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lovifie · 3 months

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Darkfic!Gaz, nothing too extreme but this is not loverboy!Gaz, this is more of It-makes-me-want-to-laugh-at-you-when-you-cry!Gaz.

TW: emotional manipulation, a bit of dubcon, mentions of kidnaps

Everyone has a limit, and Gaz is not an exception.

He is still made of meat and bones, and emotions can be tamed but not ignored forever.

Working in the military takes a toll on everybody, both physically and emotionally. And survivor guilt is the worst of them all.

Gaz is back from his last mission, but many of his colleagues won't. Ever again.

Too many casualties.

Too many lives lost.

Too many injured.

And he is fine.

Not even a scratch he could pick at to feel the pain he deserves.

He shouldn't be walking home so freely, dozens of families are about to find out they will never be whole again.

And he is walking home to you, happy to welcome him back as if he was a hero, dinner warm on the table and you talking to him about your day.

As if he would care about how your colleague invited you to a company dinner in a couple of days. People died today, he couldn't care less.

But it seems you cannot get the memo.

“Can you shut the fuck up for a fucking second? Shit! I have been out for months, I just want some fucking quiet time and you keep fucking going on and on about you. How can you be so selfish?! Fuck! Just shut up, for fuck sake!” He says, standing up from the table and dropping his half-eaten dinner on the sink before walking upstairs to the bathroom to shower.

He regrets it the moment the words leave his lips, the hurt look on your face as if he had just hit you.

It had happened before, the pressure of his work gets too much, he keeps it in, not being able to complain to anyone, until it overfills and in the end you are the one that takes the fall.

He hates himself for it, you are literary the best thing he has, his sweet girl, always willing to take him in, more ways than another, always willing to listen to him, always patient, always kind.

And this is how he repays you, with shouts, sex and apologies. That's the cycle.

He'll get out of the shower and you'll be lying on the sofa, not wanting to share the bed with him, he'll pull you apart and back together on said sofa, and once you are satisfied and pliant he'll take you to bed to sleep on his arms.

Until it happens again.

He gets out of the shower, towel around his hips, and goes down to the living room. But you aren't there, his brows furrow; maybe you are picking the blanket from the room.

So he goes upstairs again, smiling when the room's light is on, and enters; smile quickly dropping when he sees you.

No. No. No. No.

His stomach sinks when he sees the suitcase open on top of the bed, clothes being thrown inside by you.

He can see the tears in your eyes, but you don't look sad, you look angry. You have never been angry at him, he can't wait to feel it.

“Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing?” He asks stepping closer, closing the suitcase so you can’t put any more clothes in.

You huff, looking at him with hate and tears in your eyes as you try to move his hand away from the suitcase. “I'm leaving, Kyle”

No, no, no, you can leave, he needs you, how can you leave him? What will he do without you?

“Why? Love, please, stop, talk to me, please?” He begs, making you throw the t-shirt on your hand to the floor.

“Talk to you?!” You shout at him. “Maybe I should talk to you the way you talk to me, Kyle! Then maybe you would get an idea of how much it hurts!”

He deserves it, he knows he does, but you have never spoken this loudly to him before, and it stirs something inside him. It makes him wonder if he can make you moan as loud, scream his name.

“I know, love. I'm sorry, I really am. You know that, right? You know that I love you to bits?” He asks, manipulation at his best. But you don't fall for it, you are far too smart to be blinded by his hurt expression. He tries to cup your face, if he can touch you he knows he's got you; but so do you, and you quickly move his hands away from your face.

“If you loved me you wouldn't treat me the way you do, Kyle.” You argue, clever girl you are.

“How can I not love you, dear?” He asks, body moving closer to you. Your hand rests on the middle of his naked chest, keeping him back. It's the back of your hand that touches him, almost as if your palm was too good to touch him.

Your touch is cold, both literally and figuratively and that makes him start to panic. What if you actually leave? What if he can't fix this before is too late? What if it is too late?

He needs you, he needs the control he has over you. Everything in his life constantly feels out of control, his superiors barking orders at him, enemies playing with him, and comrades dying on the battlefield without him being able to do anything about it. He needs to feel he is in control of something, even if that something is a someone and even if that someone is you.

He still pushes closer, the heat from his body pooling into the coldness of your touch. He resists the urge to smile satisfied with how your body betrays you. Kyle does love you, even if it is in an unfair, distorted and macabre way. And he knows you love him, in a genuine, comforting and undeserving way.

His hands manage to get to your face, pushing his face forward to kiss your cheek. Baby steps.

“C’mon, love. I'm sorry, please. I won't do it again, I promise. I'll work on it, I promise I never intended to hurt you. I'm sorry, it's the job, I promise. I love you, darling. I really do.” He says, as he drops kisses on your face, lowering to your jaw and the moment he reaches your neck, he smiles, hidden from your eyes, knowing he is keeping you once more.

Shouts, sex and apologies. That's the cycle.

“Kyle…” You protest, your hand still on his chest and some fight still in you, but he can work it out of you.

“I'm sorry, dear. I'll treat you better, I promise. As good as you deserve, I promise.” He has you against his chest now, and he feels your hand slowly turning on his chest; your palm much warmer against his skin.

He sucks on your neck making you whimper and he needs every bit of self-restraint not to laugh at you, not to laugh at how easy it was. He shouldn't have gotten nervous, he’s got you eating out of his hands.

The part of his brain that is still human, that tells him that you are still human starts to talk to his dismay. He knows it! He perfectly knows that he is a monster for how he treats you, that you should be with someone a hundred times better, such a sweet girl stuck together with such a horrible man.

But one of the many traits that make him such a horrible man is how egoistic he is, so he will keep you, even if you don't want to. He'll keep pushing you away and locking the doors so you can't run. Tomorrow he'll burn the suitcase, he is not letting you get this far ever again.

A glimmer of guilt sits at the bottom of his stomach, a useless feeling. It only means he needs to get inside of you soon, fill himself with the love he so little deserves and fill yourself with empty lies of eternal love.

He grips your thighs, urging you to jump on his hips. You resist for a second too long and he slaps your asscheek making you jump with a whimper.

“I'm gonna make you feel good, love. I'm sorry. I'll make it worth it, I promise.” He says, still biting your neck. The towel around his hips falls at some point, not that he cares; it would get in the way anyway. Just as much as your clothes are, he doesn't bother to let you back on the floor to take them off. He simply grabs the material and rips it on your crotch leaving your cunt exposed.

He is still standing, he doesn't want you to be able to rely on any support, he wants you to feel that if you don't grab him you'll fall, he wants you to need him just as much as he needs you. He slips his hand behind you, getting a finger inside of you making you whimper as you hide your face on his neck; clinging onto him and he loves it.

This is how he wants you, desperate for him. Just like he is for you. At his disposal, just for him.

He can feel the wetness dripping down his fingers, he knows he should add more fingers before sinking you on his dick, but he wants to feel you stretch around his dick, moulding yourself just for him, shaping your insides only for him.

You bite his shoulder when he does and he smiles, loving it, he needs it. He needs the pain you inflict on him when he is like this, the bites on his shoulders, the scratches on his back, the kicks on his lower back, all of it. He deserves, he deserves much more. You could sink a knife into his shoulder, cut him to his hip dragging the blade and he would still feel you need to do more.

He is so horrible to you, he knows he hurts you, and he wishes you could hurt him back, let him know what is like. But you never do, because you are too good to hurt the man you love and it only makes him want you to hurt him more.

He grabs your hips hard, making you bounce on his dick, the room filling with your moans and the sound of skin slapping on skin. There are no more thoughts inside his head, already forgetting the faces of those men who died today, already forgetting their names. This is why he needs you, it would consume him alive if it wasn't for you. He needs you.

You cling to him, moaning his name, you mind forgetting his harsh words already only being able to focus on the way his dick is hitting so deep inside of you.

He makes sure to go round after round, his seed spilling out of you making him grunt. He should get you pregnant, stuck with him for real that way, forever.

It's only when you can no longer talk that he gets in the bed with you, hugging you tightly, too afraid you'll think about leaving again.

It's usually at this point he can finally relax, go to sleep and forget about the nightmares his days have been.

But a new nightmare arises when he says, “I love you” and you answer “I know”.

Tomorrow, he is burning your suitcase and he is tying you to the bed. Enough playing around with him, he is here, and you don't need to go anywhere.

Shouts, sex and apologies. That's the cycle.

And that will remain the same.

Whether you want it or not.

This was my first try at writing something more dark-ish. I'm not really sure if it even classifies as it, but. I hope you guys enjoy it anyway 🩷🩷

@waiting-so-long this is what you have done to me. I don't know if this fits the vision you had but I hope you enjoy it my dear! 🩷🩷

@sgtgarricks here you have it as well, wait no more 🩷🩷

T-List: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @glocuseguardian3rd @darkangel4121 @risingofjupiter @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @lunari0 @dukeofjjune @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @dilara-del @multifandomheathenannie @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @tooloudarts

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eternally-racing · 4 months

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meet me at midnight | lando norris

pairing: lando norris x reader

wc: 1k

summary: even though you're sick, new year's eve is definitely a night you and lando want to remember.

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“You have to go, Lan, everyone’s expecting you” you say while attempting to hide the congestion in your voice. It’s all futile though, since your ruby red nose and all too evident fever are giving you away.

It’s New Year’s Eve and the two of you had planned on spending it together in Bali. It was a compromise of sorts. You got your quiet Christmas at home, while Lando was so excited to show you all his best DJ moves to close out the year. The only hiccup in the plan so far is that you had come down with one of the worst colds you’d experienced all year, leaving you absolutely cocooned under the blankets of your shared hotel room.

Of course Lando wants to stay with you, he’s a gentleman after all. The two of you are still trying to keep things quiet with your relationship; that means no joint entries into the paddock, no lavish vacations on a yacht, and most of all trying to keep things looking as “business as usual” in your personal social media accounts. People were already starting to question things, and Lando not making an appearance with his besties while everyone knows he’s in Bali would definitely raise too many red flags. It’s only when you threaten to get out of bed and iron his button down shirt yourself (it’s your favorite on him, and he knows that), does Lando come to terms with the fact that he’s leaving you behind to go party. It makes him feel a little sick in his stomach and you can see him almost change his mind at least half a dozen times before he makes it out the door, and it’s only after a mountain of air kisses and a promise to come back the minute you text him that you need him that he finally walks out the door.

You’re not sure how long he’s been gone, but you can definitely still hear the party booming just miles away from your room. The toxic combination of advil and dehydration has left a pounding in your head that’s only compounded by the bass booming through your sheets, and the amount that you’re writhing in bed is almost enough to have you text Lando to come back. The minute you pick up your phone you see a cute video Martin sent of your man in the DJ booth looking like he’s having the time of his life, and that’s enough to make you change your mind. Seeing Lando happy made you happy enough, and if he was here the only thing he would do is probably just get himself sick.

After drifting in and out of consciousness for a while you feel the side of the bed dip next to you and a pair of warm arms circle around you. Lando’s giggling a little to himself as he presses his face into your shoulder, and the ticklish feeling is enough to bring you further out of your slumber and roll over towards him. You can tell that Lando is still wearing the same shirt as you grasp at the buttons. He has that soft smile on his face that you just love seeing, his eyes fluttering open and shut as he tries to fight off sleep to look at you. On a normal night you would definitely chastise him for not brushing his teeth or changing his clothes before getting into bed, but it is honestly so nice to have him back and you tell him exactly that. As a response Lando only tries to bring your bodies even closer to each other, burying his head into your neck as he entangles your limbs together.

“Lan, baby I love you but you reek of tequila right now” you groaned as you stretched your back out slightly. The smell itself is enough to make your nausea return and you keep your nose shut with your fingers while you lift his head away from your body,

All of a sudden you feel Lando’s roaming hands freeze on your body and it immediately has you worried something’s wrong. You reach out to touch his cheek again but instead it looks like your boyfriend has seen a ghost.

“You…love me?” Lando whispers out.

Shit. this is absolutely not how you meant for this to happen. I guess that's what love is like - perfectly imperfect and never how you expect it. The words had been on the tip of your tongue for weeks now but you just didn’t know the right moment to say it, but it looks like while your brain was overthinking it your heart had decided to blurt it out.

You can feel your own face start to heat up, and this time it’s not from your fever. “Yeah, I love you Lando” You can barely keep eye contact with the blue-eyed boy across from you as you say it.

There’s barely a beat of silence between you two and you’re about to launch into a mini rant about how he shouldn't feel any pressure to say it back and that it kind of slipped out when Lando scoops you into his arms. Before you know it he’s laughing and he’s kissing you and there’s fireworks happening between you two that can’t even be rivaled by the lights show that you can see streaming in through your window.

“Can I show you how much I love you, baby?” is all Lando has to ask before you give in, all goals of trying to keep your distance to stop him from getting sick having gone out the window.

And when Lando wakes up with a cold the next day, you’re right there next to him taking care of him. He’s the one you love, after all.

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author's note: fun fact this was the very first formula 1 fic i ever wrote! it's making an appearance today because i've been so crazy busy this week and haven't been able to write a ton of new stuff :( so excited to get some more writing done this weekend! Love you all, thank you so much for reading! Until next time - Em <;3

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #ln4 #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 fic #mclaren f1 #formula 1 fic #lando norris fanfic #lando x you #lando x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic

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starlight-starwrites · 5 months

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a dozen tiny suns

astarion x bard!elf!reader

summary: after the battle for baldur's gate, you and astarion have settled into a new routine in your old home. nocturnal life isn't easy, and you come up with a surprise for him to have a little sunlight.

wc: 1.4k

warnings: oh boy i got fluffy

note: written for the BG3 holiday challenge twinkling lights prompt! reader is not described or named, but is an elf bard for context (a little magic for our favorite vampire)

“Darling, the sun’s down,” you shuffle over to the four-poster bed, flopping on the side with the open curtains. “Astarion, love?”

Darkness has fallen outside, and the few lamps lit in your apartment barely penetrate the canopy you’ve made of your bed. The mass of blankets move slightly at your intrusion, the only sign that Astarion really is in here. You catch sight of light on white hair, and you reach to pull the heavy quilt away.

“Darling, did you hear me? The sun’s gone downnn,” you sing.

He doesn’t open his eyes. His only acknowledgment is a wrinkled nose as he nestles further into the pillow. You stretch, crawling on your stomach to get close enough to press a kiss to his bare shoulder.

The action seems to appease him, his expression a pout instead. “Mmph, it’s much too early for that. Come back to bed.” You ignore him, gently pulling away the blankets before he really wakes up. One eye cracks open, and you’re fixed by his red gaze. “What are you doing? Why are you dressed?”

“It’s time to get up, you’ll waste the night.” You still can’t help but smile at the way his nose wrinkles.

“Night is not for hours.”

“Night, evening,” you wave a hand, “It’s winter, love. The sun sets earlier, so we can get up earlier. Now come on, I want to show you something.”

Astarion usually wasn’t one to laze in bed, often taking advantage of the daylight hours as well as the night. These last few months completely free of the horrors, masters, and tadpoles that haunted you since leaving Baldur’s Gate did wonders for him. His newfound freedom was only limited by the rise of the sun, and even that he rebelled against. The new curtains blanketed your rooms in darkness to accommodate him, but you often caught him pulling them back to let in a patch of light. You half expected to find him one day lying in the sunlight like a cat, if not for the fact he was still very much a vampire.

You poke a finger into his arm. “Did I really tire you out that much this morning? And here I thought you were indomitable—yeeeep!”

He’s fast. One second he’s face down and curled around the pillow, and the next he’s snatching your hand to yank you under him.

“No, no, noooo!” You wiggle, but he’s smart and he knows you. He has you pinned.

“I will smother you, darling. Don’t doubt me again.”

You pout. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He hums, pleased, and starts to get comfortable, his nose to the column of your throat. You shift again. “No, don’t you dare, you have to get up.”

“Why?”

“I have a surprise for you.”

“I hate surprises.”

You laugh, hand coming to weave fingers through his hair and give a little tug. “You love my surprises. It won’t last forever. Now come on.” A second tug and his eye opens again, accompanied by a raised brow. You lean forward to press a kiss to his nose, and just like that, you slip from his grasp.

He grumbles about it, but his complaining has long since become background noise to you. It takes him a minute to rise, pulling apart the curtains on his side of the bed and stumbling out. You wait, nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet as he pulls on a robe.

“What is it?” he asks, and though he tries to sound indifferent, you can hear his curiosity.

“Do you really want me to tell you, or would you rather see it for yourself?” you ask as you slowly back to the balcony doors.

“It’s outside?” He acts put-out, but he fastens his robe quickly without hesitating to follow you. “What in the hells are you up to?”

He squints, amused now at your excitement, and when you hold out your arms, his hands take hold of yours like they have a hundred times before.

“Just…come see,” you say softly.

The balcony of your apartments isn’t large—a space for your old chair and table, and now a new lounge right beside them. Overlooking the street, the other new addition balances along the railing: night-blooming flowers grow tall, offering slightly more privacy than you had before.

In between, there was enough space for you to stand with your love. Dance, even, when you could convince him.

It was there you had arranged your little surprise, smooth rope running above your heads. It had taken longer than you wanted to admit, fastening each one from roof to roof, making sure that they would hold. Almost as long as it took to create the enchantment that holds Astarion’s attention now.

You smile at him even though his gaze is far from you. You step backwards slowly, pulling him along. His wide eyes dart above, taking it in, the hand you hold stretched in front of him. You like the way his fangs poke out with the gape of his mouth. You love the way you seem to have stolen all words from him.

Winter night air nips at your skin, but between watching him and the faint heat radiating from your enchantment, you barely notice.

The orbs had fit perfectly in the palm of your hand as you whispered your incantations, and now they hung like a dozen tiny suns above your heads.

The warm glow from the light was meant to mimic the sun itself, albeit in a much smaller and less powerful form. You let Astarion’s hand slip from yours as he turned to face each of them, let him wonder at the lights that shone on his bed-tousled hair.

“You did this?” There’s awe in his voice, though it’s careful. Perhaps not quite believing, not quite willing to reveal himself. The red of his eyes seems softer, almost orange in the light, and he looks over your decoration once more before his gaze falls to you.

You nod, smile hopeful. “I had help,” you admit, “I wanted to make sure that the spell would cause no damage—” you gesture to Astarion, “for obvious reasons. It’s meant to mimic Daylight, but in truth the incantation is closer to what I do for Dancing Lights. Just…obviously not dancing,” you laugh, “the light moves within, I don’t know, a little shield?”

It’s you who looks away this time, eyes up as you call to one of the orbs. It drifts down, and you cup it in your hands, holding it between you and Astarion. It warms your skin, brighter now that it’s so close. You have to look away.

You find him staring at you.

His hands brush over yours as he takes a step closer, the light held within your palms, your hands held within his.

He’s beautiful.

It reminds you of all the little moments on your adventures, ones that didn’t seem so significant at the time. You remember how he stood in the sun, that morning after in the woods. You remember how he laughed in camp, faced tilted up to the bright sky as you teased him over breakfast. You remember how he stared in wonder at the colorful streets of Baldur’s Gate, both weirdly relieved to be home.

“I know you miss the sun.”

His hands tighten around yours, and you watch his face as he takes hold of the orb. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t wince, doesn’t burn. His brows raise, eyes big as he looks again from the warm light he holds to you.

“I…thank you.”

The rays from the enchantment seem stronger somehow, blazing light between strands of his hair, clearing all shadows from his face. Your other tiny suns still above you act like a halo around him.

You could almost believe the two of you stood under the real sun.

You open your mouth to respond, to wave away the gift, tell him he deserves more, deserves better. To remind him that as long as you’re together, you’ll take care of him. That you can still find another solution.

Instead, Astarion drops the orb. Though neither of you look to it, it stays floating in the space between your chests. His hands, no longer cold, come to cup your face, and his fingers trail up to the tips of your ears. You find yourself mirroring his movements, his cheeks in your palms, the edge of his pink ears under your fingertips.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

He kisses you.

And it’s warm, and it’s bright, and it feels like sunlight.

#bg3holidayfluffle23 #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav

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dantesunbreaker · 7 months

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Cold Cuddles with the Papas(Headcanons)

No warnings apply, just some tooth rotting fluff from our favorite old men!

Primo

As the eldest brother, it is safe to assume his circulation isn’t as great as it once was. Thus, blankets and warm fuzzy socks are always in abundance with Primo

When you approach him complaining about the cold, Primo is pulling out a pair of double layer socks before you have even finished getting the words out

If he still has work that needs his attendance, Primo will usher you both to the loveseat in his office. An end table will be pulled up to use as a desk, blanket wrapped around you both so you can nestle against him for warmth

But when there is no work to be done, Primo will brew a nice hot pot of tea for you both to share

Together you retire to his chambers where the heat is always turned up to the perfect comfortable temperature

Always takes up the chance to put you in one of his older sweaters because Primo loves the sight of your sleepy face while bundled up in his clothing

If even all of that does little to fight off the could, Primo will sit and cuddle with you beneath a layer of thick blankets until you are warm enough

Your favorite is the occasions where this turns your evening into soft warm cuddles the rest of the day and sharing some delicious soup made with vegetables from Primo’s garden

Secondo

Seems very much like a tough love kind of guy. First response when you come to him complaining about the cold is “well damn, I can’t control the weather”

But a quick flash of the puppy dogs is all it takes to change Secondo’s tune

If you are outside together and you begin to shiver, Secondo will groan, but always will offer up his coat. Pretends he walks with his arm around you to further keep you warm, but you know it because he also feels the cold

When inside and you mention being cold, Secondo simply offers to turn up the heater.

He often takes things for face value, so either prepare to work for it if you want cuddles from him or simply be blunt about it. No matter the method, you end up getting what you want.

Sometimes, when you can’t manage to pull him away from his work, you will rest on his lap with a blanket pulled snug around your shoulders as he continues going through paperwork

Other times Secondo will take the time to sit down and relax with you lounging under a throw blanket together in his office

Offers to make you something hot to drink, whether it be coffee, tea, or even hot chocolate.

Don’t tell his brothers, but he loves when you pick hot chocolate because he uses it as an excuse to also indulge in the delicious chocolatey drink

Terzo

Most likely to be over dramatic about the situation, and also most likely to be equally as affected by the temperature

Do not expect Terzo to offer his coat! “But the outfit was planned around the coat! Taking it off will ruin the look!” He will however walk with an arm around you, pulled tight against his side so that you can share his body heat

Getting Terzo to accomplish any work when it is cold is a difficult task, but you don’t want him getting in MORE trouble with Sister Imperator

So cold mornings you find yourself accompanying Terzo throughout his day, hot drinks always in hand, warm coats and blankets at the ready constantly

You will stand behind his chair, arms around him with blanket hanging over so that you can wrap him up in your loving warmth as you coax him to get through at least half the stack of papers on his desk

But when Terzo does not have work, expect an extravagant yet cozy night ahead of you

Expertly gets the fireplace going, all the lights off so only the firelit illuminates the room. Absolutely has a huge furry rug in front of the fireplace, which is where you spend the evening cuddling with dozens of pillows and extra blankets

Special occasions you can also expect to share some mulled wine as you bask in the warmth of the fire together, tangled up in each other’s limbs

Copia

Always one to worry, Copia will instantly be fretting over you if you mention being cold around him

Before you can even say anything else, Copia is pressing the back of his hand to your forehead to check for a fever followed by rapid fire questions asking if you are feeling ill

Takes a couple of minutes to settle him down enough to explain that you aren’t sick, you are just a bit chilly and in need of some Copia cuddles

Worry is quickly replaced with affection, throwing his arms around you and holding you tight against his chest. “Oh! Why didn’t you just say so!”

Often one to work too hard, Copia however will set aside his work in these kind of occasions

The couch in his office always has a rather thick throw blanket on it, strategically left by you entirely for the purpose for when you have days like this

Copia will get you both nice steaming cups of hot chocolate, mini marshmallows included!

Both of you curl up together on the couch, blanket thrown over your laps as you carefully sip on your drinks and talk about whatever comes to mind

On some occasions you fall asleep against him, and Copia absolutely refuses to wake you from such a pleasant slumber. So, he instead he simply does his best to complete whatever work he can from the couch until you eventually wake up on your own

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moonstruckme · 4 months

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Just thinking about reader being in the position of having to take care of poly emt!marauders 🥹 whether they’re physically hurt or just mentally /physically tired, reader is there for them!!!! Instant self care night and spoiling the boys to the max, anything to make them feel better and help prevent work burnout. Reader may not be a medical professional but def knows how to take care of the boys individually and together <3

Thanks for requesting love <3

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 931 words

You’ve been waiting to hear someone’s key in the door for the past half hour. You feel oddly like you’re preparing for guests, having gone out to get a bunch of food and drinks you don’t always keep stocked and making sure all the blankets are washed for when the boys get home. You’re almost nervous.

James had texted you a few hours from the end of their shift to warn you that the other boys might be in a dour mood when they got home. He was sparing with the details and naturally showed no concern for his own mental state, but you gather it was a rough day. You know it’s bound to happen, in your boyfriends’ line of work, but it still breaks your heart when it happens to them. You wish desperately that you could sequester them in their own little bubble of happiness, where none of the bad things in the world can touch them. God knows they deserve it.

A key twists in the front door, and you all but jump up, hurrying to fetch the blankets from the dryer.

“Hi, angel,” James calls into the house, false cheer in every note of his voice.

“Hi,” you reply from behind an armful of blankets. “How are you, loves?”

Sirius looks sullen, but Remus manages a half-smile. “Been a bit better,” he says, “but alright.”

“Yeah, I heard.” You deposit the blankets in a heap on the couch, walking over to Sirius and snaking your arms around his middle.

“I tattled,” James says to Remus’ inquisitive look. Remus only hums.

Sirius’ strong arms bind you tightly to his front, his face pressing into the juncture of your shoulder and your neck. “Thanks,” he murmurs into your skin.

You pet his hair. “Do you guys feel like watching a movie? I got snacks. Or we could have a shower?” You’re rambling a bit, but it’s hard to stop. “Or if you just feel like going to bed, I get that too. I washed the sheets.”

Remus takes a big breath. Gives you another smile. “That all sounds so nice, dovey. I’m game for a movie.”

You smile back at him, giving Sirius a good squeeze before releasing him. “Alright, settle in on the couch,” you instruct. “I’m going to go grab some things from the kitchen.”

“I’ll help,” James says instantly, making to follow you. But you turn around, setting your hands on his chest.

“Go sit down,” you tell him gently. “I’ve got it.”

He raises his eyebrows at you but does, pivoting back towards the couch.

“Fuck, it smells good in here,” Sirius says, and you smile to yourself. You’d lit his favorite candles an hour before you knew they’d be getting home.

“These blankets are so warm.” James is snuggling up underneath one when you come back in, Sirius having made himself comfortable in the space between Remus’ legs. You start distributing snacks.

“They just came out of the dryer,” you say.

“Sweetheart.” Sirius looks at you, his gray eyes already a bit less solemn. There’s a few dozen thank yous and I love yous wrapped up in that one word. You give him a little smile to let him know you hear them.

You’ve gotten Remus a few different kinds of chocolate, and his lips part in surprise when you dump them all on the coffee table in front of him. You wanted him to be well supplied. If anyone broke Remus’ heart, you’re positive chocolate would come spilling out.

“Does anyone want tea or hot chocolate or anything?” you ask.

James shakes his head, and Remus says, “We’re well stocked here.” His voice is soft, warm with fondness. “Sit down with us.”

You cozy up to James’ side, letting him tuck you underneath an arm and trying not to mind that he smells a bit like hospital. Remus lets Sirius pick the movie, a testament to how upset they must all be, and you nose affectionately at James’ cheek.

“Do you want to have a shower?” you ask him quietly. “I know you usually like to wash the day off of you.”

“I will soon,” he replies, turning his face to smear a kiss across your forehead, “but I think I just want to do this for a little while first. Be with you guys.” You look up at him, and he smiles, seraphim. “You’ve really prepared quite the setup for us, haven’t you?”

You turn your cheek into his chest, having a hard time congratulating yourself when your boyfriends all seem so heartbreakingly glum. “I know you’ve had a hard day,” you tell him.

“Mm.” James drops another kiss on the top of your head, giving you a heart-aching squeeze. “Well thanks, angel. This is really nice.”

You look at Remus and Sirius on the other end of the couch, the latter with his cheek squished up against your boyfriend’s chest, scrolling through options on the TV while the former wipes a smudge of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. You tilt your head back to see James. His eyes are a bit wearier than usual behind his glasses as he smiles down at you.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

His smile falters, brows pulling up a bit in the middle at the concern heavying your tone. He rubs your upper arm, and you wriggle your arms around his waist in return, hugging him awkwardly.

“Yeah,” he tells you, no false lightness undercutting the candor in his voice. “We’ll be fine, sweetheart. We’ve got everything we need right here.”

738 notes · View notes

loganlermanstanaccount · 11 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 1)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Prologue, Part 2

summary: After the breakup, you move into a new place.

warnings: no warnings! cheeky bit of angst at the end

a/n: this is me admitting that realistically, miguel would be sick of our shit.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here <3

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

or in the cold, crisp morn:

"These are the keys," Your new landlord hands you the copies, clinking against each other as you transfer them to a dish by the door. Your first thought is that there seem to be too many for this modest apartment: of varying shapes and sizes, and at least half a dozen. He steps through a wide archway to the kitchen, eerily clean. It's not modern by any means, the top half of a hulking brownstone some time away from college.

It’s been… a trying summer. Moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend had seemed like a great idea at the time. Younger you (barely 2 years ago) had been enamoured with the promises of city life: fast-paced, bustling, and never a dull day. Naivete and big ideas that you'd been too stupid, or maybe too desperate, to let go of. After being locked in a loop of the same 3 or 4 places, the same dozen faces - in a place as big as this, mind you - maybe your ex-boyfriend had freed you. Forced you from that halfway-home; as cold and empty as it had become; and back out into the world.

The reality was less than ideal - apartment hopping across the city for the past 4 months or so. You’d seen it all: glorified shoeboxes, fancy duplexes, viewing sublet rooms that were at least a little illegal. A box within a box within a box; coat closets rented out for double your monthly take home; and you had just about given up.

So this place seemed like a godsend: a brownstone, tucked away. Its interior is dated, but gorgeous. It had character: quirks and rich history in the brick and mortar. A fireplace tucked into the corner, window alcoves, wood panelling. Yes, the wallpaper was slightly warped with damp but it’s affordable - a reasonably priced gem that had made you jump when you saw the ad. With the overexposed and pixelated images, they didn’t do it justice.

You pad into the kitchen, running your hands on the smooth countertops. They’re bare and spotless - suspiciously so. Not many personal items, no fridge magnets, photos; nary a blanket on the sofa or half eaten plate of toast on the worktop. It’s so clean it feels staged, and it makes you squint. Isn’t there meant to be…

“I let Miguel know… he must’ve cleaned up the place-”

“Miguel?”

“The other tenant.” He pauses, boots clicking on the grain of the floorboard. “I don’t think he’ll be back until later tonight. Should give you some time to settle in.”

Nodding, you give him a small smile, and he steps out of the apartment. Your apartment.

~~~

You fill the rest of day with unpacking, putting some life into the place. You’d visited not long ago, fantasising about how you’d decorate. Something about sharing an apartment with your boyfriend for the past 2 years had done something to you: flattening and squeezing into a space not built with you in mind. How Jamie didn't like things on the walls, or how he needed the space for his textbooks, so why don't you find somewhere else to put your little stories? If his desk took up half the front room, then that makes sense, he needs it for work. But God forbid you needed a quiet space to study; what if the guest bedroom has your shit everywhere when his friends come over? A million compromises that didn't seem much like compromises: you'd give an inch and he'd take a mile. And so, the space to spread your wings without knocking over a gaudy plaque or two was very much appreciated.

You want to walk around the neighbourhood, map out the convenience stores, bodegas, community hotspots and hubs. Where's the best place to get a drink? The cheapest meal? Your usual haunts were a fair distance away, so maybe you'll make the trek and pick up waffles from Pam's, as a treat. Tired already, you slump on the sofa - a tattered old thing that can clearly take a beating. Looking around the place, something settles solidly at your chest. Contentment, maybe, a strange feeling considering the past few months. This will do, you think. This will do.

Perhaps it's not a very feminist thought, but you're not thriving . Thriving felt presumptuous, and yet coping seemed too complete a word - its implication too tidy, too neat. A mess, before; better, now…? And it didn't quite span the width and depth of the past few months; how long it had taken for the numbness to make way to anger, hot and intense - its flame fueling many a long night. And yet, maybe coping was just the way to describe your foray into this new chapter: a new year, new apartment, and whatever that brings. You had forgotten what it felt like to be alone; not lonely, but with only your own self for company. Without the ache of another person, for the first time in a while.

…except, you had a roommate. Which you had known when signing the lease, of course, but it's taken some time to sink in. What that means for you - a new person to tiptoe around and appease - you're not too sure yet. What is he like? He's out late, so maybe a chronic partygoer - sloppy drunk and vivacious, the life of the party. He might clatter into the apartment, chattering and bubbly. What do you know about him? From the apartment, as is, it doesn't tell you much. At first glance, it had looked too clean, but not unreasonably so if he had anticipated your arrival. No, it was the lack of personal effects that confused you. How long has he been living here and there aren't any pictures or knick knacks? To clutter is to be human, you think. And with the front room as blank as it is, you wonder just what kind of man he is.

It's getting late. Naturally, you do some snooping, lazily padding around in search of life. Onwards and upwards, to new frontiers: the cupboards and drawers in your new apartment.

He likes coffee, you learn. There's a fancy machine on the kitchen counter, glossy and shiny and clearly taken care of. Little packets of beans and filters line the cupboards, all with names you can't quite pronounce. The fridge is similarly well-stocked, with none of the junk food you've gotten accustomed to in the past few months. Its innards are leafy green and plush; labelled tupperware with leftovers notwithstanding. All the spices in a tray above the oven and fancy knives on the wall tell you he likes to cook, or rather, he likes to eat well. The lack of junk would take some getting used to - maybe he's a health nut? The type to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, to blend oddly coloured smoothies, and "reflect" after a long day of… dog walking or something.

You move on to the living room, running a light hand over the deep walnut of a side table behind the sofa. Again, it's oddly bare. When you tug at the drawers, it's brassy handles are solid. Locked. Kneeling, you run a hand across the larger cupboard door at its base. You pull at it, and it pops open with a click. Inside, it seems empty, save for a dusty box nestled in the back corner. With your top half almost completely inside its depths, you move it into the light.

It's old, a battered shoebox adorned with coloured sharpie - shaky drawings of flowers blossoming from its sides. The cardboard crackles when you open it. It's full of junk, mostly: half-dead pens, broken crayons, dried flowers, and little plastic toys - the kind you get from cereal boxes and happy meals. And, there's something peeking out. Confused, you dig a little deeper, to uncover a pair of… soccer cleats? They're tiny, clearly for a kid but seem barely worn, with minimal scuffing on the plastic blades.

"What the fuck are you doing?" A voice from above rumbles, and your head snaps up like a rubber band. You hadn't noticed the door open, and you are met face to face with, who you assume to be, your roommate.

He doesn't shout: tall, broad, and back straight by the door. He's got a backpack slung over his shoulder, dressed in a crisp white shirt and slacks. His name was… Miguel? Miguel crosses his arms, brows furrowed in quiet rage. Fuck.

"I was just looking for.. uhh…"

You know how it looks. It's the worst time for your brain to go blank, and you're left holding the hypothetical bag. You stand up a little too quickly, and smack your knee on the lip of the table. Half of the box spills onto the floor and you dart downwards, embarrassed.

" Shit. Sorry, let me-"

He leaps towards the floor, and you're forced behind him, as he scrambles to put everything in its place. You start to help and he stops, stock-still. As if in slow motion, his head turns to the side and he gives you a look that could kill thousands. Retreating, you shrink back, only able to watch helplessly.

" Chica tonta... ¿se crió en un rancho? ¿qué clase de persona entra en casa de alguien y toca todas sus cosas?" He's muttering something under his breath - too fast and not saying anything you can understand. Pausing, he throws you a look. "...y luego me ve como si yo fuera el que está mal- ojos grandes y bonitos como de perrito pateado...oh dios mío.-"

[silly little girl… was she raised in a barn? what kind of person walks into someone's house and touches all of their stuff? // and she looks at me like I'm the one in the wrong - big, pretty eyes like a kicked puppy… oh my god-]

He's gentle with the box, the way he puts it in its place contrasting his mood a couple of seconds before. He closes up the door and you stumble to your feet. In the glow of halogen bulbs, he follows, arms crossed like a mother hen.

"I think… I think I'm your new roommate?" You say your name and stretch out a hand, but Miguel doesn't move. You watch as his eyes sweep over your body, shameless.

"Are you asking, or telling me?" He sighs, pinching at his temples.

"...Telling?" You offer him a weak smile, and he cracks.

Softening, ever so slightly, he grumbles. "I know. I know. Mr Estévez said you would be in tomorrow, though."

"I like to be early."

"Right. Well… don't do that. Again, I mean." He clears his throat. "Don't touch my shit either. It's too… fuck , it's too late for this. I'm going to bed."

He kicks off his shoes, and all you can do is watch as he saunters off; the door to his room shutting with a resounding slam .

~~~

His name is Miguel O'Hara - not that he told you that, or anything. He hasn't spoken to you much at all, leaving you to figure out who he is and what he does from vague clues around the apartment. You don't go snooping , learning quickly from previous mistakes; but his full name on a letter slotted through the mail was fair game, you think. The most you've gotten out of him were grunts and frustrated requests to keep to your shelf in the fridge.

Passive-aggressive wasn't in his vocabulary, you’re convinced. A plethora of dirty looks in his arsenal? Sure. Plenty of vulgar swears in Spanish? Absolutely. Miguel was not, however, passive-aggressive. Just… aggressive. Not angry, of course. Upfront. Abhorred any passivity and indolence: umm-ing and ahh-ing for the sake of it.

So naturally , you were sent to kill him.

You tiptoe around the apartment, avoiding him at all costs. At first, it wasn’t on purpose, just the awkwardness of your first meeting bleeding into the next week. But you dodge and weave like an expert boxer - particularly impressive in the small space. Miguel’s in the kitchen? Suddenly, you’re not very hungry. He’s curled up on the couch for a movie? Wow, look at the time: and you're heading to bed. You can’t read him very well, and don’t trust yourself enough to look him in the eye without fear of melting under his gaze. The few short interactions you have, you crumble; a brush against his shoulder in the kitchen, or legs against his on the dining table. Not that Miguel offers a peace branch, pursing his lips when you’d make eye contact, somewhat frustrated at your theatrics. Call it cliche: you’re avoiding confrontation at all costs. It manifests itself in peculiar ways: the Shower Incident being the most memorable.

The Shower Incident, aptly named, happened not too long ago. The apartment is old , as you soon learnt, coming with its own plethora of quirks. What you had first taken as character and charm - window seats and wood panelling - also came in the form of a building half falling apart. Creaky floorboards, leaky pipes, and a distinct lack of central heating. The discounted price, that had seemed like a bargain before, clearly lacked some creature comforts… like heating. And a working shower.

As you’d been in a rush, you clattered into the bathroom; stripping in no time at all. Bare feet on the tile, and you turn the knobs at the base of the shower unit. You’re not going to pretend you know how it works, just yet, but… it’s not rocket science, is it? The brassy spout sputters; but with no luck. Groaning from the pipes makes you jump, before huffing in frustration. This is not the time; late to yet another 9.00am? You want to be different this year: organised, put together, and on time to your lectures. On your tiptoes, you peer down the shower head hesitantly, like it’s the barrel of a loaded gun. With cruel irony, it sputters to life, sending a face-full of ice-cold water your way.There’s a scream, as you scramble at the handles, scurrying out of its brunt; desperately trying to turn it off.

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel leaps out of his room towards the shouting, with a fumble and clunk of his feet on wooden floor. He’s quick , hand hovering on the bathroom door before you can register it; his voice echoing outside.

“Are you…” There’s scuffling, which you can just about hear over the pounding of the water against tiles. “Are you okay, in there?”

You wince, stepping out of the shower – legs shaky like a baby deer – as you gurgle. “...Yeah?”

“Can I –” He clears his throat. “Are you.. clothed ? Can I come in?”

You scramble for something to cover yourself, settling for a plush towel on the rack. Wrapping yourself up, you brace yourself for the grimace that's sure to be on his face. Tentatively, you crack the door open. There Miguel is, face knitted with worry.

There's a flash of confusion at the scene, and then, what you think is relief. Relief you haven't cracked your head open, most likely: the blood would be hard to clean from the grout. You feel guilty, as you've probably broken it, or touched something you shouldn't. The shower is still on; sputtering, starting, and it becomes a strange sort of background music to your silent exchange.

"I don't know how to use the shower." You say with a small voice, guiltily.

" No me digas…" No shit, he mutters, face back to the furrowed brow you're starting to become more familiar with. He sighs, easing up. "You hurt?"

You shake your head, and swear you see a small smile on his face. You looked like a waterboarded rat, probably: big watery eyes and shaking with the sudden cold.

A mess , he thinks. But not a bad view.

He's still in workout clothes from his morning run, compression shirt and lazy shorts that hug his ass on; as he turns towards the shower. With some sense of shame, you try not to stare, to not watch the muscles of his back and arms flex as he angles the shower head away from his face. It's not enough that you've embarrassed yourself – twice, in the space of a couple of days – but the fact it was in front of your roommate, who is maybe the most beautiful person you've seen up close. Which, granted, narrows the field; but Miguel is gorgeous, a flash of pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates, wide palms toggling the dial.

"You need to be careful… push it in slightly when you turn the-" You crane your head towards his movements. "Come closer, or you won't see what I'm doing."

You move towards him, half naked and shivering, trying not to buckle with the heat of his body next to yours. This is what you get for not having spoken to a man since your ex: a tight coil at the base of your stomach for someone that you've done nothing but unwittingly terrorise for the past week.

He explains, patient and even-tempered; how to use the shower and you half-zone out to the low tone of his voice. There's no malice, or pomp in his words when there are a million things he could make fun of you for - that Jamie may have made fun of you for. You look up, at the sharp lines of his face, and chew at your lip, deep in thought.

"...and this side is for hot water. Next time, just ask me – instead of almost drowning."

You nod, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"...For what?" He says, softly. "Place is falling apart, anyway. It's not really your fault." You're convinced everything you touch in this house breaks, but with the way he looks at you, you believe him.

"Just ask me, next time." He echoes and makes for the door, stopping to drag his eyes up and down your frame. Oh… oh. You like that, the way he looks at you shamelessly, practically undressing you.

He smiles, amused at your deer-in-headlights expression.

"...I think that's mine."

He nods to the towel wrapped around your body and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. " Fuck , I didn't realise-"

He shrugs, noncommittal.

"...Seems like you need it more than me, anyways."

~~~

It's a rough first couple of days, and then a week, and then two. The rhythm is all off: like the jerky stop and start of an old car. He wakes up early to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, and you stay up late to finish papers and assignments. He has a job, you think, darting out at the same time once or twice a week in smart clothing and a backpack. Sometimes, you catch him hunched over a laptop or scribbling something in a beat up old notebook. Maybe, he’s a student - even if he doesn’t seem quite like the fresh-faced 19 year olds you see around campus. Although, you suppose it’s not implausible; you were one of the older people in your classes, after all. It’s hard to imagine O’Hara, stony-faced and serious, at a… dorm party, or something. To be that carefree, he’d need to get rid of that stick up his ass, first.

You’ve got a day off from lectures, using the time to catch up on the reading you should’ve done over a hectic break. The list seems to go on and on, already, this early into the year. Internally, you’ve made a promise to be on top of it all - the little hiccup with Jamie, notwithstanding. You’d knuckle down this morning, reading ( scanning) and summarising ( liberal use of the copy-paste function) in preparation for the rest of the semester. Miguel’s locked up in his room, somewhere, so you use the opportunity to spread out onto the dining table.

There’s a knock at the door that makes you look up from the muddle of words on your screen.

When you open the door, there’s a woman there with a notebook in hand. She’s pretty, in a classic sort of way, ginger braids cropped to her shoulders and lips slathered with gloss. Her outfit is relaxed, but carefully curated: a tight jumper and long brown legs stretching out from a black skirt.

“Hi.” She says, visibly keening. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting you, but she quickly recovers and gives you a blinding smile.

“...Hi,” Honestly, you’re a little confused. You haven’t seen her around the complex before; so who she was, you hadn’t a clue. Too pretty to be a door-to-door salesman, and too hot to try to convert you to Mormonism, you think. Whatever that means.

You wait expectantly, as a beat passes.

“Oh!” She laughs, and it sounds like puppies and rainbows, much too bright and airy considering the time of day. It makes her next words even more of a shock. “I’m looking for Miguel.”

With her last words, she steps a little closer; scanning the apartment from her vantage point. Something in you bubbles up, but you try to choke down the laughter.

“You’re looking for...Miguel?” Even out of your own mouth, it sounds absurd . The man had no friends, as far as you could tell. He seemed like the type to lock himself away in his enclosure, only stepping out for work, school, the bare minimum. In the short week that’s passed, his ‘enrichment time’ had consisted of a dry documentary on spider mating cycles - which had been a shock to walk into, the first time.

So someone here, at the apartment? Looking for him? Fidgeting, you scratch at your neck. “Uhh, I ca-”

“Sorry about that, Jia. You can have a seat.” His voice comes from behind you, and Jia breezes into the apartment, perching on the sofa. Legs crossed, she reaches into her bag, taking out a laptop and a pen and paper. He’s changed out of his workout clothes, donned in a loose white sweater and casual trousers - relaxed, for once. With a limp thud, you close the door. There’s an odd feeling as you look around at the scene: tension, and you feel like you’re interrupting. Miguel clatters around in the kitchen, fumbling for mugs and coffee filters and God knows what else.

“...was it two sugars, or three?”

“Three!” She throws over her shoulder, tapping away at her open laptop. “I like it sweet, Miguel.”

You squint. He laughs : a small chuckle that comes with a heat at the base of your stomach. Your head almost aches, trying to recalibrate; reconcile with the version of the person you’ve barely seen around the apartment to now - present, engaged, and personable. Exasperated is the only word for it. Miguel O’Hara was, in fact, capable of joy. Dickhead.

He barely acknowledges you, but Jia does; batting her wispy eyelashes in your direction, curious. The tapping stops, and she curls the corner of her mouth up with a hint of a smile.

“You gonna introduce me?” She calls out to Miguel, and then smiles to you; warm and genuine. It makes you feel a little more at ease. You catch the end of a sigh coming from the kitchen.

“Jia, this is my roommate.” He glances up to gesture towards you. “...this is Jia. I… help her out with work, sometimes.”

From the couch, she rolls her eyes. “He’s too modest. He’s my tutor, technically.”

With that, your eyebrows shoot up. Of everything you’d imagined him doing, tutoring students wasn’t one of them - especially considering he seemed barely out of college himself.

“...Technically?”

“He doesn’t like to advertise it, because he’s picky with his clientele.” She giggles and he scoffs. You get the feeling there’s a joke flying over your head, just out of reach. “Word gets out on campus that Miguel’s tutoring again…”

“ Vale, vale ,” He grumbles, but his tone is good-natured and light. “S’enough, Jia.”

She gives you a wink, before turning towards her work.

You walk towards your things, still on the dining table. He’s got his head buried in a kitchen cabinet and you look on, wanting to ask a lot of things. The words seem to die in your throat: too big, too small, not the right shape. She's a stranger; that knows where the coffee’s kept and the best spot on the couch. That makes Miguel laugh . You want to ask him about the stranger in your home; but you’re too scared he’d turn and point the finger at you.

He walks to the couch, balancing two cups of coffee. You look back. Next to him, her presence is an oddity - a blip in his carefully crafted universe. With the warm sheen of familiarity, she nudges his shoulder. Taking careful sips, he pointedly ignores her, tapping a finger at her screen - as if to say, pay attention. She smiles, wide; an asteroid across the depths of space, dazzling and brilliant in the night sky.

The exchange… it makes you think. If Miguel is the Sun, and Jia, a bright body in orbit: what’s your place in this four-walled cosmos? Where do you belong?

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@teacoffeeflavored @chuuyara@qiapia@rotten-zombi3@bonbyon @tianyhi @noelsilly @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @peachsteven @thesquidni@fatenpara @verr-uckt @kurakasabe @kamiko32 @mushy-mushroom04@izzys-hawttea@theandromedastar @wicked-futures @truthuntolddd @prettygirlpattinson @hellokittylover202 @angel-eyes05 @lacedinweb22 @starguiders @buggiecrawls @eugeab @tarjapearce @whoreloll @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @ancientbeing10 @shartythefarty@royalhearts

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #eventual smut #angst #kat_writes😼

1K notes · View notes

aphrogeneias · 3 months

Note

Rockstar Eddie sending assistant reader secret admirer flowers maybe? Maybe it’s when they’re not touring, back in town for a bit.

Idk if that’s the vibe or not but I think it goes with the secret romance vibes

-💛

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x assistant!reader

warnings: yearning. a ton of yearning. tooth-rotting fluff.

You'd never been one to be sad on Valentine's Day.

If you weren't already in a relationship, you were working too much to even think about it. Life on the road didn't give you the luxury of going all out on holidays, for the most part.

It made you happy, though. To see everyone in the crew calling their girlfriends and wives, planning dates for when they see each other next, sending them a letter in the mail, signed with all their love.

To see Rick, the perpetual bachelor, go on dates with a different woman every year, swearing he's ready to settle down this time. He'd ask you about yourself, “A nice girl like you doesn't have a date on Valentine's? I don't believe you, honey.”

You would tell him the same thing every time. “Worry about yourself, Rick. You're not getting any younger.”

If anyone else asked, you'd just say you were too busy. Too busy taking care of other people, seeing the country, looking for yourself in the process — and you always meant it.

This year, however, it had you slumping around the house, wrapped in a warm blanket and roaming your own home like a ghost. You were there physically, but your heart was somewhere in a small town in the Midwest, visiting his family before the next leg of the tour.

Selfishly, you wanted him here. You almost asked him to come with you, but you knew how much he missed home, with the way he'd been counting the days to see his uncle, his friends, and who were you to take that from him?

The longing took hold of your heart anyway, squeezing it tight in your chest, as you curled into yourself on your couch, not really paying attention to the romantic comedy playing on your TV set. It rained outside, the pitter-patter against your windows almost lulling you into sleep.

You pictured him there, wrapped around you on the couch. His warmth enveloping you, arms tight around you. In your kitchen, making coffee, helping you bake, washing the dishes. In your bed, messing up your sheets. His laughter booming across the walls, his whispers in your ear.

A golden halo around his wild brown curls. Your Sun, your Star.

A knock on your front door brought you back to reality.

Groaning, you stood, taking the blanket with you as a cape, dragging behind you as you crossed the living room. When you opened the door, there was a soaked delivery boy waiting for you, but he wasn't the first thing you saw.

In front of him, there was a bouquet of roses. A dozen, half of them red, half of them black, wrapped in brown paper, and tied with a pristine white bow. Dazed, you almost didn't hear the boy call your name, and last name, before asking to sign the paper on his clipboard.

“Who… Do you know who sent them?” You asked, giving him back his ballpoint pen.

“They're not signed. Have a good day, miss!”

As he left, and your door seemed to close itself behind you, the first thing you did was reach for your phone.

With your flowers still in hand, clutched to your chest, and the receiver on the other, you dialed the phone you had memorized, but rarely used. The one that was slipped into your back pocket by a heavily ringed hand, one you were told to call if you felt lonely.

Now was as good a time as any.

The gruff voice that answers after a few rings was not his. “Hello?”

“Wayne? Uh, this is…”

“Oh, I know exactly who this is. I was expecting you'd call.”

“Were you?”

The older man chuckled on the other side of the line. “The boy’s been talking about you all day, but he didn't want to call. Said you'd be too busy to sorry about his sorry ass. Figured it wasn't true, but you know how stubborn he is.”

“That he is.” You agreed, and there's an exchange you can't quite figure out at the other end. The phone rattled a bit, and a voice saying “your girl’s on the phone” came through, followed by more rattling.

“I'll let you go, kid. Happy Valentine's Day, there's someone who's desperate to talk to you.”

Without being able to help yourself, giddiness rising through your chest like butterflies, you giggled. “Happy Valentine's, Wayne.”

The next person to talk to you sounded a bit breathless. “Hey, sweetheart.”

The hand that was holding your heart tight let it go, and let it soar through your kitchen, as if it grew cartoon-esque wings. “Hey, Eddie. Do you, perhaps, know if I happen to have a secret admirer, I got these beautiful flowers but sadly, no note.”

“Oh, I don't know. You must steal hearts wherever you go, could be anyone.”

You could hear the smirk on his lips, practically feel his stare across the line. “Aw, that's a shame. I was thinking of returning the favor, but maybe he doesn't like me enough to make himself known.”

“Maybe he likes you enough to keep it a secret, who knows who else might be listening.”

With a sigh, your understanding came through without any more words needing to be said. It laid thick in the air. “I miss you."

“I miss you too. Did you like them?”

“I love them.” You answered immediately, simply. Maybe it was time to be sincere. “I'd love having you here more, though.”

“Baby, you're getting sick of me next time I see you, just you wait. The flowers are more of an early apology.”

“A threat, more like it.”

There it was, the laugh you loved more than anything. “Yeah. A threat, whatever you want to call it.”

“Promise me, then?”

Biting your lips in anticipation, you waited for his reply. Eddie’s voice came heavy with meaning, “I promise.”

Your heart and the cartoon wings that carry it through your ceiling spinned, and spinned, and spinned.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #nothing else matters

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forest-hashira · 3 months

Text

Forever Yours

before i drop this here and run away, i just want to say that i welcome anyone who follows me because you enjoy my writing, but please keep in mind that this is far outside of what i usually write, so if you're following expecting a lot more of this, you're going to be disappointed. everything i've written here besides this is sfw, so. you've been informed. don't get mad at me for expecting something i told you not to expect. anyways, enjoy this!

read on ao3 here | wc: ~5.1k | cw: omegaverse, omega/afab reader, alpha kyojuro, established relationship, mating cycles (reader's in heat), knotting, mating bites, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, implied chubby reader. minors do not interact.

No matter how many times he assured you it was fine, that he wanted you there, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to spending your heats with Kyojuro.

You’d been dating for over a year at this point, but you’d only had half a dozen heats at most since then, probably less. Your heats had been irregular ever since you presented, but multiple doctors had assured you it wasn’t anything to be seriously concerned about, so you did your best not to worry about it.

The first heat you had after you started dating had started in the middle of the night, when the two of you were supposed to watch the sunrise together in the morning. You’d immediately texted him, saying vaguely that you didn’t feel well and that you’d have to take a rain check on the sunrise, though it made you sad to do so.

Much to your surprise, he had still shown up at your agreed upon time for your date, but instead of flowers he’d had shopping bags in his hands. He didn’t even seem upset that you hadn’t specifically told him you were in heat, just more concerned that you might not have everything you needed to get through it. You could tell he wanted to stay with you through it, but since you hadn’t invited him to, he didn’t ask, only promising that he was a phone call away if you needed him.

You made it less than forty-eight hours before you were calling him, asking if you could stay with him through it. He’d dropped everything to pick you up from your apartment and bring you back to his own.

After that it was an unspoken agreement that you spent all of your heats with him at his apartment.

Even having done this before, even knowing that nothing you did to make yourself more comfortable in his space could make him upset with you, nesting at his apartment still made you nervous. The first time you’d built a nest in his apartment, you’d done it in a closet, not wanting it to be in his way or disrupt his life any more than you already were. He’d told you he was honored you felt safe enough to nest in his apartment, but there was a sadness in his voice and on his face he hadn’t been able to disguise. In your delicate state, you’d wildly misunderstood the reason for his sadness, and had begun to cry, apologizing for taking up space that wasn’t yours. He’d spent a long time after that assuring you that you hadn’t done anything wrong, and that the only reason he was sad was because he’d hoped you’d nest somewhere he could join you, or at least keep a better eye on you.

Progress had been slow, but every time your nest migrated to a more open spot, he seemed to get happier and happier. You hoped that trend would continue, because this time the only place your Omega instincts would accept as a nesting spot was his bed.

You’d kept it small, as much as it pained you to do so: just a few extra blankets, the extra pillows from his closet, and a hoodie of his you’d slipped into. The clothing was thick, almost too warm with your rising body temperature, but it smelled like him, and you needed that to help calm you until he got home from work.

Almost as if your thoughts had summoned him, you heard his keys in the front door, and you sat up in your nest, anxiously gripping the blanket in your lap. What if he hated it? you fretted internally. What if he’s angry I used his bed? What if—

Your anxious thoughts were stopped in their tracks when you heard him call your name, his voice full of warmth and love and tenderness, just like it always was during your heats. You didn’t call back, the words sticking in your throat, but you knew it wouldn’t take him long to find you; your scent had begun to fill the apartment a few hours before, though you’d done your best not to let it get too overwhelming outside of his room.

Within a minute his footsteps approached and his head peeked around the door. Your heart leapt into your throat then, convinced he’d see your nest in his bed and become upset, asking you to take it apart. Instead, you watched as he took you in for a moment, then seemed to realize what you’d turned his bed into, and he broke out into a bright grin.

He closed the distance between you in just a few steps, and he cradled your face in his hands for a moment before he kissed you.

“You’re not upset?” you asked, once he’d finally given you a chance to breathe.

“Upset?” Kyojuro asked, clearly surprised by your words. “Baby, I’ve been waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to nest in my bed for months. How could I possibly be upset?”

Tears pricked at your eyes at his words, and all you could do was turn your head slightly into his touch, pressing a featherlight kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“My only concern is the size, though,” he added after a moment, stroking your cheek with his thumb to get your attention again.

Just like the first time, you misunderstood his meaning. “O-oh, okay,” you said quietly, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I can make it smaller, move it to my side of the bed. You don’t have to, uh. Have to share it with me.” Your voice grew softer as you spoke, barely a whisper as the last few words left your lips. You had hoped he’d cuddle you in the nest for as long as you could take it — maybe even fuck you in it later, your inner Omega suggested hopefully — but clearly he didn’t want that, and the last thing you wanted was to impose.

“No, little flame, don’t be silly,” he chided, his fiery eyes shining as he looked at you. “I just meant it looks a little sparse, your last few have been cozier than this. Are you sure it’s to your satisfaction?”

You stared at him for a moment, a light blush dusting your cheeks. “…no,” you admitted after a moment. “I just…didn’t want to take over your space like that.”

“It’s yours to take over,” he assured you, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of your nose before finally releasing you. “Come on, I’ll help you bulk it up.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and all you could do was nod, allowing him to take your hand and pull you up from the bed, forgetting until you were standing in front of him that you wore nothing but his hoodie and your panties.

His eyes flashed briefly at the sight, but all he did was smile. “You look comfy like that,” he said simply, giving your hand a squeeze before leading you into the laundry room. A basket full of his clean clothes sat by the door, and he easily scooped it up, carrying it back to his room. “Pick whatever you want out of there,” he encouraged. “I’m going to find every single blanket in this apartment for you, and if you want more I’ll drive to the store and buy the softest ones they have.”

A small giggle escaped you at his words, and you shook your head slightly at him. “That’s not necessary,” you assured him. “As long as it smells like you I’ll be happy.”

Reinforcing the nest didn’t take long, especially with Kyojuro there to help, following your every instruction about where to put the blankets and how best to arrange them to help the nest keep its shape. You incorporated every shirt, hoodie, and pair of pajama pants from the basket of his clothes into the nest, leaving out only the jeans and boxers.

“It looks beautiful, baby,” he murmured, after you’d finished your work. “Do you want to lay down in it now?”

You nodded eagerly at his words, your inner omega preening as he praised your nest. Upon his insistence, you climbed in first, settling down near the center. Once you were comfortable, you looked over at him with your best puppy eyes and reached out for him. “Cuddles?” you pleaded, blinking slowly at him the way you knew always worked.

“Anything you want,” he agreed, shucking off the jeans he was wearing before he crawled up the bed to your side, smiling at you all the while. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured, holding you close once he’d reached you.

“For what?” you asked, a bit confused.

“For building your nest in my bed. For being honest and telling me you weren’t happy with the state of it when I asked, and for letting me help you make it better for you.”

The blush in your cheeks was impossible to hide, especially with the way it crawled up your ears and down your chest a bit. “Oh…” was all you could manage for a moment, his praises making you feel almost dizzy. “Thank you for helping me put it together. You didn’t have to do that.”

“But I wanted to,” he promised, nuzzling his nose lightly against your own; he wasn’t quite scent marking you, but it was reassuring all the same. “I’d do anything for you,” he added, almost to himself, and your blush intensified, making you feel as if you could burst into flames right then and there.

Not knowing what to say, you cuddled further into him, fingers tangling in the shirt he wore and pressing your cheek against his for a moment. “Could we watch a movie?” Your voice was quiet as you spoke, but he was so focused on you that he caught your words easily.

“What do you want to watch?” Kyojuro turned away from you slightly to grab the remote for his TV from the nightstand, but even with as short as the distance between you was, you whined softly. He chuckled softly at the sound, quickly returning to his position, squishing you against him and peppering your cheeks with kisses.

“You pick,” you told him, relaxing once he had you in his arms again. Honestly, you didn’t really care what you watched; you just wanted some background noise to help you sleep. You were exhausted, and though you hadn’t said anything, you were sure your boyfriend could tell.

A soft kiss dropped to your forehead after you spoke, and you watched as he turned on the TV, clicking around a bit until he landed on a period drama; your inner Omega cheered when you realized it was one of your favorites.

The feeling of his hand rubbing up and down your back had you melting into him in seconds, practically purring in satisfaction. Before you could fully sink into sleep or your heat-driven headspace, you forced yourself to pull away from him enough to look up into his face. “Hey Kyo?”

“What is it, little flame?” he asked, his eyes soft as he smiled down at you.

The nickname sent a little shiver down your spine, but you ignored it for now; what you needed to tell him was important. “I want you to claim me this time.”

The alpha in your arms seemed to freeze then, and you suddenly worried you’d crossed the line. The two of you had never technically had a conversation about the subject, but it had always felt like the obvious next step in your relationship; you’d never felt the same way about anyone else, and you couldn’t imagine a future without him.

“Are you sure?” he asked after a few moments, brushing a stray hair away from your eyes. “That’s a big commitment.” He watched you closely as he spoke, trying to gauge your reaction.

You nodded eagerly at his words. “I’m sure,” you promised. “I’ve felt the way you hold back during my heats and your ruts. I really want your mark this time. I needed to tell you before I got too lost in the hormones, in case you didn’t think I meant it.”

Any anxiety you might’ve felt about the situation melted away as he pulled you into a kiss, his hands cradling your face so lovingly it almost hurt.

“I want it too,” he murmured against your lips, kissing you again softly. “I’ll mark you this time. I love you,” he promised, pressing his forehead gently to yours.

“I love you too,” you breathed out, relief washing over you at the knowledge that you were on the same page. You snuggled further into him, burying your face into his neck and seeking out his scent gland. A purr rumbled in his chest at the touch, and it made you melt.

“Get some sleep,” he encouraged, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other squeezed your side gently. “I know this week is gonna wear you out, you’ll need all the rest you can get.”

That was all the encouragement you needed, purring against his skin as you finally drifted off, tucked close into his warmth.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been asleep, but when you woke up you were sweating, suddenly feeling suffocated in the hoodie you’d put on earlier. You wriggled out of it as quickly as you could, tossing it to one side of your nest. Unfortunately, freeing yourself from the stifling garment didn’t bring the relief you’d hoped for, and you whined.

After a moment, you realized you were alone in the nest, and you sat up, turning towards the door. “Kyo?” you called out, not quite sure where he would be; he didn’t leave your side much during your heats, so waking up alone during them was uncommon.

Thankfully, he was back at your side in less than a minute, placing a bottle of gatorade – your favorite flavor, of course – and a snack on the bedside table. “Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted, crawling into the bed with you again, kissing your forehead. “Just went to get a couple things for you. Could smell your heat setting in while you were still asleep.”

You nodded dumbly at his words, leaning into his touch as he pulled you close. You sought out his scent gland again, pressing your nose into it and taking a deep breath. The smell of him was heady, spices and woodsmoke filling your senses and making your mouth water slightly. You shifted your position slightly, pushing yourself up on your knees a bit to rub your cheek against his scent gland, eyes closed all the while.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, and he wrapped his arms more securely around you, letting you get as much of his scent as you wanted. One hand rubbed your back softly as he held you, the other trailing down a little lower, grabbing at the meat of your thigh and relishing in the way it squished a bit in his hand; he’d always been fond of your softness, saying your squishiness and stretch marks were his favorite parts of you. He’d figured out early on in your relationship that you sometimes felt self conscious about your weight, even to the point of watching what you ate around him, but he had promised you countless times that your weight didn’t matter to him; he just loved you.

A soft gasp escaped you as he gripped your thigh, and your hold on him tightened slightly. It was at that point that you fully realized he had removed his shirt at some point, leaving him in just his boxers. The feeling of his warm skin – he had always run a bit warm – pressed against your flushed body had a purr escaping you, loud and happy, your hips rolling into him slightly, the action completely involuntary.

Kyojuro bit his lip as you moved against him, stifling the moan that rose in his chest. “Baby,” he murmured, after he’d gotten himself under control again. You didn’t react, seeming not to have heard his voice, so he tried again, this time pulling you away from his neck. “My love,” he murmured, a gentle smile on his face as he looked into your eyes. “Can you tell me what you need? I don’t want to assume anything or do something you’re not ready for yet.”

You whined softly as he pulled you away from where you’d been scenting him, but the weight of his hands at the back of your neck and on your hip kept you grounded there with him. Mind already beginning to grow a bit hazy, you had to take a moment to formulate an answer. “Touch me,” you replied, the words much breathier and pleading than you had intended.

His smile turned a bit more knowing at that, his smile quirking up into a slight smirk. “Alright, I can do that. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” His words were gentle as reassuring as his hand left your hip and trailed down between your legs. He couldn’t stop the moan that left his lips this time, the feeling of your slick soaked panties making him feel a bit feral. “So wet already,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “C’mon, lift up for me. Gonna take these off, ‘kay?” he asked, meeting your eyes again and tugging lightly at the waistband of your underwear.

You nodded at his request, lifting yourself off of him, whimpering slightly at the loss of contact with him, though soon you’d helped him get your panties down your legs, the clothing tossed to some unknown corner of the room.

“Gonna start with my fingers,” the fiery haired man said, bringing you back to settle on his lap for the time being.

You nodded again at his words, more eager this time, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hand made its way between your legs. Normally you would’ve been embarrassed at the way slick was beginning to drip from your pussy, but right now you were so desperate for him to touch you that you didn’t care.

As his fingers finally brushed against your folds, you gasped, clinging to him a bit tighter without thinking about it. His touch was gentle at first, but when he found your clit he pressed his thumb to it, he began rubbing it in firm circles that made you whimper so pretty for him. “Kyo, please,” you pleaded quietly. “Need more.”

“I got you,” he soothed, kissing your temple before pushing a finger into your entrance. He pumped it a few times, though when he met with no resistance he easily pushed in a second. His fingers pumped in and out of you, curling on every few thrusts, his thumb still steady in its movement on your clit.

Your arms tightened slightly around his neck as he started touching you more, panting against his skin and letting out little moans every time his fingertips brushed against your sweet spot. After a few minutes of that, your hips rocking into his hand slightly to meet his thrusts, he pressed a third finger into you, the stretch causing your eyes to roll back into your head. It was nothing compared to his knot, you knew that, but it still felt sinfully good the way the digits pumped in and out of your cunt, movements aided by the amount of slick leaking from you.

Eventually your thighs began to tremble, and you buried your face further into his neck. “Feels s’good,” you whimpered into his neck. Your hips still rocked down into his hand, eagerly meeting his thrusts and adding to the stimulation of his thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

“Yeah?” he asked softly, the hand not currently buried in your cunt rubbing up and down your thigh, almost as if to soothe you. “You gonna come on my fingers like this?” His words held no teasing whatsoever, only love and affection; all he wanted to do was make you feel good, so hearing that you were enjoying his touches made his internal Alpha swell with pride.

“Want to,” you whined, rocking your hips down a bit harder than before. A breathy moan escaped your lips then, and before you had fully realized what was happening, your lips were captured in a warm, affectionate kiss.

“You can do it,” Kyojuro praised, after he broke the kiss. He began to curl his fingers into your most sensitive spot with every thrust, his thumb moving more quickly on your clit. “C’mon, baby, come for me. Wanna make you feel good.”

His words seemed to flip a switch inside you, and you came with a cry, hiding your face and sinking your teeth lightly into the curve of his shoulder; you wanted to mark him, but some part of you was holding back, wanting him to claim you first, leave his mark on you and show how much he wanted you.

He couldn’t have stopped the grin that crept across his face if he’d wanted to, feeling very self-satisfied at the way you fell apart for him, so well and so easily. The hand on your thigh slid up your back, pressing you closer into him as he worked you carefully through your high and let you catch your breath. “How do you feel?” He asked after a few moments, nuzzling lightly at your cheek until you opened your eyes to look up at him.

“Feel hot,” you answered honestly, and you could feel yourself slipping fully into your heat. “Need you, Kyo. Need your knot, please, need it so bad.” You were practically babbling at this point, and he shushed you with a gentle kiss.

“Alright, little flame, alright. I’ve got you,” the alpha soothed, sliding his fingers out of you to maneuver you onto your back in the middle of your nest.

A pathetic whine escaped your lips as he separated from you, and you reached out for him weakly, brows furrowed as your pussy clenched around nothing. “Please,” you whimpered, eyes slightly glassy as you looked up at him.

Kyojuro only separated from you long enough to pull his boxers down and kick them off, though as soon as that was done he was leaning into you again, fingers slipping between your legs again and rubbing up and down your soaked folds. “I’m right here,” he soothed, smiling gently down at you as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

The touch settled you a bit, and a slight smile tugged at your lips when he kissed your forehead. Your eyes slipped closed as he began to trail kisses down the side of your face to your neck, where he buried his face into your scent gland, taking a deep breath of your scent: black tea, honey, and the tiniest hint of mint enveloped him, and he dragged his tongue across the spot, drawing a shudder from you. Your fingers tangled in his hair at the touch, and you tugged, trying to get his attention again. “Please, Kyo, need you to fill me up, need your knot.”

Your words made him groan against your skin, and he pulled away from your neck to look down into your eyes. “Okay, baby. Okay,” was all he said, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before he took his length in his hand, lining himself up with your entrance before pushing in. His length slid in with ease, meeting no resistance until he was seated fully inside you.

The two of you moaned in unison once he was inside you, and you had to close your eyes for a moment as you adjusted to the feeling of him inside of you. He scattered kisses across your chest as he waited for permission to move, not wanting to overwhelm you at any point during this, regardless of how much he may have wanted to just start pounding you into the mattress; this wasn’t about him, after all, it was about making sure you were satisfied and taken care of.

After a few moments, you opened your eyes again, looking down at where you could still feel his lips against the skin of your chest, and you trailed your fingers gently along the curve of his jaw. Once he’d tilted his head to meet your eyes, you gave him a small nod, shifting your hips slightly to assure him you were ready.

The alpha smiled warmly as you let him know you were ready for him to move, and he shifted up slightly to capture your lips in a soft, loving kiss as he pulled his hips back, relishing in the way you sighed against his lips as he sank back into you. His pace was slow at first, far more focused on how deep he could reach than on how fast he could fuck into you. When you sank your fingers into his hair and tugged, though, a small growl slipped from his lips, and his pace quickened.

A moan escaped you as Kyojuro began to thrust into you harder than before, rolling his hips against you at the end of every thrust, the movement grinding his pubic bone into your clit in a way that had your toes curling. “Kyo,” you whimpered, nuzzling against his cheek. “Need more, please.” Your voice was soft, and if you hadn’t been pressed so close together, he might have missed it.

“Yeah?” the fiery haired man panted, nuzzling you back lightly. “All you had to do was ask, baby.” With that, he adjusted his position, pushing himself up slightly on his knees for a moment as he gathered your legs in his hands, squeezing the plush of your things as he guided your legs around his waist. Once he was satisfied with the new position, he smiled down at you again, though now his expression was a bit more predatory, like he was ready to devour you. Without another word, he leaned in again, pressing a searing kiss to your lips as he began to fuck you even harder, even faster than he had been, now chasing his own pleasure as well as yours.

A high-pitched moan had you breaking the kiss long before you wanted to, but his lips never quite left your skin, mouthing across your jaw and down your neck, licking and sucking and nibbling as he went. When he reached your scent gland, he sealed his mouth over it, grazing his teeth lightly over it. The action made you tighten around him, and he groaned, his hips slamming into the backs of your thighs.

“Fuck, baby, feel so good, all for me,” he mumbled into your skin, one of his hands leaving your thigh to reach up and pinch your nipple between his fingers, tugging on it once before releasing it, smirking slightly at the way it made you squirm.

“Only for you,” you cried out in response to his words, your grip on his hair tightening. “Please, Kyo, need your knot, please.” You clenched around him, already able to feel the swell at the base of his cock catch at your entrance every few thrusts. “Want you to claim me, wanna be yours.”

He swore under his breath, pressing his body closer to yours as he fucked relentlessly into your dripping cunt. “You want me that bad? Want me to fill you up? Want me to mark you so everyone knows you’re taken?”

“Yes!” you practically wailed, tears beginning to well in the corners of your eyes. “Fuck, please, Alpha, want it so bad, need it.” You were bordering on incoherent at this point, the knot in your stomach tightening with every slap of his skin against yours.

“Then cum for me, Omega. Show me how bad you want it.”

His words were enough to tip you over the edge, and you screamed his name as you clamped down on his dick, hips bucking up to meet his as your eyes rolled back in your head.

Kyojuro growled at the feeling, only managing to thrust a few more times before his knot swelled completely, locking the two of you together as he came, pressing as deep into you as he could. As he came, he sank his teeth into your neck, biting down on your scent gland until he tasted blood, his internal Alpha cheering as he finally marked you as his.

Your nails dug into his scalp as his knot locked the two of you together, and you swore you could feel his cum shooting straight into your womb, filling you until you couldn’t possibly hold any more. When you felt his teeth sink into your throat, your vision went white, your whole body shuddering into another small orgasm, every muscle in your body going taut until he finally released your neck.

He pulled away after a few moments to admire his work, grinning slightly at the sight of his mark on your neck. He dropped his mouth to the spot again, though this time he laved his tongue over the wound, soothing the spot as best he could in that moment. Unbeknownst to him, he’d started purring against you as he dropped his weight onto you, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and causing you to relax a bit.

Slowly, your mind came back to your body, and you couldn’t help the dopey grin that settled on your lips. Your hold on his hair loosened, your hands now sliding down to his back hugging him to yourself as you began to purr as well. “...Can I mark you?” you asked after a few minutes, nuzzling against his neck, scent marking him even though you knew your scent was all over him already.

“Of course you can, little flame. Gotta make sure we match, hm?” He tilted his head to the side as he spoke, offering you complete access to his neck.

Your expression brightened slightly at his words, and after pressing a soft kiss to his neck, you sank your teeth into his scent gland, sealing him to you, just as his bite had sealed you to him.

He gave an involuntary thrust of his hips as you bit him, and he felt more than heard your gasp as he released another spurt of cum into your cunt. Turning his head to face you again, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, almost as if in apology. Attentive partner that he was, he immediately noticed the way your eyelids began to droop shut, and he smiled softly. “Get some rest, love,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair away from your sweat-sticky forehead when he saw you fighting sleep. “I’ll be right here to keep taking care of you when you wake up.”

dividers by cafekitsune

tagging: @mitsuristoleme @kentohours @witchbybirth @marinnnnnnnnn @peachdues

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steddiewithachance · 8 months

Text

"Likewise"

(Steve shows up to Wayne and Eddie's house with all of his belongings on his back and it makes Eddie remember when he was in the same position)

Dedicated to my lovely and wonderful AND awesome friend, Birdie

Read on ao3 here

Eddie and Wayne have always been pretty inseparable, since Eddie was 11 and made a trek across Indiana to find him. But after all the Vecna shit happened, after the manhunt and the three week hospital visit, Wayne had been especially clingy. Wayne's version of being clingy is constantly asking Eddie to do mundane things with him, it's intense love and worry and near loss disguised as casual invitations.

Eddie is endeared by it even though he'll play his part: roll his eyes and act annoyed like it's a chore.

This afternoon Wayne had knocked on Eddie's door and asked "Hey Eds wanna come out'n watch the game with me?"

And Eddie flung open the door with a huge sarcastic grin. "Me? A sports ball match TV game? You know I wouldn't miss it for the world, Uncle Wayne!" Wayne scoffed and Eddie grabbed his acoustic guitar so that he could entertain himself while he kept Wayne company in the living room.

Which is where they are now. Eddie is spread across the couch. He's aimlessly moving his fingers around the fretboard until he finds a chord that sounds nice while a sports announcer drones on in the background. Sometimes Eddie will look up to find Wayne in his old recliner watching him instead of the game. Eddie doesn't say anything, just gives him a reassuring smile.

It's raining kind of hard today, which normally would be stressful. Eddie and Wayne would be running around the house with buckets trying to catch water from all the new places the rain was leaking in. But with their shiny new government gifted place, they could sit back and enjoy the weather.

Eddie violently startles when someone knocks on the door. He sets his guitar to the side and Wayne turns the TV volume down. "Who is it?" Eddie calls out while walking towards the door.

"Steve." He hears in response.

When Eddie opens the door he's confronted with a very distraught-looking boyfriend. He looks like he's been crying, he has two dufflebags and a backpack, and he's soaking wet from the rain. Eddie immediately steps back and lets him in.

"Sweetheart, what's going on?" Eddie asks closing the door behind them even though he has a pretty good idea what the bags mean. Steve sniffles and lets his stuff fall to the floor. He startles when he realizes Wayne is in the room too. He's quiet for a few moments, maybe composing himself, Eddie thinks. Always trying to be brave and strong even when he doesn't have to, this one.

"Can I sleep over tonight?" Steve asks like it's taking a lot of effort to do so, even if he's slept over a dozen times already. "My parents... I need a place to stay and Robin's out of town and I felt kinda weird letting any of the kids see me like this" Steve wipes his nose but his sleeve is just as wet and he looks miserable, so Eddie reaches out and wipes Steve's nose with his own sleeve.

"I'm gross, sorry" Steve apologizes.

"Of course you can stay here, Stevie, is that even a question? Let's get you something dry to wear-" Eddie tells him, when he's suddenly and overwhelmingly hit with the dreamy feeling of deja vu. He looks back at Wayne wondering if he's thinking the same thing. Wayne's meets his gaze and his mouth twitches into a half smile.

Eddie grabs Steve's stuff and pulls him into his bedroom. After he sets everything down, he gently runs his hands up under Steve's shirt, until it's all bunched up right under his chin. Eddie pulls the wet fabric over his shoulders and off his arms. Eddie leans forward and plants kisses on each of Steve's perfectly freckled shoulders.

Once Steve is all changed and sat on the foot of the bed, Eddie stands over him and wraps a blanket over his head and shoulders like a little burrito. He looks adorable like this, all cozy.

"You want to talk about what happened, or not yet?" Eddie whispers, to keep the energy in the room gentle and light. Steve shakes his head without thinking and looks up at him for reassurance. Eddie leans down to plant a soft kiss on his lips. "That's okay, Babylove. You know you gave me crazy deja vu walking through that door with your duffle bags in the rain?" Eddie places his hands on either side of Steve's blanketed head.

"When I came to live with Wayne it was raining too. I always thought rain was a bad omen, you know? But then in english class one year, we talked about how in literature, rain is like symbolic of change and new beginnings. And I thought, 'yeah actually that makes a lot of sense'." Eddie speaks quietly while Steve looks up at him, listening. "Do you want to hear the story of how I met Wayne?"

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

1977

When Eddie steps out of the school building he sees that the cloudy sky has gotten darker since recess. That's a bad omen, he thinks to himself, but hears it in his dad's southern drawl.

He makes his way towards the front school gates, twisting his backpack strings together, a nervous habit. A swarm of children, mostly younger than him, begin to unlock their bikes from where they're chained and wheel them towards the street. Eddie pushes his way through the crowd to do the same.

He feels kind of sick grabbing the handlebars of a bike he knows full well shouldn't belong to him. He should have known that when he asked his dad for a bike it would have been stolen from some other poor kid. He feels terrible thinking about the night his dad brought it home and put a sticker over where another kid's name was carved into the paint. He shakes his head and rides over to the tree where he promised to meet his best friend, Daniel.

Daniel's already there waiting for him, talking loudly to some kid from the other sixth-grade class.

"See you Monday!" Daniel yells out as the kid hops on his bike and takes off down the street. Daniel has a smile on his face, always has been better at making friends than Eddie. He's a sweet kid, but kind of naïve.

"Hey," Eddie mutters propping his bike against the tree. Daniel turns towards him and his eyes immediately catch on Eddies forehead.

"I still can't get used to you without hair. It's weird." Daniel says petting Eddie's buzzed head. "I kinda think it looked better before."

"Yeah yeah, I already told you my dad made me." Eddie swats his hand away. "Did you ask your brother? About driving me to Hawkins?"

"Oh yeah... he said it's too far. Sorry." Daniel barely looks regretful. Eddie's heart drops.

"What?! But did you tell him I could give him money and weed?" Eddie's starting to panic. If Daniel's older brother Paul, who just got his license wouldn't drive him to Hawkins, he was gonna have to think of a new plan, and fast.

"Oh no I forgot that part, oops. Well he's picking me up in 10 minutes, just ask him yourself." Daniel complains, and Eddie doesn't blame him for not taking it seriously. Daniel doesn't understand the urgency of the situation, Eddie hasn't really told anyone why he needs to get to Hawkins so badly.

Eventually Paul pulls up in front of them, hitting the curb a little which just screams new driver and Eddie grimaces. Beggars can't be choosers, he supposes. He follows Daniel to the car. The kid gracelessly plops into the passenger seat and Eddie leans down to talk to his brother through the open door.

Paul has long blonde hair that makes Eddie miss his own hair desperately and a scar on his lip that he apparently got while skiing one winter. As always, he looks handsome, Eddie admits to himself and tries not to blush. He shakes the thought.

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

"Was he more handsome than me?" Steve interrupts Eddie recounting the story. He's pouting.

"Steve," Eddie exhales exasperatedly, "Not even close. Let me finish the story though."

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

"Hi Paul."

"Hey kid."

Eddie's face twists up, doesn't want Paul to think of him like a kid.

"Look Paul, I really need your help. I need to see my uncle and I would really be grateful if you could drive me." And before Paul can object Eddie adds, "I have money and weed that I can give you in exchange."

Paul clearly considers this. "How much?"

"How much weed? Uh I dunno a baggie?" Eddie puts his fingers up to demonstrate how much weed he remembers there being in the bag.

"No no, how much money?" Paul chuckles fondly. Meanwhile Daniel is ping ponging his head back and forth between his brother and Eddie.

"I have like forty bucks. I know it's not a ton, and it's a far drive, but this is really important." Eddie pleads. Paul stares out the windshield for a few moments.

"And you wanted to go tonight?" He asks Eddie who nods fervently. "When would you need a ride back?"

And Eddie looks at Daniel who seems bored by the whole ordeal, who is picking at the netting on his backpack. Eddie knows that if this plan works out, he won't be coming back at all. But Daniel's been good to him and Eddie hates disappointing people, so he does what his father taught him to do: he lies.

"I'm sure my uncle will drive me back, s'all good." And Paul nods his head.

"Okay kid. Let me drop Daniel home and I'll come pick you up from your place." And Eddie's heart skyrockets. Okay shit, he's actually doing this.

"Thank you! Thank's Paul. That's cool of you. Thank you." Eddie smiles big, shows all his teeth even though he's still missing a few. Paul nods and Daniel reaches forward to close the door when Eddie realizes this might be the last time he sees his best friend.

"Wait!" Eddie interrupts and grabs the door.

Paul and Daniel look at him worriedly. "Can- can I have a hug before you go?" Eddie asks Daniel shakily. He feels his throat tighten and his eyes go a little blurry. Fuck! He's always so emotional, despite Al's best efforts to chastise the sensitivity out of him.

"I guess." Daniel says, weirded out by Eddie's sudden change of tone. He unbuckles his seat belt and holds his arms out. Eddie fiercely tugs him in and realizes that Daniel can probably feel him shaking now. "But I'll see you Monday right?"

Eddie takes a deep breath, tries to will his voice to come out strong. He pulls back giving Daniel a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Yeah man, see you. And see you tonight Paul. Thanks again." And instead of looking Daniel in the eyes again he turns away and grabs "his" bike.

Eddie's waiting outside with his bags and a map with directions that he carefully planned out a few nights ago. He's praying to any and all gods that his dad doesn't make it home before Paul get's there. Every time he sees a car turn onto the street he panics and prepares to run.

Despite the bad weather, and Eddie's paranoia, Paul pulls up first and Eddie lets out a huge sigh of relief. Eddie smiles at him and puts his bags in the back seat. The teen looks at him with soft eyes, clearly not as gullible as his kid brother. Knows what's really happening.

"Do you have everything?" Paul asks when Eddie sits in the passenger seat and hands over two twenties and a little bag of weed he stole from his dad's dresser. Eddie nods. "Are you absolutely sure?"

Eddie thinks it would be nice to have a brother like Paul. Never got to know him too well, but he seems to care.

"Yeah man, double and triple checked." Eddie looks into the rear view mirror just in time to see his dad's black pickup truck round the corner. He sinks into the seat. "Shit man, go! Drive!"

Paul startles into action and hits the gas. It doesn't seem like Al notices because he pulls into the parking garage speeding recklessly like he always does. When they're a few streets down, Eddie sits up again and opens the map.

"Am I gonna get arrested for kidnapping you?" Paul worries, wide eyed, as he makes his way towards the highway.

"My dad's afraid of cops. I really doubt he'd call em." Eddie responds before briefing Paul on the directions (ironically) to Hawkins' police station, where hopefully someone will know where his uncle Wayne lives.

It's a quiet drive. Eddie finds that he's not sure what to talk to a 16 year old about and would rather pay attention to directions. He can tell Paul wants to ask what he's running from, but refrains, which Eddie's thankful for. When they're about ten minutes out from Hawkins, it starts raining.

Eddie feels guilty that Paul will probably have to drive two hours home in the rain. He voices this concern, but Paul, the saint he is, reassures him it's no big deal.

Eventually they pull up to the police station and Eddie hauls his bags out of the back seat before coming back around to the passenger side door. He leaves the map with Paul and the set of hand written directions on how to get home that Eddie made for him.

"Thanks again for everything, Paul. Drive safely."

"Eddie do you want me to wait to make sure you get where you're going?" He asks softly and Eddie doesn't remember a time where anyone spoke to him with such care. He wants to cry for some reason. Wants to take him up on the offer, but doesn't want to inconvenience the teenager more than he already has.

"I'm okay, but thank you." As soon as Eddie slams the car door shut and turns towards the station, he starts to cry. He hears the gravel crunching as Paul pulls out of the parking lot behind him. Maybe this was all a mistake. He takes a deep breath, wipes his eyes and steps through the glass door.

"Hello, can I help you?," the woman behind the front desk asks, pushing her glasses down to get a good look at Eddie who is dripping rainwater onto the linoleum floor.

"Yeah. I'm here hoping someone knows where Wayne Munson lives? He's my uncle."

The woman holds up a finger and makes her way to a desk in the back of the station. She clears her throat and starts talking to a man.

Eddie shifts his weight as he tries to make out their muffled conversation. He looks up when a tall man sticks his head out and examines Eddie from across the room. The cop nods at the receptionist and grabs keys from his desk.

"You're looking for Wayne Munson?" The man, "Hopper" his badge reads, says while walking over.

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

"That's when you first met Hopper?" Steve interrupts again with a small smile. Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. He nods.

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

"Yes sir." He responds to the officer.

Eddie wonders if Al has started looking for him yet. Wonders if Al walked into his room and saw half his belongings gone. Probably not. And even if he did, he'd have no idea where Eddie went. Too uninvolved in Eddie's life to know the names of any of his friends.

"Alright, he lives in the trailer park. Forest Hills. Let me drive you over." Hopper waves his hand and steps into the rain. He opens the passenger seat of his car and ushers Eddie inside.

The thing about this whole situation is that Eddie knows next to nothing about his uncle. Only hears cutting remarks about him from his father once in a blue moon. But it's the kind of cutting remark that might actually mean Wayne's a good person, if it's coming from Al. Eddie only knows he lives in Hawkins, because Al mentioned it once, in passing. "Lives in a little shit hole town no one's ever heard of while I'm out here making it big in the city," he had bragged. But it's not like Al talks enough about Wayne to immediately suspect that this is where Eddie might have ran off to. He's trying to convince himself he's safe now.

Eddie is accompanied to Wayne's door by the officer. Hopper knocks aggressively before Eddie can even get it straight in his head what he's gonna say to Wayne. The rain is coming down hard now. He's hugging his canvas duffle bag to his chest, trying to protect his sketchbooks inside from the downpour.

"Wayne Munson? It's Jim Hopper with Hawkins PD. Open up." Hopper announces, knocking again.

And almost immediately after he knocks, the door opens a crack. Eddie sees a man with greying dark brown hair cut close to his head and a patchy beard. Wayne's eyes drop to Eddie almost instantly.

"Can I help you?" Wayne asks. His accent is stronger than Al's, Eddie notices.

"I have a kid here who claims to be your nephew?" Hopper says gruffly, scratching his mustache. Wayne opens the door wider, looking Eddie up and down with wide eyes.

"I'm uh... Al's kid?" Eddie adds quietly. And Wayne's face goes through a variety of emotions before nodding to the officer.

"Thanks Jim, I'll take it from here." Wayne mutters. Eddie watches as the officer tips his head and offers a "stay dry folks," before getting back into his car.

"Come on in, kid," Wayne says opening his door for Eddie to walk past him. Eddie takes in his surroundings. The place is... sad looking. There's hardly any furniture, just a TV and a recliner in front of a coffee table which is covered in empty beer bottles. In the corner of the room there are a handful of boxes, one of which is filled to the brim with different colored mugs. This confuses Eddie a little, but overall Eddie's not getting a good vibe. Probably still better than living with Al though.

He turns back to see Wayne watching him carefully. Eddie clears his throat.

"I'm really sorry to come unannounced like this. I know we don't really know each other, and you don't owe me anything! But I- I didn't know where else to go and I was wondering if maybe it would be okay if I stayed here for a little? I can sleep on the recliner or the floor I don't need much. I just can't- I can't go home." Eddie is shivering now, he's not sure if it's anxiety from the situation or if he's just cold and wet.

Wayne nods his head and reaches his hand out for one of Eddie's bags. "S'alright kid. Let's get you dry." He took Eddie's bags and set them against the wall. He disappears down the hallway leaving Eddie shaking by the door, before reappearing with a towel. Eddie wraps it around himself while Wayne stands and looks around the place, likely, realizing how uninviting it seems to Eddie.

Wayne walks towards the coffee table and starts grabbing empty beer bottles.

"You don't have to clean for me, I don't mind." Eddie says meekly, but Wayne continues on anyways.

"S'alright kid. Why don't you get changed into something dry. Ya have any dry clothes in those bags of yours?" Motioning towards Eddie's belongings with a hand full of bottles. Eddie kneels and unzips one of the bags feeling around for something dry which most of it is. Eddie pulls out a new pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

"Bathroom?" Eddie asks quietly.

"Down the hall to your left."

When Eddie reemerges, the coffee table is clean. And Wayne looks up at him, puts on a smile which seems forced. He must be able to tell by Eddie's face that the smile isn't as reassuring as he was going for. He sighs and scratches the back of his head.

"Should I not have come here?" Eddie asks while stepping out of the hallway and towards the door. He's in desperate need of reassurance, just wants to know if he's safe here or not.

"No! You were right to. I mean Al, is he-" Wayne is searching Eddie's eyes for answers. "Is he hurtin' you?" Wayne crosses his arms but then quickly uncrosses them. Clearly uncomfortable, nervous. And it's making Eddie feel that way too.

"Yeah." Eddie admits into the quiet of the room softened only by the sound of rain pattering against the roof. Wayne exhales and rubs his face.

"Fuckin' bastard." Wayne mutters under his breath. "He's a piece of shit, I'm so sorry kid." Eddie just nods, agreeing. "It's uh... Edward right?" Wayne asks coyly. Eddie wonders when Wayne last talked to Al.

"I go by Eddie," he quickly amends.

"Eddie, alright. It's nice to finally meet you then, Eddie." Wayne roots around in his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes before thinking better of it and tucking it back into his pocket.

"You can smoke around me, I'm used to it." Eddie shrugs and leans against the wall.

"Yeah well you shouldn't be." Wayne grumbles. He rubs his hands together and claps. "Okay so I only got one bed. I'm gonna wash the sheets and then you can take it tonight. I'll sleep on the recliner there until we figure out somethin' better. That sound okay by you?"

"No! I don't want to take your bed-"

"Just temporarily kid, s'alright. But first let's get you some food. You're as thin as store-bought thread." Wayne grabs a pair of keys off the kitchen counter and jingles them playfully.

"I don't have much around here, so lets go to the diner and then get some groceries on the way back, how's that?" He asks. Eddie nods in agreement.

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

"He took me to go get blueberry pancakes. It kinda became a tradition. To get blueberry pancakes any time I had a real bad day." Eddie shares while petting Steve's damp hair.

"What made you leave home that Friday? Before the school year was over?" Steve asks, seemingly distracted from his own problems which is what Eddie was aiming for.

"Al's girlfriend found out I was..." Eddie gestures between the two of them, "you know. She was constantly holding it over my head. Said she was gonna tell him. I didn't want to find out what would happen when she did."

"And he never came looking for you?" Steve furrows his brow. Eddie smooths it over with his thumb.

"I dunno. Maybe he talked to Wayne. But eventually we found out he was sent off to prison for grand theft. He's such a disaster, my god." Eddie sighs and tilts Steve's face up towards him. "Do you want to go get blueberry pancakes, Angel? It's been a day, huh?"

"I'm so sorry to say this, Eds, but I hate blueberry pancakes." Steve shrugs the blanket off his shoulders. Eddie gasps in horror.

"You dare speak ill of my comfort food, Steve Harrington?" Eddie dramatically responds, pushing his forehead against Steve's. Steve smiles and pushes him back.

"I like chocolate chip though." Steve tries to amend. And Eddie nods in understanding.

"Okay princess, let's go get you some chocolate chip pancakes. Can I invite Wayne?" Eddie starts tearing off his pajamas and scrambling around the room for outside clothes.

"Yeah, of course Wayne can come." Steve sighs and lays back on the bed looking much more like himself than he did when he got here.

"'Kay one sec," Eddie pulls on his favorite Judas Priest shirt while he stumbles back out into the living room. "Hey old man?"

Wayne looks up from the TV at Eddie. "Everything alright?" He lowers the volume again, even though it wasn't all that loud to begin with. Wayne always does this, it's like he can't think while something is playing in the background. It's impossible to add commentary when they're watching TV together because he'll either not process what Eddie said or not catch what the TV did.

"Yeah. We were thinking of going to the diner for pancakes, it's been a day. You coming?" Eddie combs his fingers through his hair realizing he probably still has bed head. Wayne looks up at him with shiny eyes.

"I'm proud of you, y'know?" Wayne whispers. This catches Eddie off guard.

"What? For what?" Eddie crosses his arm. Doesn't like when Wayne gets sappy.

"Being a decent kid. Taking care of people the way you do." Wayne gets up and reaches for his keys just like he did in '77. "Real glad you found me when ya did, son."

"Likewise, Uncle Wayne"

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #uncle wayne #wayne munson #wayne munson is a good parent #steddie fluff #steddie fic rec #steddie microfic

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tommysversion · 1 year

Note

I see you're asking for smutty Din requests. May I suggest you my favorite?

Breeding Kink Dom!Din?? 👀

[[ Anon!! I’m so sorry this took so long, it’s literally been in my drafts/WIPs for like?? Three?? Weeks??? But I finally managed to finish it and I hope you like it!!! ]]

CWs: smut / literally very little plot / established relationship / daddy kink if you squint / breeding kink / soft dom Din / praise kink / unsafe sex / oral sex (f!receiving) / spicy language / religious undertones (may be considered blasphemous?) /

——

Din has no idea what the hell has come over him. Normally he’s the epitome of a gentleman; kind, soft spoken, honourable, respectful. Everything a man should be, everything he was raised to be. Everything the Creed teaches. The way he’s currently thinking and feeling? Is the very opposite.

He’s been having these dark thoughts all day. Not dark as in cruel, or evil. Dark as in sinful. Dark as in something forbidden. And it’s all your goddamn fault. Not that you know it, of course. No, you have no idea what you’re doing to him, and that makes it all the worse.

It’s the way you play at swords with the foundlings. The way you are so quick to repair torn tunics or bandage scraped knees. The way you always make sure to bring back cakes and sweets for each child whenever adventure calls Din and yourself away from the covert. Much of what little money you have, you spend on the children, asking nothing in return. You don’t even get to see them smile; most of the children are old enough to have spoken the Creed. This doesn’t seem to bother you either; you smile enough for all of them, beam bright like the sun at the shrieks of joy that are passed through the foundlings whenever you open your backpack, hands full of treats, treasures spilling into eager smaller hands like a rainbow.

You are not Mandalorian, but the way you treat the children, the way you smile so easily, speak so respectfully - especially when asking a question about their culture - has endeared you to his people. Made you one of them, without being one of them.

The Creed teaches to be selfless. To be humble. To not want, not for selfish reasons. To want, to covet, is a sin, a transgression. And yet, he’s only human.

It’s not the first time the thought has crossed his mind. Only, before, he was able to push it away. To dismiss it as a fanciful, fleeting thought alone. It’s harder to ignore, seeing you like this. Why not admit it? The sight of you, surrounded by children, taking on that naturally maternal role, has made him want. Has made him wonder what you would be like if the child was his. His and yours. Made between you and stardust.

Once he’s let the thought in, it won’t go away. It begins curious, like that, but over the days becomes darker. Less curious, more lecherous. More sinful. Until it comes to where he currently stands, certain he’s going half mad with need and desire for you.

You’re completely oblivious to the battle raging in his head, folding some freshly laundered blankets, bent over to put them in the carved wooden chest at the foot of your shared bed, giving him a fantastic view of your ass in the soft leather leggings you’d picked up a dozen market trips ago. The view definitely doesn’t help things, at all, only suffices to make him even harder in his own snugly fitted pants.

He can’t go on like this, sinful and dishonourable or not.

He waits until you’ve set the blanket down, closed the chest, before he sneaks up on you; it’s easier to be stealthy without all his beskar on, each piece neatly set aside on velvet cloth on shelves hewn into the rock of the wall. He presses up against you, wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Is everything alright?” You ask; you’re used to him being quiet. Din is a man of few words, but there’s something off about his demeanour. You’re worried about him, he realises.

“Everything is fine. More than fine, really.” He reassures you, almost rushes to soothe you because he can’t stand the thought of you worrying about him when it’s unnecessary.

You lean back into him, comforted by the reassuring solidness of his touch, the feeling of his hands on your waist.

“Oh. I just thought… you’ve been quieter than usual and… I thought maybe I’d… done something you didn’t approve of?” You chewed your lip, waiting for the disappointment to appear. You were so certain you had done something wrong.

“What could you possibly have done wrong?” It concerns him, the level of worry you’re displaying. He knows rejoining the covert has been a change for you, but surely nobody’s making you feel unwelcome?

“I thought… maybe it’s not allowed… to spoil the foundlings like I do? Maybe it was some cultural thing you were too polite to tell me?”

He can’t help but laugh, relieved that that’s what your fear stems from.

“Not at all, love. Most of the children don’t have parents, and it’s not something many of our adults would consider. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I just thought… I felt you watching me, and I…”

His arms tighten around you, the ache in his chest matching the ache in his cock; his hands caress your waist, touching gently.

“I wasn’t watching you because I disapprove.” Din assured you, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. “I was watching you because I like seeing you happy.”

He pauses, considering for a moment, fighting those dark thoughts and losing.

“And because I wonder what you’d be like as a mother.” The words fall from his mouth before he can stop them. Not that he wants to stop them. For a moment though, he’s afraid he might have scared you, so he turns you round and leans down to kiss you before you can say anything.

You lean right into him, stand on your toes to reach him, and that’s enough to break any resolve he has, any concern or care. Never mind that it’s a sin, never mind that he shouldn’t be showing you his face, much less desiring you the way he does. If Bo can show the entire damn covert her face, then he can show you his. That’s his rationality at this point.

He’s too far gone to care, lifting you up into his arms to get you closer to him. He’s running on impulse now, and he knows it, but he’s no longer interested in holding back. Beneath his honourable demeanour, his gentlemanly behaviour, there’s a dark streak, and it wants out.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him, thighs locked loosely around his waist. It’s so rare that you get to see his face, so you can’t help staring at him, memorising every little detail. Din loves that about you, loves how respectful you are, how you never push his boundaries. You’d never ask him to show you his face, leaving it entirely up to him to decide; you’ve never once pushed the issue, loved him long before he finally showed you what he looks like.

He carries you the few steps to the bed, sets you down on it gently. You kick off your shoes, let him pull those sinfully tight leather pants down, before you lean up and tug his shirt off. You’re just about feeling smug when he catches your wrists, big hands wrapped around them, placing your hands at your sides.

Something in his gaze keeps them there. You’re used to seeing nothing but gentleness in his eyes, but there’s a burning desire there now that intrigues you. Makes you want to obey.

You let him pull your shirt up over your head, toss it aside, heated by the intensity of the way he looks at you, immediately returning your hands to where he placed them. The heavy boots and the pants he wears come off next, and then he’s laying you down, pressing the heat and muscle of his body against yours, kissing you like he’s starving.

Maybe he is. You know that before you, he didn’t particularly bother with intimacy when it comes to sex. His knowledge of sex was hard, fast, fully clothed, with no real attachment to it. Which is fine, there’s nothing wrong with that. You also know that he’s starving for affection. For touch. And you usually get to be on the receiving end.

He takes his time kissing you, knows it isn’t something he gets to do often, knows that even though you don’t say anything about it, you want it more often than he can give. He loves that about you; that you may not be Mandalorian, you may not understand the Creed, but you respect it. Respect what it means to him. That means more to him than he can ever articulate.

So yes. He takes his time. Kisses your mouth until your lips are bruised and swollen from his attention, but you love every second of it. He pulls away from you slowly, watches the way you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, lips still parted for him.

“What’s gotten into you?” You ask, but Din knows it isn’t a rebuke. He can tell by the way you’re looking at him, by the way your legs are spread for him, the way you’re fidgeting on the bed beneath him. It’s not a rebuke. It’s desire.

He doesn’t answer. Lets you run your fingers up and down his solid arms for a moment, before he pins your wrists above your head, one at a time, holds them there with one big hand.

You don’t question him again, but he can see approval and desire in your gaze, a flicker of understanding.

“No more questions.” It’s an order, albeit given in a soft tone. “Keep your hands right there for me, there’s a good girl.”

He releases your wrists, but you don’t move, won’t until he tells you to, remaining perfectly still as he kisses his way down your body, scarred hands settling on your thighs, keeping them spread for him as he looks up at you.

“So wet…” he’s talking more to himself than to you, but you still shiver slightly at the words, at the expression on his face as he stares at you, just for a moment longer, before he leans in, buries his face in your cunt.

You’re already wet, wet enough that he was able to see - and comment on - it. But it’s not enough for Din. He wants you soaked and begging for his cock by the time he’s through with you, wants his beard and the sheets absolutely drenched.

If you thought he was kissing you like he was starving, it was nothing in comparison to this. He keeps his hands firmly clamped on your shaking thighs, preventing you from moving, as his tongue laves at you, kissing and sucking at your clit, making you wriggle and moan beneath him.

You’re desperate to wind your fingers into his hair, but you know if you try, he’ll stop, and that’s the last thing you want.

It’s only when you start literally dripping onto his tongue that he relents, pulls away from you. He doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth, beard soaked with your slick as he moves back up, slaps the thick head of his cock against your cunt deliberately, teasing.

“You ready for me, baby?” He knows the answer already, likes the way you bite your lip and chew on it, nodding.

He leans down and kisses you, sucks your lower lip out from between your teeth.

“Answer me.”

There it is again, that faint hint of a demand, the tone so soft that you can’t help but comply.

“Yes, please…”

You know how to answer him, even though you’ve never seen him like this before, those dark eyes blazing like liquid obsidian as he surveys you, spread out for him, so needy and willing.

“There we go.” He lines himself up, slides into your soaked cunt; it’s not as smooth as he hoped, he’s too big and you’re too tight, and you can’t help but wince slightly at the feeling of him stretching you out, but he settles, pressed to the hilt inside you.

“There you go…” He almost moans it, keeps your thighs spread, hands moving your legs, bending your knees so your ankles are by his shoulders.

You know this position, realise why he’s doing it. It doesn’t scare you. The opposite, in fact. He realises it a moment later when he feels your cunt tighten around him.

“Oh, you like this, huh?” He drags himself out of you, slow, almost to the tip before he slams back into you, drawing a scream from your parted lips.

“Can I touch you now?” You gasp it out when you can breathe again.

He surveys you for a moment; the way you’re pressed beneath him, knees up by your tits, eyes heavy with need for him. How much better for him can he ask you to be?

“Yes,” he agrees, dragging himself out and pressing in deep again. It’s all the permission you need, hands immediately jumping to the solid muscle of his biceps, clinging to him as he slams into you.

He’s usually so gentle, so careful, but this is completely different. Wild, desperate. He’s not holding back, has no interest in being careful tonight, slamming into your tight little hole, moaning the entire time.

“Fuck, baby, so tight…” He nuzzles into your neck, keeps your legs firmly in the position he wants them in, pressing deep with each thrust, hard and fast.

“Feel so good, gonna fill you up, fuck my baby into this sweet little cunt…”

It’s filthy, you’ve never heard him say such things, but you love it, love how roughly he’s handling you, how wild and frantic he is, how your body responds to him. You can feel yourself tightening around him, milking his incredible cock as he drills into you.

“Please, please…” you can’t say much more than that word, repeated over and over as he fucks you, so hard the bed shakes.

“Keep begging me for it,” he moans it into your ear, one hand leaving your leg to fist into the bedsheets, holding himself up, bracing himself.

You drag your nails up his back, back arching up as best you can in the position he has you in.

“Please… need it… need you so bad…”

You’re overwhelmed, he’s so big inside you, so rough, not making any move to slow down even as he feels you getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Yeah? You gonna make me a daddy, baby?” He presses another kiss into your neck, shudders when he feels you tilt your hips to get him deeper, a gasp tearing from your throat when he hits your sweet spot.

“Please…”

You can’t form words, not when he’s pounding into your sweet spot with every thrust, saying such filthy, sinful things. You can’t hold on any longer, and he knows it, fucks you harder and faster until you’re writhing on the bed beneath him, tight, perfect little pussy tightening around him, keeping him in deep, massaging his cock as you climax.

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty when you cum for me…” Din loves seeing you like this, body arched in a perfect mating press as he drills into you.

Any other time and he’d put you on all fours, press your face down into the bed and fuck you til you screamed yourself hoarse for him.

Maybe later. This time, anyway, he wants to see the look on your face when he fills you, the glazed look in your eyes when his cum leaks out of you. Not that he plans on letting that happen. He’s going to fuck you so full of his seed that you’re overflowing with it, but this first time? He doesn’t want to spill a drop.

Your nails keep raking at his back, pulling him close against you, and it’s that that urges him on, the way you’re looking at him, so desperately needy for him.

He could get addicted to this, so far removed from the slow and gentle and passionate intimacy you usually share.

“This all I needed to do to get you drunk on my cock?” He presses you down harder into the mattress with just his hips, relying on his strength.

You whimper in answer, clench around him again.

“Dirty girl,” he mutters, “you want this just as much as I do, huh? Bet you’ve been desperate for me to fuck you like this, put a baby in you.”

You don’t answer; can’t answer, because his words and his pace drag another climax out of you, surprising both of you. He fucks you through it, pace increasingly more rough and erratic.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it, fuck, I’m so close…”

He has to brace himself on the bed, fist clenching in the sheets as the other holds you steady, in place as he presses deep, grinds his hips roughly against yours, ensuring that every single drop of hot, thick seed fills you, stays deep inside you.

“Fuck, like that…” he pants, watching the way your eyes blaze with arousal and love as he comes back to himself, slowly, second by second.

He’ll have to repent later, ask for forgiveness for his sins, but right now? Right now he couldn’t care less, the hand that isn’t curled into the sheets caressing your - for now - still flat abdomen.

It won’t stay that way for long. Not if he has anything to do with it.

#my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fic #answered

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kaciebello · 3 months

Text

One egg as the other

Masterlist Chris Rodriguez x Hades! reader (platonic) Luke Castellan x Hades! reader (implied, mentioned) Summary: Chris visits one of his favorite campers, purely just to annoy them. Warning: Insults( nothing mean, just banter), no use of y/n, fem, sibling relationship written by an only child author note: Since someone said I should write more of them, hope I did you justice my guy. English is not my first language so I am sorry for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ) word count: 1,1k

Chris busts the door open, not even bothering to knock. Normally he would have, but he had seen Luke just seconds ago helping some kids with their swords. He knew there was no danger in the room. Expect the Hades girl, but she posed no real danger to him.

“WAKE UP!” He yelled and walked in like he owned the place. The girl, who was standing near her table, turned around and looked at him confused.

“It's noon, we've seen each other at breakfast.” She said, turning her whole body to him and leaning on the table. He takes long steps toward her. His remark is dead when he sees what is lying on the table. There, under a heating lamp, were half a dozen eggs.

“Aw did you lay all of those? I'm so proud of you.” He says and pats the girl on her shoulder. Making sure she knows she did a good job. She shrugs his hand off

“Choke.”

“I rather not.” He says leaning closer to the eggs. He sees some markings on them. Turning to her, with no words he just pointed to the eggs. She sighs and gets up, walking to her bed to look for something in her bag.

“Goose eggs, some aphrodite kids gave them to me as a thank you for giving them scar cream.” She says, setting the bag aside and walking to the door. Crish gave one last glance at the eggs before following her.

He walked downstairs and into the medic room where she was now making sure the bed was tidy. Fluffing up the pillows and straightening the blanket.

“So what's on the agenda today?” He asks and sneaks behind her. Narrowly avoiding her as she walked away to grab the clipboard.

“ I am supposed to find what medicine we're running low on and report to Chiron, you are supposed to be with Luke, and if I'm not mistaken you're not at archery practice.” She says turning to him, only to see the way lying on the bed she just made. She gave him a death stare and he just gave her a wide grin.

“I will cheat physics and slam you through the wall if you don't shut up.” She said. His smile did not drop as he sat on the bed.

“How do you know my schedule? Stalker much?” He says and slicks his hair back.

“I know Luke's schedule, considering you follow his like a lost puppy, i have a pretty good idea of yours.” Crash just huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. He would say some remark. He should say some remark, but sadly nothing was coming to his mind.

“I didn't know you and Luke were like that.” He says at the end. The girl just gives him a pointer look. Just as he was about to defend himself, it was like the Bloody Mary or Beetlejuice came to life themselves.

In walks Luke, his stride unbroken, with a smile that could be seen from miles away. Seems like they have said his name too many times.

Cris goes unnoticed by him, as his only goal is the Hades girl. When he reaches her, he grabs her by the shoulders, tips her back, and delivers the nastiest kiss Cris has ever seen. When he flips them back up again, Luke his face to him. He mumbles something to the girl. Before she could tell him they were not alone, Chris acts.

“EEEEEEWWWW.” Luke's eyes snap to him and he goes instantly red. Chris makes gagging sounds, almost making it sound like he is physically sick. Luke looks so startled he just smiles at the girl before bolting out.

“Why do you always do this stuff around me!” Chris cries out. She just turns to him with a death glare again.

“Why are you always around when we do this stuff?”

“Nah because, ya down bad!”

“You're down bad for Clarrise!” She argues back. Chris gives her an offended look.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yuh-uh!”

Their banter went back and forth. At some point, Percy showed up at the house but quickly turned around at the door when he heard them.

“What do you even want here?” She asked, he had to be here for something. She very much believed that Luke would let him slack off of practice.

“Oh yeah! I was kinda stabbed.” He says, turning his arm to the girl. It was obvious that his stab wound was just a scratch that wasn't even bleeding. Scab already formed on in. Nothing that the Apollo kids would even look at. She tugged his arm hard to her. Inspecting the wound.

She clicks her tongue and lets it go. Before turning around and going to her box of band-aids. fishing out one with Hello Kitty she makes her way back to him and places it on the scratch.

“Hey, I wanted the one with Spiderman.” He says looking at the bright pink bandaid on his arm. Anyone could see it. He wanted nobody to see it. She made sure that everybody saw it.

“Get out.” She says to him. He didn't even argue, his eyes glued to the bainaid. When he tried to take it off, it was like it was glued to his skin.

“What have you done?” He asked her, still trying to scřratch it off. She just smiled and pointed to the door.

“Nothing princess, now get out.” She was now pushing him out. He made sure to dig his heel into the ground to make it harder for her. When he got to the door he stopped. He stepped over the threshold and she sighed out of relive. She celebrated her victory too early tho.

“Don't worry, Clarisse will dig it.” Just like that, Chris jumped back and grabbed the girl in a headlock. She yelped and tried to wiggle herself out. He made sure to mess up her hair into a bird's nest. When he was done he let her go. She stairgtens and gasps for air. He glances at her.

“Look, the eggs have somewhere to sleep now.” With that, he sprints away. The furthest he can get from the girl that can cause sudden death just by thinking about it. He made sure to yell that one egg should be named after him. He was sure if she had one right now, it would end somewhere near his head, if not hitting it spot on.

#percy jackson #chris rodriguez #chris rodriguez x reader #chris rodriguez x you #chris rodriguez x fem!reader #chris rodriguez imagine #chris rodriguez fluff #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #pjo #fem reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians

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mediumgayitalian · 4 months

Text

Nico has gone soft.

He’s gone soft.

Unbelievable.

“What,” he growls, yanking open his cabin door.

That’s the issue with it all — a year ago, if someone came pounding at his door, in the middle of the night, for literal minutes as he desperately tried to ignore them, he wouldn’t even bother with words. He’d come out swinging; fists or sword or both.

But look at him now.

Using his words.

He’s a pacifist.

“Can I please sleep with you,” blurts the interloper, and both of them go very intensely red at the same time.

Nico drags his hand down his face. (Because he is furious, not because he’s trying to hide his glowing cheeks.) “Solace, I swear to all that is holy.”

Will waits for him to finish. Nico chooses not to, letting the threat hang in the air. Will can imagine what Nico wants to do to him. Hopefully it involves screams of pain and agony, because that is the vibe he is sending.

“I — please,” whines the biggest thorn in Nico’s side, when it becomes obvious he is not opening the door any further. (Will even shivers, pitifully, and Nico refuses to notice the tank top and unwisely short shorts he’s wearing as PJs. That’s his problem. It’s October. Camp-monitored weather or not, he should know better.) “Please please please can I sleep here? Just for tonight?”

The issue is that he really does look so pitiful. His nose is red, slightly, and his eyes are big and blue and shining in the faint light of Greek fire torches, and the pout on his face is just short of emotionally moving. He glows in the moonlight, too, freckles shining like dotted stars; all of him awash in silver like a marble statue of Hellenistic tragedy.

Nico sighs.

Will brightens.

Nico opens the door, just a little.

Will darts inside.

Nico is a weak, weak man. Truly.

“You have your own cabin,” he grouches, scowl twisted and potent and pointed in Sun Boy’s direction. Will either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, rocking back on his heels and observing the cabin as if he hasn’t been inside dozens of times to harass Nico in dozens of different ways.

“Never been here at night,” he muses, and Nico seriously considers collapsing to his knees and yelling at the top of his lungs. (But he is the dignified Ambassador of Pluto, King of the Shadows, so he does not. Instead, he vows to wait until Solace is finally gone, so he can wallow in peace.)

“Feel free to return to your own cabin at any given time,” Nico says pointedly. He ignores the second pout he knows is aimed at his back, crawling back into his bed and beginning the slow, meticulous process of layering himself in his fourteen and a half blankets.

“I can’t!”

The mattress springs of the spare bed across from Nico whine in protest as Will throws himself dramatically upon it. Nico refuses to look at him, and also refuses to ask the question Will is trying, with great difficulty, to make him ask. If he wants to march in here and make himself a nuisance, he can do it without Nico’s help, that’s for damn certain.

Will huffs. “It’s too dark in my cabin.”

There’s a second as the words travel from sparks in Will’s brain, to less abstract thought, to language, to a sound beginning with vibrations in his throat and floating through the air, tickling the delicate hairs in Nico’s ear and re-translating themselves to sparks inside his own brain. It takes but a moment, a millisecond, a delay too small for either of them to register. In that moment, Nico closes his eyes and wonders, clearly, to himself: is this really better than living alone on the streets, hunted nonstop by monsters? Is it?

“William,” he says, very, very slowly, ignoring the reflective, chirped Not my name! in reply. “William, I am going to kill you.”

See, every cabin has its quirks. Zeus’, for instance, resembles a mausoleum. (Nico should know. He’s picnicked in several.) Athena’s resembles a library, sleeping and living an afterthought. His own cabin, remodelled after whatever fool made it look like Count Dracula’s wet dream, now closely resembles his bedroom in his father’s palace, were his bedroom shared and less frigidly unwelcoming.

Apollo’s cabin is made of solid gold. The interior is painted with bright, overlapping murals made by generations of talented artists, fairy light strung across the ceiling and curled around bedposts, sun lamps and skylights peppering every square foot. Warmly lit and welcoming, in the inside, eyesore on the outside. Nico wouldn’t be able to find the shadow of a speck of dust in that cabin. He has no idea how anyone sleeps.

“William,” he repeats, incredulous. Four of his blankets slip from their meticulous pile, and Will stares right back, wide-eyed but unafraid. “William, please use your fucking eyeballs.”

Will gasps. Hand pressed to his chest, genuinely aghast, like Nico had just insulted his mother.

“Nico!” he chastises. “Language, lordie!”

Nico refuses to smile.

He refuses.

“Solace, this place is made of shadow. You are full of shit, telling me your cabin is too dark. Literally what are you yapping about.”

Will holds his gaze for a moment, still glaring. But stubborn as he is, Nico has the better glower of the two of them — Will is more practiced at the silent treatment. He huffs, relenting.

“Jus’ feels dark,” he mumbles, so quietly Nico has to strain to hear him. “‘N it’s quiet.”

Oh.

“Is this about Kayla and Austin going home this year?” he asks softly, awkwardly.

Will nods miserably.

“Well — I mean — in that case —”

He stumbles over his words, face glowing. He doesn’t know how to say what he wants to say without embarrassing himself, without missing the mark — you’re welcome here, Will? Of course you are? I answered the door for you, Will? I let you in, Will? For anyone else, I would have slammed it in their face, Will? I have before?

“Just — sleep it off,” is what he ends up saying, wincing as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Will snorts. “Yeah, lemme just dodge the crushing loneliness with a quick five hours.”

“Piss off, you know what I —” Nico frowns. “Five hours?”

“It’s two somethin’ in the morning, darlin’. I’ll be up when the sun rises.”

Nico glances at the blackout curtains hanging from the window frames.

Not this time, he thinks, as quietly as he can.

“Right,” he says. He waits a beat. “Goodnight, you pain in my ass.”

Will beams at him. He can’t see it, but he can feel it, practically, the glowing warmth of it, and he shoves his face in his own pillow before he does something embarrassing like smile back.

“Night! Love you bunches.”

He screams slightly into the silk pillowcase. “You are the biggest dweeb in the world.”

“…Aw.”

“Shut up. I love you too. Sleep immediately or I’ll gag you.”

“Yeesh, Nico, let’s discuss our fantasies before we dive into any —”

“I am going to kill you to death, Solace, I swear on the palace of my father —”

“Okay, yeesh, Prince of Darkness, I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

Will’s snickering is an annoyingly welcome sound in the usually silent cabin. Nico ignores it for his own peace of mind, waiting for it to fade into even breathing before he lets out the breath he was holding, sagging into his bedsheets. He peaks over the mound of blankets and pillows, eyes adjusting easily to the dark, and traces Will’s lanky frame; on top of the covers, because of course he is, bare leg hanging off the side of the bed and arm hooked around his own head. He’s been asleep for a few minutes at most, but his curls already frizz and tangle in a messy halo all around his head, as if he’s been tossing and turning for hours. His mouth is parted just slightly, Cupid’s bow pink and pursed.

“Love you, stronzello,” he whispers again, fondly, and smiles as his own eyes flutter shut.

———

(He wakes up at noon to Will rushing around the cabin, panicked, shoving his feet into his flipflops and buzzing about being late to his shift. He brains himself on the door frame in his rush to get to the infirmary.)

(“Karma,” Nico calls to his retreating back, snickering.)

(He thinks he’ll let Will sleep over more often.)

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lalacliffthorne · 10 months

Text

🕯midnights pt. II🕯

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: azriel might be too much of a distraction after all

notes: the people have spoken, we got a part II. seriously though: it's honestly and completely blowing my mind how many people read my first posts here and liked them. like - truly; it's nuts, I really can't even wrap my head around it. it's always been hard for me to find the kind of people who would read what I'm cooking up, and I'm sure that any writer would agree that, while writing is the thing that keeps us alive, we fucking thrive off interactions and being able to talk about our babies and all their little details. and this is giving me that, and I'm so fucking thankful for that, so please; never ever be shy and just write to me, talk to me, it melts my little heart to hear from you and makes me just really fucking happy.

anyways, sorry for the rambling, here´s part II of midnights, it's pure fluff and I'm not even sorry

______________________________________________________________

I couldn't handle the distraction.

Not. In. The. Slightest.

I inwardly kicked myself as Azriel gently pushed me into the guest room and slipped his hand off my lips to close the door. The lock clicked softly, and my heart jumped into my throat.

This was a really bad idea.

At least Cassian's snoring was gone.

Azriel's bare chest brushed against my shoulder, and when I looked up at him, his gaze was slowly tracking over the little bits of evidence of me. The rumpled sheets on the obscenely huge bed, the jewellery strewn over the wooden dresser and the shoes kicked off next to the door. There was a clothing rack Mor had lent me next to the window leading out to the street that was stuffed with the clothes I had saved from the water damage in the bedroom, and my books. Dozens and dozens of books stacked next to the empty fireplace.

The shadowsinger threw me a look, and I smiled sheepishly. “They would've gotten wet.”

Azriel's lips twitched, and something hot washed over me as his dark eyes tracked over my face.

This was going to be a long night.

I wasn't sure what exactly it was that I had expected. Maybe that my heart wouldn't be able to stop skipping, that just Azriel's presence would be enough to make focusing on anything but him absolutely impossible, and that I would spend the rest of the night tense and regretting several life choices.

My legs growing tired had not been on the list.

Shifting lightly and leaning my knees to the side, I tried to focus on the book propped against my thighs.

I had curled up on one end of the small couch at the back window, a soft blanket draped over my bare legs and a pillow stuffed into my back. Azriel was sitting on the other end, his wings relaxed and folded comfortably, body leaned lazily into the cushions, his skin shimmering in the soft, warm light. His eyes moved slowly over the pages of the book propped against his knee, his brows smoothed over and one strand of his hair falling into his forehead.

For some reason, his presence wasn't throwing me off nearly as much as I had thought it would. His steady, even breaths weren't distracting but calming, his body only a few feet away radiating warmth and grounding steadiness.

Sure, my heart still went haywire whenever I looked at him for too long, some strange feeling surging in my chest. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It was giddy, and comforting, and it made something bubble warmly in my chest, my breath hitching once in a while.

If only it wasn't for the fact that even with my legs pulled up towards my chest, my toes almost touched his thigh.

This couch wasn't meant for two people.

Would I stretch out my legs like they begged me to do, they would be draped over Azriel's lap, definitely invading what I considered personal space. It was the only reason I had not changed my position about half an hour ago, when my legs had slowly started to tingle uncomfortably, and had instead stayed frozen in my position.

Even though Azriel had not seemed to mind being close to me earlier, I didn't want to push it.

Ever since meeting him, I knew that for him, physical contact was - complicated. I had seen plenty of times when he had flinched away from it, mostly from strangers, as well meaning as they had been. He didn't seem to mind as much when it came from his friends, his family. In fact, I was pretty sure I had seen him lean into the way Rhys patted his shoulders or how the way he rolled his eyes when Cassian squeezed the living daylight out of him in a hug always looked half-hearted, his lips curving just barely in amusement, or how he let Mor mess with his hair and give him cheek kisses even though he glared at her.

I wasn't sure if he needed to trust a person to be able to accept physical contact or if it was something else entirely, but I didn't want to overstep. He looked so relaxed, calm, almost unguarded, it made something flicker in my chest.

I didn't give care if my legs turned numb if it meant he could stay like that for a little longer.

Shifting again, I barely suppressed the urge to grimace when there was a light sting in my thigh, my muscles aching.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Azriel's eyes flicker up from his book and towards me and tried to keep my breathing even, gaze moving over the words on the page before me without quite catching their meaning.

The Spymaster returned his gaze back towards his book, and I slowly let myself relax, inwardly making a face when I shifted in my seat, trying to find another position that didn't make my legs feel quite so mangled.

Big, calloused hands closed around my ankles, and my heart jumped into my throat when they pulled on my legs, dragging me down over the cushions in one swift move and causing a soft squeak to leave me when my head hit the armrest.

My breath stumbled, my eyes darted up, widening slightly, and Azriel draped my legs over his lap, my calves pressing against his thighs when he tugged the blanket around my legs and threw me a look.

“You've been squirming for half an hour.” He mumbled the words like they were an explanation, only after a few seconds adding in a grumble: “It's driving me nuts.”

My breath hitched, stilling as I stared at him as he shifted a little in his seat, sinking back until he was reclined comfortably again, draping his forearms over my shins and turning his attention back towards his book. The blanket had ridden up, and his right arm was pressing against my bare leg, but Azriel didn't seem to give a shit about personal space or physical contact as he pulled my legs closer, his right hand slipping under the blanket to gently close around my calf and hold it in place.

One corner of Azriel's lips tipped upwards a little, and without looking away from the pages, he mumbled, amusement lacing his deep, low voice: “You're staring.”

I blinked, swallowing against the sudden tightness in my throat as something fluttered in my chest, high and wild, and Azriel threw me a look, a twinkle in his amber eyes that was full of dark mischief when he raised an eyebrow lightly.

“Too much distraction?”

My lips parted in disbelief, and Azriel's lips curved like he was holding back a smirk. Then he turned his attention back towards his book.

I stared at him, gaping lightly as my heart skipped high and a ridiculously wide smile slowly stretched over my face.

You're on.

Slumping back into the cushions, I picked up my book that had fallen into my lap when Azriel had dragged me towards him, flicking back to the page I had left it. Snuggling into the cushion, my eyes moved over the page, not processing a word as my mind started working. Staring. Distraction.

Well, I could just –

Shifting, I started to tug the blanket off my legs, keeping my eyes on the pages of my book as my brows furrowed lightly in focus. Leaning up a little to pull the blanket off my feet, I dropped it onto the ground, stretching my bare legs before settling back into the cushions.

It was a long shot, but –

Azriel threw me a look, and I caught the second he blinked, his grip around my calf changing. His eyes, looking like molten gold in the warm light, moved over my legs, my shirt pushed up from him dragging me down over the cushions, now barely reaching the top of my thighs. A muscle in his jaw shifted sharply, his piercing gaze tracking up my shins, over the small scar on my knee where I had fallen as a child, up my thighs –

"Too much distraction?”

Azriel's gaze snapped up, and I lost the fight against my twitching lips when it met mine, a wide cheeky smile slowly spreading over my face, bright and mischievous, and Azriel stared at me, stared as a twinkle spread through his eyes, growing and growing just like the crease digging into his cheek.

Giggling softly under my breath, I turned my eyes back onto my book, focusing back on the pages as my heart skipped against my ribs.

Or, I tried to focus. But Azriel's hand had slipped up my leg, now resting on my shin, his scarred skin rough and warm on mine as his thumb started to slowly brush over my skin. And suddenly, nothing about him was calming anymore.

Trying to keep my breathing even, I barely suppressed the urge to swallow as I stared at the pages of my book.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the shadowsinger's lips quirk upwards.

Damn it.

Breathing out soundlessly, I tried to focus back on my book. Azriel´s thumb was slowly swiping over my skin, almost absentmindedly. It made my throat close up as something skipped against my ribs, and I shifted without even realizing.

Azriel's grip around my leg tightened, and he mumbled: “Stop that.”

“Why; am I distracting again?” I felt my lips curve as I huffed, and Az looked like he had to bite back a smile, raising a brow at me.

“Are you done squirming?”

I breathed out before closing my book with a snap, holding it up and raising a brow at him. “This is boring.”

“That's because you're still only in the beginning.” The golden flecks in Azriel's eyes twinkled. “It picks up later.”

Grumbling, I let the book slip to the ground, dropping my head back against the armrest.

Blinking at the ceiling, I listened as my heart thrummed steadily against my ribs, something warm bubbling gently in my chest, giddy and warm and comfortable.

My eyes were just closing a little when suddenly, a thought struck me that made my heart miss a beat and jump into my throat as I widened my eyes.

“Shit.”

Azriel's eyes darted up when I scrambled to get to my feet, a crease forming between his brows as he watched me, his wings flaring slightly as tension rippled through his body.

“What?”

I turned to blink at him, his shoulders suddenly rigid and body straightening, like he was ready to jump into action.

“I just remembered I ate the last of Mor's cookies.”

Azriel stared at me. Then he huffed. His shoulders sank back, and he flopped into his seat and glared at me.

“I thought -” He broke off, breathing out as he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, but his lips twitched like he suddenly had to hold back a laugh. Shaking his head, he looked back up at me, and my breath hitched when I saw the way his eyes began to twinkle.

“What?” I felt my brows furrow, and Azriel slowly started to smirk, creases forming in his cheeks and causing something to surge high in my chest.

“Nice knowing you.”

I deadpanned, and the shadowsinger chuckled, the deep sound almost making me sway on the spot as his eyes crinkled.

“Hey, at least I planned on making a new batch.” I glared at him, but it probably looked more than a pout, judging from the way Azriel's lips curved when he pushed himself to his feet.

“Alright, come on.” His eyes were bright with amusement when he fixed his pyjama pants that had slipped dangerously low on his hips, stepping towards me and placing his hands on my shoulders. His touch sent a jolt through my body, the weight of his palms gentle when he turned me around, mumbling: “Can't have Mor killing you over a jar of cookies.”

I tried to keep myself from swallowing when his breath fanned over the top of my head, his chest bumping into my back as he started to push me towards the door, and my heart skipped a little.

Frowning lightly, I slowed my steps and looked up at him over my shoulder.

“What are you -” My eyes flickered over his face, and I blinked before breathing out and smiling, crooked and a bit cheeky as I raised my brows at him. “You can stay up here and read, you know.”

“And miss you trying to navigate our kitchen?” Azriel's brows furrowed as he opened the door, but his lips curved when he threw me a look. “No book is that entertaining.”

I tried to elbow him into the ribs, but Azriel dodged the jab, smirking in a way that got my heart stuck in my throat.

Breathing out softly and soundlessly, I allowed him to gently nudge me onto the stairs leading down into the house.

At least I could put some reasonable distance between us in the kitchen.

The moon was shining through the windows as we made our way down the stairs, stars and galaxies twinkling on the dark sky. When we passed Cassian´s floor and a particularly loud snore echoed from his room, I had to muffle my giggle with the back of my hand, Azriel´s chest vibrating in my back like he was laughing silently.

The living room was dipped in half-light as we made our way over to the door leading to the kitchen. I pushed it open, shivering happily at the warmth washing over me, mixed with the sweet smell of the flowers sitting on the big table over at the window. The fae lights flickered to life, flooding the room with warm, golden light when Azriel closed the door behind him, and I slipped behind the kitchen island, stretching to open the two high cupboards that functioned as a pantry before pulling myself onto the counter. The marble was cold against my knees as I straightened up and stretched to get to the container of flour on the top shelf.

Squinting in concentration, I jumped lightly when Azriel sucked in a sharp breath.

“What the –“, he interrupted himself, and I could feel the air shift behind me like his shadows had brought him there, then a hand settled on my back, warm and steady as it pressed firmly, and my fingers almost slipped on the cabinet.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Azriel sounded torn between amusement and irritation, and I grumbled: “Getting the flour. This place is built for fucking giants.”

Stretching a bit more, I could feel him shift closer, his hand pressing harder against my lower back, and my breath hitched.

Making a happy sound when my fingers closed around the container, I pulled it off the shelf. But I hadn't expected it to be quite so full and so heavy, and so I squealed softly when it dipped back, the lid sliding off, and I ducked my head when I could feel a rain of flour douse past me.

Quickly pushing the glass up and catching it with my free hand, I carefully slid it onto the counter before throwing a quick look over my shoulder – and feeling my eyes widen as my heart skipped once before stilling.

The flour had missed me, only dusting my dark shirt with a thin layer.

Azriel had not been as lucky.

The shadowsinger blinked. His lashes, usually long and dark, were now stark white, just like his hair and his face and the top of his shoulders and wings, all coated in a thick layer of powdery flour.

A soft snort left me. Then something began to bubble in my chest until I couldn't contain it anymore, and a laugh broke free, quickly turning into wild and unrestrained giggles.

A rumble grew in Azriel's chest as he started to scowl, taking a step back before shaking himself like a dog, sending flour everywhere in big white clouds. I coughed through my laughter, quickly holding onto the cabinets as my shoulders shook and I fought for air, my eyes becoming teary.

“I'm so sorry.” Laughing, I leaned my forehead against the shelves, my ribs beginning to ache as I tried to catch my breath, the image of the mighty shadowsinger, darkness personified, covered in white flour flashing before my eyes and making me break out into a new fit of giggles.

“I'm sorry, I'm –“ Breathing in deeply, I wiped over my cheeks, my belly aching as I looked over my shoulder, and Azriel blinked and turned his eyes away from my face. Scowling lightly, he raised a hand to run it over his shoulder, a thin white film of flour still dusting his tanned skin.

“Come here.” Snickering softly, I reached out a hand, and Azriel glared, but there was something in his eyes, bright and gleaming, as he slowly stepped forward until his side brushed against my ankle.

I motioned for him to drop his head, and something skipped high in my chest when Azriel's gaze dragged over my face for a second. Then he complied, and still giggling softly under my breath, I ran my hand over his shoulder, brushing off the visible remainders of flour before softly raking my fingers through his hair, shaking out the white dust.

Azriel´s shoulders grew rigid. His wings rustled before shuddering, and I quickly pulled my hand away, my heart leaping into my throat.

“Sorry,”, I mumbled, smiling softly and sheepishly, and my heart missed a step when I saw the muscles in Azriel's back shift.

The shadowsinger breathed out, his shoulders sinking back as he raised his head, and the soft twinkle in his eyes made me exhale soundlessly.

“Are you done up there or do I need to seek shelter?”

I snorted, turning back around with a wide grin. “Shut up.”

I could feel the coolness of shadows brush my feet, and when I threw a quick look over my shoulder, pools of darkness cleaned up the white dust on the floor. Azriel was still hovering behind me, shadows brushing over his wings to clean off the white residue before whispering and grazing down his back.

Pulling the sugar and the chocolate chips from the cupboard, I set them down next to the flour, then I pressed my hands onto the counter and slid off the surface. My bare feet hit the floor, and my heart missed a beat when my back hit Azriel´s chest.

Quickly taking a step forward, I looked over my shoulder to sent him a sheepish smile, but something got lodged into my throat when my eyes met Azriel's, trained onto my face, dark and deep in the light.

“Are you going to climb onto anything else or am I spared from more heartattacks?” His mumbled words were like a gentle shiver down my spine, his head dropped a little to look down on me as his eyes tracked over my face, something in them I couldn't quite decipher. There was still a smudge of flour on his cheek, and my fingers itched to brush it away.

My heart skipped softly, and I felt my lips curve until I was smiling, wide and a bit cheeky. “No, I think you're good.”

Azriel stared at me, hair tousled and shoulder muscles shifting, and I had to tear my eyes away because suddenly, my chest felt like it was about to burst.

“Alright, uhm,”, I scratched my forehead and tried to remember why I was standing in the kitchen, “I – need butter and eggs.” Turning around, I pulled both from next to the box with bread.

Azriel retreated as I started measuring the ingredients, pouring water into the kettle before placing it on the stove. I had just mixed together the eggs and the soft butter when his chest brushed against my shoulder and he placed a mug in front of me, steaming softly and spreading the smell of sweet berries.

Silence settled over the kitchen, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like it had earlier, up in the guest room. I could feel Azriel, feel his eyes on me, but it only made something flutter softly against my ribs, giddy and warm. The fae lights plunged the kitchen in a warm, cozy light while outside, the night sky glittered with stars and the oven hummed.

By the time I had rolled the dough into little balls and put the first tray into the oven, my braid had become loose. Pulling off the ribbon tying it off, I unravelled it, turning around as I brushed some strands behind my ear, and my eyes met Azriel's.

My breath hitched.

“What?”

The shadowsinger stared at me, and slowly, one corner of the his lips tipped up just barely, but there was something in his eyes when he pushed off the island, slowly stepping closer. It almost looked like he was battling something in his mind as his gaze flickered over my face. Then he blinked and stretched out a hand, mumbling: “You've got a little –“

His thumb brushed over my cheek, gently rubbing over a spot next to the corner of my lips.

Suddenly, breathing felt difficult, something skipping so high in my chest, it reached my throat.

Swallowing harshly, I watched with my heart pounding against my ribs as Azriel took a step closer until his chest gently bumped into mine. His hand rested against my jaw, palm warm and rough against my skin that had started tingling under his touch, something changing between hot and cold running up and down my spine, my body freezing up when the shadowsinger's piercing eyes darted over my face. He blinked, then he dropped his head lightly.

When his nose brushed against mine, my breath faltered and my whole body went completely still. The only thing I could feel was my heart, pounding flatly and shakingly as Azriel´s scent drowned me and his warm breath hit my lips.

Azriel carefully nudged his nose against mine, halting. I could feel the way his breath trembled slightly, his throat working like he tried to hold back the urge to swallow.

It felt like he was waiting. Expecting me to pull back.

But I just fought the tighteness in my throat and hesitantly raised my chin.

When my lips brushed over Azriel´s, a shudder went through his body. His hand slipped over my jaw to the back of my neck, and he broke the last bit of distance, pulling me forward to crash his lips onto mine.

Something surged in my chest, growing warmer and bigger with every second, fluttering madly.

A whimper built at the back of my throat, and I reached out to grip Azriel's sides the same moment his free hand rose to cup the side of my neck. He was kissing me like I was air and he was drowning, deep, hard and desperate, his tongue dragging over mine, fingers winding through my hair as he took a step forward. His chest pressed firmly into mine, his brows drawn together and breath harsh against my skin, and my heart skipped so high, it got stuck in my throat.

When Azriel pulled back to suck in a sharp breath, his thumb brushing over my skin as he pressed his forehead against mine, breathing heavily, my heart was pounding and I wasn't quite sure where up was and where down. My nose brushed against Azriel's, and I swore I could feel his breath stumble.

Swallowing, I eased my grip on his sides, my voice a bit hoarse when I mumbled: “Gone?”

Azriel breathed a huff, and my heart skipped when I opened my eyes to see a grin slowly spreading over his face, causing his eyes to crinkle and a crease digging into his cheek, his iris twinkling so brightly my breath hitched. Then he dipped his head, and my heart tumbled when his lips pressed against the spot on my cheek, tongue darting out and swiping over my skin.

When he pulled back, his iris was twinkling and my breath flat. There was something there in his iris, something that matched the strange surging feeling in my chest and that made my body feel light like air as his eyes flickered over my face.

“You're staring,”, he mumbled, the harsh rasp in his deep voice betraying him, and I felt my lips curve slowly into a wide, beaming smile.

“Want me to stop?"

Azriel stared at me, and his eyes became even brighter as his deep voice rumbled through me.

"Never."

#azriel x reader #az x reader #az imagine #azriel imagine #azriel x female!reader #acotar x reader #acotar #acowar #acomaf #azriel/reader #az/reader #lalacliffthorne

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mcuamerica · 25 days

Text

The Shadowsinger: Four

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. mentions of abuse/violence, implied SA, aftermath of the Sangravagh attack, Tamlin is mentioned, mention of death, ACOTAR series spoilers. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairings: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your first day of training with Azriel ends with you helping priestesses heal after an attack on their temple.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

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Prologue - One - Two - Three

After hours of training, you went down to the dining room with Azriel to eat lunch. “I think my legs might fall off.” You muttered as you sat down, wincing slightly as you adjusted your wings. You spent the whole first half of the day learning how to balance for a fight and then practicing fighting stances. You didn’t even make a fist until the last hour, and barely got into punches and jabs before Azriel called it for lunch.

He chuckled, sitting down across from you. “It can’t be that horrible, but if it is, I’ve got some good solvents for you to add to your bath. And a few oils.” He said.

“Are you suggesting you can give me a massage, Shadowsinger?” You teased, leaning forward on the table. Azriel flushed and his eyes widened. “Relax, I’m kidding. But I might take you up on those oils.” You said and started to dig into the food that appeared in front of you.

You glanced around, curious as to how none of the others were here. “They’re in a meeting right now.” Azriel said, as if he knew what your question was going to be.

“Oh… don’t you need to be in it?” You asked and he shrugged.

“Rhys will tell me what he needs to.” He said and looked at you for a few more seconds, frowning slightly. You could tell his shadows were talking to him, telling him something.

“I’ve gotta go.” He said and stood up.

You rose your eyebrows and looked at him. “Do you need-“ you started but he already vanished. Sighing, you slumped in your chair and started to eat again. You didn't even think to ask your shadows what was the matter.

Not even thirty minutes later, chaos erupted in the house. Dozens of priestesses were in the dining room, being healed by anyone who had the magic or the knowledge on how to do it. You helped bring clothes and water over, using some tonics and oils to help heal their wounds. None of them spoke and only whimpers and screams from the wounded could be heard.

Rhys said that their temple was attacked by Hybern soldiers, who successfully got what they came for. And left almost all the priestesses dead or badly wounded. And worse. So you did what you could to heal the wounded, using the training and your years of being the village healer with Sirona as best as you could.

Hours later, almost all of them had been taken back to the temple. Where they would heal and rebuild as much as they could. Mor was sent there with Amren to survey the damage and clean up everything they could.

Expect for one. An auburn haired acolyte who you saw Mor carry in. One of the first ones to arrive. You shot Azriel a look as if to question what happened and if she was okay, and he only shook his head in return. You saw Azriel’s jacket around her and guessed what happened.

She was the last sitting in the living room, new clothes and a blanket wrapped around her. She was still shaking even with the fire blazing. You brought a glass of water over to her, making sure to use heavy feet so you didn’t scare her as you set the glass down on the table next to her.

“If you’d like water, I brought some..” you said quietly. “Or I can have some tea made for you, it wouldn’t take long.” You offered and looked at her for a few moments. She blinked and looked at the water, reaching out for it slowly before taking a sip.

“Whenever you’re ready, I can show you to the library where a priestess will show you to your dorm.” You added and she took a deep breath.

“I- can you show me? I don’t… I don’t want to see anyone else.” She said and you nodded.

“Of course. Let me see where you’ll be staying.” You said and stood up.

“Can I… have tea, too?” She asked and you gave her a small smile.

“Is it okay if Mor brings it?” You asked and she nodded.

“It’ll be right out.” You said and walked over to where the rest of the Inner Circle were in Rhys’s office. “Mor, can you get tea for the acolyte in there?” You asked and she nodded, going to grab it.

“Rhys.. do you know where she’ll be staying?” You asked and he nodded, showing you where it was and giving you a basket of things that all the new priestess got. Robes, other clothes, towels, and a small pamphlet that let them knew their options for support and work.

“Thanks for helping, you were really good with all of them.” Rhys said and you nodded as you made your way back up to the living room.

“I used to help Sirona with healing at the village… and sometimes the Illyrians that came through weren’t too kind to the females. I treated more than I would have wanted.” You said and looked at the basket. “This program is amazing. I can’t imagine how many priestesses you’ve helped.” You said to him.

“They’re my responsibility to protect. And when I fail, it’s my responsibility to help them through it. And make them feel safe in their home.” He said and you smiled.

“You’re a good High Lord,” you said and patted his arm before heading to the living room, not noticing how stunned Rhys was as he watched you approach Gwyn and helped her to the library.

“Everything okay?” Cassian asked and nudged Rhys.

“She said I was a good High Lord. After everything she’s seen me do. She said I was good.” He said and Cass smiled.

“You are good, Rhys. Everything you’ve done was to protect your people. To help Prythian.” He said and squeezed his shoulder. “No wings tonight?”

“No… sometimes it’s too intimidating. I don’t want to scare the females further.” He said, Cassian leading him back to the office.

When you came back to join them, Gwyn, you learned was her name, settled into her dorm for the night, you saw the stark faces.

“Whatever the Hybern soldiers stole… it wasn’t good, was it?” You asked. “I know I’m new here, so if you don’t want to talk about it around me I can leave-“

“It was a part of the Cauldron.” Amren said and you frowned. You heard stories of what happened to the Cauldron. How it was broken into pieces so it wouldn’t be used again.

“I- what?” You asked.

“We believe Hybern wants to reform the Cauldron. And they just got closer to doing it.” Rhys said and you took a seat in one of the chairs.

“That’s not good at all..” you muttered. “What can we do?” You asked.

“Not a lot. We can try to locate the other pieces. But even I don’t know where they are. Az has his spies looking now.” He said.

“And we’ll have to come up with a plan on what to do if the Cauldron is brought to full power.” Azriel said and you looked at him, noticing that his shadows swirled around him more than ever now. And that his face was almost just that, a shadow of what it normally was.

“Can I do anything?” You asked and Rhys glanced to his Inner Circle.

“For now, keep training. I may ask you to fight with us if it comes to that. And… while you’re in the library, see if you can find anything on the Cauldron and its power….” He said and you slumped slightly. You thought he’d offer something more… useful. But you were new, and you didn’t have the same powers as the others in the Circle. You didn’t even have a Siphon or killing power.

“Alright, I can do that.” You said and nodded.

You sat through the meeting, each of the Inner Circle getting assigned tasks throughout. Each of them left to start that night.

“Rhys…” you said before he could leave. “You… you haven’t mentioned Feyre since we got back. And you haven’t called in your bargain for her.” You said and he sighed.

“I can’t call it in… I’m letting her enjoy the time with… Tamlin... She deserved to be happy.” He said and you nodded.

“Like I said, a good High Lord.” You said and stepped closer to him. “But a better male.” You stated before making your way to the stairs so you could get some rest. You had to be up early for your training tomorrow anyway.

A/N: Oof... this one was hard but I feel like it's important to highlight that the reader is also a healer and she knows how to help those who have been hurt. Also, I love her and Rhys's relationship sooooo much. Hopefully the timeline is correct, I’m going off of one I found on here when I started writing. If anything doesn’t add up, consider it a necessary change for the plot lol.

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formulaforza · 6 months

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Haiiiiiii i love your writing, could i request Lance Stroll with the prompt the first initial kiss being a simple peck, then they immediately go back in for a stronger, more passionate one?? I feel like that’s very him vibes.

—nowhere in particular

pairing: lance stroll x reader wc: 1.1k summ. everything with lance is so damn... friendly.

It’s been nearly three months of “Oh, Lance and I? We’re… we’re nothing,” followed by a pursed smile on your lips and an eye roll from whoever was bold enough to ask you. Three months, some eighty-something days of we’re nothing, when the two of you were most certainly fucking something.

You weren’t dating, that was for sure. And you weren’t fucking, either. So, to anyone else it might look like you were nothing. But even if you thought you were crazy—the dozen or so people who seem to ask you about him every time they see the two of you interact is enough proof that you really are something.

It’s hard to place exactly what it is, but it falls somewhere on the fault line between friends and dating, moving through like with the promise not to date anyone else, but without the balls to just date each other.

It’s not that you don’t have the balls, it’s that you refuse to. You’ve always been a firm believer in him making the first move. You just never thought you’d be as desperate for someone to make the move as you are for Lance to just up and get it over with already.

Always a firm believer in the guy making the first move, but christ. Three months of waiting, and you’re about two days away from reaching your breaking point.

Lance sits next to you on the flannel blanket in the park. The “friendly flannel blanket,” as he’d said shortly after proposing the idea—made skittish by your lack of response within the five second window he gave you to do so— “that I always have, like, in my car, y’know.” You couldn’t see him through the telephone lines, but you could imagine it, the way his hand nervously ran over the back of his neck.

He was always adorable like that, all nervous and fidgety when you did anything more than give him the time of day. It’s cute. You’ve always thought it was cute when he was nervous, because he spends the rest of the time so stupidly confident. You like that you can make him nervous, but it seems like you’ve made him too nervous.

Because he sits next to you on the friendly flannel blanket with the friendly picnic he’d prepared and the friendly cake he’d brought with carefully placed raspberries and the friendly bottle of red wine. You sit next to him, wearing the friendly hoodie he’d pulled over and off his head when you shuddered with the breeze, a friendly centimeter of space between your crossed legs and his wild brown hair, your eyes fixed to his friendly pink lips when he talks. You want to scream—fuck friends, Lance. Fuck friendly, and just kiss me already.

Lance’s head, meanwhile, fucking spins. He’s such an idiot, he thinks, can’t stop himself from speaking—from feeling the need to inform you (lie to you) that everything he touches is friendly. There’s nothing friendly about the way he feels about you, but his stupid fucking mouth is too worried that making that fact known is only going to screw him over—that he’ll mess it up enough that not only is he not dating you, but now he’s not even your friend.

Because… well. You’re you—all pretty hair and pretty lips and pretty smile and pretty skin and pretty personality. You’re soft when he’s brash and you’re brash when he’s soft and nothing ever feels balanced unless you’re the one balancing it.

And now he’s lying here, on this thick, itchy blanket, just wondering when you’re finally going to have enough of him and his inability to just. To just kiss you, and let the rest of the world make sense.

You eat, and you talk, and you make him laugh—you’re always making him laugh harder than he should. Anyone who watches probably thinks he’s a total fool, head over feet and half in-love with the same girl everyone else would be half in-love with. No joke in the history of the entire world has been funny enough to elicit the laugh you hear from him every time you crack one.

He’s carefully slicing the cake when you swipe your finger through the white frosting, wiping the sugary substance off on the tip of his nose with a giggle. His head shoots up while you do it, catches your eyes and the completely human way they crinkle when you laugh, the way your lashes settle when you smile, and all he can think is that you just look so pretty.

You’re so pretty, and he doesn’t even have time to talk himself out of it, because he’s kissing you—quick, simple, like he was trying to shut you up. It’s a peck, nothing more, and certainly not the way he wanted to kiss you for the first time. He can’t believe he just managed to fuck up the first time he kissed you—that he definitely just made certain the first time was the last time. He’d strangle himself if he could.

“I’m sorry,” he’s saying before you can even process what just happened. “You just… I’m sorry.”

A smile pulls on your lips, and your cheeks ache from how much the muscles have been used this afternoon. “It’s okay,” you nod.

“You… there’s frosting on your nose,” he says, wiping the remnants of your swipe off his nose.

“I don’t care,” you say. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

His eyes shoot up before his head does, like he’s checking if you’re being serious or not. You are. You’re dead serious. The kind of quick peck a middle aged wife stuck in a miserable marriage gives to her middle aged husband will not be the first move you've been waiting three months for. If he’s going to kiss you with frosting on his nose, he better do it right.

He makes up for it, though, when he wipes the frosting from your nose, licks it clean off his thumb and slots his hands on either side of your jaw, pulling you to him like he’s been waiting to do it for ninety days. When his lips finally meet yours, the rest of the park falls into the background. The sweetness of the frosting lingers, blending with the warmth of his lips. This is not a peck—this is a declaration, a revelation.

“Better?” He says, his forehead warm against yours.

You nod, smiling. “Much better,” and then you kiss him again like time might run out, even though you both know it won’t.

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