell were heightened senses. You just needed something to act as a decoy.

Your eyes immediately drift to the yellow jumper around your waist, but part of you couldn’t use it. You couldn’t. So, instead, you quietly take off your own jacket, slipping it off your arms with small tugs against the material.

The next step was easier, smearing it with the blood currently covering your stomach. You tried not to wince at the cold touch of your hand.

A twig snaps not so far from you and you realise you’re running out of time. Bundling up the jacket, you figure out where you need to run to and realise you needed to throw it behind you if you wanted a head start at escaping. Mentally hyping yourself up, you slowly unfold into a stand, the statue still acting as a barrier and shielding your body.

You slightly side step around it, away from the noises from the creature stalking the graveyard. Once you are at the side, you raise your arm ready and silently turn to the direction you needed.

And the Demogorgon stared directly back, barely a breath away from you.

It lunged at you and you barely managed to launch yourself away from the attack, landing on the cold grass and struggling to scramble away, still clutching onto your blood soaked jacket. The Demogorgon didn’t take long to pounce on you again.

It manages to pin you down, trying to swipe at you with its giant claws and it only just missed your face as you lean your head to the side. Instead, it tore at the skin just below your shoulder, scratching above the heart. Your breaths were quick and painful, a scream building up in your throat.

It was happening again.

It was all happening again.

With one swift motion, its claws wrapped around your neck and threw you to the ground. The bat tumbled out of your hand as your head hit the hard floorboards. Its grip on you was tight, restricting your screams to mere whimpers. In the background, you could hear Nancy’s cries.

You struggled beneath the weight, trying anything to escape. It brought its head closer to you and slowly opened its giant mouth, rancid breath blowing onto your face. Each row of teeth brought terror to your mind. You didn’t want to die. It was true that you were willing to sacrifice yourself if it meant that your friends were safe. But seeing what would be your end… you weren’t ready.

Tears escaped your eyes as Nancy fired the gun at it, yelling. But the monster didn’t move.

“Y/N

DON’T BE AFRAID”

A dark voice echoed through your mind as the Demogorgon’s mouth continued to widen. You recognised the voice from the Upside Down, its deep nature once made you shudder. Without knowing why, it soothed you.

You stopped struggling and just laid there, accepting your fate.

Air was restricted, the claws tightening. But you didn’t panic. The light began to fade as you were falling to a fatal sleep.

A choked sob escapes your lips as you struggle beneath it, knowing that Steve wasn’t here this time to save you. No one was here to save you.

But this time, you had everything to lose.

You had promised Max you’d come back to her.

As the Demogorgon lowers its head towards you, you knew exactly what to do. You slide the jacket in your hand to lay below your neck, your other hand reaching to tug at the material so both hands held it tightly across your chest. And then, just before the creature can open its horrifying mouth, you use all your strength to wrap the jacket around its head.

The muffled screeches caused it to lash out at you as you pressed the thick jacket harder against it. Once it raised its body slightly, you kicked your legs out with enough force to push it away.

With all its heavy breathing, the jacket was now suffocating the Demogorgon, clung like film to its mouth. You watched as it struggled against the material, attempting to tear it off before your brain kicked into gear and you scramble to your feet and sprint as fast as you could out of the graveyard.

You ran all the way through town, following the roads. Even when your legs ached, you powered through it, desperately applying pressure on top of the yellow jumper. Your mouth felt dry, fatigue threatening to strike you at any moment. But you couldn’t stop. The glances you had thrown over your shoulder never recollected any signs of the Demogorgon following you, but you weren’t ready to risk that possibility.

Even reaching the familiar road didn’t soothe your anxiety. Instead, you had a whole new reason to be afraid.

The house looked like it had the day you arrived in Hawkins, chipped away paint and all. The vines were new, but not unexpected. The house was a little darker, its homely feel stripped right down to its terrifying core. It felt fitting, considering all that had happened.

An empty house for a girl left all on her own.

Jack had worked hard on restoring his home once he sobered up, returning it to its original shining glory that had made your aunt beg him to buy after their engagement. He would tell you that story over and over, how she refused to hire anyone to paint her new house. Your aunt was a fiery woman with a kind soul, always wanting to grasp the opportunities to make happy memories, even long before she became sick. You only met her a few times, when you were much younger.

And now they were both gone. But you knew that, if there really was one, they were reunited once again in the afterlife.

Unsure of where to go now, you shiver as the adrenaline slowly dissipated from your body. You needed to find a way to communicate with the others and try to find Steve. You didn’t know how long it had been since you were dragged away, but you prayed he was still alive.

A flash of light catches your eye and you freeze, staring directly at the window of the house next door. The Wheeler house.

There’s another shadow of movement and your breath hitches. Something was in that house.

You loved horror movies; you always found a way to make them funnier in your head, always laughing at the idiotic decisions the main characters made. Like, for one, hearing a noise and calling out as if the murderer would just let themselves up and apologise for attempting to kill them.

Or following the noise instead of running away from it. Which, to your horrible realisation, is what you always did.

You weren’t any better than the protagonist of a scary movie. And your feet were already at the window now, eyes peering in.

You barely see anything, nor hear. Shaking your head, you step away and turn around. You were just attacked by a Demogorgon, of course you were going to be on edge.

“Dustin?”

You turn immediately, your heart skipping a beat. That voice. Steve.

“Can you hear me? Dustin!”

You’re quickly moving to the front door, happiness setting in. He was alive. And he was here. You didn’t have to be alone-

You stop. Paranoia attacked the back of your mind. What if this was a trick? What if Vecna had created him to lure you inside?

“Hello?!”

But the sheer confidence and confusion in his voice was pure Steve Harrington. It had to be him.

Rather than use the front door, you slip around the back of the house, hoping that if it was a trick, you’d be able to see it before Vecna got his claws on you.

The back door was tricky to open, a vine wrapping right around the door knob. Not to mention that this door had always been creaky. The amount of times you and Nancy had almost been caught sneaking out after curfew had been the best kind of anxiety.

Now, you were afraid that one little noise could risk your life.

You do your best, barely any noise sounding from the old hinges, your fingers only just avoiding the vine. With a silent breath of relief, you step into the kitchen area, mind already fighting against your eyes as you try and remind yourself that you’re in the Wheeler house.

“Does anyone know Morse Code?”

Nancy’s voice was the last you expected to hear right now. With a gulp, you slowly walk towards the noise, more voices echoing into play. You can just make out Steve and Robin’s muffled responses before another voice surprises you.

“Wait, does SOS count?” Eddie says and everything doesn’t feel right.

Why were the others here? You had left them on the boat.

That same pit of anxiety tells you that it’s Vecna. He found you and now he’s playing with your mind, trying to lure you into a false sense of security.

Well, you weren’t going to let him win.

You grab a knife from the rack on the counter, trying not to react from the cool touch of it. Gripping it tightly, you make your way into the living room and see four shadows stood beneath a glittering chandelier. Eddie, if that even was him, was placing his hand back and forth in the light over and over in a rhythmic sequence. SOS.

“Do you guys think this will work?” Robin whispers out.

“We better hope so. I don’t think Vecna likes visitors.” Steve gestured to his body while Nancy breathes out.

“So… what now?” Eddie steps back, eyes set on the lights.

“We-” Nancy starts before another step creaks the floorboards beneath you and you mentally curse.

They all turn to the noise, jumping back before focusing their eyes.

“Y/n?” Nancy’s eyes widen and she steps towards you.

You hold the knife out and she immediately stops, holding her hands out.

“Woah, woah, woah.” Steve shakes his head, eyebrows scrunched in confusion and surely fear, moving closer, “Y/n, it’s us.”

“Right.” You grit your teeth, hand shaking slightly as that voice in the back of your mind tells you not to trust them.

“Seriously.” Robin nods profusely, not moving, “We swear that it’s really us. Okay? We-we dived in after you and Steve but we didn’t find you when we got to him and it’s been a mess ever since.”

“We tried to find you.” Eddie added and your eyes shift to his, heart beating faster.

“Y/n.” Nancy takes another step, slowly. “Vecna isn’t here.”

Everyone’s breath hitches once they understand why you’re acting this way. You had been affected by his curse for so long, you were beginning to doubt your own instincts.

“I…” You shuffle backwards, knife still held in your hand. “I can’t trust that.”

“Queen of the Demogorgons.” Eddie suddenly blurts and everyone looks to him, confused. He makes sure he’s in your line of vision before continuing. “That’s the name I gave you when you stopped that fight with Tommy. You… You called me King of the Freaks. Would Vecna even care enough to know that?”

You stand there for a moment, pondering the thought. Vecna only ever latched onto your bad memories, bringing up the trauma of your past rather than the joyous moments you cherished. It couldn’t be him.

Lowering your knife, you let it clatter to the floor and they all breathe sighs of relief.

“You okay?” Nancy asks tentatively, now by your side with her hand on your arm. You wipe away the tear that had threatened to fall, letting out a shaky breath.

“Um… actually…” You try before you feel faint, head spinning.

You heard your name being called to you as you stumbled to the floor, eyes fluttering shut.

Chapter 12: Riding To Freedom ->

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