#it was flowing toward me outside folks

[morallyinept]

H I M - A Marcus Pike One Shot

Summary: A lazy day spent making love and sexing it up in the sheets with your partner, Marcus Pike. That's it. There's no plot.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 2.9k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶 "It's the emergence, of."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Waenings/Triggers: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) /love making/sex/oral M & F receiving/fingering/romance/desire/fluff/soft/Marcus just being the best sweet doof ever.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don't come at me; you've been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Schmaltzy love fest in the sheets with Special Agent Pike, anyone?? Hell to the yes. My contribution to the Pike Puddle. 🫠

Enjoy! 🖤

MASTERLIST | MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST

It’s a lazy kind of day.

One of those that are just written off completely. For nothing other than to chill and do absolutely nothing else.

You lay in bed, stretching, as you watch the silhouette of him linger on the balcony under the glare of the morning sun in just his boxers.

You can hear him murmuring on the phone and the occasional sound of his melodic chuckling flows from his mouth obscenely.

It leaves tingles to barb on your skin as you lay there watching him, thinking about him, in the softness of the sheets.

Thinking about how much you’ve missed him whilst he’s been invested in the case. Lots of late nights, and you’d seen the exhaustion settle in under his eyes each day, puffing them out a little. Endure him falling asleep on your shoulder halfway through a movie with his supper half eaten, balanced precariously in his lap.

Thinking about how, now it’s all solved and the perp behind bars, he seems back to himself again. The old, cheery Marcus whose smile lights up his whole face.

Thinking about how much you want him again as you spy his shapely behind in his underwear as he paces gently.

He flashes you a glimpse of his soft bulge as he turns mid-conversation. You bite your lips feeling that wanton heat lick at your skin.

His eyes glance in and he smiles at you; those light crinkles around his eyes lighting them up further somehow, before wandering towards the balcony edge again to speak a little more animatedly.

You stare like a letch at his butt pushed out as he leans on his elbow.

You sink into the comfort of the mattress and stretch, enjoying the tingly pulse between your legs, wondering what to do today, when Marcus walks back in. He pulls the balcony door behind him, leaving it open with a small gap and a pleasantly warm breeze follows him for company.

His warm cocoa eyes meet yours and you smile knowing instantly what you want to do today.

Him. I’ll do him all day.

Marcus tosses his phone on the bedside table and swings his long legs back into the bed. His skin feels snug from the outside heat already in the air and so smooth as he envelopes you from behind.

“Who was that?” You murmur to him, dreamily.

“Cho. He has some files he wants me to look at for a new case.” He replies in that enigmatic tincture of his voice. Soft, yet heavy. “Told him I’ll take a look when I get back. I’m having my vacation time.” He nestles his nose against the back of your neck and hums out contentedly.

“Good,” you say with a smile as you feel his arms pull you closer into his body. “I’m not letting you leave this bed all week, Agent.”

“Is that so?” Marcus questions; his voice strangled by the little kisses he plants down the back of your neck and trails them all over the globe of your shoulder. Planting daisies as he roots them and watches them bloom.

"Mmhm. I'll cuff you here if I have to."

"Promises, promises..." He snickers through his nose.

You shuffle around and meet his entrancing lips with a giggle. His tongue, slipping gently into your mouth, swirls around your own slowly, teasing you with tender smooches on the end of it as his hand scoops around the nape of your neck and crushes you closer to him.

Marcus could kiss you forever like this, passionately and deep and never surface for air. He could die in your arms and be contagiously happy.

Your noses brush together as you look into his molten brown eyes and wonder how the fuck you got so lucky.

"What are you looking at?" You tease, biting your lip.

"You," he says, leaning in to plant more gluttonous smooches over your face.

Your fingers traverse his chin and you can feel the slight graze of stubble wanting to grow through his usually smooth pores. He shuffles his hips forward, hooking his leg around you and finds comfort in getting closer to you still.

“You’re so beautiful,” Marcus breathes out as he trails his thick fingers across your skin and feels you shudder in response.

"You're so full of it," you grin and he snorts, laughing and it's fucking glorious. The way his eyes crinkle like a Shar-Pei's folds, and his smile blinds the room with a solar flare.

But when he says it, you really feel it as he looks at you with a sincere awe and splendour rooted inside of his coffee roast peepers.

You kiss him again, silencing his guffaws and he replaces them with little yearning moans.

You can hear his breathing change; deep inhalations through his nose and out through his plush mouth into you as they intensify in speed and depth as you touch and map his body.

Your hands run across his broad shoulders and down his muscular arms; your safe place inside of his strong, protective grip, and he’ll always hold you in them and keep you secure.

"So perfect," he croons through more gleaming smiles at you. More kisses are peppered on your cheeks, your neck, your lips.

You smile at his words, warming and feeling like goo as he makes you utterly melt with his devoted passion. You can feel his large, swamping hands stroke and caress your skin gently, leaving goose bumps wherever they go. Sweeping across your arms, down your back and cupping your ass cheeks fondly.

He's so fucking beautiful; a handsome dream come true. Lost inside his mouth, like falling into a Marcus soaked candy land, as your kissing intensifies, you can feel him becoming more excited.

Feel him stiffen, pressed against your inner thigh, and it has a wonderful effect on your own sex organs too. He ruts gently into your hips with his; rubbing himself against you as you swallow small feral grunts from him down into your stomach.

You roll, your limbs entwined, and lie on top of him now. You’re on your knees but draped across his bare chest and kiss him furthermore. You want to make him feel loved and wanted, because he absolutely is.

Marcus touches your face, his thumbs sweeping across your cheeks and his fingers winding inside your hair as he groans.

He reaches down and grabs a firm hold of your ass, squeezing those meaty cheeks and you gasp, giggling as he slaps it gently.

You bite your lip as his eyes blaze into yours. He knows you love it when he swats you playfully like this.

“Love this ass,” Marcus smirks through puckered lips.

“Oh yeah?” You giggle as you feel him rubbing your cheeks lavishly.

“Mhm...” He says reaching up and kissing you again.

"Want you to have it," you say, smirking. A hot wave creeping over your skin at the thought if it. At the thought of him claiming the one piece of you no-one else has.

"Fuck," he grunts. "Oh, I'm going to, one day. But we'll work up to that, baby." He smiles reassuringly. "There's no rush."

"I know," you smile.

"Whenever you're ready, okay?"

You nod, and slowly, he begins to undress you, pulling up your camisole you’ve slept in and admiring your skin with strangled gasps as it’s revealed to him.

Warm, puffy nipples nestled inside your swollen areolas greet him, and he can’t help but want to taste them. Planting kisses over them and swirling his tongue around them until they come out of hiding, becoming hard buds suckled on between his teeth.

“Mmm...” You groan as he sucks and licks all over them, squeezing them together in his big hands.

“You like that?” Marcus asks you as he nips again and makes you squeal out.

"Love it," you whine.

"Me too," he agrees with a rouge sparkle in his eyes.

You rub yourself against him; you can feel how hard he is even through his boxers. A tight, binding constriction inside them, poking out as you tease and play and feel every inch of him as you run your aching cunt against him.

You can feel it fizzing on your clit already; the rising tides of a dreamy orgasm already swelling behind your core muscles and eyelids alike. It feels so good, he feels so good.

He senses it building and grips onto your hips, pulling you into your rhythms.

"Marcus," you whine, "mmm, baby." You keep moving. Keep grinding. Keep working your hips as your clit aches and buzzes.

"You feel so good grinding on me. Keep going, you're almost there." Marcus encourages as you tense and gasp.

Your hands slap down onto his chest as you grind harder, quicker. You're panting and groaning as you can feel it shoot through your bloodstream down into your toes.

"That's it, come on... " he urges you with a catch in the back of his throat. "Fuck, baby, look at you."

"God, yes. Yes!" You moan, your eyes rolling back into your head as you're crushed by that wave of tingles and shivers as your clit massages against the length of his cock that's so hard as you come in your panties against him.

You squeal and shudder and tense up. You sit upright smiling and licking your lips, with a breathy giggle.

Marcus is just mesmerised by you; his eyes taking you in like he's taken a hit of heroin and he's seeing you everywhere he looks with blown out pupils.

"Was that a little one?" Marcus asks with a smile and you fall into him and kiss him again.

You nod, "little, but still really good."

"It felt good. I want to give you a few big ones too." He smiles.

"You will, we've got all day."

"All day?" Marcus' eyes widen playfully.

"Mmhm." You confirm dragging your lips over his skin.

"I best limber up," he chuckles. "Don't wanna get a cramp."

You giggle as you kiss slowly down his neck and towards his bronzed chest delicately, looking at him as you inch lower and lower down his taut torso and abs. Your hand slides up his thigh and towards his balls.

"Oh, like that, is it?" He croons, biting down on his lip through hooded eyes as you give them a gentle squeeze over his underwear.

"Ssh." You smirk, tasting the fragrances of his skin and circling his belly button with your tongue, making him hiss in as you draw closer to his waistband.

You drag your lips furthermore, leaving trails of your desire and affection. Your other hand grips the outside of him through his boxers; that hard muscle waiting to be released that you feel throbbing around your fingers. It's damp in patches on the cotton from your slick.

You smile up at him and he’s always so pleased and in awe that you do this to him. You make him so hard and fat with blood that it aches.

You make him want to fuck you so bad. Bury himself deep into you and lose himself to any and all thought.

To make love to you until his heart gives out. Because that's the only way he'd ever stop; only if he was dead.

He lives you, breathes you. You're the fire in his blood, the hunger in his belly.

You position yourself between Marcus’ long legs as he shuffles up the bed a little more, his arm behind his head and watching you with a blissed out smile.

You can smell him through his boxers; smell that inviting musk of his thick meat. You run your lips across the fabric of his underwear, grazing your bottom lip across him and nip him gently through it.

His breathing kicks it up a gear each time he feels your warm and wet mouth trail over the material of his boxers and venture closer to getting him fully out to have a taste.

You pull them down, revealing that swollen, pink and fleshy cock that thunks up against his abdomen gently. A glassy string of pre-cum dangles off of it and coats the fines dark hairs in his happy trail.

You lick it up and the noise that comes out of Marcus' mouth sounds like he's just died.

His dick rises and swells against you as you run your tongue up the length of him, flexing and pulsing, with firm balls as plump as his bottom lip and brimming full, just for you as you stroke them gently.

"Shit…" He whines as you look at him whilst you run your tongue up and down his cock. "So beautiful, baby. Just like that with my cock in your mouth."

Marcus tastes divine, how a man should taste. He's so smooth, firm and weighty. You tease and tongue his length; running it around under his frenum and hearing him gasp and pant as you do so.

A slight ripple in his thigh catches your attention, so you run your tongue under it again, watching him twitch loosely each time.

"Mmm, yeah." He sighs deliciously.

You can see the muscles in his lower abdomen tighten in anticipation. You pick him up so he’s standing upright, gripping a hold of him around the base.

That tall, thick cock greeting you with a reddening head, and you roll your lips down around him. Sucking him up and down slowly, taking him further inside your mouth each time.

“Mmm, baby...” Marcus groans out in a grizzly satisfaction. He fills your mouth, he’s so thick and girthy, but you want him right there; you want to choke on him and feel him pack you out.

You suckle delicately around his oozing head like your favourite popsicle dripping down your wrist in the summer heat.

Hollowing your cheeks, you take him deep and hear the rumble of his voice escape him through his moans each time you do.

His hands are soon on the back of your head pushing ever so gently; he wants you taking him deeper still. But he never forces, never takes. Gentle and submissive to your needs and desires.

They're his needs and desires too.

“Yeah, like that,” he croons with a pantless breath. "Fuck, baby. You're so good at that. Oh fuck..."

Hearing Marcus curse surges through your body, you feel it pull tight on your clit and nipples alike. Always so polite and well-mannered, but if you flick your tongue just right, he rolls in the filth with you.

"Fuck, fuck..." he whispers, he hisses.

You swallow him whole, your lips are touching his balls and you hold him there inside your throat, pause and keep still as he whines out and the sound makes your pussy tingle deliciously.

You can feel your slick drenching your panties, heat emanating from your core. It's too irresistable to not reach down into them and tease your clit. Your thighs shudder as soon as you do; your fingers slipping as you're utterly soaking.

He bucks his hips up gently, rousing you to continue as he prods the back of your throat.

You slide your mouth back up his length and take a deep breath as you kiss the head. Then swallow him deep again, massaging him with your tongue, up and down. A process that repeats and makes his head swim and dizzy with the delight of it all.

“Oh fuck!” Marcus grunts. “You’re killing me.” He's puffing and panting as he stuggles to contain himself a she nitices your hand stuffed in your panties. "You touching yourself, gorgeous?"

"Mmhmm," you whine with your mouth full of him. It feels divine as your pussy contracts and tightens as you flick across your clit quicker and harder as you suck him deeper.

"Oh God!" He croons.

You could do this forever; make him feel so fucking good. Listen endlessly to the noises of him finding his pleasure at your mercy; just fucking him slowly and intensely with your keen mouth all day.

His head relaxes back into the pillows, eyes closed and a smile blooming around his mouth in satisfaction at the feel of you.

You whine and hum around his cock as you come again, bokeh glitter bursting behind your eyelids and you shudder keenly, back arching like a cat.

"Baby," he moans, hearing you come undone; your fingers wet and sticky from your pleasure as you wrap them around his cock.

You then lick around his balls, sucking and nipping on them gently as you jerk him with your come-soaked hand. His head whips up and looks down at you nestled between his legs.

“Yes,” Marcus sings with intense brown eyes fixed on you. “Oh, that’s so good!”

You slurp around them and back up his shaft before popping him back in your mouth for a few more sucks, and then he’s pulling you up to meet his gorgeous face and slack jaw, unable to deny himself from you.

Marcus wiggles his tongue inside your lips, tempting you to sample the fruits of him. You catch his bottom lip inside your teeth nipping on it gently and making him gasp as you stroke his wet cock with your hand, gripping around him and pumping him with gentle vigour.

"God, you're so fucking gorgeous, you know that?" He gasps. He glances down watching as you twist and flex your wrist in a steady pace. "Oh fuck. Just like that. I fucking love that..."

"You've got a mouth on you, Pike." You smirk as he gasps.

"Can't help it when you... ah shit! God, baby, you keep doing that and I'm gonna come already!"

You smile at him, beaming. You never want to stop touching him, never want to stop making him feel so fucking good like this. Never want to stop marvelling at how his mouth parts, how he stares at you as though he can't believe you're making him feel like this.

"I'm not ready to come yet." He grins.

Marcus sits up and lifts you into his lap. He rubs his cock against your slit over your panties, up and down slowly against it, and he can feel that hard bump of your clit protruding as he makes tracks through the outline of your wet, swollen lips.

Your nipples harden as he tongues around them. Then he takes one inside his mouth and sucks it whilst looking at you as you fall under his hypnotic spell.

"Mmm," you whine, throwing your head back, his mouth doing a complete number on you.

He lays you back on the bed and kisses down your body like you did with him, pelting you with his love. Once nestled in between your legs, he places your hand onto your pussy, over your panties, and watches as you start to rub.

“Mmmmmah,” you whine.

“I love watching you touch yourself.” Marcus encourages.

Your fingers press against your slit and you can feel how soaked you are. It feels so good, so wet.

He licks over your knuckles, kisses them, as you touch yourself there, moaning. He smooches your digits and soon you feel his tongue dart in between them and lick over your sticky, cottony mound.

Marcus pulls your panties off and down your legs, and you spread them for him.

"So wet, baby. Look at that." He keens. "All for me?"

He plays with you; toys with you, thinking that he’ll go right for you, but he grazes his mouth barely past your wet cunt lips and bites you gently on the inside of your thigh instead as your pussy is throbbing and stinging for him.

“Marcus,” you whine, fisting in his hair, and he chuckles. He knows how much you need it, need him.

"You don't want me to tease you today?"

You pout, smirking.

"You just want my cock, is that it?"

His tongue makes tracks around your outer lips and you can feel his breath warm against your clit.

"Want my cock fucking into this gorgeous pussy, hmm?"

"Oh God," you groan, fisting through his hair. "That damn mouth on you..."

He grins. Then, he sucks on that swollen hub of aching nerves, ending your agony and sending your voice ribbing into the air.

“Oooh yes!” You wail as you feel his tongue cause carnage within you.

Marcus takes his time tasting you, drinking from you; savouring every last drop of you as you flood his mouth. Your head winds back into the pillows, eyes closed and drunk on heady bliss. He tongues your hole, flicking it in and out in quick darts and watching as you lose your shit.

“Fuck, Marcus! Don’t stop...” You coo as your body shudders. He slides his middle finger in, twisting as he does so. He pulls it out and slides back in. He kisses and sucks your clit as he pushes another finger inside with it, beside himself and groaning into your pussy.

He strokes you, finding your spot and applying the right pressure as he makes come hither motions with his fingers.

The pressure mounts deep inside you. Your thighs buck, vibrating tensely, and all you can see is the sun.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, Marcus! Fuck! Yes!" You rile.

"I know," he smiles. "Come for me."

Marcus loves it when you come in his mouth; tasting your juices as they pool and froth. He makes delicious groaning noises in satisfaction as he licks up and down your pussy, tasting your lips around his.

"Come for me, baby" he urges again as he tongues your clit faster, his fingers stroking deeper and harder inside you as you clench and tighten before releasing with a strangled groan into the air and fingers twisted in the sheets.

“God, I need to be inside of you,” Marcus groans and kneels up, coming to you and lowering himself down on your body. You kiss him like it’s the end of days and you’ll never see him again.

"I need to feel you, Marcus." You pant.

"Need me?"

"Yeah, I need you. Always need you." You groan.

When he enters you, it’s like the world has imploded around you both - there is no-one else here.

Just you and him, existing purely in this moment together where you become connected in mind, body and soul instantaneously. It'a unspoken, but you can see it in his eyes. Feel it in his touch. Hear it in his groans.

You gasp every time he slides in; filling you wholly and bottoming out with a heady, lusty grunt.

Time slows down; you can hear him breathe like it’s a loud echo all around you, like the ocean crashing into the shore, and it vibrates inside the air.

It’s just Marcus. Just him.

No-one else as he holds your attention and you feel every inch of him sliding deeper into you. His strokes are slow and intentional to get you to feel all of him, and he watches as you contort underneath him; feels your hands pressing bruises into his arms and shoulders. Your chimes filling his ears; your cunt so wet and tight for him.

Him. Him.

Fuck, it's always been him.

You both behold one another around parted lips and dilated pupils. His pace increases as you both heighten your pleasure from one another, feeding off of one another’s energy and love.

Heavy, thick slaps of your flesh pounding upon one another resonate as you go harder on each other. Both climbing together.

Marcus feels it when you come again; your forehead pressing up onto his, and breathing deeply into his face, gasping - calling out his name.

Clawing at his skin, falling apart around him as he scoops you up and pieces you back together before doing it again. An endless repeat of his affection and adoration for you.

Coming so hard for him as he pushes his hips into you relentlessly.

He fucks you hard, deep. He keeps on coming at you, devouring you and smothering you.

You’re his goddess, his woman. What a woman! The one he gets to live inside, to feel you from the inside. The one he can taste, the one he can cradle in his arms as he feeds you every piece of him.

The one he can love.

“M-Marcus!” You call as you release and let go.

"Fuck, baby. Look at you," he swoons. "Coming for me. So gorgeous when you come for me like this... fuck."

You roll him onto his back, straddling him and riding on top of his cock and owning every part of him now.

His hands are all over you, pulling at your ass cheeks and winding you back and forth on top of him, feeling you contract inside as you tighten around him again.

Marcus stops thrusting up into you to just watch you come; marvelling and just stunned at how beautiful you are shaking on the end of his cock and rasping for him.

For a second, it stops all coherent thought. It stops time.

It stops his heart, you utterly kill him.

He then ploughs right on in again as you gasp and tremble, starting the hazy wind of building you up all over again and starting the chase after his own release.

He needs to fill you up with him so badly.

You falter and weaken; your body is a jangled mess and groaning; it’s so sensitive and tingly still. You collapse on him and once more he gets you back underneath him.

“You make me feel so good,” you whisper to him and he smiles knowing that he does. It's his raison d'être.

It's all you. You, you, you...

Marcus pushes back in slowly, watching as he pulls out almost the whole way; his cock greased up with your sopping slit coating him. He slides back in quickly, feels as you rib and squeeze around him each time.

“Fuck, I’m gunna come in this gorgeous pussy,” Marcus puffs, his eyes rolling back into his head as he does it each time. “Right now, right inside of you.” He pants.

"Fill me up," you plead, grabbing a hold of his ass and pushing him deeper into you. "Come for me."

And after a few more deep strokes, you feel him burst; the thick vein that runs the length of his cock pulsing and twitching as he releases inside you, warm and plentiful.

"Fuuh..." The hot expletive loses its way as he empties.

His whole body shudders, crawling up from the base of his spine right into his shoulders as he comes and pumps out. He groans out on a deep, laboured breath.

He falters, weak and unsteady, supporting his own shaky weight and collapses on top of you this time; his hair sticking to his forehead as you brush it away and kiss all over his salty face as he puffs and smiles contentedly, wrapped up in your arms and body alike.

You hold onto his face and look at him, look into him. His cheeks are a flush, matching the scarlet of his lips now as he catches his breath. Those chocolate eyes so warm and sleepy in satisfaction. Hair a tugged on mess, shoulders clammy with sweat.

“I love you,” you say to him in absolute awe.

Marcus smirks and kisses you; a big, plumpy smooch that you still feel on your lips even when he pulls away from them slightly. Never too far away.

“I love you, gorgeous.” He replies earnestly, and smiling with glistening eyes.

He nestles into you further humming in contentment as you stroke through his damp hair.

"I should definitely take more vacation." He beams, chuckling into your neck.

Yeah. It's always been him.

Thank you so, so much for reading. I really hope you enjoyed this Marcus Pike story of mine. If you did, please consider re-blogging and leaving a comment to let me know your thoughts. Thank you 🖤

MASTERLIST | MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST

#marcus pike #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fics #marcus pike fic #jett's writing #jett's pedro boys

[hayakawalove]

Respite From Heat

Summary: A lazy day spent with the two men you love.

A/N: Short and sweet. Thank you to @whereflowerswenttodie for telling me about Canva for the picture. Please be kind to me I will get better at using it.

TW: SFW, Food mention, just fluffy, Gojo gets teased a lot

W/C: 1,559

“…and that’s gonna do it for the show today folks, make sure to stay in the shade and have something cool to drink. This weather isn’t a joke!” 

The neighbors radio carried its audio across the street over to the three of you. And the radio host wasn’t kidding, the weather wasn’t a joke. It had to be at least 90 degrees out, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it was over 100. 

Even though you sat in the shade, you could swear the pavement below you was melting your skin. Hot concrete bites into your palms while you lounge about, watching the two boys in front of you. Your two boys. 

They were shooting hoops in the driveway, an activity Satoru begged Suguru to partake in. One minute he was cuddled up with you on the couch reading a book, the next his eager boyfriend was dragging him outside, an orange ball under his other arm. 

Suguru dribbled the ball, the act borderline salacious. His bangs drooped over his eyes, a sheen of sweat beginning to coat his biceps. His tongue poked out while he focused on the ball. 

Maybe you should thank Satoru for offering you this holy sight. On second thought, maybe that’s why Satoru wanted to play. 

The white hair menace runs up to Suguru, stealing the ball before it could bounce back up to his hand. He lets out a cackle before dribbling the ball towards the rickety hoop, positioning his arms overhead to toss the ball. 

The ball shoots through the air, the orange sticking out against the blue backdrop of the clear summer sky. 

“And with that, I’m in first place!” Satoru prides, turning to Suguru as the basketball flies through the hoop, thudding against the ground. 

“I’m like five ahead of you-“ Suguru says incredulously, one of his brows raising. 

“In your dreams!”

Suguru squints at Satoru, debating on whether or not he wanted to start this. 

Why not. 

“Did you hit your head?” He asks, knowing it would rile Satoru up even more.

“You know Satoru, it’s okay to lose sometimes.” You murmur, cutting off Suguru. 

“You guys are consipiring against me!” Satoru pouts. 

Suguru ignores him and leans over to grab the ball, you catch a flash of his bare chest through his loose shirt, the large arm holes gracing you a sight to drink up. 

Both of their hair stuck to their foreheads, their chests slightly panting while pink dusted their cheeks. Even when sweat dripped from their skin and they wore loose clothing, they still were too hot for their own good. 

Maybe they were the ones responsible for raising the heat up around here. You wouldn’t be surprised. 

“You should join us, come on it would be fun!” Satoru says, prancing over you to grab your hand. 

“It’s not like I would join your team.” It was fun to antagonize him sometimes. 

Satoru wails, and you stifle a chuckle. 

“Besides, why would I want to play basketball against two 6’3 guys? You think I’m crazy?” You tug your hand away, watching as Satoru pops his hip out and rests his hand there. 

“Maybe you’re just afraid to lose.” He states like it's a fact.

“Says the loser.” You argue. 

Satoru opens his mouth to retort when a jingle sounds out, music flowing down your street. 

Your ears perk up, the sound heavily ingrained in your body from your childhood. 

“Is that-“ you start. 

“An ice cream truck?” Satoru finishes. 

You both lock eyes, excitement leaking from your voices. 

Suguru’s lips spread into a soft smile. He wasn’t really in the mood for anything sweet, but he just knew you and Satoru would be. 

“Suguru, pass me some cash!” Satoru looks like he’s two seconds away from jumping up and down. 

“I don’t have any cash on me, you know I don’t carry it.” 

You listen to the two bicker before making your mind up, hopping to your feet and running into the house. 

Once inside, you dart to your room and dig through Satoru’s drawers. The man always had spare cash laying around. Sure enough, wads of crumpled dollars lay in the very back of his pants drawer. Honestly, he probably forgot he had it. He had more money than he knew what to do with. 

Bounding down the stairs, you slap the cash in Suguru’s hand. 

“Here!” You say with a large grin. 

His eyes light up at your expression, beads of sweat rolling down his throat. 

“Oh hey, where’d you get that?” Satoru asks, peeking over. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

He didn’t need to know. 

Suguru leans over to place a kiss against your cheek, the act settling off a million fireflies in your gut. 

“Just the usual, sweetheart?” Of course Suguru was going to get the sweet treat for you. 

He loved doing things for you while you sat there pretty for him. 

You try to suppress a smile while you nod, watching him stand to his full height. He licks his thumb before carefully counting the cash you oh so graciously brought out for the two men. 

You were an Angel, he wondered if you knew. 

“Should be enough, let’s go Satoru.” 

Satoru’s shoulders slump while he lets out a whine. Leave it to him to be dramatic. 

“Whaaat? Can’t you get mine for me too?” 

“No, plus you change your order a billion times.” Suguru skillfully shuts Satoru down, an act he’s done millions of times. 

You really did have to be trained in the art of handling Satoru. And if anyone was trained in it, it was Suguru. He must’ve had a doctorate in it by now. 

Satoru grumbles, pushing his hair up out of the way to look a bit more presentable. You watch as the two men set off towards the sound of the ice cream truck. 

It didn’t take long before they were back. You sat on the sidewalk, legs outstretched in front of you when they returned. 

“We bring gifts!” Satoru’s cheery voice calls. 

They looked almost more refreshing than the ice cream cream in their hands. Handsome men carrying your salvation. 

You reach out a grabby hand and Suguru carefully places the ice cream in your palm. 

“Thank you!”

Suguru swears he feels his heart rate pick up a bit at the sound of your gratitude. God, the things he would do just to hear you say that. 

He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure so you don’t catch a glimpse of the pink tinting his cheeks. 

“Satoru cut in front of a kid.” He rats out Satoru. 

“No I didn’t! I almost did. And I didn’t see him, it's not my fault I’m tall.” Satoru plops down beside you, his legs noticeably longer than yours. 

Suguru sits on the other side of you, basking in your presence. You shudder as the cold treat bites into your hand. It felt like you could hardly wait anymore as you unwrapped it, ready to dive in. 

The heat felt a little bit more bearable once the cool ice cream hit your tongue. 

“Damn Toru, that’s low, even for you.” You giggle. 

“Low like that kid.” Suguru adds. 

Satoru clicks his tongue before beginning to munch on his ice cream. 

Ice cream trucks reminded you of your childhood. You could have been mature and asked Suguru to get you something more refined this time, but where was the fun in that? You just had to get the SpongeBob ice cream. Satoru ended up getting a chocolate cone, and Suguru was empty handed. 

He didn’t really care much for ice cream. Plus, watching his partners’ eyes light up while they ate was just as good of a treat he concluded. It might even be sweeter than having the dessert. 

You bite off a corner of the SpongeBob in your hand, watching as Satoru absentmindedly kicks his foot against yours. A small sign of affection, but a sign of affection no less. Other people began to fill the street in search of the truck, mainly children, but there were some adults meagerly waiting about. 

Turning to Suguru you offer up your ice cream. He wouldn’t normally have wanted anything, but he couldn’t resist your expectant doe eyes. 

He bends over slightly, taking a small bite. Sugar dances around his tastebuds as he licks his lips, looking back up at you. 

“Thank you baby.” 

“Of course! I dont want you to feel left out, you know.” 

Suguru’s heart aches at the sentiment. Excitement floods his veins at the mere prospect that you thought about him. 

Lucky, lucky, lucky. He thought. 

The three of you sit in silence as you and Satoru finish eating. Satoru’s pink tongue darts out to lick a trail of sugary goodness from his fingers. 

“That was good.” He squeaks out, leaning back on his palms. 

“Why don’t we go back inside and shower, and I’ll get started on lunch.” Suguru speaks, knees cracking as he stands up. 

Your head perks up at the mention of food, namely Suguru’s food, and you take the hand he's offering you. 

He helps you to your feet before going over to assist Satoru, the feel of his sticky fingers making Suguru wince. 

Summer could get unbearable at times, but having your boys around made it a bit more tolerable. 

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss

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#my writing #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #gojo x reader x suguru #poly satosugu #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

[sshewonders]

WARM BODIES

Chapter 01: Stranger, Danger

chapter synopsis: You're stuck in a really long traffic jam with lots of noise and darkness. The car is your temporary safe spot where you're dealing with recent bad stuff, especially the news that your brother, Rick, might not be alive. As you talk to strangers and learn tough things, everything gets worse, and the city suddenly explodes, leaving you alone in a completely different world.

chapter warnings: violence and chaos, graphic descriptions, loss and grief, isolation and social anxiety, misunderstandings and awkward interactions, bombings, shane walsh.

word count: 2.1k words

author's note: Here's the first chapter. Although it's already published on Wattpad, it took me an hour to make all the changes for this version. On Wattpad, it's written in the third person, but for Tumblr, I changed it to the second person, which was a bit challenging. Anyway, Happy New Year!

MASTERLIST

NEXT CHAPTER >>

Stuck in what felt like an endless traffic jam, the encroaching darkness only seemed to magnify the chaos swirling outside their car's windows. It was a disheartening sight - people arguing, yelling, crying, and a haphazard assembly of folks grabbing quick bites to eat. The claustrophobic environment was nothing short of uncomfortable for you. Large crowds had never been your cup of tea, and trust was a rare commodity reserved solely for your closest kin - her nephew Carl, your sister-in-law Lori, your brother's friend Shane, and, of course, your brother Rick, whom Shane had grimly suggested might no longer be counted among the living.

As you sat in the backseat, the vehicle a temporary refuge from the pandemonium outside, Lori, Shane, and your young nephew Carl engaged with the world beyond. Young Carl was engrossed in a board game with another child, a girl named Sophia, whose name you caught in passing. Nearby, Lori chatted with Sophia's mother, a friendly woman with cropped grey hair. You, however, were an island within the car, your apprehension keeping you from engaging with those around you. Vivid and horrifying images from a few hours earlier still loomed large in your mind -- your neighbors, once familiar faces, had been ruthlessly torn apart by the ravenous undead, and the sight of a mother attacking her own child had left an indelible mark.

The traumatic experiences had taken a heavy toll, and when Shane somberly shared the news that Rick had not survived the chaos at the overrun hospital, you found yourself unable to contain your grief. Your tears flowed unchecked.

Seated in the car, the window slightly ajar to allow a breath of fresh air, you remained silent, clutching your small sketchbook as though it were a lifeline in this turmoil. Your stomach occasionally grumbled with hunger, but you paid it little heed, knowing full well that everyone in their dire circumstances faced the same pangs of hunger.

Shane peered at you with a quiet empathy, recognizing the weight of your distress. He gently suggested, "You know, it might do ya some good to step outside for a bit. Get some fresh air. Clear your head." He gestured towards the open car window, where a faint breeze teased the edges of your sketchbook. "You don't gotta stay cooped up in here. Take a moment for yourself if ya need it, now."

You simply shook your head, your eyes remaining fixed on your sketchbook. You had never really taken to Shane. Sometimes, he just gave you the creeps, particularly when he got a little too close to Lori. It was an uneasy feeling you couldn't quite shake.

Lori appeared behind Shane, crouching down to peer through the car's window. Lori's voice was filled with genuine concern as she leaned closer to you. "Hey, it's sweltering in here. Would you mind stepping outside for a bit? Keep an eye on Carl, okay? Shane and I are going to see if there's another way out of this mess." Her motherly smile remained, reassuring you as she spoke.

You nodded in agreement and stepped out of the car. You noticed the subtle frown on Shane's face, likely interpreting your actions as an example of your stubbornness, a trait you had displayed on numerous occasions.

After Shane and Lori departed, you hesitantly made your way toward where Carl and the young girl named Sophia were engrossed in their board game. Carl glanced up, offering you a tired but affectionate smile before returning to his match with Sophia, who greeted you with a shy smile. You placed a comforting hand on Carl's shoulder and observed their chessboard, which seemed to suggest that Sophia would emerge as the victor. In your peripheral vision, you noticed the middle-aged woman with short grey hair, Sophia's mother, slowly making her way over. Your inner plea for a conversation to be avoided echoed loudly in your mind.

Please, not another conversation with a stranger.

Oh, God.

Standing beside you, Sophia's mother introduced herself with a shy smile as Carol. Her eyes held a hint of curiosity as she extended her hand in a gesture of friendship. "Hi, I'm Carol," she said, her voice tinged with sincerity.

Carol's friendly gesture met an unexpectedly muted response from you, who refrained from extending a hand for a handshake. The slight pause hung in the air, and after it became clear that you had no intention of reciprocating the handshake, Carol gently withdrew her hand, a hint of awkwardness coloring the moment.

You, who had been grappling with the weight of recent events and the horrors you had witnessed, couldn't help but feel a touch awkward in this interaction. Your response was somewhat halting, and your eyes briefly met Carol's before looking away.

"Y/N Grimes," you said, the words escaping your lips softly, as if you weren't entirely sure how to navigate this unexpected social encounter.

Clearing her throat to break the somewhat awkward silence, Carol ventured a question. "Are you Carl's older sister?" she inquired, her tone kind and inquisitive. "And do you know where your mom went with Shane?"

You, finding yourself caught in an unfamiliar social exchange, responded with a touch of awkwardness. "Lori isn't my mother," you began, your words hesitant. "She's my sister-in-law, and Carl is my nephew."

Realizing her assumption had been off the mark, Carol's expression softened with understanding. "I'm sorry," she said gently, a note of apology in her voice. "You just seemed... well, you look so young, I thought maybe you were Carl's older sister and Lori was your mother. I didn't mean to presume."

Your usual shyness accentuated by the circumstances, managed a small, reassuring smile. "It's okay," you responded softly. "A lot of people have thought the same thing about me." Your awkwardness seemed to soften with a hint of understanding, as if you were accustomed to these types of misunderstandings. Which, in fact, you were.

Suddenly, your ears perked up when you heard the sound of helicopters. You swiftly told Carl to stay where he was, within sight of Carol, and then asked Carol, "Hey, could you watch over Carl for a minute?"

Carl shook his head at you, "No. I wanna go with you!"

You considered for a moment before shaking your head. "No, Carl, it's safer here. Just stay put for a minute." You then looked at Carol, "Carol?"

Carol agreed, her eyes scanning the surroundings as she replied, "Of course, I'll keep an eye on him."

You nodded in appreciation, then ventured into the woods where you could see the darkened city of Atlanta. As you gazed at the skyline, you couldn't help but notice that some of the taller buildings were illuminated with eerie, flickering lights. You couldn't shake the grim realization that those buildings, bathed in light, had likely been overrun, and the city now belonged to the dead, the undead monsters.

Then, the helicopters returned, and to your shock, they dropped a devastating payload. A series of deafening explosions sent shockwaves through the air, as fire and smoke erupted in an apocalyptic display of red and orange, transforming the once-familiar city into a nightmarish inferno. The horrifying scene left you, in yoursolitude, in stunned silence, your world forever altered by the devastation unfolding before you.

As the helicopters dropped bombs on the city of Atlanta, the earth-shattering explosions and fiery chaos unfolding in the distance, you stood alone in the woods, your heart heavy with a sorrow that had been lingering for far too long. The reality you had been reluctant to accept came crashing down upon you. Tears welled up in your eyes, and the weight of grief overwhelmed you as you finally acknowledged what you had been trying to deny.

Your brother, Rick, whom you hadn't seen die with your own eyes, whose absence had filled you with hope that he might still be out there somewhere, was now gone. The hospital overrun by the undead, as Shane had told them, had sealed Rick's fate, and the detonation of those bombs had obliterated any last vestiges of that hope. Rick was dead, and the tears that streamed down on your face were a painful, final acknowledgment of that irrevocable loss.

As you stood there in the woods, tears streaming down your face, your thoughts inevitably turned to your brother, Rick. Your memories painted vivid scenes of your last moments together, the disagreements fueled by your stubbornness that still lingered in your mind. But it was the distant past, back when your parents had passed away, that truly weighed on you.

Rick had immediately assumed the role of a parent for you, becoming not just a brother, but a father figure and your closest friend. The nurturing, protective instincts he had exhibited since both of your parents' death were etched into your memory. Rick had been your steadfast anchor, your guiding light in a world that had grown increasingly dark.

And now, in the aftermath of the bombings in Atlanta, you were forced to confront the crushing reality that he was gone. The grief was unbearable, for you knew that your brother, your father figure, your best friend was no more, lost forever in the turmoil of the world's collapse.

#daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #rick grimes #norman reedus #twd fic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #norman reedus x reader

[teamhappyme]

it's time to go

josh lyman x female!reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings: my condensed rant at how the women are treated in the west wing, what is a timeline/plot

a/n: logging on to post a fic and then fall off into the abyss where there is no motivation or inspiration flowing! this has been sitting in my drafts for two years, folks. finally got the inspo to finish this generalized west wing fic-turned josh lyman reader core done! i hopee you all can indulge in this as much as i did :) (yes another taylor swift inspired title you can take them from my cold dead hands-)

~~~

There is a constant buzz that lives in the west wing. 

If it’s not the white house staff and all the varying levels of personnel making noise, it’s the conference room meetings that hold everyone in D.C. trying to influence the white house and the American people. 

Normally, the buzz is comforting to you. In the middle of the communications department, you all thrive on it. But the last twenty four hours had reached a level of mayhem that not even you guys could spin into a positive narrative.

You accompanied Toby to CJ’s second brief of the night, trying to inform the press on the situation in Haiti while attempting to dodge any questions about the MS shock and reelection campaign.

CJ was losing control of the group. She was shuffling papers, removing sticky notes, adjusting her glasses, all in an attempt to keep herself somewhat grounded from the chaos at hand. You sensed Toby tense up as a member of the press pushed and pushed, asking his third follow up question. 

And that’s when it all came crashing down.

CJ flew off the podium and you and Toby followed after her.

“Did she just say the President is relieved to send troops into Haiti?” Sam asked as he joined you in the hallway, waiting outside of CJ’s office. “Relieved to put American lives and Haitian civilians at risk?”

“I was standing right there!” Toby shouted back and you flinched. This certainly was not the good buzz you wanted.

Before they could continue yelling at each other, the door to the briefing room slammed against the wall, CJ rubbing her hands over her face and turned to find the three of you standing there.

“CJ,” Toby started, but was quickly interrupted.

“Just don’t say anything! Just… don’t say anything.” You all gave her a moment to regroup before she began walking back to her office. 

Your two bosses stood in the middle of the hallway, not knowing what on earth to do next, other than duck and cover from Leo once he heard what happened. 

“They’re gonna need extra hands for damage control.” Sam turned to you, and you nodded.

“I’m on it. I started drafting notes for an apology statement,”

“Apology?” Toby asked, voice still an octave louder than you liked, directed to you.

“I told her to.” Sam added, and you watched the look the two of them shared. They sure had some things to discuss. “We’ll talk about them later. Just, make sure they are clear about what CJ meant. Redirect as much as you can without stepping on any toes.”

“Got it.”

You pushed your stack of papers into Sam’s hands and made your way to the press offices. Phones were ringing off the hook, aides scrambling from desk to desk, as Josh stepped in beside you.

Before either of you could reach CJ’s office, she slammed the door, rattling a few frames on the wall.

“Well, we’re just getting started aren’t we.” 

“Happy Thursday.” you added as he walked back toward his office. You looked out over the war room and locked eyes with Carol. She let out a breath before meeting you at her desk.

“Heard there’s a bit of a situation going on. Where do you need me?”

- 

You’re not sure if it’s still Thursday by the time you leave the press office. It’s still dark out; you haven’t eaten anything besides Carol’s desk mints and you need a nap. Desperately. 

You walked through the bullpen to Josh’s office, your final memo delivered before you could put the events of the last day and a half to rest - at least for the next six hours. You checked in with Sam one final time, making sure your absence today didn’t put him any further behind. (Of course it did, but he’d never tell.)

Donna wasn’t at her desk, and the rest of the bullpen was empty save for Josh pacing around his office while reading over a document. You waited until he stopped moving, scribbled something on the paper, and stuck the pen back in his mouth to knock on the opened door.

His eyes shot up, meeting yours for a quick second before he began pacing once again. 

You’ll take that as a ‘come in.’

“7:00 a.m. briefing notes, CJ wanted you all to take a look at them before morning.” You handed him the paper, skimming it before he went back to his thick document. “Carol says all they are waiting on is an update on Haiti from the situation room. They assume they won’t get that information until-”

“Nancy is doing the morning brief tomorrow.” He interrupted, not looking up from his papers.

“I’m sorry?” you questioned.

“Nancy is doing the morning brief tomorrow. She has the information and will get the Haiti update by 5:00.”

Taking a second to recover your thoughts and do a double take at your own copy of the memo, you couldn’t help but question the man in front of you. 

“Why are you benching CJ?”

“No one’s benching CJ. Leo made the decision to have Nancy give the brief on Haiti. I mean, she seems pretty qualified to give the brief being the President’s National Security Advisor, but I could be wrong. She just bribed me with some bagels to give her the opportunity.”

“Don’t you think CJ deserves to do her job?”

“She said the President was relieved to send troops into Haiti.”

“She made a mistake,” You argued, and you could feel the anger starting to spew out of you.

“Yeah, and unfortunately she made it in front of the press and during broadcasted briefing.”

“CJ used one wrong word and she’s getting hanged for it.” You dropped the stack of memos onto Josh’s desk, his full attention now on you.

“CJ is the press secretary, she is the line of communication from the President to the public.”

“And you’re the Deputy Chief of Staff, and Toby is the Communications Director, and Sam is the Deputy Communications Director, and-”

“What’s your point?” He interrupted, running a hand through his annoying, unkempt hair.

You scoffed. “What’s my point? As the Deputy Chief of Staff, you went on Capitol Beat and slammed Mary Marsh while simultaneously ridiculing every person of faith in the United States. You also went in front of the same White House Press Corps and stated that the President had a secret plan to fight inflation when he obviously did not. As the Communications Director, Toby was accused of insider trading. Finally, as the Deputy Communications Director, Sam slept with a prostitute, and instead of staying away from her like all of the senior staff advised, including Leo, he was photographed with her, which could have caused a major PR crisis for us to fix.”

“I thought you were in favor of Laurie and Sam’s relationship, prostitutes shouldn’t be discriminated against.” He added with a smirk.

“Do you think this is funny?”

“You listing all of the mistakes we’ve made as we work in the most powerful building in the world? Yes, I do.”

You crossed your arms in defiance, fighting back frustrated tears. He wouldn’t get it.

“CJ has stood at that podium over the last twenty six hours taking shit from the press on the President’s diagnosis. She chooses the wrong language once, and Toby is yelling at her while Leo shoves her in the corner.”

He let out a sigh, trying to choose his next words carefully. 

“It’s her job to get the language right-”

“For fucks sake Josh, this isn’t about her damn job! It’s about every single woman in this building working their ass off, taking the hits for their bosses, for the men in this administration without as much as a thank you. How many times has Donna been on the receiving end of phone calls from angry senators, stayed late to make sure she proofread your memos, sacrificed her free nights to lobby and push your policy on people? And how many times have you thanked her for it? I sit in the communications bullpen and hear Toby shout for Ginger, Bonnie, and me dozens of times a day. I see, first hand, the scrutiny that CJ is under every time she has to defend policy to the press. And don’t think I don’t understand that we all signed up for these roles. We all knew what we were getting into, we all knew the hierarchy of the west wing. We knew we weren’t going to be praised for our contributions, no matter how big or small. But none of us expected to be benched for doing our job, for telling the truth of a man that is too scared to say it himself.”

Josh’s eyes widened at your casual tone and bold statement. You knew you were crossing the line. 

“You’re talking about the President, keep your voice down.”

“Why? Everyone is thinking the same thing. He’s hiding behind Haiti, he’s hiding behind CJ, and he’s hiding behind this damn white house!”

Josh moved around you, going to shut the door in hopes that no one heard you. But a foot propped the door open, and in walked a still irritable Toby.

“I sure as hell hope that wasn’t the President you were having a public outburst about in his goddamn west wing,” Toby exclaimed, only causing you to roll your eyes.

“Toby,” Josh tried to interject, but you were ready to finally give everyone a piece of your mind.

“It sure as hell was. And I’ll repeat it for anyone that wants to hear it, in fact, why don’t we all just march down to the Oval office and tell the man causing all these problems himself how we really feel. Or am I the only one with the balls to say it?”

Josh had to physically stop you from leaving his office, holding onto your shoulder as you could practically see the smoke leaving Toby’s ears.

“You sure as hell don’t have enough seniority to command a meeting in the Oval!” Toby yelled out, landing another low blow to your ego. Josh’s hand tightened on your shoulder as you fought back the tears desperately trying to form in your eyes. But you wouldn’t give Toby the satisfaction. “So suck it up, and wait for us to tell you what the hell to write to get us out of this situation.”

You shook Josh’s hand off your shoulder as you took another step closer to Toby.

“I’m not writing a single word until I get to talk to the President.”

“Get the hell out of my bullpen, you’re done tonight.” Toby seethed, clearing the way for you to leave.

You didn’t think twice. You walked past the two of them, not a care in the world at the fact you just told off two of the most powerful people in the White House, potentially risking your job in the process.

The buzz followed you through the halls to the communications bullpen, walking past Ginger and Bonnie who were wrapping up phone calls at their desks. Sam yelled out to you from his office, but you kept your head down and kept walking. 

It wasn’t until you walked past the Roosevelt room, locking eyes with Donna as she sat with papers spread out in front of her, red markings all across the pages, that it hit you. She gave you a small smile, her eyes quickly turning to concern as you felt the tears threaten to fall.

You quickly walked to the exit, brushing past the security guards and stepping into the spitting night rain. The air was cold, and it felt like a shock to your system. 

What the hell have you done.

You barely made it fifty feet before you heard someone calling your name, heavy footsteps running toward you.

You turned to find Josh, coat in hand, approaching you outside the White House.

“Wait a second,” Josh said as he finally stood in front of you, draping your coat around your shoulders. You didn’t even realize you were shivering.

“I need to go,” you said, embarrassment and anger still seeping through you.

“We need to talk about what just happened. It’s been a long, hectic night-”

“Josh, you’re not going to talk me out of my own words.” You interrupted him. “I meant everything I said in there, and I’ve been feeling that way for a while. No amount of talking is going to change what I think, or what Toby thinks. It’s done.”

“We can fix it, please-”

“Nothing is going to change!” You exclaimed as your arms raised in frustration. “The only way this goes away is if I go back in there with my tail tucked between my legs and suck up to Toby. I’m not going to kiss the ring and pretend I’m okay with what’s going on in there. And if that’s the job now, I don’t want it.”

“It’s always been the job, the President's policies and opinions are our policies and opinions.”

“That’s easy for you to say when you’re in the room where it happens. And quite frankly, I’m sick of taking the hit for men who can’t help themselves.” you said and continued walking further away from the White House.

“It must be lonely up there on your high horse, pointing your finger at everyone who has what you want!”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” you whipped around to face him, finding him closer than he was before. You hated that he was looking down at you, both in height and pity. “And of all the people in that fucking building, it should have been you to understand why I feel this way.”

The two of you stood incredibly still, waiting for someone to make the next move. It had been like this between the two of you for months; push and pull, give and take, waiting for someone to crack and push the boundary wide open. No one knew how to get you to open up like Josh, and no one made him as flustered as you. And still, it all ended like this.

He looked down at your hands, clenched into fists at your sides, and he slowly reached out to grab them. But you couldn't let it happen this time. You took a step back, and both of you tensed up again.

“It’s time for me to go.” Physically, mentally, all of it. It was time for you to leave the white house.

Josh nodded, fighting the urge to continue to try and get you to stay. Instead, he rested his hands on the lapel of your jacket, pulling it tighter around you for the final time. You refused to look up at him, knowing you would give in just like all those times before.

He gave you a small nod once he was ready to finally let you go.

“I’ll see you around.”

*****

It’s been three days since the MS scandal completely shook the nation.

You haven’t left your apartment since that day, avoiding phone calls from everyone in the west wing.

Sam had left voicemail after voicemail, begging you to tell him why you haven’t been to work. Toby refused to tell him what happened, but he knew it had something to do with that night. Not even endless compliments on your prose and speeches from Sam could get you to crawl back there. He gave up after his sixth message.

There was a pile of unopened mail sitting on your kitchen table, along with empty take out containers and a bottle of wine - there may even be a copy of your law school application in the mix, a pity read or two occurring in a drunken haze. 

Later that night, after dodging another phone call from Donna and attempting to get as much of your life together as you could, you gave in and sat down to watch CJ’s nine o’clock press brief. You were glad to see that she was off the bench again, and seemed to be back to her usual self. 

There was a knock at your door as she opened up for questions, and you hated to think you missed the sound of the press gaggle.

You swung your door open, expecting a large pizza to be shoved into your face, but instead an exhausted Josh Lyman was standing at your door.

“Hi,” he said and began cracking his knuckles. “I would’ve called, but you seem to forget how the phone works.”

“I know how the phone works.” you replied. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” you sighed. “I walked all the way here, please take pity on me.”

“Fine.” You opened up your door, mostly to shut him up, and ushered him into your home.

“Glad to see you cut yourself off from us completely.” He jeered and pointed to the press briefing on the TV. “You know I’m the one that suggested she make the joke about Hungary, so they should be laughing for me.”

“What did you come here for, Josh?” you asked, again, trying to redraw the boundary between you two.

“Ginger and Bonnie kept saying you were sick, and since no one else heard from you, thought I would check in to see if you were alive. You look pretty not sick to me.”

“Josh-“

“We need you back in the west wing. Toby and Sam are at each other's throats and we need a speech for our first campaign stop. If you don’t get back to the bullpen I’m afraid we’ll never see the written word again.”

“I don’t-”

“I’m not beyond begging or bribing to get you back in there tomorrow morning.” He couldn’t help but smile at himself as he shrugged off his coat and sat down at the kitchen table. You tried not to notice how soft he looked in jeans and a sweater. “But you’re not getting my office, or my secretary, or my season tickets to the capitals. I will however put up Sam’s season tickets to-“

“I wrote my letter of resignation, Josh. I’m not coming back.”

You sat down next to him as you watched him freeze, eyes widening the slightest bit. Rendering Josh speechless never gets old, even under these circumstances.

“Toby’s not going to fire you, he was just pissed off the other night. C’mon, if we head down there now I’m sure he’s still there slaving away over this speech-“

“I didn’t write this because I was afraid of getting fired. This is my choice, Josh. I’m choosing to leave the White House.” 

You handed him the letter, and he took it with some hesitation. He spent a few minutes reading it, and then rereading it, shaking his head before throwing it back on the table.

“Why?” Was all he asked as he pulled his chair closer to you. You shook your head, not wanting to get into it. He leaned back in his chair, staring at your letter on the table.

“Josh, I’ve spent too much time helping people, specifically men, climb up the political totem pole. I’m tired of writing speeches and bills for someone else to say. I’ve been burned by too many men in my life to be naive enough to be comfortable in one place.”

He moved to pick up the letter, or so you thought, but instead he picked up your law school application.

“Since when have you been interested in law school?” He asked, flipping through the pages of the Georgetown Law School application. 

“Since forever,” you said, suddenly growing quiet under the scrutiny of his eyes on your application; your essay was practically a diary about your time working in the west wing. “I couldn’t afford to go after I graduated from UVA, and my parents weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea of having a girl lawyer in the family. So, I settled and started working on the campaign trails. I think you know the rest from there.”

Josh didn’t say a word in response, you’re not entirely sure he even heard a word you just said. Instead his eyes were darting across the page, flipping page after page to finish reading your essay. Josh had never read your personal work; sure you’ve written dozens of memos and speeches that he had proofed and listened to, but nothing with your voice. Nothing that showcased your intelligence, your compassion, and dedication to learning to improve not only yourself, but the world around you.

It was making you anxious the more he read and the less he spoke. Was it bad? Did he think you were absolutely insane for thinking you could go to law school? You need to get it out of his hands before it completely changes the way he sees you.

“I know it’s a long shot that they would accept me, I haven’t even decided if I’m actually going to apply or not, so-” you tried to take it out of his hands, but he grabbed your wrist before you could reach it.

“They would be absolute fools not to accept you.” he said, slowly lowering your arm back to your lap, not letting go of you yet. “The west wing is going to fall apart without you.”

“You guys will be just fine without me.” you started and rolled your eyes. “Toby has an ego, and a vocabulary, big enough for ten speechwriters. And, I haven’t gotten in yet.” 

“You will. And Toby’s ego, no matter how large, will never fill the hole you’re leaving.”

He maneuvered his hand away from his wrist down to your hand, and watched as he laced his fingers with yours. You let out a breath as he rested them on his knee, slowly bringing you closer together.

“So, will you accept my letter of resignation now that you know the full story?”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Josh-”

“I have a stipulation to the letter.” he interrupted, the smirk returning to his face. “You stay on until we win re-election, and take on a very part-time consulting position once school starts. You deserve to see this through, and we can’t part with you any sooner.”

How the hell does anyone say no to Josh Lyman? Between his annoyingly handsome signature smirk, his warm brown eyes, and his messy hair, he’s a total heartthrob. But you seemed to have some effect on him too, seeing as he hasn’t let go of you just yet.

“That sounds like a plan, only if you and Toby agree to write me the best recommendations Georgetown has ever seen.”

“I can deliver on Toby, but I’m not so sure I can give you what you’re looking for. I may have a conflict of interest,” he said and squeezed your hand, causing you to laugh. “But I have the next best thing, the President of the United States on speed dial.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a deal.” His smile spread over his entire face now. “And thank you, for believing in me. And not firing me last night.”

“Well, you were right. A little outspoken, but nothing worse than what Toby has said to the President himself. There’s going to be some change in the west wing now, thanks to you.”

“Who knew all it took to get something done in this city is to have a temper tantrum?”

“Almost every politician in Congress,” Josh added before being interrupted by his pager. His face fell the slightest bit as he let out a sigh. “It’s Leo.”

“Back to work?”

“A crisis awaits,” he said, letting go of your hand as he shrugged his coat back on. Your fingers flexed against your side, already missing the warmth of Josh’s hand in yours. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” 

“Bright and early,”  You replied as you walked him to the door. “With a desk full of notes from Sam, I’m sure.”

“Oh if only we could all be so lucky.” He joked, as the two of you lingered in the doorway to your apartment. You really didn’t want him to go. “I’ll brief you in the morning, hopefully nothing too serious.”

“Okay. Um, drive safe.” You stumbled over your words, and you didn’t miss the way his dimple jumped out at your expense. 

“I will. Have a good night.”

“Night,” you mumbled back, watching as his eyes flickered down to your lips for a split second before taking his first step back from you. 

“Josh,” you choked out, and he turned back to face you in seconds. He waited for you to say something, but for once in your life, nothing came to mind.

“Cat got your tongue?” He jeered. You hated that he had this effect on you. And he was reveling in it.

“It’s all your fault, you know. Dropping the whole ‘conflict of interest’ bit, and then leaving without any explanation.”

“I’m sorry, let me be a little more clear.” he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as butterflies erupted in your stomach. 

“Such a charmer,” you whispered as he dipped his head down, and finally kissed you.

His lips were softer than you imagined, slowly moving against your own. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this moment before, but it was surpassing everything you thought it would be. Josh was always gentle with you, and he kissed you just the same. He took his time with you, and you could feel yourself getting lost in the feel of his body against yours.

He was the first to pull away, resting his forehead on yours as you caught your breath. 

“I think that made it very clear how much I like you.”

You smiled as you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

“I like you too.” You replied, placing a light kiss on his jaw before pulling back to get another look at him, dimples on display. 

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m never going to make it back to the White House,” he joked, and you shoved his chest.

“Then get out of here, Josh. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You smiled as he leaned in to kiss you once more, teasing you as he pulled away, leaving you chasing his lips. You placed one more chaste kiss on his lips before letting go of him.

“Goodnight,” he said, gently squeezing your hand before finally walking down the hall. “I’ll be sure to tell Sam I cured you back to health.”

“In your dreams, Lyman.”

*****

#josh lyman x female!reader #josh lyman x reader #josh lyman fic #josh lyman #the west wing #the west wing fic

[dulcewrites]

Gone… but Not Forgotten

Pairing: Aemond targaryen x reader

Summary: Aemond and you always had a great relationship. But as the Dance of the Dragons begins and tensions rise, you find yourself on the outside looking in.

Warnings: mentions of stillbirths/allusions to pregnancy problems

A/N: so this is based on a request I received. I tweaked some things to make it a bit easier for me to write. Reader is non descriptive but I did take a lot of inspo for the house from the Summer Isles and the people who live there. Also I wanted to do something different with this. Since Fire and Blood is based on accounts - by septon Eustace, grand maester munkun, and of course mushroom lol, I thought it would be interesting to write how I think this story would be told from their perspective. Kind like how there’s three versions of the story, one person’s, the other’s… and then the truth. So the Fire and Blood accounts will be in italics and everything else is normal.

Link to ao3

Years after the marriage between then Prince Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name, to his sister Princess Helaena Targaryen, many in the realm wondered when the second son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent would be wed. There was an assumption that Prince Aemond would marry to help build an alliance for the Targaryen house. Despite this assumption, it still came as a surprise when the news of betrothal between Prince Aemond and a young girl from far south of Westeros reached the rest of King’s Landing. The maiden being from a peaceful yet large island away from the fealty of the Seven Kingdoms; the girl a princess in her own right.

Septon Eustance tells us that Lord Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, saw a future need for swan ships and strong archers, traits of the military of the island. With the marriage came the agreement of loyalty and men. Eustance also says that the marriage was purely for alliance; the two young people having little connection, even a dislike for each other. Mushroom, on the other hand, tells us that the Prince and his betrothed were often described as close and loving towards each other. He also says that the marriage happened against the true wishes of both families. The situation being forced to marriage after they were found in a compromising situation by Queen Alicent’s sworn sword, Ser Criston Cole. The two entangled in passion that would leave anyone to question the chasteness of the princess.

The wedding was a festive event, one to rival the celebrations held for union between the eldest son and only daughter of the Targaryen House. People from all over came to give well wishes, including a surprising appearance from Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon. Mushroom recounts seeing Prince Daemon ask his new family member for a dance. Shared smiles and secret whispers flowing between the two.

Everything between the two seemed to be fine till the princess had yet to conceive a babe two years into the marriage. Some speculated that the two had failed to even consummate the marriage. Others closer to King’s Landing said that the princess could not keep a babe full term. The young girl struggling with two stillbirths.

Despite the tongues that wagged against couple, the princess was well liked in King’s Landing. The small folk taking a liking to new face in the castle much like how they embraced Queen Alicent. The Targaryen reign often being contested by small folk. She could often be found helping small folk. A pretty and pious butterfly amongst dragons. An outsider that embraced people as if they were her own.

One thing all accounts can agree on is that her untimely death set ripples through Westeros.

You tried to tell Aemond, you really did.

“It seems that you are with child, Princess.”

The words made you pause. You had pulled Master Landyn to the side weeks ago because of the upset stomach. You had expected him to send you on your way with a tea or herbal remedy.

It is not that Aemond and you had stopped trying to have a child. It had been two long years of trying with no success. It seems your mother was right, once you stop putting so much pressure on yourself, a babe would come. He would be happy… at least you think he would be. Aemond always tries to be understanding, but you saw the looks of disappointment and confusion whenever a maester would tell you two that you were not pregnant.

There was something slightly infuriating about how Aegon and Helaena, two people that never wanted to be married, had no problem producing heirs. As much you love your good sister and your niece and nephews, sometimes it was hard not to feel bitter.

Aegon’s jabs about Aemond having a possible impotence did not not help either. You know Aemond would never admit this to anyone but, you but intimacy is something both of you had to work on. Especially when it came to sex. With relationship came a lot of hardships, and breaking down walls both of you had put up.

The babe will be a reflection of love.

The first time you tried to tell him, you interrupted by the news of King Viserys dying. He rushes out the castle to find his brother before the words can come out. You debate telling Queen Alicent or even Helaena, but the tense air around the Red Keep keeps you locked away in your chambers till Aemond comes back.

“My love, I think we should talk,” you frown taking in a disheveled Aemond. He holds his hand up to stop you before ripping off his eyepatch. His head hitting the pillow gingerly.

“I know what you want to say,” he sighs. Your heart begins to race. Did Master Landyn go against your wishes and tell Aemond. “I do not want to talk about… him.”

Your shoulders slump in sadness for your husband. The relationship between Viserys and his children is complicated; the King never showing his four other kids the same love he did towards Rhaenyra. Not to mention the cruel manner he toyed with Queen Alicent. Though Aemond may not mourn his father, you are sure he will think about how now there is no chance for a mended family dynamic.

You squat down beneath the bed, and push a stray silverly strands from his face.

“When the time comes, I’ll be here when you do want to talk,” you whisper, smoothing out the frown on his face. “Maybe you work through that a different way. Aemond I-“

A knock at the door stops you. Aemond sits up slowly, vacant look in eye. You let out a frustrated huff before telling the person to come in.

“I’m sorry to interrup, but the Queen wants you in her chambers Princess,” your lady in waiting tells you softly.

You never find the words to tell him the news over the following days. It did not come the morning of Aegon’s coronation. It did not even come after you thought your life would be taken by Princess Rhaenys’ dragon. The words flow easier on paper as you write to your parents and confidants back home. There was a horrible sinking feeling in your gut.

As you grow a life, it hits you that yours has never been more in danger.

The Princess’ death is a point of contention in Targaryen history. While many of the deaths during that time are accounted for, hers continues to garner speculation.

Her parents, The King and Queen, were not shy to say they think their oldest child and only daughter was murdered by her own husband. The death of their daughter leading to the dissolution of the alliance to between the two families. A deep hatred pointed towards both sides of the dance. While the Greens made a point to reiterate that the Princess tragically took her own life; the pressure of the impending war being too much to bear. Queen Alicent insisted that it was the cruel nature of the Blacks that led to her good daughter not feeling safe.

Grand Maester Munkun tells that the Princess begged for her life to be spared, not for her sake but for the life of the her child. Mushroom tells a more sinister story. One of the princess being tortured by the family and left in woods away from the King’s Landing. Some of the small folk think of a different story. The Princess, in all her resourcefulness, ran away from the war.

Paranoia is at an all time high in the Red Keep. Everyone trending lightly since Aegon has been named king. As if everyone is waiting for the next catastrophe to happen. You carry the blood of a dragon inside of you, and yet you have never felt more like an outsider. Your husband, who always made a point to be a attentive, distant and cold.

The kisses are short, the hugs are different. Not the warm ones exchanged in private; the ones where you get to take in how nice he always smelled.

Something was wrong. You just could not put your finger on why.

Things only got worse after Daeron when to Storm’s End on the behalf of the family to forge a pact with the Baratheons. An argument breaking out between him and Prince Lucerys. It only made Aemond more uptight… more cautious of everything and everyone. Including you.

Hushed whispers and slight glances. You were the odd one out. Even with the completely different customs between your culture and Valyrian culture, you felt apart of the family.

War not only brings destruction, it brings division too.

“One poisonous flower has the ability to taint the whole garden.”

An off handed comment made by Helaena had been on your mind for days. As the rest of your family strategized, you were left to your own devices. You found yourself gaining the same sense of paranoia that stifled the rest of your family. Expect your ire was not only directly at the other side of the impending war, but towards the people you should trust the most.

Helaena tells you about the network of spies that works within the castle. Ones that Lord Hightower keeps in place despite how easily something could slip through the seams. You take whatever information you get from Helaena since no one else seems to want to keep you in the loop.

Everything came to a head one night when you are summoned to the Great Hall at the behests of the King.

Aegon and you never talked much. In fact, you think he has actively ignoring you since you for years. Helaena and Alicent said that is just the way he is. He cares little about things that do not directly affect him. Aemond theorized that you were the walking embodiment of how Aemond gets a choice, and he does not. Jealousy is a trait Targaryens take to a new level.

He looked straight out a Targaryen tapestry, sitting leisurely on the Iron Throne. Conquer’s crown titled to the side and Blackfyre leaned against him.

“My good sister, you are glowing,” Aegon’s cheery tone puts you on edge.

Your hand instinctively goes to your belly. You had not started showing yet but it was only a matter of time, and you were still not sure when to tell Aemond. The excitement and anticipation of another Targaryen babe waning after Viserys’ death.

“I wanted to see if news with your parents had changed.”

Your parents had sent ravens saying they will send men and ships is need be but you knew they were apprehensive to make any moves. In their eyes, this was not their fight. Despite his military prowess, you are shocked your father did not see this outcome. Swords were always going to be drawn over the crown.

“They are telling me as much as they are tell you, my King. I do expect them to sail here soon,” you try to put a smile. Aegon gives you a once over, eyes lingering on your stomach before meeting your eyes. A sparkle in his eye.

“You know I had the most interesting conversation with Maester Landyn,” he laughs sarcastically.

Fuck

“He was telling me how a new babe is just the thing this family needs to lift our spirits. I was quite confused because Helaena is not with child, and mother surely is not.”

He tilts his head at you with a smile. If drunk Aegon was mean, well a sober Aegon was cruel. It reminds you of the countless arguments you overheard between him and his mother. If only Aegon could stay sober and have something to work towards… he’d be dangerously good.

He drinks, but not nearly as much as he did pre his coronation.

“And I was thinking, that leaves only one person,” he continues taking more steps towards you. “Why would my sweet sister in law keep such great news from us?”

He pauses as if he is waiting for you to answer but as you open your mouth to explain, he holds up his hand to stop you.

“Unless you have a reason to be keeping it from my brother,” the fake cheery tone has left his voice.

He thinks you have cheated on his brother, and if he thinks that… what does Aemond think?

“Your brother is the only man to touch that way,” you say appalled by the accusation. “And the only man who will. He is the father.”

Aegon hums at the answer. Your eyes go past him to Blackfyre, leaning against the throne. Thanking the Gods he does not have it on him.

“Some say otherwise. My sister, if you have something to hide, this is a warning.”

Before you can ask who would even dare to accuse you of that, one of his guards comes into Great Hall calling for him. You turn to watch him go with panic flowing through your body.

Gods be good.

Because the Princess was the oldest child of the parents, much of the wealth and land was supposed to pass through her to her children. Many assumed that her land would go to Prince Aemond. Her family argued that her memory should not be tainted by their possessions going to her murderer.

Mushroom tells us that Queen Rhaenyra sent ravens with letters condolences to the family. He says she overstepped by mentioning the missed opportunity to marry their daughter to her son, Jacaerys Velaryon. There was whispers that Rhaenyra resented the Princess and her family after they made it clear that marrying a bastard would bring shame to them.

Her family supported no one during the dance, much to the chagrin of both sides. Mentioning that their daughter and grandchild was collateral damage.

“You know I love you, right?”

The words seem to rush out your mouth and fall on flat. Aemond gives you a curt nod before walking out of your chambers.

News of your pregnancy only seemed to excite Helaena and Alicent. The Dowager Queen going as far too plan a dinner in honor of her next grandchild. You realized how deep of a hole you were in with Aemond when his reaction was not what you expected.

If you kept it from him, it would only make it look like you did actually cheat. But telling him after the supposed rumors only made you look guilty. You do not know how many ways to tell him he is the father. Maybe a head full of blonde hair would do the trick.

It is hard to make small talk with your sister and mother in law while you feel Aegon eyes all bearing into you.

Symptoms of your condition had finally started to kick in. Nausea and lack of appetite showing up, even during the dinner. The only thing you seem to be able to get down is the sweet berried juice that Aemond tells you the kitchen made special for you. For a moment you think it is an olive branch, even if it is a small one. He used to ask the cooking hands about making desserts and treats you like. Ones you had back home.

It’s atart, with an interesting taste like nothing you have had before. Almost addicting.

You smile when you feel Aemond’s hand push a stray hair from your face. He returns a smile that you can only describe as sad. Your head begins to pound, so much that you almost miss when Aegon tells Alicent and Helaena that you should get more rest.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says it once you two has left the room. You give him a confused look when he leans over and kisses your temple.

“For what,” your words come out more slurred. He does not answer, just continues to walk you back towards the living quarters. You giggle a bit when you stumble a bit. “Are you sure they did not put in wine in the juice.”

Your laughs are the only thing that ring through the silent room. He lays you down on your bed, sitting on the edge to tucking you in. The pounding in your head continues to drum on, working opposite to how slow your actions feel.

“You are gonna be such a good father,” you say softly.

Aemond flashes you a hurt look, and hums.

“Yeah… I would have been.”

His words make you furrow your brow. What does he mean would have been? You try to sit up to ask but your body stays flat.

“Aemond… my love,” you try to reach for him as he gets up to leave the room.

“I am so sorry.”

He repeats the words, and panic sets in. Something is not right but your body will not react the way your brain wants it too. The room starts blur as Aemond’s walking figure fades into blackness.

Grand Maester Munkun recounts that Prince Aemond never remarried nor had any romantic relationships after his lady wife dies. He says the Prince spends the rest of his short life in service to his family, specifically his brother. His mother and sister never seeing him or his brother the same way.

He was told by those close to the family that the Prince never recovered from her death. It is said he searched for clues as to who could have been with his lady wife, but had no luck. Mushrooms tells of a harrowing idea...the Princess' infidelity was sparked by rumors created by Prince Aemond own uncle, Prince Daemon and his mistress Lady Mysaria. The word traveling from Dragonstone to the Red Keep through spies. 

#trying to figure out how i feel about posting #to ao3… like hmmmm #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #aemond fic

[soufcakmistress]

In the Heat of the Night

A/N: Babies what is good!!!! I am so rusty but I’m so happy that I got this out for yall. Yall know I love me some Jonathan Majors, but I don’t write for real life folks. That’s just MY preference, no shade to those who do. Please comment and like and reblog to let me know how yall feel. Let’s get into it!

The south side felt different duting the summer. Kids were out of school, frolicking in the streets and turning on the fire hydrants. The ice cream man made several stops throughout the neighborhood, the old heads played their card games and dominoes until the wee hours of the morning, and the bars stayed packed with ladies and gents to take a load off. Summertime Chi felt larger than life.

Delphine Freeman sat up in her bed and stretched her arms to the sky. Looking behind her, she saw an empty bed with nothing but a small note on her husband’s pillow. “Picking up some things for breakfast. Be back soon, my love.” She picked it up and held it to her heart. That man of hers.

Delphine remembers the first time she encountered Atticus. Her family had just moved from Virginia, and she was totally new to the Midwest. At first, it was hard making friends at a new high school in a new place. Her accent and bumpkin ways attracted the wrong kind of attention among these city folks, so she kept to herself. Until one day when Atticus was helping his club attract new members, and he passed a flyer to her in the hallway. “You should come. Who knows, you might find a friend here.” He had her, hook line and sinker with his gentle way and sweet smile.

Atticus looked like 6 days of beautiful creation from God above AND the seventh day of rest to her - she missed seeing his face this morning. Delphine laid back against the pillow that smelled like him and reminisced on their roller coaster ride of a relationship. Fighting entitled white people over magic and who it really belonged to and his birthright, his trauma from Korea and monsters straight out of a pulp book— nobody with sense would ever believe it. The storm was over now, and her and Tic lived in peace, as well as holy matrimony.

The memory of her betrothed looking so debonair in his suit on their wedding day made her heart palpitate. Her legs squeezed together, recalling those shoulders filling out that blazer and kissing those lips as they said ‘I do’. She especially loved the surprise on his face when the ceremony was over and she slipped her hand in his pants right outside their wedding suite and him allowing her to take what was hers. “Oooh, I love that man.”

She was feeling frisky now. The window was cracked with a moderate breeze flowing into the room but Delphine’s heat couldnt be contained. Flashes of him saving his entire family from catastrophe, him shirtless and bespectacled reading aloud one of his favorite pulp books while he laid in her lap, the look of adoration and love when they bought their home on the South Shore. Tic was all man….and all hers.

Sweat dripped between her large breasts, her coochie ached in the best way and she couldn’t take it anymore. Delphine took Tic’s pillow and put it in between her legs. The reflection of her in the vanity bureau with her slinky nightgown raised up on her hips made her feel like she was a bit unhinged. If she didn’t cum now, she would lose it. So she rode that pillow like its name was Atticus Freeman and he was the only thing that could satiate her.

Her clit hit the seam of the pillow so precisely, it almost took her over before she was ready. “Shit, shit….oooh Tic baby…damn..” She pushed the straps down from her nightgown to expose her breasts and she really got to moving.

The key in the front door lock clicked with Tic lumbering in with a couple brown paper bags of breakfast stuff. He went to the kitchen to put everything away, but could have sworn that he heard something from the shared master bedroom. He got the baseball bat they kept in the coat closet and inched toward the room. Tic pushed the door in slightly and what he was met with could have knocked him on his back.

His sexy ass wife rubbing her pussy in figure 8’s on his pillow. Tic made sure to be quiet putting the bat along the wall, and rubbing his crotch slowly to take Delphine in. He knew when she showed signs of her incoming orgasm— shaking her head back and forth, fingers tangled in her hair, stomach fluttering…..she was almost there. When she finally shouted in delight, he couldn’t take it anymore.

The sound of a zipper coming down and broke her out of her trance. Delphine gasped when she saw her fine ass husband staring with bedroom eyes and pouty lips that made her wanna howl to the moon. “Looking for this?” He pulled his dick out of his pants and a deluge of fresh slick coated the meeting place between her legs.

Delphine almost started up again on the pillow but when the object of her deepest affections was just as hungry for her, it would be criminal to not take advantage. “Damn straight. Bring yo ass over here, four eyes.”

~

BB King played on the kitchen radio, and the lovely couple made breakfast together. Tic already put on a hot pot of coffee, and he sipped on a mug as he fried up some bacon. Delphine stood next to him in one of his shirts and panties, making her famous blueberry pancakes. Both hummed along and caught cute ass glances at each other, floating on their sensual high. It felt so good. Not having to worry about what the next day held and being allowed to just live.

The phone rang while Tic started cracking eggs, and he wiped his hands on the tea towel. “Freeman Residence. Lester, my man! What’s shaking? Nothing much brother, just me and the Mrs. making some breakfast. She’s doing VERY well, I’ll let her know you asked about her.” Delphine turned around with feigned shock when he said that, knowing his subtext and that he blew her back out for the ages just twenty minutes ago. She walked over with a huge smile and popped a blueberry in his mouth and kissed his lips.

He pinched her butt when she went back to the stove and finished chatting it up with Lester. “Sunday? We’ll be there brother. See ya then.” Tic looked at the calendar on the wall next to the phone, to see if there was any extra obligations needed for the guidebook and his aunt Hippolyta. He also did some math and tried to remember his wife’s last cycle. “That’s why she’s so frisky…”

~

Lester had a block party over where he stayed in Bronzeville, and it was jumping! All kinds of rhythm and blues and guitar singers filled the south side with a plethora of food to choose from. Little girls playing jacks and double Dutch, little boys doing bike races, the teenagers making googly eyes at each others and the elders trading recipes for lemonade and greens. Everybody would pitch in and bring something for the community to enjoy. Delphine took all of Friday to make 5 sweet potato pies from scratch and Tic grilled so many slabs of ribs, it was insane. Irene, Lester’s wife was tight with Delphine; her and the other young women gossiped while sipping beers on their stoop.

“Uh oh, ‘Phine. Tic is over there getting rowdy at that card table.” Irene loved to tease—he was putting them back and with each hand he won, the louder his voice carried. “Oh hell. Lemme go feed my baby.”

Delphine made Tic’s plate with everything he loves — ribs, chicken, potato salad, cornbread, sausage dog with relish and an ice cold Budweiser. “Hey baby, you been doing a whole lot of drinkin but not a lot of eating. Come on now.” Tic acquiesced and moved with her away from all the men. She sat on his lap at an empty table and fed him some of the food before he took over, and started feeding her too.

Tic’s skin was all tan and his arms and pecs were bulging in his shirt. He didn’t even have to try to get her riled up. Delphine rubbed his back, and absentmindedly played with his ear. “All right now. You know that’s my spot.” They both had their fair share of alcohol that evening, and Delphine usually would have to beat Tic off with a stick. The shoe was on the other foot now. “Tic……I don’t have any panties on..”

He almost choked on his beer when his minx of a wife started talking so salacious like in his ear. “I like this Delphine. She takes what she wants. What you trying to do? Only if you say it, will you be able to get what you want.” Delphine’s skin pimpled because he meant every word. All the ruckus and commotion around them meant nothing in that instance. Just her and her husband. “I want you to take me in that alley…..and do whatever you want to me..”

That sinful jawline clenched, and she knew he would do just that. Wasn’t any more talking. He drained his beer, and dragged her down a few streets to a secluded alley. Delphine stood at the brick wall, flushed with the strap of her linen dress down her arm. Tic cradled her face and they kissed each other so deeply that they breathed for each other. She undid his pants letting them fall to his knees, and he picked her up.

Delphine was so wet, the slick was almost to the inside of her knees. Tic’s thrust was so strong, they both gasped aloud. “Yes Tic, fuck me hard!” His face lived in the crevice of her neck, licking and kissing. Just like every muscle on his sculpted body, Tic was rock hard and filled her up so deliciously. The same BB king song from the other morning played and they were able to hear it still. Everything swirled around the both of them and yet nothing at all mattered. His low grunts were so sexy and she could tell he was about to cum.

“Oooh I love this pussy baby, I love this pussy….I fuckin love you!” Atticus filled his wife up all the way that it spilled down her legs and the heat of it all triggered her to orgasm. She pulled him in even more and he expelled more of his love inside her. Tic brought her down to her feet, and she stumbled immediately. Tic steadied her and stuck his tongue down her throat yet again. “Atticus Freeman….the man of my dreams..”

~

The guidebook was doing so well.

Atticus and Hippolyta had been able to come to an agreement on operations; Atticus would be able to make final edits and handle submissions to the publisher and Hippolyta would be able to do most of the trips to update the stops. She acquiesced to Tic’s request that he would join her to assuage his nerves if she went more than 3 states away.

The book was flying off the shelves and Hippolyta had been able to meet some publishers in Kansas City and Detroit to put in some local Negro owned shops and apothecaries. It was the second Saturday in August, and the entire South Side would be at Washington Park for the Bud Billiken parade and festival. Delphine and Tic packed up their station wagon with fold up chairs, a cooler full of beer and pop, and more food to last a winter. Dee was finally feeling better and she rode with you guys to the Bud as she was Delphine’s favorite little cousin.

Everybody was rocking and rolling to the marching bands and majorettes. Delphine and Dee looked at all the floats and picked their favorite one. “Oooh Dee, you see the grand marshal? That’s a good lookin man!” She made sure to say it in earshot of Atticus; she loved him a bit jealous and possessive. He cut his eyes at her, smirking behind his beer. “All right now, don’t get in trouble.”

“Baby, there is nothing more that I would love to do than be punished by you.” Delphine stuck her tongue down her husband’s mouth, and Dee gagged at the public display of affection. “Y’all are so gross I swear!”

The grand marshal announced who had the best float and the best marching band in Chicago, and the party went on until late in the night. “Come on, dancing queens, let’s get y’all home.” Atticus loaded the car up and Delphine and Dee fell asleep in the backseat holding each other. Atticus looked in the rear view full of gratitude and unbridled joy at his two girls. He stopped at Hippolyta’s house and carried Dee inside.

Delphine moved to the front seat after and waited for her husband to drive them home. The angles of his face illuminated by the streetlights made him even more handsome in the low light. She couldn’t help but to stare. That same feeling from that other morning came back with a fierceness. He felt her eyes on him and winked at her. “You looking like you still hungry for something…..”

“That mouth on my body…that’s what I need.” Delphine sat with her back to the door and lifted her dress, pulled her panties off, and put them in his lap. Tic took them and sniffed them and was instantly engorged. That station wagon moved a little quicker then.

Fireworks were being shot near the lake and Tic and Delphine had a clear view from their balcony. “Ooooh let’s see baby! Her ass clapped in her dress and Tic had to grip his meat walking after her. “Lemme make sure the shoggoth is okay first. Keep it tight for me baby.”Tic went to the basement and fed the shoggoth and calmed him down since they were gone all day. He had it down to a science now. Feed him a racist white man a day, and he would cooperate.

Delphine was out on the balcony totally enthralled. She jumped like a little kid when several popped at once, entrancing her with the bright colors. Standing at the window, he just gazed upon her. How did he get so lucky? Tic joined her on the balcony, wrapping those muscles around her waist. All the kisses behind her ear made her giggle just like how he intended. While she was off guard, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and lifted her dress in one motion. “Now what you doing back th—OH!”

He slipped right into her pussy with the most earth shattering intrusion Delphine could ever experience. “Shhhh shhh. We have to be quiet. Now Mrs. Freeman…..I think I know what’s gotten into you cuz I did the math. It’s that other time of the month, ain’t it?”

A breathy yes fell from her lips and it clicked for her. She was always incredibly horny and with shiny hair and skin at this particular point of the month. “You tryna have my baby?” Tic whispered in her ear, and pinched her nipple as his hips stroked back and forth. “Delphine, are you tryna make me a father?”

She loved when he got rough with her, especially when they were at risk of being seen in the act. “Yes, Atticus give me your baby.” His hands gripped hers on the railing and he let her have it. Delphine had already came twice but Tic was always generous; he wanted his wife to be satisfied. “Here it come..” Atticus held her right to his chest and gave her devastating thrusts and came deep inside her. Her head rolled back on his shoulder and they stood together still united as one as the fireworks show gave the finale. “I love you so much” they both said in unison and gazed at the sky.

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[pxnsneverland]

Beauty and the Boss | austin!elvis x oc (part 9)

plot summary: Laura Jean Walker is the daughter to Louisiana’s most powerful mafia boss, but to her, he’s just her jail warden. When she sneaks out to the Louisiana Hayride with her friend she sees Elvis Presley perform and instantly knows something is special about this boy. Especially when he saves her from being assaulted by a townie. She thinks she’s on cloud 9 until she gets kidnapped in the middle of the night by the Memphis Mafia led by Elvis himself. Will Laura Jean try to free herself or will something hold her back from finding her way home?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 1845

warnings/notes: Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long since I posted a part, but I finally got some time today :)

Chapter 9

               The funeral of Gladys passed in a blur, and before we knew it, the wake was upon us. A steady stream of visitors flowed in and out of the house, all eager to pay their respects to the departed soul lying in the casket. It was a somber sight, made all the more poignant by the fact that it now occupied the very spot where Elvis's grand piano once stood. Beyond the threshold, amidst the ebb and flow of visitors, a throng of journalists and the flicker of camera bulbs stood poised, anticipating Elvis' emergence and any utterance he might offer. The dogs were ravenous, and they seemed intent on exploiting his grief. In the interim, Elvis had not crossed my path since our return from the church. He vanished up the stairs, never to return. I empathized with the agony he was experiencing and yearned to offer solace with my words. However, I was aware that words would be futile in this situation. The death of my mother continued to linger in my mind even after all these years, and it was not an unexpected heart attack like Ms. Gladys.

              Perched upon the plush velvet carpeting of the steps, I observed the bustling crowd from a safe vantage point. I was disinclined to respond to inquiries or receive expressions of sympathy that were rightfully intended for Elvis. The memory of Mama's funeral flooded back to me, overwhelming my senses. Hollow utterances emanating from individuals who lacked sincerity in their speech. It was precisely the phrase one utters to console those who have suffered the loss of a cherished person. Their assistance fell short of your expectations. With a firm grasp on the hem of my black dress, I attempted to free myself from the labyrinth of my own thoughts. I found myself being pulled into a recollection that I had no desire to revisit. I felt a sense of gratitude as Colonel descended the stairs, his expression conveying more than just dissatisfaction.

              The Colonel grumbled, “He won’t come out of that closet.” Though he averted his gaze, I sensed that his words were directed towards me. He leaned against the wall adjacent to my position. “There are some fine folks from the press waiting outside. A few questions, pictures, and they will leave us alone.”

              With a cool gaze, I observed him closely, and his subtle response indicated that he was aware of my piercing stare. “You want him to go talk to the reporters? After his Mama just died? The person he was closest to in the world?”

              “I know, I know.” The insincere tone of his voice sent shivers down my spine. “He trusted her like nobody else, and now she’s gone and who does he have now?” He finally looked at me.

              “You’ve picked the wrong person for an ally, Colonel. I ain’t forcin’ him to go talk to nobody.”

              “No, no. That’s not…that’s not what I meant. I care about my boy whether you believe that or not, Ms. Walker. I tried talking to him but it’s really not my place. You, however, have his heart perhaps just as much as his dear Mama did. He trusts you. Despite our differences, you and I, we have one thing in common. We want what is best for that boy. And today, you are what is best.”

              The art of deception is often employed by conmen, who skillfully blend elements of truth with their own ulterior motives. The art of perception was a skill passed on by my father, and it allowed me to easily discern the true intentions of the Colonel. Perhaps his interest in Elvis was genuine, but it was overshadowed by his preoccupation with his own celebrity and public persona. As the reporters continued to exploit Elvis's sorrow, the Colonel's pockets grew increasingly lined with cash. Despite the presence of the man standing next to me, my adoration for Elvis remained paramount. I rose to my feet, delicately smoothing out the fabric of my skirt.

              “I’m not makin’ him come down if he don’t want to,” I declared, preceding my ascent up the stairs towards the room that was once occupied by Gladys.

              Not a single thing had been disturbed since her passing. The room appeared to be suspended in time, a poignant tribute to a person who would never again occupy its space. The faint sound of Elvis's subdued weeping emanated from the depths of her closet. I advanced cautiously, mindful of the potential for startling him. My trepidation stemmed from a fear that he might bolt from my presence, much like a skittish cat. The door of the closet was slightly ajar, allowing a breath of fresh air to seep through. With a hesitant hand, I gradually pushed the closet door ajar. Inside, I was met with a heart-wrenching sight - Elvis was seated on the floor, his thin frame huddled amidst his Mama's dresses. Tears streamed down his face, his sobs wracking his entire body with each passing moment. He stole a quick glance in my direction before turning away, pressing his cheek against the soft fabric of a dress.

              I lowered myself onto the ground, maintaining a safe distance from him, as I positioned myself directly in front of him. “Hi, baby.”

              “She’s gone…”

              “I know. But all your friends and family…they’re wonderin’ where you are.”

              A deep sob escaped his lips. “I can’t go out there, Laura Jean. I can’t. I just want to stay in here forever.” Tears streamed down his face as he buried it into the soft fabric of the dress's skirt.

              My heart shattered into even smaller pieces for him than it had for myself when I experienced the same misfortune. With a deep breath, I closed the distance between us and enveloped him in a warm embrace, my arms encircling his broad shoulders. He maintained his grip on the garments, yet refrained from deterring me. “I know how you feel. When my Mama died, all I wanted to do was crawl into the ground with her. I felt like my whole world was in pieces and the person who usually picked them up wasn’t there anymore.” I gently massaged his back. “No one could ever replace her. Why, Ms. Gladys was a one-of-a-kind woman who raised a one-of-a-kind son. I wish I could be half as strong as she was some day.”

              Elvis buried his head in my shoulder and embraced me with such force that it became difficult to catch my breath. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without her. She was everythin’. All this…all this was for her.”

              My fingers glided through his hair. “You cry now. You cry your little heart out for as long as you need to. And day by day, you just keep on movin’, keep on livin’. Cause that’s what your Mama would have wanted. For you to live your life as fully and as happily as you can.” I gently pressed my lips against his forehead. “And I’ll be here for you, too. Whenever you need me. I’ll work and I’ll worry in your Mama’s place. Okay?” With a nod, he buried his face deeper into my shoulder. To hold him felt like I was holding a baby who was twice my size. Gradually, I rose to my feet, pulling him up alongside me until we were both standing upright. With a gentle touch, I wiped away the tears that had gathered on his face, my fingers softly caressing his cheek. “Now we’re gonna go downstairs and you’re gonna go say goodbye to your Mama.”

              With a sniffle, Elvis enfolded me in a warm embrace, pressing my head against his chest. He clasped my head firmly, as if he feared that I might vanish into thin air. All the while, I listened intently to the rhythmic thumping of his heart. “I ain’t never gonna let anyone take you away from me, you hear? Not your Daddy, not the Colonel, no one. I don’t care about money or stupid mafia business. I just care about you.”

              “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” I vowed.

              With tears streaming down his face, he whispered, “I love you, Laura Jean.”

              “I love you too.” I grasped his hand firmly and led him out of the bedroom, descending the stairs in unison. Silence fell over the room as Elvis made his way towards the open casket of Gladys. No expense had been spared for her funeral, from the casket to the flower arrangements and every detail in between. As I gazed upon her, she appeared serene and undisturbed, nestled within the soft and luxurious velvet that lined the interior of the casket. Elvis gazed intently at her, his grip on my hand unyielding. He parted his lips, as if to utter words to her, but they were abruptly stifled by a wrenching sob. I rested my head upon his shoulder.

              The Colonel shuffled up behind us and placed a hand on Elvis's shoulder. “I can’t even begin to understand what you are going through, my boy. But you have comforted your friend and your family. You need to go comfort your fans too, hmm? They are worried about you. And if you don’t go do that all that your mama sacrificed for you will be for nothing.”

              The desire to expel acid from my mouth consumed me. Using Elvis at this time? How could he? He was in no position to have a conversation with anyone. He needed the freedom to simply exist as a young man who had suffered the loss of his mother, rather than being burdened with the weighty expectations of embodying the iconic figure of Elvis Presley. In spite of my innermost insults directed towards Colonel Parker, Elvis gravitated towards him and sought solace in his embrace, shedding tears upon his shoulder. I yearned to persuade him that the presence of the elderly gentleman was superfluous. The Colonel hesitantly rubbed Elvis's back.

              “You stay with my through thick and thin, okay?” he asked, his eyes searching for reassurance. Elvis expressed, “You’re like a father to me.”

              My eyes locked onto the Colonel's, and he met my gaze with a smug expression that made me itch to wipe it off his face. Despite my constant challenges, he relished the sense of power he wielded over Elvis. I persisted in my efforts to liberate Elvis from the clutches of the snowman, refusing to give up until my mission was accomplished. As Elvis withdrew, the Colonel offered a reassuring pat on his shoulder. “Just a few questions and some photos and we will be done.”

              “C-Can Laura Jean come with me?” Elvis sniffled.

              The Colonel's gaze met mine, but I refused to back down, my expression daring him to confront me. I was determined not to leave Elvis, even if he forbade my presence. He let out a deep sigh and replied, “Of course. You need her now.”

              With a nod, I followed Elvis as he led me through the throng of microphones and cameras outside.

Stay tuned for part 10!! Click HERE to view!

#austin!elvis #austin!elvis imagine #austin!elvis fanfiction #austin!elvis fluff #austin!elvis x oc #austin butler #austin butler elvis #austin butler fic #austin butler fluff #austin butler fandom #elvis 2022 #elvis baz luhrmann #baz luhrmann elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fandom #elvis presley fic #elvis presley imagine #austin butler fanfiction #austin!elvis fic #austin butler imagine

[againstacecilia]

No More Wasted Time (Rewrite)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x female reader (modern!AU)

Word Count: 6.4k

Rating: E for sure. No minors.

Warnings: Childhood-friends-to-lovers, unprotected p-in-v, alcohol usage, break-up, hurt/comfort, heaps of emotion, overall smut warning.

A/N: We've come full circle here, folks! This is a rewrite of the first fic I ever wrote/posted, just wanted to try my hand at elevating my writing now that I've had some more practice. Please let me know what you think through reblogs and/or coming to yell at me in my asks! Here's the link to the NMWT universe masterlist if you wanted to peruse more of these two goofs. 🥰

Thank you for reading, and May the 4th Be With You. 💖

You had known Poe your whole life. For most of it, he’d just been the pesky older brother of your best friend. Your parents had been friends with his since long before you were born and the boys had just come built-in to the family they created.

Honestly, the dynamic had always worked; he teased and pestered his brother and it just sort of rippled over to you. It didn’t matter that you had snuck glances in high school at Poe as he pulled himself out of the pool, learning to admire the shift of muscles in his back or the strength of his arms. The hours you spent with him in their garage keeping him company and occasionally helping him fix his beat-up old car was just a way to pass the time when you had nothing better to do, and nothing to do with how just talking with him made you feel… Awake. Even in your darkest moments, the easy flow of conversation had been a light that opened your eyes and lifted a weight off your shoulders. Even the nights of teasing and poking fun at dive bars that never checked your fake IDs were just friendly. Never anything more.

And then you left. Went off to college and grad school and figured out who you were outside of the boxes of youth. Had experiences and grew and decided that coming home wasn’t such a bad idea. Especially when your boyfriend, Mark, had been so enthusiastic about joining you and starting your lives together.

It felt right to be back home. Six years and what seemed like a different life later, it felt right to be sitting on the back deck with your family, your parents and the Damerons sipping cider in the warm September afternoon.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” your mother starts, her hair blazing in the later afternoon sun, “Poe will be stopping by. Said he wanted to say hi.”

“I’m not surprised,” you roll your eyes with a smile, “he’d never miss an opportunity to be a pain in my ass.”

“He said he misses you.”

You hum a non-committal response, taking another sip of your drink. “You know what, I’m glad he’s coming by. It’ll be good to see him. I don’t think I’ve seen him since Christmas last year.”

The conversation continues around you and you take a moment to close your eyes and breathe in the late summer air. Two years in a colder, northern state made it clear that you never wanted to be without the sun again. Its strong, constant presence at home was a sign to you that being here was right. Being home was right.

As you begin to doze the creak of the screen door signals Poe’s arrival. You sleepily open your eyes and turn to shoot him a grin. “Well finally, Mom said you were coming by. I’ve been waiting for hours.”

He sketches a playful bow, “So sorry to have kept you waiting.” He swiftly makes his way to the parents, dolling out hugs and greetings before settling down in a chair next to his father.

The afternoon progresses, laughter and chit-chat filling the air. Poe pushes as many of your buttons as possible, as usual, but it feels like home. You playfully threaten to kick his ass out, laughing as you stand and make your way toward the door to get another drink from the kitchen.

Just as you open the refrigerator door, your phone buzzes in your pocket. A tipsy giggle falls from your lips as you pull it up and see your boyfriend’s name flashing across the screen.

“Hi baby,” you answer brightly, “everything go okay getting the UHaul?”

Mark is quiet for a moment, static crackling on the line. He finally begins to speak, the minutes blurring together as he feeds you excuse after excuse. Finally, he tells you he isn’t moving home with you. He isn’t coming. You hang up the phone in a daze.

The living room is silent as you stare at nothing for a minute, not fully remembering how you’d gotten to the couch. Shock has locked up your mind and the backlight on your phone fades to black in your still-hovering hand. He isn’t coming…

The feeling of being watched shakes you from your haze but you don’t turn to the form you feel hovering in the doorway to the kitchen. You aren’t sure how long he’d been standing there, but it’s easy to assume he’d heard enough of the conversation to know what’s going on.

“You can come out of there, Poe, you’re a terrible snoop,” you say quietly.

“Who says I was snooping?” You finally turn to shoot him a weak glare. He’s standing against the doorframe, arms clad in his favorite olive green hoodie crossed over his torso. “I heard a raised voice and thought I’d come see what all the commotion was about.”

“Save it, Poe,” you sigh, slumping against the couch, “I’m not in the mood.”

He looks at you with an all-too-knowing gaze. The one downside of knowing Poe as long as you had: he’d known you just as long. “Alright, alright. I know you aren’t mad at me specifically, so I’ll play nice. Wanna talk about it?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Wanna drink about it?”

You look at the half-empty drink in your hand and give it a shake. “Sure. Go make me another one. I’ll be done with this one when you get back.” He leaves with a nod, disappearing back into the kitchen.

By the time Poe returns with two fresh drinks and, to your surprise, a bottle of whisky, your drink is indeed gone. “Figured I’d bring the whole bottle, assuming I heard that conversation correctly. What was this one’s excuse?” He sits down next to you on the couch.

“He said something along the lines of, 'You just have so much going for you and I’m only going to bring you down.’ I told him I wasn’t in the business of fixing broken men anymore and if he wanted to break up with me then he needed to just come out and say it. Then he got mad at me for quote, 'not giving a shit’, called me a bitch, and told me it was over.” You hold your hand out for the drink, only to have Poe put the open bottle in your palm instead.

“What a stupid kid.”

“Maybe I’m the stupid one,” you scoff as you take a swig, the amber liquid burning its way down your throat and honing your shock into something sharper. “How do I always attract these kinds of guys?”

Poe looks at you for a second, an unfamiliar emotion on his face. You blink and it’s gone, replaced by the cool, nonchalant mask he usually wore. “Like I said, stupid kid. Might be time to set your sights on a man.”

“Oh sure, bring on the men in their suits with a 401k and a car they didn’t haggle off a junk lot. Where could I find them? I’m sure they’d be interested in a girl fresh out of grad school who still doesn’t have a job. A real catch.”

“You’d be surprised at what people see as attractive. Me, for example. I don’t do too badly. But I’m incredibly attractive so that isn’t too surprising,” he says with his trademark smirk.

“Shut the fuck up,” you mutter, half-heartedly throwing a pillow at him. Surprisingly, he does, and you fall into an easy silence, the only sound coming from the quiet news story on the tv.

After a few minutes, your parents and the Damerons come in and begin gathering up their things to go out. “We decided to grab a cab to Mauri’s for dancing, you kids want to join?” Your mom asks, slipping her shoes on in the entryway.

The hometown bar was legendary for Friday night dancing, but the usual draw just doesn’t tug on you. “Nah, Mark just called and told me he isn’t coming. Not really in the mood for dancing.”

“Oh honey,” your mother sighs, “I’m so sorry.” She walks to your side and perches on the arm of the couch. “Do you want us to stay?”

A warm glow momentarily fills your chest at her concern. “No, please go have fun. I’m just gonna hang here and go to bed early.”

Your mom kisses the crown of your head and pulls your gaze to hers. “If you need anything, we’ll come home right away.”

“Don’t worry, I have to work early so I’ll keep her company,” Poe gallantly offers. You subtly send him a grateful glance. He winks back with a grin.

“Okay, if you’re sure…” Your mom begins before your dad gently pulls her away, reminding her that you’re an adult and that you’ll ask for help when you need it.

The taxi pulls up and your parents file out the door, already bubbling about what songs they hope the band plays and what friends are already there waiting for them. The house quiets down again and you sink back into your seat.

Damn, the couch is small, you think to yourself, realizing how slight the distance is between you and Poe. Was he that close the entire time?

Shaking your head, you turn your attention to the windows overlooking a tidy front yard. The sky outside is on its way to twilight and, in the companionable silence, your mind wanders back to the phone call with Mark. There goes a year of my life… What do I do now?

Poe abruptly speaks up, pulling you out of your moping. “Alright, time for a change of scenery. Want to go sit on the back porch? Get a fire in the fire pit going?” he asks, turning to face you. That man never could keep still long enough to even get through a commercial break.

"Sure. I don’t have a jacket, though. Packed all my cold clothes so they’re sitting in storage.” A small pang rings through you as you remember who you packed all your things with. Looks like I won’t be unpacking with Mark after all…

Whether he sees the hurt in your eyes or not, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “You can wear mine, ya baby,” he scoffs, taking off his hoodie in one swoop and handing it to you, “It isn’t that cold yet.”

You ignore the jab and head towards the back of the house.

The night is starting to cool off. Leaves are starting to turn but not fall, summer is starting to yield to autumn. You pick the oversized chair closest to the fire pit and climb into it, curling up and putting on his sweatshirt as you go. He doesn’t say anything as he grabs some wood from the shed and piles it into the fire pit. Sure, steady movements show just how many times he’s done this, strong arms and dexterous hands building up the logs around the smaller kindling. It doesn’t take long before he’s got a crackling fire going, the flames dancing in the twilight glow. He settles into the chair opposite you. Some time passes in silence before you finally say:

“I’m such an idiot.”

Poe holds space for you to figure out the emotions warring inside you. He doesn’t try and fix the problem, just stares into the flames and waits for you to continue. Usually the picture of calm, you can’t help but notice the muscle flicker in his arm as his fingers tense into a fist. Almost like he’s wanting to argue with the words falling from your lips. From the truths that flow as alcohol plies your tongue.

“I should have seen this coming… Who am I kidding? Of course the only guys who are interested in me end up having mommy issues or daddy issues or something and I, ever the rehabilitator, can’t seem to just let them see a fucking therapist. I have to fix them. So, apparently, I deserve this. Just doomed to a life of bouncing from guy to guy until I’ve given them all the second chances they don’t deserve. I’m a fucking mess.”

Your voice breaks on the last word and you at last let the tears come. The dam breaks and you bury your head in your hands as the last of the shock wears off and your mind comprehends what’s happened. Soft steps walk toward you and Poe slides into the oversized chair next to you.

Just as you pull your legs up to tuck into yourself, Poe slides his arms around you. Both strong and steady, he slides one under your knees and braces one behind your shoulders to pull you into his lap. As soon as you’re settled, you release the tight grip on your legs and slip your arms around his shoulders, leaning into his embrace and letting him hold you as you cry. You don’t worry about why you’re suddenly letting yourself be so vulnerable and exposed emotionally with him, you just let him comfort you with soothing strokes down your back. He lets you cry and, eventually, starts humming. It isn’t any song in particular, he just hums and works a beautiful melody that you can feel in your whole body. You’re familiar with the timbre of his voice, rich and warm, helping you through the sobs rather than trying to stop them. Weathering the storm with you. Finally, the tears stop, your breathing evens out, and you both just sit there for a little while.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, pulling your arms from around his shoulders and wiping your eyes, “I guess it all just kind of caught up with me.”

“You don’t have to apologize, we’ve all been there,” he squeezes you in a small hug but doesn’t let you go. “Although, I’ve never seen you like that.”

“We’ve known each other our whole lives and you’ve never seen me cry?”

"No, I’ve never seen you doubt yourself.”

You don’t respond for a moment before asking, “What do you mean?”

“In all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never seen you stop believing in yourself. You’ve always been this confident, albeit stubborn, person who was actually known to give me a challenge every once in a while.” You look up to see a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Why do you think I never complained when you came over?”

“Uh, because we were kids and didn’t have a choice in the matter?”

“My brother was always having friends over. You’re one of very few I didn’t ask my parents to bar from the house.”

“Sweet talking me right now, Dameron?”

“Just thought you could use some perspective.”

Throughout the entire exchange, you didn’t move and he didn’t let you go. It’s dark now, mellow in the September evening. The crackling of the fire and the wind in the mature trees are the only sounds as you decide to sneak another look up at his face, your breath snatched away by what you see.

He’s staring into the fire; eyes and face unburdened by facade. The flames light up his dark brown eyes, brows slightly furrowed as if in some deep thought. Thick stubble, maybe a couple of days’ worth, peppers his strong jaw, his mouth set in a thin line. A scowl, so unlike the roguish smirk you’ve seen light his face for as long as you can remember. You can’t stop yourself as you reach up to lightly run a finger over those full lips, some emerging part of you demanding to be noticed in this intimate and uncharted territory.

His eyes snap from the fire to yours, just as surprised as you are to find your fingers brushing from his lips up his jaw and down his neck, savoring and memorizing the lines of his face; the flames in his eyes that aren’t entirely just reflections from the fire pit in front of you.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice as rough as the stubble under your fingers. His pulse hammers through the vein in his neck, tempo nearly matching yours as blood thunders through your body. You wonder if he can feel it in the lingering touch of your fingertips.

“I honestly don’t know.” You quickly take your hand away and start to push out of his warm embrace. “I’m so sorry.”

“Wait.” He doesn’t let you get up as he gently adjusts you so he can see you a little better. “I didn’t mean that to sound like stop. Just… please. Stay.”

So you do. Wrapped up in his sweatshirt, in him, the smell of him familiar and somehow entirely new now. After your heartbeat settles a bit you whisper, “Tell me what you’re thinking?”

He continues his silent vigil, staring at the flames and tracing circles along your leg. He’s quiet for long enough that you begin to think he didn’t hear your silent request. As you’re about to ask again, he speaks:

“I’m thinking… I’m thinking that I don’t want to ruin this.”

Your heart drops, waiting for the blow to land. The fear that you’d misread the situation and that the connection you’d felt flickering in the fading light wasn’t reciprocated surges up and you prepare for him to disappear when, suddenly, words are tumbling from him like he’s afraid he won’t be able to get them all out if he doesn’t do it all at once.

“I don’t want to ruin what we have, what we’ve always had. I know I’ve always been a bit of a bully, picking on you the way I’ve always picked on my brother, but underneath it all I’ve always known you had a hold on me. You worked your way into a fundamental part of who I am without even trying. I almost asked you not to leave a couple of years ago, but you were set on going to grad school and I knew I couldn’t get in the way of that dream. And when you brought that Mark guy home for Christmas…”

The memory flashes in your mind. His parents’ snow-covered house, lights flickering merrily in the deep winter night, glowing as you opened the door and greeted everyone. The night had gone well but… Poe had left early that night, muttering something about seeing friends from out of town before slipping out the door. The realization must’ve been clear on your face because he nods and says, “That’s why I bailed that night. Seeing you flushed from the cold walking through the front door, eyes sparkling from all the Christmas cheer, I felt lighter than air. Our eyes met and I could’ve sworn I saw something spark… But then I looked behind you and saw him, saw the way you looked at him throughout the night, and I couldn’t take it. I had to get out. I told myself that night that I would never be anything more to you than what I had always been and to move on.”

The glistening in his eyes breaks your heart, the urge to comfort him enough to bring your hand back up to his face. You cup your hand around his jaw and he sighs, closing his eyes and leaning into the contact. Without opening his eyes, he whispers, “I’m sorry. I promised myself I wasn’t ever going to tell you any of this.”

“I’m glad you did, Poe.” Your free hand rests on his chest, savoring the heart beating solidly beneath. “I really am.”

“Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

Now it’s your turn to be quiet for a moment. You pull your hands back to tuck into your chest and lay your head on him once again. After a couple of steadying breaths you say, “Do you remember the last night I was here before I left for school?”

Of course he did. You didn’t think either of you could forget that night. You and your families, along with some other friends, got together for karaoke at your favorite bar as a send-off. People steadily trickled out all night but you, Poe, and a couple of other friends straggled behind until it was suddenly one in the morning. You had spent the night singing with him, song after song, harmonizing and coming up with your own lyrics to songs you both knew by heart.

“I do. That’s when I almost asked you to stay.”

“There was a part of me that wanted you to. I went to the bathroom while Henry was singing some terrible rendition of "Runaway” and, as I was washing my hands, I heard you start “Wonderful Tonight”. The whole world stopped, Poe. I snuck out of the bathroom to watch you sing and I couldn’t breathe… I wrote it off as the night of drinking making me goofy but I swear to God, Poe, I’ve heard you sing that song a million times and never heard it that way before. And then you looked at me. You looked right into me and saw all of me and I couldn’t look away. The memory of it all pops into my head sometimes and I’m still left breathless by it. By you.“

As you stop speaking, you could swear the wind and fire stop making noise too. Nothing exists outside the shaking breaths and thundering heart you can hear, unsure if they’re coming from you or Poe. You can feel it; the freefall you were about to be in. Was it really only an hour ago you were upset about some boy breaking up with you over the phone? Some kid who wasn’t ready for everything you wanted for your future? And here, right now, was a man. An honest-to-God man, willing to keep his needs hidden so you could choose your own path…

You lift your head up and look at his face to gauge his reaction to what you just told him. He looks down at you with starlight and flames in his eyes as he meets yours and then, slowly, as if expecting you to disappear, Poe closes the small distance between you and kisses you.

It’s… Soft. Almost hesitant, a silent invitation without expectation. He’d never put you in a situation where you didn’t have a choice and, even now, even after both of you let down your walls and shared these tender secrets, he’s still giving you a choice. There’s no doubt in your mind as you deepen the kiss, putting all the words you’d been holding back for years into the contact. He lets loose his breath in a sigh and sends trembling hands to tentatively explore your body. The timid touches, feather-light and careful, make you smile as you pull away.

“I want this, Poe,” you promise him, your hands cradling his face, “I want you, and I have for a long time.”

His smile in return sends sparks through your veins and he wastes no time threading his fingers into your hair, sending you crashing back together. His free hand, strong and sure and steady now, freely roams every curve of your body. His mint and cedar smell wraps around you as your own hands grasp at his sweatshirt. Wanting- needing- more, you playfully nip at his bottom lip.

His sharp intake of breath makes you pause, worried you’ve done something wrong, but a laugh rumbles low in his chest. “So that’s how you want to play?” he mumbles into your lips.

A conspirator's grin lights your features, “I don’t have the faintest idea what you mean.” Before he can respond, you turn your attention to his neck, kissing a trail down the side. You nudge the collar of his t-shirt away enough to gently graze your teeth over the soft spot where his neck meets his shoulder, his entire body shivering at the sensation.

“Careful,” he breathes. “Careful, sweet girl, we’ve got ti- oh fuck.”

Interrupting whatever train of thought Poe had started, you shift your body over his and straddle his legs, pinning him to the chair and stopping his words with a searing kiss. After a moment, you pull back to look into his face. His eyes burn with emotion; those beautiful, dark eyes, almost black with desire in the glow of the dying fire. No one has tended to it in a while and it looks like no one will for a while longer…

“Tell me you want me,” you softly request.

“I want you.” His hands tremble with restraint against your hips.

“Again.”

“I want you,” he responds again, the quivering spreading to the rest of his body.

“Then have me, Poe,” you whisper, reaching for the hem of his shirt, “because I want you, too.”

A low growl escapes his lips as the internal leash snaps. His lips find yours again and you part for him easily, his tongue hungrily sweeping through. The lingering taste of whisky tickles your lips and adds to the fire burning in your body. Every touch, every noise and place your body meets his surges with wildfire, the driving demand for more, more, more pounding in time with your heartbeat. He tears away from your lips to find any piece of skin not buried in his hoodie, kisses nearing desperate as your hands explore the planes of his chest. The muscles flex and shift, your nails finding purchase as you grasp the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Poe, please…” You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for, the pulsing need in every corner of your body taking control of your tongue and nearly begging for more. More of this, more of him. Taking the hem of his shirt in your hands, you begin to tug it up and off of him when he senses the shift and takes over.

In one swift motion, he has you in his arms and stands. His long legs eat up the distance from the deck to the door, then inside to the guest room you’re staying in. Once inside, he lays you reverently on the bed and kneels on the ground next to you.

“Wait,” he pants, forcing himself to take a breath and remove his hands from your body. You whine at the loss, sitting up and grabbing for him. He stops you and asks, “You’re sure? Earlier this afternoon you had a boyfriend and now… I just don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

The sincerity of his words fills your heart to near bursting. Had you really been treated so poorly that this moment of true decency felt like a gift? Taking your own steadying breath, you rise to your knees and pull him up to face you, wrapping your hands around his. You’d told him you wanted him, you had no other words to give him. So, instead, you guide his hands to your lips to kiss them while your gaze stays locked with his and nod.

“Good,” is all Poe says with a heart-breaking smile before gripping your waist and tossing you back onto the bed. Your laugh tangles with his in the air, a shimmering melody and harmony you’ve been practicing your entire life.

The wildfire burning in your veins flares back to life at the gleam in his eyes. He climbs onto the bed over you and hovers there, eyes drinking in your body spread out underneath him. He hikes the hem of his hoodie over the waistband of your pants and traces a finger over the sliver of skin peeking through. Agonizingly slow, he ghosts his hand up, up, up your torso to graze over the fabric of your bra.

“So many layers,” he muses, hand never stopping its movement as he leans down to brush his lips over yours.

You’re beyond words. The promise of him touching you, really touching you, striking you dumb. You can only focus on where his hand is and, if you move just right…

“Come on, baby, tell me what you want,” he whispers, voice skittering over your bones, full of silken promise.

“Touch me,” you manage to whine, too entranced with the way his body feels over yours to be embarrassed at the begging mess you’ve been reduced to.

“Yes, honey, but where?” Stubble scrapes gently along your cheek as Poe dips his mouth to your neck.

You get ahold of yourself enough to grab his hand over your layers, pressing down and responding with a breathy, “Here.”

“That’s a good girl.” Heat flares in you again at the praise. He nips at your ear while pulling his hand out of your shirt and grabbing the hem, taking both the layers and pulling them over your head. His long fingers, lightly calloused from years of work and playing guitar, slip the straps of your bra off of your shoulders and he slides the garment away from your breasts, exposing the heated and tingling skin to the cool air. His eyes spark with awe and lust as he cups both of them with his hands.

Your legs press together seeking any release from the tension building in your core and a small whimper sneaks its way out of you. The movement isn’t lost on Poe and he takes momentary pity on you, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your lips. “I’m going to enjoy,” he murmurs, “Coaxing every one of those noises out of you.”

“Promises, promises,” you chide, finding a little more of your voice.

“There she is.” Poe’s smile lights the dim room and brings a smile to your face as well.

If your heart didn’t already feel like it was full to bursting, the vulnerability on his face would’ve done it. Your friend was here, the boy you grew up with was now the man making you feel safer and happier than you had in years. The realization helps you bring down that final wall, any hesitation or fear falling away and clearing your mind.

This. This was why none of your relationships had worked in the past. Why there was always that little something that felt like it was missing. You had crawled through deserts of heartache and sorrow to find that the oasis was here, with him, all along.

Flinging every scrap of self-consciousness to the wind, you take his lower lip between your teeth and nip it gently. His appreciative groan urges you on, encouraging you to grab his shirt and yank, pulling it off his lightly muscled torso. His hands make quick work of the clasp to your bra and, within a few heartbeats, the garment falls to the floor. Fumbling hands open his belt and pants. Your body aches with the promises his hands make along your skin.

“Get your… Get your pants off,” you demand between kisses.

He laughs, pure and rich, before quickly acquiescing to your demands. You take his moment of distraction to maneuver out of your own shorts and underwear. When Poe looks back at you, he pauses, eyes taking in every inch of your skin laid bare before him.

The look in his eyes when his gaze finally meets yours is like coming home.

Beyond words, Poe dives back into you with a fervor. It’s an unleashing. He grips the back of your neck with one hand while the other skates down your body and lands on the outside of your thigh, pulling your leg up low around his hips.

The tension in your body has you about to break. Your hand seeks him out, winding between your bodies and wrapping around the proud length of him. His hips surge forward at the contact, silently begging you for more. There’s no hesitation as you languidly pump him up and down, his arms beginning to shake from holding himself above you.

“Sl- Slow down,” he shudders, “You’re driving me wild here.”

You don’t respond, only keeping that gentle, tantalizing pace going, savoring the way his body responds to your touch.

Pulling away from your lips, Poe’s hand surges down to grab your wrist, halting your teasing. “Someone isn’t very good at listening,” he growls.

“Someone is taking his sweet time,” you fire back, mischief lacing your words.

Poe settles onto his knees and your leg falls from where it’s been curled around his body. He brings your hand up above your head, taking its twin and crossing your wrists in one hand, pinning them to the pillow. “You’re going to regret that,” he promises, sending a wave of excitement through you.

His hand releases your wrists and he slowly eases down your body, eyes never leaving yours as he settles between your legs, shoulders settling under the backs of your thighs. His face, sun-kissed and as familiar as your own, framed by your legs, it all makes your breath hitch and heart pound with anticipation.

A wink is the only warning you get before his mouth is on you, kissing and licking and drinking you in like a glass of fine wine. Your hands jerk to the covers next to you, grasping for purchase to keep you from flying out of your skin. His tongue dances through every inch of you.

“Poe…” His name is the only word you can utter, the only prayer you can muster as he offers his own kind of worship. Sparks light your vision as you barrel towards release and your hands weave into his curls, begging him to stay right there…

You get one more breath before the orgasm is tearing through your body. He never breaks away from you, rather, his claiming grip on your thighs keeps you tight to him. He never falters through the waves rolling down your spine that send you shaking.

It could’ve been hours or it could’ve been seconds, but, as the tide recedes and your mind drifts back into the present, Poe rises to his knees and brushes a hand along the side of your face. “You still with me, baby?”

You summon a nod, glazed eyes finding his above you.

“That’s a good girl,” he croons, lifting each of your legs up and over his shoulders once again. He kisses the inside of each knee as he settles your legs.

Like a marble sculpture, chisled by the hands of artists and imagined by the minds of poets, he kneels before you, eyes burning in the soft lamplight of the room. “Tell me you want me,” he asks softly, echoing your demand from before.

“I want you.” You’ve never wanted anyone or anything more.

“Again,” he echoes again, slowly notching himself at your blazing entrance.

“I want you.” Your voice is bright and clear.

“Good,” he responds, and slips easily into you.

Like a puzzle piece gently settled into place, your soul feels just how right it is for you to be here. It isn’t just sharing your body with someone, it’s a homecoming. The way your bodies meld and match is secondary to the echo of contentedness at the realization that your paths have finally led you here.

He starts gently, allowing you time to adjust to the fullness of him. A gentle rise and fall as he rocks into and out of you. His hands grip your thighs while his lips kiss anywhere he can reach, unable to completely hold back. And you don’t want him to. You want to feel every inch of skin and muscle you can. The need burns through you as you reach for the sturdy legs beneath him, just out of your reach.

“Please,” you gasp as he begins to pick up the pace, “I need… I need to…”

“Anything,” he says, letting your legs fall so he can lean into your reach. “Anything, it’s yours.”

You pull him over top of you, not caring as his full weight crashes onto you, and wrap your arms over his shoulders. Scorching kisses brand your collarbone and neck as he wraps around you as well and flips over so your body lies on his. All the gentle touches and movements are lost as he picks up his pace, punishing and overcome with need.

“Yes,” you sigh, burying your face in the crook of his neck and panting against his sweat-slicked skin.

From his lips pour praise, drunk on the feeling of you wrapped around him. Draping loving words around you like silk and lace, he punctuates each word with kisses and bites and doesn’t stop holding you through it all.

The edge of another orgasm looms before you, but you hold back as much as possible, wanting to tumble over the edge with him. You lift your head just enough to look into his eyes, the beginning of laugh lines etched into the skin around them. “Let go, Poe, I’m ready.”

Pressing a kiss to his lips, you rest your forehead against his and shift your hips in time with his. The angle threatens to overwhelm you but you hold on, freeing your hands to slip into his hair. Energy sparks around you and, with one final thrust, Poe tips over the edge and pulls you with him.

Shattering is the only way you can describe the feeling of the waves burning through you, Poe half a breath ahead of you. Panting and shivering from the exertion, you fully collapse on top of him, heartbeats pounding in call and response to each other. You’re fully content to lie like this forever, wrapped in his arms and the smell of him, skin to skin and souls laid bare to one another.

He kisses the top of your head, finally adjusting to roll you over next to him. He looks into your eyes, something unsaid burning just below the surface of his intense gaze.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” you say quietly, never looking away from him.

“I’m thinking,” he pauses for a moment, “that I wasted a lot of time not telling you how I felt. And that I don’t want to miss any more time.”

“Then we won’t.” You smile brightly up at him, taking in the excitement and joy on his face. “You’re stuck with me, Dameron.”

He kisses you again, sweet and gentle and unhurried. You kiss him back, trying to put all the words you held yourself back from saying into it. Making up for lost time. He pulls away, looking you up and down, wonder shaping every feature.

“No more wasted time. You and me against the world,” you say softly.

He pulls the covers over both of you and, as he pulls you in close to his chest, he repeats reverently, “No more wasted time.”

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#poe dameron #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x female!reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron smut #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fan fiction #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fan fic #star wars fanfic #star wars fan fic #ceci writes #no more wasted time #nmwt #poe dameron and you #poe dameron and reader #poe dameron x f!reader #poe dameron x fem!reader #poe dameron modern!AU

[catt-nuevenor]

Story Setting - Peyton and Peidyn

"Best behaviour, alright?"

"Yes, Peyton/Peidyn," Lars and Louis/Leila drone.

"I mean it, no shenanigans, no fights. The pair of you should be setting a good example, not a cautionary tale."

My little one giggles from their spot on my lap as we watch on.

"I don't want to hear from Eylmer and Joyce that you've been less than perfect guests."

"Yes, Fæder/Módor."

Peyton/Peidyn sighs, a wry smile hidden behind their palm. "Off with the lot of you, before I change my mind."

My little one gives me a parting hug before accepting a piggyback from Louis/Leila.

"Be good!" I call after the three of them.

"We will!"

As the front door closes, and the yipping giggles and laughter filters in from outside, Peyton/Peidyn takes the seat beside mine, propping their chin up on the heel of their hand.

"Remind me, when was it that I adopted those two?"

I rest my hand on their shoulder, my fingers immediately finding stiffening muscle and tension. "About a week after they first walked through your door. They'll be fine."

Peyton/Peidyn huffs, then they smile. "Kicking the children out of the house for the night? For all the stress, it's worth it." They gather up the hand that rests on my shoulder, and brush their lips over my knuckles. "Shall we get started?"

Our meal is simple; vegetable stew with barley, freshly baked bread, and a quart of cider to share. Simple, and yet it is so much more than it has rights to be. We work together in a constant flow, our currents entwining then parting as we tease and encourage one another with small touches and glances. When Peyton/Peidyn asks me to taste the stew, they find an excuse to brush their thumb over my hip bone, their warm arm across my lower back, barely touching but still a pressure against my skin.

We eat at the table by candlelight, our faces smudged in shadow, our eyes aglow. Peyton/Peidyn sits beside me, as always, their arm skimming mine as they lift the spoon to their lips.

---

Extrovert

We leave the chores for the morning, stacking our things in the sink and brushing away any flour that clings to our clothes or hair.

"Should we change?" I ask.

"No, we'll pass Myrna's scrutiny." Peyton/Peidyn cups my jaw and kisses my cheek to prove it. "You could draped in a whole sack of flour and still be stunning."

I bat them playfully away. "Flatterer."

We leave the lodging house, hiding the key behind a loose brick in the wall for the others. The night is cool, but pleasant, the stars above twinkling down as we make our way across the Ash bridge and towards the thrum of music.

The dance has already spilled out into the market square, the musicians arranged upon the back of a hay-cart, the folk of the town a twirl below.

Peyton/Peidyn waves and nods to their cousins, and we both send our greetings to Ana/Abe and Erda when we spy them stood outside the shop.

"There's always a greater chance for injury when you mix drink with dancing," the old cunning woman had pronounced a few days ago. From first glance, it seems injury and accident have been avoided thus far. Long may that continue.

Peyton/Peidyn and I step up to the edge of the fray.

Panic flares within me when I feel their hand leave mine, but it is banished when I catch the gleam of their smile. Their locks of red and rust sweep low as they bow to me, their grey eyes gold in lantern light when they look up, and when they speak it is with the purr of storm and promise that makes my Feorh sore.

"Dance with me?"

And truly, what can I do, but let their tide carry me on?

---

Introvert

The night is ours, so we bask in it, in each other. Chores are sweetened by kisses, the washing by their arms around my waist, their breath upon my neck. When all is tidy, we sit before the fire, wrapped around one another, and share the warmth.

"This is enough," Peyton/Peidyn whispers.

"Hmm?"

"This. You, me, this." They tighten their embrace for a moment and kiss my neck. "It's enough, isn't it?"

"It is," I reply, pressing my lips to the hollow of their throat, their pulse rising to greet me as I linger. "It is."

---

Image courtesy of Annie Spratt on Unsplash

#MyrkMire #Date Night Ask #Peyton #Peidyn #P

[keep-the-wolves-close]

Steady Heart

Chapter 17: Muddy Waters

* Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

* Rating: M

* Warnings: language, grouchy Kayce, murder confessions

* Word count: 4,381ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being sounding boards for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being cheerleaders, and allowing me to screech at them about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y'all.

Author's note: Well folks, here we are at the end of season 1! I’m so glad you’ve stuck around this long. I know I’m excited to get to season 2! Things start to get tricky soon! A little rocky too. I wanted to get one extra of these posted (I have a lot queued still) to bring y’all some entertainment and give me some motivation flow! I hope you all continue to enjoy! Also please don’t be shy to send me asks with your favorite parts or something that happened that you screamed about or need to scream about. I would love to scream with you lol. 🤓

Also fun fact, this was the third chapter I ever wrote for this story. I didn’t write them in order lmao.

The noise in the bunkhouse was deafening. The gang was playing their nightly poker, and it got rowdy as always. Especially with Avery involved. On any given day Stella didn’t mind the cacophony. She grew up around it. The volume of the bunkhouse was comforting. Home.

Today on the other hand it was overwhelming. She laid in the bunk she always nabbed, trying to read. She couldn’t get comfortable and she definitely wasn’t able to stay focused. Letting out a frustrated breath she dropped the book in her hands to the mattress.

“It seems like the attitude is hitting more than just Kayce lately,” Jake mentioned in her direction from across the house. Ryan looked between them from underneath his eyebrows to gauge how aggressive his little sister was about to be. He didn’t want to jump in unless needed.

“Oh shut the fuck up, Jake.” She paused as she sat up and the realization hit her that he mentioned Kayce. “Wait Kayce’s home again?” She stood up to walk toward the table.

Ryan nodded. “Yeah. He’s been home since the other day.”

Stella weighed the tone her brother used. There appeared to be something else there that wasn’t being said. With everything that’s happened recently, it didn’t sound like a good thing. She raised an eyebrow. “Like home, home?”

Her brother gave her a look. “At least for the time being, yes.”

She came up in between Ryan and Lloyd. “Does anyone know where he’s at?”

Lloyd offered, “Well the last place I saw him was in the barn. After that, I’m not sure.”

“He was definitely sour today, Stellee. I would probably wait,” Ryan warned her.

Stella was already putting her forest green Carhartt on to go in search of her best friend. “If there’s anything I’m good at, Ry, it’s being an ear. I’ll be just fine.” Grouchy Kayce didn’t scare her. She just wanted to help her best friend. She patted Ryan’s shoulder and made her way out the door.

When it closed behind her, everything went still. She closed her eyes and let her shoulders drop with a deep breath. One of the many things she and Kayce shared was the desperate need for tranquility. It gave just a brief moment of respite from the chaos. No matter if that chaos was internal or external. No manufactured noise, no rushing. Just the sound of the wind and the beat of a heart that slowed to match the breeze.

Stella figured she would start in the barn and work her way around. She had a nagging feeling he wasn’t far, but he also wasn’t close either. She heard a wolf howl in the distance behind her. If she had to go out further, she would keep that in mind. Ryan could be pissed about it later.

She rolled her eyes at the quick thought about her brother. Ryan could be such a mother hen. Yes, he was solely responsible for her. Had been since they left home when Stella was 11. She wasn’t 11 anymore, however. He could loosen the reins a little bit. She knew it was just because he cared and they were the last people they had. She just wanted him to see that he had taught her a lot about standing on her own and that she had gotten pretty good at it.

When she opened the door to the barn there were small chuffs and greetings from the horses she walked past. Mainly it was because it was later in the evening and they were trying to figure out who the hell was in their barn. She giggled quietly to herself. The audacity she had to wake them up from their post-dinner sleep.

Stella looked in all the usual hiding places she and Kayce had accumulated over the years, but no such luck. She wandered over to her lovely Abigail. Ryan had gotten her as a two year old for Stella when she turned 16. John had graciously let her keep Abigail at the ranch. Of course she worked hard to keep her there, but John was still kind enough to let her stay. The lively 12-year-old mare was as fierce as they come. Especially when it came to Stella. Kayce had helped Stella break her in. The rest between the girl and her horse was history.

“Hey beautiful baby.” Stella reached out to pet her muzzle. Abigail nudged her gently back. She went in to hug her quickly and looked next door at Kayce’s horse.

She said to both animals, “So he hasn’t gone far, I take it?” She took only a moment to form a thought, and asked the animals, “You wouldn’t happen to remember which way he went, would you?” She rubbed Abigail’s neck and laughed to herself. Kayce couldn’t make the search easy, and she wouldn’t have expected anything less.

She turned out the lights in the barn and came to stand out in the quiet. If she couldn’t directly find him, she would let nature tell her where to go. She heard a wolf howl off in the distance to her right again which was in between the foreman’s house and the bunkhouse. She heard some fluttering of night birds to her left toward the big house. There was a little grove of tall, but bushy pines that blocked the view of the foreman’s house. Kayce was there. He had to be. It’s where she would have chosen to go on foot if she was looking to be by herself and partially secluded.

Making her way to the tree line, she heard a wolf howl again. This time closer. To her intuition, that meant she was going in the right direction, but it also put her on edge. She was by herself, no assurance that Kayce was actually in here other than a hunch, and had no weapon or self defense. Now she understood why Ryan was still over protective. She could be so forgetful. She would have to tell Rip in the morning that wolves were close by.

With her shoulders squared and a deep breath to give her courage, she crossed the tree line and made her way to the most central point. The furthest spot away from everything. She listened closely to the twigs that cracked and the pine needles that crunched under her feet; making note of anything that sounded dangerous. She breathed shallowly. The air came out in little puffs between her lips making it feel like she could hear better.

Sitting there on a downed tree in a little clearing was Kayce. She let herself breathe a bit more normally. She stopped to look at her best friend and her eyebrows pulled together and her face dropped. He looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. As if the god Atlas had handed over the mantle to him.

Her lips pursed. “Hey cowboy.” He whipped around at the sudden intrusion of her soft voice. He immediately relaxed when he saw it was Stella and stood to meet her. He wrapped her in a hug. She always loved getting hugs from him, but this one felt different.

“Kayce, what’s wrong?” She squeezed him tight and stepped back to get a better look at him holding onto his arms. His eyes looked swollen from what she could see in the dark.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, I promise.”

She scoffed. “You’re not okay, my dude.”

“Yes, I am, Stella.” Kayce sighed loudly. He sounded stuffy.

“Yeah, sure you are.” She scrunched up her face and huffed. “You’re lying to me. Why?”

“Because it’s not your job to be worried about me.”

“That’s rude as hell considering I’ve worried about you for 13 years straight. For every second of every day because I know you and your reckless abandon. It’s my job to be worried about you because if I don’t, you won't.” She crossed her arms indignantly. “Only myself or your wife will.”

He got defensive. “You should just go back to the house. Not everyone wants you to be up their ass all the time.”

Stella’s eyes squinted as her eyebrows pulled together at his attitude. Her brother hadn’t been lying when he said Kayce was irritable today. “I was coming to say hi and check on you, but if you wanna be a jackass about it, fine. Come find me when you pull your head out of your ass, Kayce.” She shook her head, muttered, ‘unbelievable,’ as she walked back the way she came.

Stella was almost to the line of trees that went back into the wooded area from the little clearing when she just barely heard, “Monica left me.”

“I’m sorry, what.” It wasn’t even a question. A flat tone of shock held her voice as she whipped around.

“Monica left me. She said she didn’t think it was safe for her or Tate. Didn’t think I was safe for her or Tate.”

“Shut the fuck up.” She ran to him and gripped him tightly again. “Shit you know what I mean, but what the fuck.” She fixed her glasses. It was quiet between them for a few minutes. Neither of them really knew what to say. Stella was gobsmacked, and it was very safe to assume Kayce was blindsided. Kayce was probably the second person, after her brother, that she felt completely safe with. She couldn’t understand Monica’s logic.

She now felt bad that she had bit back at him so hard. He had taken his anger out on her, sure. But she also wouldn’t let the subject drop. ‘Takes two to tango.’

“Do you wanna go on a night ride?” She inquired quietly. It was her peace offering. They both had been asses, but they could fix it this way. She hoped. She looked down at the ground and pushed through the pine needles and dirt with her foot. She slid her glasses up her nose and brought her head up to avoid them sliding down as fast.

While Stella looked anywhere but at him, Kayce studied her. She had put her hands in her back pockets. Her brown hair was pulled up in a bun, as usual, and some shorter strands fell into her face. She was wearing her dark green jacket, the one he had gotten her for her 17th birthday.

He knew he had been a jerk. He hadn’t meant to take it out on her. She was just trying to do what Stella did best. Help. Even with the acidity he had thrown at her. Here she was. Still standing by his side in all her loyal glory. He had always been able to count on her to be somewhere in the wings. Lee hadn’t been joking when he said where there was one, the other wasn’t far to follow.

Stella finally looked up at him and he was reminded of the first time her wild eyes met his. At that time, he was 16. He wanted to be anywhere but stuck with some random 14 year old girl he didn’t know. He had wanted to purposely annoy her to see just how much fire actually lived behind those eyes. Little did he know, she would become a major constant in his life.

He felt like they were those kids again. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

The pair raced to the barn and hurried to tack up as fast as possible, laughing and giggling all the way. They flew out of the barn. They galloped off toward the river that ran through one of the pastures and into the park. Kayce and Tank had gotten the drop on Stella and Abigail. The good thing about that was that she had held Abigail back for about three quarters of the way.

“Don’t hold back girl, cut those boys off.” Stella leaned forward and felt Abigail unleash her legs beneath her. Slowly but surely they were coming on their opponents. She was almost worried that Kayce was holding Tank back. That would be just like him.

“Don’t you dare try and dirty cheat me out, Kayce!” She shouted as they raced by. Stella could see the river just up ahead. She pushed her mare faster, trying to cut off the last few hundred feet. Kayce and Tank came running up beside them.

“No!” Stella refused to tie. “Hell no! I met the bank first, you shit head!”

“You’re such a sore loser, Stell.” They both hopped down and Stella was ready for a fake war. With her shoulders squared, she stalked forward.

“I’ll show you a sore loser, cowboy!” She went to swipe for his hat, but Kayce ducked and weaved around her. He grabbed her around the waist and spun her.

“Kayce stop, I’m gonna vomit!” He slowed to a stop after a few spins.

He squeezed his fingertips on her hips, “Do you give?” His voice was husky behind her ear.

Stella cleared her throat. “For now. But my girl and I still won.” She gave him a quick jab with her elbow while turning around. She stuck her tongue out as she backed away from him to put space between them. He swatted at her with one of his reins and she squealed, and ran back to Abigail. She adjusted her glasses and laughed.

“So are we gonna be here for a while?”

“Maybe?” Kayce wasn’t too sure himself.

“Okay well I’m gonna take her saddle off for now.” She broke down the saddle and leaned it against the base of a nearby tree. She let Abigail stand ground tied. She watched Kayce as he finished breaking down Tank. It was just like old times when they would run away for the night and come to this spot. Especially when things got to be too much. She smiled affectionately at the memories. Stella could see the weight was still there on his shoulders, but he seemed lighter. This was hopefully just the thing he needed right now.

Stella heard the rushing of the river. Deciding to go sit at the edge of the bank, she sat and breathed in deep. The mountain air would always and forever bring her peace.

“Hey, Kace, come sit.” Stella said softly. Kayce sat his saddle down against the same tree as Stella’s and walked over. “Pop a squat.” Stella patted the ground next to her. He took the invitation and plopped next to her with a groan. “Those bones are gettin’ old, huh?”

“Stella…,” he sighed, “shut the hell up.”

She laughed. “Oh you love me Kayce. What would you do without me?”

“Probably crash and burn.” The mood became heavy. Stella knew that without Monica or herself, his hotheaded devil may care ways and rocky relationship with his father, surely would have run him into the ground by now.

The air got still. The only thing to be heard was the late night forest noises, their horses, and the river. They leaned toward each other letting their shoulders touch. Instantly they both relaxed. Stella’s head leaned toward his shoulder as a pillow. It was a comfort thing. They had done it since they were young. The pair always seemed to make physical contact somehow at some point.

She thought back to when she had first met Kayce. The wild eyed young buck that had absolutely no fear in him.

Rip led Ryan and Stella out to the stables to get his horse from Lloyd. Stella couldn’t come along for the work day, but thankfully Rip and Lee had a babysitter in mind.

Rip glanced at their new wrangler. “Ryan, say goodbye to your sister. She’s going with Kayce for the day.” Rip moved to stand off to the side as Lee brought Kayce around into the stables.

“Kayce, Stella. Stella, Kayce.” Lee introduced quickly. He had a lot of shit to do today, and he hoped these two would stay out of trouble.

“You’re both on barn and feeding duty today.” He looked to both of them as he grabbed his horse, “Kayce knows the ropes. He’ll lead you straight. Isn’t that right Kayce?” He gave his little brother a sharp look. Kayce nodded and watched as his big brother wandered off.

He huffed and turned back around to face the girl he had been stuck with. She was currently petting one of the horses that wasn’t being used today. Her brown hair was in a messy bun, and her side swept bangs were continuously getting stuck behind her glasses.

“Alright petting zoo time is over. Come on.” He walked by her. She screwed up her face behind his back. She was confused as to who he was talking to like that. Since she didn’t fully know where things were, she decided to pick that battle for later. She needed him to show her things.

“Okay so the list board is here,” he pointed haphazardly at the cork board, “everything you’ll need to muck and water is in this room here next to the tack room,” he moved over to the next door on the opposite side, “and this is the feed room. You got any experience with feeding?”

“I mean, yeah. Some. Not much though.” Stella shrugged, “I’m will– ,” Kayce interrupted her.

“Okay well I’ll take care of that. Don’t need any of our horses dying because then I would never hear the end of it.”

“If you would let me finish,” she sighed, “I’m willing to learn the schedule and the amounts here. If you’ll show me.”

“I don’t have the time to show you that. I gotta go do the outside stuff. Then I’ll come back and feed the inside horses.” He left through a side door.

Her face flattened, if she were a mare her ears would have pinned. She muttered, ‘unbelievable,’ to herself.

Stella was brought back to the present by a gentle nudge from Kayce. She glanced over at him with a questioning look.

“Where’d you go?” Kayce inquired quietly.

She hummed a soft laugh. “Sorry I was thinking about when we first met. How we kinda hated each other. Who would have thought we’d be best friends not long after?”

“Oh yeah. I didn’t hate you. I just didn’t want to have to babysit a girl who knew nothing about ranch life.”

“I knew about ranch life. Just not your ranch in particular. You would have only had to babysit me for a few days before I got the full hang of it. I at least had the horse part down.” Stella giggled, “but out of spite, I made you have to keep an eye out for me longer.”

“Wait, you did that on purpose?”

“Maybe?” She wanted to back track, but she had already come this far. “Okay yes. I did. But in my defense I also wanted you to be my friend. You were the only one in the same age bracket. Everyone else was older.”

“I would have done that regardless, sugar.” Her chest tightened at his use of the old nickname.

“Sugar? Damn it’s been a long time since I’ve heard that one cowboy.”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to just be.”

“You’ve had a lot going on. Between meeting your —,” she stopped herself short, “joining and leaving the military, becoming a father. I wanted to respect that.” Stella breathed. “It was bad enough that I came to live with you for like almost a year.” She chuckled.

Stella turned to face him a little better, but leaned back. “Wait, are you trying to say you missed me?” He smiled like she’s only ever seen him smile a handful of times. He looked down. He was bashful. She smiled wide.

“Kayce John,” she started poking his arm, “you missed me! And you’re bashful! What the actual hell? There's gonna be snowfall by tomorrow.”

“Nevermind you asshole.” He gently shoved her hand away and started to stand. He wasn’t actually mad. He was just embarrassed.

“Oh my god. I’m sorry Kayce. Please don’t leave.” She reached out and grabbed his hand. He pulled her up and wrapped her in a gentle hug to give her a noogie.

Stella squealed, “no Kayce no!” She fought her way out of the hug. She pushed and shoved until he gave in and let her spin away. She moved her glasses as the world stopped spinning. Her eyes focused on him again.

“You remember those awful bangs?”

“Kayce shut the fuck up.” They both broke out into loud belly laughs. She had loved those bangs… for about a week. “Why do you think I let them grow out?”

“I think we’re both glad you did.”

Stella swatted at him from a distance, “Now who's being the asshole?”

It went quiet between them. Kayce turned and faced the water. Stella chewed her lip. She wanted to ask about the situation, but she also didn’t want to pry without his permission.

Without missing a beat and while he still faced away from her, Kayce said, “Go ahead, Stella. I know you want to ask.”

“So…,” she started, “What exactly happened? What made her think you, of all people, weren’t safe?”

“You remember what happened with Lee and the cattle?”

“Oh you mean that giant shit storm that gave me several panic attacks and grey hairs about what I was coming home to? Yeah. What about it?”

“I was there, between Lee and Robert.”

“Monica’s brother, Robert?”

“Yeah.” The air was heavy. Kayce wasn’t sure he wanted to admit to her that he had been the one who had killed his brother’s killer.

“What is it, Kayce?”

Kayce sighed and paced along the river bank. She could tell he was contemplating a lot all at once. Stella knew he must be overwhelmed to the max. He was getting more and more agitated the longer he went back and forth.

“Hey, stop and look at me.” She got closer to him. He stopped, but his breathing was labored like a caged mountain lion. “Kayce, you can tell me. I’m your Huckleberry, remember?”

Kayce took his time and really surveyed her. He needed to know if he could really trust her. Yes, he understood he could trust her with his horse, with his truck. He knew he could trust her with the life of his child. But killing a person? His wife’s brother? That was a completely different ball park of trust. Hell, he hadn’t even technically told his wife until today.

“Stella, please don’t get angry when I ask this. Can I 100 percent trust that what I tell you stays between us and this river bank?”

“Kayce. My god. You’re acting like you killed someone. Yes. You can trust me. Who am I gonna tell?”

He suddenly became very serious. His voice was low and didn’t waver. “No Stella. Can I trust you to not say anything? To anyone.”

Her shoulders dropped and her eyebrows pulled together. “Yes Kayce. You can trust me. When have I ever given you any doubt?”

He breathed and remained quiet. She had never given him any kind of doubt. About her friendship, her intentions, nothing. His jaw clenched as he decided whether or not to make the ice cold plunge. It was one that he may or may not be able to come back from in her eyes.

“I don’t wanna lose you too.” He said in a small quiet voice.

“Kayce, I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would make me leave. I might take a lap around the ranch, but I won’t leave.”

“I killed Robert after he killed Lee.” Kayce said it so quickly, she almost missed it. Her jaw dropped open with a snap as she looked up at him. “He shot Lee, and Lee was bleeding out, and I just–,” Stella started to be able to hear the unshed tears wavering in his voice as he cut himself off. A wave of nausea hit her at the thought that Robert killed Lee. She couldn’t help but feel like that had potentially been on purpose. She knew Kayce’s brother-in-law wasn’t fond of Lee. Or Kayce for that matter.

The blood rushed through her ears and melded with the sound of the river. Her vision unfocused on the moving water in front of them. Her mouth remained open, trying to breathe in as much oxygen as it could. She couldn’t believe what she heard. She couldn’t believe it, but on the contrary, she could. She knew that if it had been Ryan and her, she would have done the same thing and vice versa.

“Stella, please say something. Anything.”

She looked up at Kayce and made direct eye contact. Her jaw was still open. Her mouth started to move, trying to find words to say, but she struggled to find them. She struggled to even find sound.

“Fuck.” She whispered. “What are you and Monica gonna do? What are you gonna do? What if the cops catch wind? What if–,” Kayce interrupted her diarrhea mouth.

He put his hands on her shoulders. “We’ve already taken care of the what ifs.” He faced away from her again. He was almost ashamed he dropped this on her, for her to carry. “As for me and Monica? You know, I don’t really know. I’m flying by the seat of my pants here.”

Stella watched Kayce face the river. It was like he was begging for answers from the running water. She frowned. Her heart hurt for her best friend. She wished she could give him the answers he searched for. This was a little out of her wheelhouse. She reached out to him and placed her hand between his shoulder blades and rubbed gently. He leaned closer to her. She could tell that he was trying to ground himself. She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Kayce. I’ll help you with anything you need.” He put his arm around her shoulder and brought her closer. He kissed her head. She turned and put a hand on his chest as reassurance. “I’ll help you figure this out.”

Kayce sighed. “We should probably head back.” He stayed silent for a few minutes. “Thank you for not running.”

#yellowstone #kayce dutton #yellowstonetv #luke grimes #ian bohen #ryan #kayce dutton fan fiction #yellowstone fanfic #yellowstone fanfiction #kayce dutton fanfic

[judeandcardan]

"You wanted to kiss me,” she breathed, looking down at his lips. Cardan’s eyes widened but he didn’t dare to move, waiting for Jude to finish her sentence. “And I told you that you were drunk.”

“Well, I’m not drunk anymore.” He found himself whispering before he could stop himself.

Read it on ao3

(Thank/blame @golden-notebook-thinking for this)

The High King of Elfhame woke up with a pounding head, his thoughts scattered. He blinked blearily, looking up at the ceiling of his chambers which was tastefully adorned with gold patterns. Across his stomach lay a petite fairie with hair as white as snow with her mouth flaked in gold. Cardan watched as she took deep breaths, obviously very much asleep. He looked around his chambers and sure enough there were three more sleeping fair folk draped across his room in various state of undress.

He gingerly got up, swatting the white-headed fairy’s arm until she blinked up in alarm at him. “Get off me,” He snarled in disgust. The fairie quickly scurried away from him. Perhaps, he should have been nicer, he mused but as he watched her cower, he felt the familiar thrill of having power so wicked and cruel over someone that he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He got up from his bed and walked towards the door, careful to avoid the bodies of other fairies currently lying on his bedroom floor. He breathed a sigh of relief as he silently closed the door behind him. It wasn’t dawn yet, so all the other residents of the palace were fast asleep. The silence hung heavily around him, suffocating him. He hated being alone. He strode towards the garden just outside the palace longing for some fresh air.

It was strange how his steps seemed to be eerily silent even in the quiet. Jude’s steps would not have been this silent, this ghostly. The thought came unbidden to him startling him as he opened the grand doors leading to the garden. He shook his head, disgusted by himself for thinking of his seneschal for such a trivial matter.

The warm humid air hit his cool skin immediately as he stepped outside. The breeze blowing his raven curls that were a mess from yesterday’s party and what followed after that. He moved towards the riverbank overlooking the river flowing gaily and hastily in a blur of blue.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw her. Jude. She was sitting at the edge of the river, leaning on her arms, her feet dipped in the cold water. It was reckless behavior, being so close to those treacherous waves, but Jude had always been foolishly reckless.

Her hair hung loose around her, a rarity, as her hair was always in one or another tight knot or braid. Her head was thrown back, exposing the long pale column of her neck. Her pink lips parted. Her eyes shut. She wore a loose flimsy white dress that reached till her knees but due to her sitting with one of her knees bent, it hiked up, showing the skin of her thigh. Cardan gulped, looking away but then almost immediately, as if under a spell he looked back at her. She was looking straight at him.

“Seneschal,” He said loftily, trying to mask his embarrassment at being caught staring.

“My King,” Jude replied with a slight snarl of her lip, getting up from her position.

“Oh, no need for that.” Cardan said quickly, too quickly. “Keep sitting. I shall join you. After all, you wouldn’t dare to refuse your High King, would you, Jude?” His tone took a threatening tilt at the end, daring her to refuse. Anger flared across her face, but she simply shook her head.

“No, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She said lowly, in a controlled voice. Cardan smirked and sat down beside her.

“You know, you shouldn’t do that,” He said, pointing towards her feet with one longer finger adorned with glittering rings.

“What?” She asked half-heartedly, her eyes closed.

“Dip your feet in water,” He clarified, “there are many a killer beneath these waves.”

She cracked an eye open, narrowing her eyes at him. “They are probably sleeping, right now.” But Cardan didn’t miss it as Jude became more alert, her eyes open, her back straighter.

“Hmm,” Cardan said turning away from Jude, “it’s just that I would like it if my Seneschal was alive.”

Jude scowled, begrudgingly retracting her feet from the water. “Happy now?”

“Very much so.” He said with a small smile. Jude rolled her eyes at him and that made him smile even more.

After a pause Jude said softly, “You look like a mess.” Cardan blinked slowly, looking down at himself. He truly was a mess. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned and tousled, stained with amber wine. He was wearing no boots. His breeches were scattered with gold powder. He was sure his hair looked quite wild too.

“I do.” He said, nodding his head slowly, looking up at her.

Jude snorted, “Of course, you do.” She opened her mouth then paused as if debating internally whether to speak what was on her mind or not. The sight unnerved Cardan. Jude wasn't like this.

“Go ahead, speak what’s on your mind.”

Jude hesitated then said, “I was just going to say…of course you look like a mess, you were so drunk and stupid last night. Wild. Brazen. Reckless. Careless. A High King shouldn’t behave like that, Cardan.”

Cardan ignored the latter half of what Jude said and instead asked, “Jude, what did I do?”

Jude jumped a little at her spot, not quite meeting his eyes. “Cardan—”

He cut her off. “Jude. What. Did. I. Do?” He asked, emphasizing on every word. Jude laughed nervously, the sound all high and wrong. This wasn’t how Jude laughed, he knew that for sure by the other two times he made her laugh before.

“Well, you did a lot of things. You got drunk. You inhaled all sorts of powder. You bedded a fairie—or for what I know many fairies. Then you—”

“Jude,” He said, stopping her ramblings, “that all is usual.” Jude remained silent.

“Now tell me,” he said, lifting her chin up with one of his slender fingers. Jude gulped. “What did I do?”

“You wanted to kiss me,” she breathed, looking down at his lips. Cardan’s eyes widened but he didn’t dare to move, waiting for Jude to finish her sentence. “And I told you that you were drunk.”

Cardan blinked in alarm and embarrassment. He couldn’t have—could he? Surely, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to want to kiss Jude, again? Despite her betrayal? Despite her mortality? Despite her controlling his every move?

“Well, I’m not drunk anymore.” He found himself whispering before he could stop himself.

Jude looked up in alarm, frozen. Then, hesitantly, leaned closer to him. Cardan inhaled sharply, not quite believing what was happening.

"Cardan, kiss me...please." She said looking up at him, her eyes hooded and clouded with lust and longing. He was sure he looked the same.

"I—"

"Kiss me." And he did. He pressed his mouth firmly against hers. Sliding his lips over hers as she did the same. He gripped her by the head bringing her closer but it wasn't enough. Never enough.

"Jude," he breathed his voice coarse, "straddle me."

Jude complied, her eyes dark with want. Cardan whimpered as she settled herself over his lap.

“My dear Seneschal,” he breathed, leaning closer to her once again, “you don't know how long I’ve longed for this.” He said bringing his mouth to hers once again.  

#hmmm this sucks it's so bad oh god #jurdan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #how the king of elfhame learned to hate stories #the folk of the air #holly black #jurdan fanfic #jude x cardan

[goldenbituin]

Professor Egghead's Snow Day (Fanmade Creepypasta)

A new episode of the beloved show The Adventures of Professor Egghead has been discovered in the depths of the Internet! What zany hijinks will our favorite scientist encounter today???

Based on the Professor Egghead stories by Mike J. Langer

Narrator uses feminine pronouns idk

⚠ TW: violence, gore, blood, horror, murder

The past few months have been dragging along. I’ve been working day in and day out to make ends meet, helping out my family in the morning and getting my stuff done around the grocery store at night. Anything to keep my body moving and the cash flowing, I say to myself. All this leaves me almost no time to relax and renew my mind for the next day. The only thing I have the energy to do when I get back home is to surf the web. 

I tend to gravitate towards the creepy and disturbing; who doesn’t like a little scare once in a while? All those hours cleaning the house sometimes made way for learning about obscure true crime or cursed video game secrets. One night I was on my laptop, scrolling through a list of supposed “Disturbing Things Found on the Internet”. Most of the articles had edgy and spooky names that I didn’t pay much attention to. That is, until I came across something that stood out like a sore thumb. 

Professor Egghead’s Snow Day. Was that a cartoon of some sort? I clicked on the link that would lead me to it, but instead got a notification saying “Download complete: professor_eggheads_snow_day.mp4”

“Are you kidding me…” I sighed at the thought of this being malware that I unknowingly received. In response, I ran it through a quick antivirus scan, which came back with no issues. To me this was a sign that I should go ahead and watch the file, so I opened it in a video player. That decision was something I’d come to regret for a long time.

—

The scene opened to a beautiful view of a snow-covered park. A staticky filter gave me the impression this show must be from the 2000s, but as it didn’t even give an intro, I could be wrong. I could hear children laughing, dogs barking, and people chattering far and wide in the open space. Couples held hands as they walked down the paved sidewalks, and some people were building snowmen. This could be a Christmas special for all I know.

Just then I heard something unusual. Like the crescendo of an approaching rainfall. Strange, I thought. The sky is blue with not a cloud in sight. However, the more I listened, the more I realized it wasn’t rainfall, but applause. As the clapping grew louder, the people in view moved slower and slower, and their bright faces melted into blankness.

The uproar hit its peak as the main character walked in. A short, stout man in a brown wool coat and red scarf walked into the scene. The shape of his body reflected as a shadow on the stark white ground, giving the impression of an egg on legs. Only a tuft of black hair adorned his head, and between his small ears was a wide, frog-like mouth. His eyes, although bloodshot and droopy, pierced like daggers at whoever dared to look his way. The cast felt rather unnerved by his sudden introduction, but he paid no mind.

“I AM PROFESSOR EGGHEAD!” he announced suddenly. “MASTER OF ALL THE SCIENCES! EXPLORER OF EVERYTHING IN THIS NATURAL WORLD!” He shot up his gloved pointer finger as he made his speech, causing some people to flinch. His voice is not what I expected from someone of his appearance. It was loud and shrill, almost like a man doing an impression of an old lady, but with five times the force put into each syllable.

“TODAY I TAKE A BRIEF RESPITE FROM MY NEVER-ENDING STUDY, " he continued. “FROM MY SLEEPLESS, JOYLESS DAYS OF PURSUING ENLIGHTENMENT. MY PASSION REMAINS STRONG BUT MY SOUL CALLS OUT FOR A RELEASE FROM THE CONSTRAINTS OF RESEARCH,”

Wow, I thought, he just needs a break, kinda like me I guess. 

“THIS FRIGID WEATHER BECKONS ME TO VENTURE OUTSIDE AND OBSERVE THE COMMON FOLK. I HAVE COME TO JOIN IN THEIR SEASONAL REVELRY!” he threw his arms wide, as if making an exciting announcement. 

“YOU AND YOUR SNOW ANGLES, SNOW SLEDDING, AND MOST NOTABLY, SNOW FIGHTING. HOW YOUR GAMES OF ICE AND FROST INTRIGUE ME! I SHALL TAKE PART AT ONCE!” He took something out of his pocket, but it was hard to tell what it was exactly. Then he crouched down and gathered a handful of snow, patting it into a ball. “WHOEVER WANTS TO PROVE THEMSELVES WORTHY OF CHALLENGING THE GREAT PROFESSOR, HAVE AT YOU!!” He turned to a couple standing near a snowman they put together, winded his arm back like a baseball pitcher, and threw his snowball as hard as he could at them. 

It hit the man in the mouth, causing him to cry out in pain. He doubled over, covering his face while his girlfriend braced onto him, trying to provide support. The camera zoomed in on him, revealing a bloodied face and a broken tooth. The man shakily picked up the snowball and dusted off the snow, and the camera zoomed in closer to show that there was a rock underneath. Laughter poured in from an unseen audience. I was taken aback, did that professor guy really have to do that?

The injured man tried his best to chuckle. “P-Professor Egghead… that’s not how you have a snowball fight.” The laugh track played once more at his attempt to quell the situation.

Professor Egghead looked indignant. “YOU DARE TELL ME HOW TO PLAY MY GAME? YOU DARE TELL ME HOW TO SPEND MY DAY OFF? IF YOU KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT PROFESSOR EGGHEAD, IT IS THAT HE DOES NOT GO EASY! HE NEVER HAS!” He stomped his foot into the snow. “IF I WANT A CHALLENGE, I WILL HAVE IT! IT IS SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST NOW!”

Out of nowhere, he acquired several more snow-covered rocks and hurled them at the scared couple. The woman tried to hide behind her snowman but the barrage of “snowballs” demolished it at once, leaving her exposed to be impacted as well. The professor did not stop until the two people lay on the snow, staining it red.

This has gotta be special effects, right? I thought to myself. It must be one of those sitcoms with a horror twist. I’m a fan of those, at least, so I kept watching with anticipation and apprehension.

The professor did not stop his attack. He continued to hurl the snowballs indiscriminately, and the people began screaming and running around the park. Some fell over with a crack to the skull, also falling into the snow and painting it red with blood. Even then, the audience roared with laughter and applause. Whatever Egghead’s goal was, they were cheering him on as he laughed at the terrified crowd. 

“COWARDS! FOOLS! LOSERS!” He taunted the fleeing park patrons as he kept tossing his ammo at full force. “YOU ARE TOO SCARED TO CHALLENGE SUCH ABUNDANCE OF WITS AND STRENGTH! YOU WILL NEVER BE AS GREAT AS ME! NEVER! NEVER!” He kept chanting that last word like a mantra every time he threw a new snowball. That was when his gaze snapped towards the camera, causing me to jump.

“NEVERRRRRRRR!!!!” He reeled back once more and threw a snowball at the camera, shattering its lens and causing the cameraman behind it to fall over. The view pointed at the clear blue sky, interrupted by a trickle of red blood sliding down the side.

I closed the video player. That was enough of the funny egg man for me. I sat at my desk for a few minutes, my head bowed and my mind trying to process what just went down. I’ve had this reaction to many weird and disturbing videos on YouTube before, but this was just… indescribable. How did this even get aired? How many people saw this on live television?

I spent the last hour before bed drawing in my sketchbook instead. At first it started out as various doodles and sketches, but thoughts of the egg-shaped man began taking over. I drew a goofy cartoon of him, with various poses and expressions, and eventually drew myself hurling snowballs at him as he ran away crying. I gave a sly chuckle. Who did that guy think he was? I could beat him at a snowball fight any time. After a few more minutes of drawing I fell asleep without a care in the world.

—

The next day was as occupied as any other. I was back in the grocery store, trying to retrieve a box high upon a shelf in the freezer. How they expect a short woman like me to be able to access those heights is beyond me, but there were tasks to be done and I wasted no time. Growing more frustrated, I tried climbing the lower shelves and reaching out with one arm to get the box. One rule I missed about these freezers: there’s a chance surfaces may be slippery. This oversight caused me to slip off a platform, and I fell backwards off the shelves. My head first hit a box stacked on a cart, toppling it over and spilling its contents. Then it hit the concrete floor with a loud thud.

……

……

……

……

I stood in a snowy field, lined with benches and frosted pine trees. No longer did I wear my work shirt and hat, but instead donned a long black winter coat, my hand-crocheted scarf, and winter boots. My breathing turned deep and steady as I took in my new surroundings. The people walking by me were familiar; they looked just like the passerby in the show I watched last night. My heart sank lower with each new thing I noticed.

Before I could get too deep into my thoughts, the audience made their presence known with applause. An applause that would introduce Professor Egghead, who sauntered his way across the park. He’s… real? Or… am I… where am I? Am I actually in the show? My chest felt heavier with each question that ran through my head.

“I AM PROFESSOR EGGHEAD! I HAVE COME TO JOIN YOUR MERRYMAKING IN THE ICE!” He tossed a snowball in his hand, causing me to shudder. “WHO WILL BE THE FIRST TO RECEIVE MY INVITATION?”

His eyes fixated on the same couple he mercilessly tore down in the episode. “HOW ABOUT YOU TWO?” He hurled one projectile after another until he managed to knock both of them out cold. That was much quicker than what I remember, but it gave me another reason to fear what he would do next.

“HMPH, THEY COULD NOT HANDLE THE IMMENSE POWER OF THE PROFESSOR, I SEE.” He let out a disappointed sigh and kept looking around. With each turn the people hid their faces away, refusing to meet his gaze. Soon enough, he zeroed in on me. I was confused at first, but I looked down and to my horror, I was also holding a handful of snow.

“YOU, MADAM! ARE YOU CHALLENGING ME TO A DUEL OF SNOW?” He shot out his finger at me, and I began shaking in my boots. 

“N… no…” I always felt scared when singled out like that, but this man, this mad scientist, really made me feel small and helpless without even trying.

“ARE YOU TURNING DOWN MY INVITATION TO DUEL? IS THAT HOW IT WILL BE?” His ragged face turned red with anger at my rejection. “I TAKE PRECIOUS TIME OUT OF MY DAY, AWAY FROM MY LABORATORY AND MY QUEST TO BENEFIT HUMANITY, AND THIS IS HOW I’M REPAID? YOU WILL ENTERTAIN ME WITH A PROPER FIGHT! YOU WILL NOT BACK DOWN! YOU WILL NOT KEEP WASTING MY HOURS ON THIS EARTH!”

I glanced around and saw the equally terrified people looking at me. They seemed shocked that I actually denied the egghead what he wants: a new victim to torment.

“NOW,” he bellowed. “LET THE GAME OF SNOW THROWING BEGIN.” He marched his way towards me, and without a second thought I dropped my snowball and ran the other direction. Underneath the pounding of my heart, I could hear the booing of a disappointed crowd. Not long after, that booing was overpowered by the rapid pitter-patter of feet in the snow.

“DO NOT RUN FROM ME!” He called out from far behind. “I DEMAND A FIGHT, AND I WILL GET IT!” I kept on my mad dash across the park, desperate to avoid him. If anyone was watching this like I did on my laptop, it would be less of a comedy skit and more of a harrowing chase scene. It was only when I couldn’t hear him running anymore that I stopped and leaned against a tree. Between my heaving and gasping for air I choked out a few sobs. Why was this happening?

My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain at the back of my head. He was right behind me, managing to get the first hit. “THIS IS SO WONDERFUL, OH SO WONDERFUL!” He laughed as he continued throwing rocks at me. “USING THE POWER OF MOMENTUM AND VELOCITY IN REAL TIME! MEASURING HOW MANY PROJECTILES THESE FEEBLE TARGETS CAN HANDLE! I’M HAVING FUN! SO MUCH FUN!” He danced in his place, hyper and overjoyed by the new world that has opened up to him. It was a world of science and amusement rolled into one for him, but pain and suffering for everyone else. I sucked in my breath and kept running, not waiting for him to do the same.

This went on for another five awful minutes, with me running for my life in a twisted, horrible excuse for a sitcom, and Professor Egghead bombarding me, giggling like a mischievous youngster while the invisible crowd laughed along. I tried doing several twists and sharp turns, changing direction like a rabbit trying to confuse its pursuer, but he was just as agile, making the same turns and growing ever so closer. I even jumped over an exposed root in the ground, hoping he would miss it and trip. To my dismay, he lunged over it like an Olympian in an egg body and began catching up. With every moment that passed by I was hit with more and more rocks disguised as snowballs, so hard in fact that I’m sure it must have left some bruises. 

“Someone help me! Please! Anyone!” I screamed out to the rest of the people in the park, and even headed toward some of them. They all jumped or stepped out of my way, their scared looks still painted on their faces. 

“Get this man away from me!” I pleaded once more. “I’m gonna die!!!” Still they avoided me every time. They wanted no part in the professor’s sick idea of a snowball fight, and have collectively decided it would be me who would take the fall for denying him in the first place.

Soon the fatigue caught up to me. I collapsed on my hands and knees, my lungs failing to function and my face burning hot in the cold, sharp air. I closed my eyes as I tried to steady my wild breathing, not knowing or caring that he was right there. With one swift kick to the ribcage I fell onto my side, and with another shove I was sprawled out on my back into the inches of snow under me. I couldn’t feel my arms or legs; I was a toy that had run out of battery, and I lay useless.

Once my vision cleared I finally saw him. The evil professor loomed over me, and with one stubby leg standing on either side of my torso, he had me boxed in. Over his head, he held yet another rock, but it dawned on me that this was no ordinary rock. It was a freaking boulder. He found it necessary to just pick up the biggest thing he could find to finish off the helpless little rabbit he had been chasing, and didn’t even bother to cover it in snow. He didn’t care about putting up his charade, he just wanted to achieve his victory.

“YOU LOST, WEAKLING,” he snickered, his grin growing wide. “NOW YOU WILL PAY THE PRICE.” This was not a show about a grumpy old scientist wanting to have fun in the snow. It was a peek into the antics of a heartless, insane monster who takes pleasure in the fear and agony he causes to everyone around him.

I screamed at the top of my lungs as he sent the boulder crashing down onto my head. The last thing I heard was the sound of my skull getting crushed with a sickening crack and a splatter. 

……

……

……

……

In the cold freezer I could feel a warm pair of hands shaking me awake. The pain immediately rushed into my head, along with some dizziness. I struggled to open my eyes and sit up, finding myself covered in frozen bagels. The manager crouched beside me, and her usually stern expression was replaced with a hint of worry. I had been gone for ten minutes, she told me, and she wanted to check on me after I said I’d start retrieving the frozen pastries. I thanked her for her concern as she helped me on my feet. Stumbling and tripping over myself, she seated me on a chair in the hallway while another coworker opened a first aid kit.

—

I was given some time off to recover after that. When news got to my parents, they understood and let me stay in my room for the day. The pain was strong for hours, and I only had ice packs from the store to counter it. I took the time to get the rest I’ve been longing for, watching comforting videos of cats, and even playing video games when my headache died down. Before I could get to any of that, however, I made it a point to delete “professor_eggheads_snow_day.mp4” from my hard drive immediately. Some time later I opened my sketchbook, and was disgusted to find those doodles of the professor in there. I ripped out these reminders of my hubris and put my book back in my bag, resolving to take a nap instead.

Once I recovered, my days didn’t change much from there. I still worked hard but decided to take in healthier, more positive forms of entertainment. I can’t say the same about my nights. Each night once I go to bed, I feel a sense of dread wash over me. I don’t have dreams very often, but every time I do now, it’s at the park. The same dreadful egg creature, the same frenzied chase, the same gruesome final blow to the head. It’s happened three times already, and I have yet to tell my therapist about it, as the increasing insomnia isn’t good for productivity, let alone overall wellbeing. For now though, every night as I drift off to sleep I wish I didn’t have to, because that always meant the possibility of being taken back to Professor Egghead’s icy little corner of hell, where he will always be waiting, ready to play.

#professor egghead #the adventures of professor egghead #adventures of professor egghead #professor egghead creepypasta #creepypasta #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #horror #tw violence #tw murder #tw gore #tw death

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Eddie x reader coming home after their wedding reception, he is trying to carry her in but they are both too tipsy and laughing too hard

Love this. More than anything.

"Eddie, you can let me down-"

"No, I have the strength of a thousand body builders." He huffs, his words slurring as the smell of miscellaneous alcohol wafts into my face and my nose screws up in disgust.

"Yeah, if the body builders ran on red bull and weed." I giggle, tucking my head into the crook of Eddie's neck as he steps into the elevator, gripping me tightly to his chest. The white of my wedding gown swarms around us, not exactly the easiest outfit to wear when Eddie wants to carry me all the way up to our suite for the night.

My shoes are long discarded, sitting in my lap as Eddie hoists me up further into his arms and my head tips back, tipsy giggles flowing from my lips as his chest rumbles in laughter.

We're both way too drunk for our own good, barely seeing straight after the hours and hours of partying following getting hitched. It was just a time for us to finally celebrate each other and let loose with all of our friends who want nothing more than to be excited for us.

"Can we watch a movie when we get to our room, Eds?" I ask tiredly with a dopey smile, looking up at him through my lashes as he chuckles, giving me a stern nod as he leads us out of the elevator.

The further we go down the hallway towards our room, the louder we laugh and the further I slip out of Eddie's arms. He's using his knees at this point to keep me in his arms, small grunts and groans leaving him as I finally topple out of his arms and onto the carpet, directly outside our room.

Tears prick at my eyes as we giggle, Eddie doubling over as his hands reach towards me, trying to help me off the ground but I can barely compose myself enough to actually allow him to help me up.

By the time we finally calm down, we're looking at each other deeply, fond smiles on our lips as he holds a hand out to me, wedding band glistening in the light as I offer him my hand, the diamond ring on my finger catching both of our eyes as the weight of our day finally hits us.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane2828 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi

@crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @minjix @luvrosee @storytellingwitht

#eddie #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things fic

[jackoshadows]

It’s interesting that the Stark kids in the North are moving towards their past in a sense - Bran beyond the Wall, learning about the Children of the Forest and the First Men, seeing through the ages to the very beginnings and pacts and sacrifices.

Time is different for a tree than for a man. Sun and soil and water, these are the things a weirwood understands, not days and years and centuries. For men, time is a river. We are trapped in its flow, hurtling from past to present, always in the same direction. - Bran, ADwD

Rickon is growing up in Skagos - an island isolated and cut off from the mainland, where the people are descended from First Men similar to the Freefolk and still speak the Old Tongue.

And then we have Jon Snow’s journey with the Freefolk and learning their ways. In ADwD, he likens the dwindling Crows in the Night’s Watch to ‘ghosts’ and ‘shadows’ in contrast to the Freefolk bringing light and joy to the Wall.

The castle Jon returned to was far different from the one he’d left  that morning. For as long as he had known it, Castle Black had been a  place of silence and shadows, where a meagre company of men in black moved like ghosts amongst the ruins of a fortress that had once housed ten times their numbered. All that had changed. Lights now shone through  windows where Jon Snow had never seen lights shine before. Strange voices echoed down the yards, and free folk were coming and going along icy paths that had only known the black boots of crows for years. Outside the old Flint Barracks, he came across a dozen men pelting one another with snow. Playing, Jon thought in astonishment, grown men  playing like children, throwing snowballs the way Bran and Arya once  did, and Robb and me before them.”   - Jon, ADwD

And then there’s this generation of Stark kids being strong wargs and skinchangers with these huge Direwolves that they control. Arya is able to warg Nymeria in the Riverlands from all the way over in Braavos. It’s Ghost and the Old Gods that convinces Jon to refuse Stannis’ offer and stay at the Wall. It’s Jon Snow and the Old Gods that convinces Arya not to give up Needle.

The old gods of the north must have been guiding her steps - Arya, ACoK

The gods wanted me to have it. Not the Seven, nor Him of Many Faces, but her father’s gods, the old gods of the north. The Many-Faced God can have the rest, she thought, but he can’t have this. - Arya, AFfC

Arya Stark delivering justice First Men style:

“The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die” - Bran, AGoT

I should kill them myself. Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. “If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look him in the face and hear his last words,” she’d heard him tell Robb and Jon once. - Arya, ACoK

It’s almost like things are changing in the North - from past to present to past. Bran and Arya and Jon’s story (And possibly Rickon in Cannibal land) keep descending into darkness with each book as Winter approaches. Maybe this is necessary for Westeros to be prepared for the Long Night.

#Jon Snow #Bran Stark #Rickon Stark #Arya Stark #asoiaf #House Stark #The Long Night

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia. I'm already missing UtB lol but I hope you're enjoying your break or at least getting a little bit of rest.

I have a few questions if you don't mind or if they're not too spoilery. 1. Do you think Ef will have another heat before the end of Utb?

2. Will the penetrative sex be in Ef's pov or Gary's pov?

3. What made Augus want to help omegas / be kind towards them and pursue a career as an alpha companion? Will we learn more about his backstory in Underline the Silver?

4. Will Gwyn be making any more appearances before the end of UtB?

Thank you ❤

Hi anon!

I am neither enjoying my break or getting any rest at all, but there's also no way I'd be able to keep up with this job while dealing with multiple illnesses + baby puppy so the break from posting was necessary to keep my head above the water sometimes. :D

Let's get to the questions, although unfortunately I don't know the answers to all of these as I don't plan most of my fics.

1. Do you think Ef will have another heat before the end of Utb?

No I don't. The reason for that is a lot of what's coming happens in a short timeline, and heats only really happen about 3-6 times per year for healthy omegas, and Efnisien's on ardolphogen. One might be hinted at in the final chapter, but I actually don't love writing sex scenes during heat/s in the first place, so I will prefer all of them to happen outside of Efnisien's heat/s.

Which is why I don't see another one happening before the end of Underline the Black!

2. Will the penetrative sex be in Ef's pov or Gary's pov?

I don't know! Realistically it will be more than one chapter long, and chances are high that I will favour - at least sometimes - Efnisien's perspective because I'm more interested in his experience of it given how emotional and crunchy it is for him, rather than Gary's perspective. But I'm also sure I will turn to Gary's perspective when Efnisien's too incoherent to narrate a chapter, lol.

3. What made Augus want to help omegas / be kind towards them and pursue a career as an alpha companion? Will we learn more about his backstory in Underline the Silver?

I don't know! And probably! I don't think about Augus much in this story / at the moment, because it's just too sad for me.

4. Will Gwyn be making any more appearances before the end of UtB?

I don't know. It's possible, it will depend on how those things flow together. I'm fairly certain he might make a re-appearance via text message at the very least, but I don't know what role he has to play just yet. Given he has so little respect for Crielle, he could turn up, but he has his own motives and his life has improved since Efnisien isn't in it, so I'm not sure what would make him come back into the story either. I lean towards - we're more likely to see him than not see him, but I don't want to say either way so I don't disappoint the folks who think it will happen based off what I say here!

#asks and answers #underline the black #but yeah i don't see efnisien having any more heats before the end of the story #it would likely still be traumatic #and i think it will be a few years before his body even understands how to have heats #and what to do with them

[laequiem]

Cheek to Cheek in Hell - Chapter 18

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: explicit

Word count: 3,301

“I could not let you outshine me in that dress. Speaking of which,” I say, feigning innocence, “will you be needing assistance to dress?” She rolls her eyes. “I’m fine,” she says. She gets up from her cocoon of blankets and pulls the dress out of her bag. “Turn around.” I grin widely, “I’ve seen you naked before. Just hours ago, I had my face—” “Get. Out.

read it on ao3

Chapter 17 • next chapter • Cheek to Cheek masterpost

Cardan POV

We must have drifted asleep, because the next thing I know, I wake up. I can still taste Jude in my mouth, which does nothing to halt the inevitable morning erection. What does, however, is the shuffling of bushes outside the stall, the faint noise of someone creeping towards our shelter. I lift Jude’s arm off my chest and get up, buttoning my pants as I do.

Elfhame’s weather is a lot tamer than New York City’s, but the cold shocks me all the same after being near Jude’s warmth all night. I listen as the creature skitters away and only then do I leave the stables. Waiting for me on a rock is a bundle of folded clothes, opalescent scales shining in the moonlight against the dark blue fabric. 

I fish a bag of Skittles from our pack and swap it for the clothing, my payment for a job well done. As I put down the bright red bag, a bush further away shifts, and I see a pair of black eyes staring at me. 

When I head back inside, Jude is sitting up, the blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her hair is tousled, her eyelids drooping with sleepiness, but her brows furrow at the sight of what I’m carrying.

“Where did you get this?” she asks.

I shrug, “We couldn’t go to Hollow Hall, so I got someone to go for me.”

In truth, when I filled the troughs for the animals earlier, I found a brownie sleeping on the job. I didn’t even have to pull rank on him, I simply made a deal—if he got me clothing from my room, I would give him something worthy of his time. And what is more worthy than a bag of sugary snacks from the mortal realm?

The corners of Jude’s mouth tugs up. She raises a brow. “Your mortal clothes weren’t good enough for you?”

“I could not let you outshine me in that dress. Speaking of which,” I say, feigning innocence, “will you be needing assistance to dress?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m fine,” she says. She gets up from her cocoon of blankets and pulls the dress out of her bag. “Turn around.”

I grin widely, “I’ve seen you naked before. Just hours ago, I had my face—”

“Get. Out,” she barks and throws the balled-up blanket at me.

I obey, if only so I can get the full effect of seeing the dress on her when she’s ready. The bag of Skittles is already gone, no trace left of my dealing. I make quick work of dressing myself outside, the outfit the brownie brought fairly simple compared to what I would normally wear to a coronation. 

I linger outside, flattening wrinkles with my hands, until Jude calls from inside, “I’m done.”

I feel my heart beating in my throat as I make my way back inside, eager to finally see what I’ve been dreaming about.

To say that Jude is the most beautiful thing in here would not do her justice—she is standing in a stable, after all. She doesn’t belong here. She would not be out of place at the palace. In fact, she belongs on a throne, presiding over a mass of obedient subjects. Her brown hair is still wild, but she has combed through it with her fingers to tame it. The white gradient of the bustle is stark against her dark skin, drawing attention to her assets and yet—the branching embroidery is so intricate that I somehow manage not to stare at the plunging neckline. The dress flares out at her waist, the fabric flowing down in blue waves that I would love to get lost under. 

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I raise my eyes to Jude’s, and realize that she’s staring, too. She bites her bottom lip, then her jaw clenches and she releases it. 

“You look…” she trails off.

Her hesitancy tugs a smile out of me. “Beautiful? Handsome? Like I could break hearts?”

Jude scowls and she turns her nose up at me. “Well, since you put it so well, I guess I don’t have to say it.”

My jaw drops at the same time as my heart, and I realize that she won this exchange. I won’t let her have the last word, though.

“I was aiming to be more beautiful than you,” I tell her, offering her my arm. “But it seems I failed.”

A blush creeps up her cheeks, and she looks down at my arm. Instead of answering, she takes my arm, and we leave the stables for the palace.

///

Night broke a few hours ago, the faeries of Elfhame now fully awake and ready to revel. We stay off the main path as we make our way to the palace. The few people we meet do not seem to notice us. In the forest, a couple of Grackles drink to Balekin’s upcoming victory, while a phooka plays their version of tag with a dazzled group of human servants. At the palace, guests are arriving, and we make our way through the procession, mingling with the other fae. 

The guards at the entrance don’t bother stopping us. I can see in their eyes that they recognize me, but they nod and let us through. I see them nod at a set of guards standing further inside, who detach themselves from the wall, surely to alert my brother. 

I let Jude take the lead as we enter the throne room. My brother ensured that the event would be as grandiose as possible. A carpet of golden spidersilk divides the room in two, defining a trail straight to the throne in case folk forget where they have to go to kneel. There is currently no king, of course, so the throne sits empty, unguarded. On both sides of the walkway, large tables are overfilled with food and drinks. Glamoured humans dart around the place, refilling drinks before people even finish them. Jude sees them too, and she clenches her hand around my arm. I put a hand over hers, a small reassurance. 

Fae of all shapes and sizes stomp around in the moss, dancing, flirting, fighting. Heads turn towards us as Jude and I make our entrance, their gasps and whispers smothered by the music. I raise my chin higher and out of the corner of my eye, I see Jude do the same, squaring her shoulders. 

I don’t see Balekin or the crown. I lean towards Jude and whisper, “Do you have a plan?”

“No,” she lies. Of course she has a plan, she always does. 

I sigh. If she doesn’t want to tell me, then nothing I say will make her change her mind. All I can do is trust her and expect the worst.

“Cardan.” 

My brother’s voice cuts through every thought. Balekin’s voice has a tendency to bring out the worst in me, and hearing it now is no different. Whatever small part of childhood innocence still lives in me yearns to please him. After all, I have modeled myself after him, and my truthful tongue would never let me admit that I don’t want him to be proud of me, even now. 

I turn to face him. All of us might have different mothers, but it would be impossible to tell by looking at the pair of us. Balekin looks like an older, more masculine version of me. Sharp cheekbones with a hint of stubble, cruel eyes and raven black hair. He keeps his long, falling in waves to his broad shoulders. It’s a shame, really, because it means that I have to keep mine short, lest I look like I am trying to emulate him still. My brother wears an opulent robe, his chest bare underneath, ready to shrug off the robe to let his subjects paint the words of the ceremonial oaths over him. A leather strap sits over his hips and, though it’s hidden by the robe, I assume he is carrying his sword. He wears no crown atop his head, but there are bloody moths fluttering around his head like a crimson halo. 

“Brother,” I reply curtly. “You know of Jude, I am sure.”

Balekin’s eyes flick towards Jude, then back at me, as if she were nothing more than an accessory. “Is she the one who keeps besting you, or the one who knows her place?”

“The one who kidnapped him,” Jude cuts in, her tone amused. The only sign that Balekin has heard her is a twitch of his brow.

“A great event you have organized here, brother,” I drawl. “You must excuse us, I would like to sample some of your delicacies.”

Before I can drag Jude away, Balekin lays his hand on my shoulder, his sharp nails digging through the fabric of my shirt and into my skin.

“You have wasted enough of my time,” Balekin snarls. 

Next to me, Jude stiffens. Before she can say something we’ll both regret, though, a large figure appears next to Balekin. Madoc, dressed in his finery and wearing his crusty red cap, bows to my brother. 

“Your Highness,” he says. He turns to Jude, “Daughter.”

I am not the least bit surprised that he does not even acknowledge me. 

“Father,” Jude replies. 

“I expected you to ride here with us,” he accuses, his words chosen carefully.

What he means, surely, is Why did you bring this fop to Balekin instead of me?, but it wouldn’t do to let Balekin know of his plan, I suppose. 

I pipe up, “After being away from Elfhame for so long, we had friends to greet. I’m sure you understand, Grand General, the value of keeping relations.” He does not need to know that the friends in question were a stable toad and other various barn animals. 

Madoc’s gaze lands on me for the first time. He narrows his eyes. “Is that so?” 

“In fact,” Jude adds, “I believe I see Nicasia over there. We should go greet her.”

I have no doubt that Jude has no intention to go to Nicasia, that she simply dropped her name as someone both Madoc and Balekin would know. She drops in a clumsy curtsy for my brother, and we all but run away from our overbearing guardians. 

As we weave our way through the crowd, people bump into us. I get hit by elbows and tails, and by the time I notice that Jude has let go of my arm, it’s too late. I whirl, looking around, but I can’t see past the wings, antennae or straight up bulk of some of my fellow fae. I have lost Jude. Swearing under my breath, I shove my way out of the mass of people. I emerge in front of the drinks table, thankfully. I will need some liquid courage to endure this evening. 

I grab a pitcher and drink straight from it. 

I need to find Jude.

The music dies down. People turn towards the dais, where my brother stands tall in his green and gold robe. On one side, the Living Council are lined up, save for the Grand General. Val Moren, our father’s former seneschal and human lover, flanks his other side, his eyes glazed over. Whether it’s from a glamour, or due to his grief following my father’s death, I do not know. 

“Folk of Elfhame,” Balekin bellows, “for too long, our Kingdom has been without a High King. The land remembers the tragedy, the blood shed on that ill-omened day. Without its rightful ruler, the land withers.”

Balekin gestures behind him to the throne, its branches dry and bare of any bloom. It’s not just the throne, though—the air tastes different, like Elfhame’s magic cannot keep out the iron from the Mortal Realm as much as it used to. The mossy ground of the palace lacks its usual dewy covering, drying out in patches where it climbs on the roots of the throne. 

My brother continues. “It is my hope that today, Elfhame will regain its ruler with much merriment and no inconveniences,” he pauses, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on me. He smiles, but his eyes are cold with a violent promise. “I am beside myself to know my brother is alive and well, that he is back by my side. Where he belongs.”

Madoc slides in between Randalin and Baphen, taking his place with the rest of the Living Council. In his hands, he holds a velvet cushion, its surface embroidered with the Greenbriar sigil. Atop it rests the Blood Crown. On Balekin’s other side, Val Moren steps forth. 

“Two of Mab’s heirs remain,” he intones, his voice rough with disuse. “Crown Prince Cardan Greenbriar, join us on the dais.”

I never thought I would ever hear someone refer to me as Crown Prince, but I suppose the situation is unusual. I’m not the only one feeling strange, as chatter arises between the folks, head turning towards me. I don’t think I ever had this many eyes on me at any royal event before. Even the time when I made a boy scream in pain, I was still ignored by most. So I raise my chin, paste a rictus of a grin on my face, and march to the dais.

I finally spot Jude, in the front row of the crowd beneath the dais where she stands with the rest of her family, holding Oak’s hand. She smiles at me, but it does not reach her eyes.

“As the former High King’s wish to have his third-born rule in his stead cannot be fulfilled,” Val Moren continues, his voice full of sorrow, “you will have to decide between yourselves who will rule.”

Balekin’s hand goes to his sword belt, as if I needed a reminder of my place. His smile sharpens.

“I believe my brother has no desire to be High King,” Balekin says without even looking at me. 

“Indeed, I do not,” I reply.

“It is decided, then,” Val Moren says. “Grand General, bring the Blood Crown to His Highness Prince Cardan.”

Madoc’s face is carefully blank as he crosses the dais to stand before me. He does not kneel—I am not his King. Instead, he leans towards me. 

“Do not disappoint,” he whispers before straightening.

My eyes locked with his, I grab the crown. The metal is warm to the touch, as if all the magic in the land sleeps in the golden oak leaves adorning it. Madoc’s lip twitches in a frown, but he retreats with the cushion and leaves me standing there, alone, with the crown in my hands.

I wish Jude had told me the plan. Before I can turn to her for guidance, Val Moren speaks. “Prince Cardan Greenbriar, will you bestow the crown of Mab upon Crown Prince Balekin?”

Madoc’s hand rests on the sword at his hip, his back stiff as he stands taller than everyone else in the living council. I don’t know who would behead me first, if I was to step out of line—him or Balekin? Perhaps Jude would take the honor away from them and do it herself, though it has been a while since she has threatened me.

Jude takes a step forward, letting go of Oak’s hand. The guards flanking the steps of the dais cross their halberds to block her from advancing further, so she stays standing between the crowd and the dais. 

“Ciaran Cardan Greenbriar,” Jude says, her voice just loud enough for me–and everyone else on the dais–to hear. “With your True Name, freely given, I forbid you to crown your oldest brother. For as long as I live and beyond.”

My hands suddenly clench around the crown, unbidden. I whip my head towards Jude in shock. She quickly turns her gaze away from me, but not fast enough—I see the guilt before she can hide it. Gasps erupt from the Living Council, then a scoff, the hiss of metal against metal as someone unsheathes their weapon.

“Cardan, you fool,” Balekin growls, pure hatred dripping from every syllable.

When I turn towards him, I realize he doesn’t have his sword in hand. Madoc does, though, cat eyes attuned to Balekin’s movement. Ready to strike. 

So this was the plan, then. Jude has sided with her father, and they will have me crown Oak instead of my brother. I wish she had told me beforehand. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so betrayed, so… used. Anger rises in me. I am tired of everyone around me scheming behind my back, ignoring me. All my life, ever since—

He will be the destruction of the crown and the ruination of the throne.

I look down at the crown in my hands. It has been around for millenia. Wars have been fought for it. My siblings were killed for it, my father pushed me aside for fear that I would destroy it.

I take a deep breath.

And I snap the crown in half. 

The crowd gets ever louder. The ground starts shaking, as if people are trampling it, but—no, it’s the land, quaking, shifting. The roots holding up the ceiling of the palace begin to shrink, dirt falling from the roof like dark snow. Beneath my feet, a crack starts to form. I step back, towards the throne. Its branches shrivel and snap off until it is no more than a pile of dead branches. 

Courtiers rush out of the brugh, bottlenecking at the too few points of escape. Some of the fiercest lords and ladies of the lower courts stay put, weapons drawn, waiting to see if they can elevate their status now that the crown is no more. Orlagh is grinning madly, shark-toothed guards surrounding her and Nicasia and protecting them with their bodies. Nicasia’s glassy eyes are on me—she has been crying, I think—and I force myself to look away. Lord Roiben of the Court of Termites is giving orders to his knights, his sword tightly gripped in his fist, and I catch a glimpse of Severin’s human knight amongst the throng, her red hair advancing like the lit flame of a fuse as she guides her king out.

Madoc has whirled on Jude, his tusks fully visible as he spits his anger out at her. Every time his sword arm so much as moves, I flinch, thinking this might be the time he snaps and murders his bastard daughter.

And as if I wasn’t terrified enough, Balekin clears his throat. A shiver of dread crawls up my spine as I turn to him. Purposefully, he unsheathes his sword, his eyes mad with fury and his smile sharp.

“It seems my brother has shown us today what the prophecy surrounding his birth meant.” Balekin’s cold voice dominates through the ambient chaos. “He will be the destruction of the crown and the ruination of the throne.” He says the words that have been haunting me my whole life as if they’re a joke only he understands. “But there was more to it, wasn’t there, Astrologer?”

Balekin takes a step towards me, his sword deceptively loose in his grip. “Only out of his spilled blood can a great ruler rise.”

I don’t need to look at Baphen, the Royal Astrologer, to know that he confirms Balekin’s words. 

“I shall awaken the great ruler, then,” Balekin snarls.

In one swift motion, Balekin is upon me. I don’t have a weapon, but it would not make a difference if I did. Pain stabs my side as Balekin lunges. Once, in and out, before flicking the blood off his sword with a triumphant smile. 

Some laughs, some gasp, some scream. But above all of them, someone bellows my name in a shriek of pure grief. 

---

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#the folk of the air #tfota #jurdan #judecardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #c2c