#it's been cold and overcast today

[solradguy]

My heart's been mushy lately and I think it's because it's the time of year where my spirit becomes an old lighthouse captain staring out at the ocean watching the Seasonal Depression clouds start rolling in

#textpost #It was overcast and cold today and it's going to rain and get colder tomorrow #Agonies. Agonies upon my being #Maybe I'll be able to lasso these feelings into writing something for once #I've been thinking about post-Gear pre-limiter Sol all day #I want to explore that further

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: You once again found yourself face-to-face with Eddie not even twenty-four hours after he checked into the motel, and your interactions left you with more questions than answers. (3.8k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, grumpy Eddie, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter two: here today

Bzzzzzz!

Your alarm clock blared its tinny ring at 1 PM. The sun was bright, a welcome change from yesterday’s overcast skies and steady rainfall.

You stretched as you awoke before shedding your oversized shirt and shorts, padding over to the shower and waiting a full five minutes for the cold water to turn lukewarm. The thinning bar of soap formed sad suds in your palm, and you lathered your skin as best as you could.

Despite your best efforts, you kept thinking about your encounter last night—that morning, really—with Eddie Munson. There was a cocky edge to him, evident by his initial refusal to put out his joint, but at least a shred of humanity; after all, he did eventually comply. There was even a semblance of…something that’d you’d shared in your brief interaction.

Or maybe it was just your imagination, the summation of your exhaustion and his high.

The towel scratched as you dried the water droplets from your bare skin, and though the cloth dampened, you could have sworn that it wasn’t wicking any moisture. Dad had been saying for years that he’ll invest in new linens “as soon as business picks up.” But business never picked up enough to do anything more than barely break even for the year, so the ancient towels stayed.

Picking the lint off of your purple T-shirt, you tucked it into your jeans and shoved your feet into your sneakers without bothering to unlace them first. One look in the mirror determined that you definitely needed makeup to look half-decent, or at least awake. There was no earthly way you would sacrifice a minute of precious sleep, so you swiped on some mascara in favor of an intricate routine and quickly fixed your hair. 

You plucked a granola bar from the stash on your dresser: your usual breakfast, tossed into your backpack as you headed out the door towards the lobby. The bus would be arriving in about five minutes, giving you just enough time to get to the stop before the doors closed. Barring any traffic, it followed a consistent schedule; one of the few certainties in life. 

“Hi Dad; bye Dad,” you called out, stopping in your tracks when you saw an obviously irritated Eddie standing in front of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot anxiously tapping. At least he was fully dressed this time, clad in a faded band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and the same denim jacket he was wearing last night when he’d first walked in. “Everything okay?” 

Dad motioned to Eddie. “Our guest is having some issues with his TV,” he said, his raised eyebrows indicating that the guest was being quite persistent about the matter. “Can you help him?” Before you could answer, he looked at Eddie and explained, “my daughter’s better with this technology stuff than I am.”

There was a temptation to argue that it was probably just a matter of smacking the side or replacing the remote batteries, but you didn’t have time to waste. “Yeah, sure,” you relented, turning to Eddie and waving him over. “Come on.”

Eddie waited to speak until the two of you were completely alone. “That was your dad?” 

You nodded, shoving your hands in your pockets and keeping your walking pace until you reached his room. 

“So what’s the problem?” you asked as he turned the key in the lock. It stuck for a moment before it fully unlatched, and he opened the door with a shove.

“The reception’s shit,” Eddie muttered, keeping his fingers splayed on the door so you could walk in first. “Every time I try to put on MTV, it’s all static. Tried it last night, too, but I figured it was because of the storm.” He gestured to the now-sunny skies. “But that shouldn’t be affecting it anymore.”

You offered a wry smile, the way you always did when delivering bad news to a guest. “Nothing’s wrong with the reception,” you explained, “there’s just no cable.”

“What?” His brows shot up in disbelief. “How is that even possible?”

“It’s simple.” You shrugged. “Cable costs money, we don’t have money; ergo, no cable.”

Eddie raked a hand through his messy curls. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” His feet could have worn holes in the floor with the way he was pacing. “Where can I watch MTV around here? Like, is there a bar or something?”

“Yeah, I mean, there’s one right down the—” You turned to the window but stopped mid-sentence, your stomach sinking as you watched your bus fly past. You heaved a dejected sigh as tears prickled at your eyes embarrassingly, and you blinked them away. 

It’s okay; I haven’t been late at all this semester, you silently reminded yourself. You could take one of the dollar cabs that runs up and down Jamaica Avenue. It wouldn’t get you exactly where you needed to go, but it would be close enough.

Eddie remained oblivious to your inner turmoil, eyes trained on the TV. “Fuck,” he grumbled, sucking through his teeth. 

“The clock radio plays music,” you offered as you hiked your backpack higher up on your shoulder. “I know it’s not the same as watching videos, but–”

“It’s not about the stupid videos!” he snapped, curling his palm into a tight fist and biting down on his forefinger knuckle. Dark eyes exuded distress, and you couldn’t help but think that his sheer panic mismatched the problem’s minimal severity.

You recoiled at his sudden outburst and took an instinctive step back. He noticed this, his expression instantly softening. His hand unfurled and fell to his side. 

“Shit, I–”

“I’m gonna be late to class.” You composed yourself, straightening your posture and forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “But the bar is right on 144th and 89th.”

He sputtered as he searched for the right words to apologize and explain himself. If you had time, you’d wait for him to unscramble his thoughts, but you were already behind schedule now that your bus was long gone.

You strode across campus like you were on a mission, feet flying over the pavement. The cab had left you at another bus stop closer to school, and that bus had thankfully arrived on schedule. At this rate, you would only be ten minutes late to class. 

Sweat trickled down your back from midday sun’s warmth and your fast pace, but you kept walking until you reached the lecture hall’s double doors. This class was a smaller one, only twenty or so students, so there was no sneaking in unnoticed. 

You shot your professor an apologetic look that she accepted with a polite nod, sliding into your usual seat next to your friend Nora. 

“Is everything okay?” Nora whispered, moving her own bag from the chair. The concern on her face was palpable; if you weren’t able to make it to class, you would have called her. 

“Yeah, just stuff at the motel going haywire as usual,” you reassured her with a small smile, digging out your notebook and a pen. You flipped to the first blank page and scribbled today’s date next to the right-hand margin. “What did I miss?”

Nora shook her head as if to say, nothing. “She just gave back last week’s homework. I grabbed yours, too.” She handed you a sheet of paper with a bright red A+ on top. “I figured if something had happened to you, you could be buried with your most recent perfect paper.” 

She winked, and you rolled your eyes to mask your burgeoning pride. 

Truthfully, you’d worked hard on the assignment. You might have already been accepted to graduate school, but NYU’s prestige didn’t come without a hefty price tag, and you still needed to apply for scholarships in order to afford it. 

Now was not the time to slack. 

You tried to pay attention to the lecture, but your mind constantly drifted to the way Eddie had behaved in his room, having a meltdown like an overtired toddler. The man who had lost his temper over a television channel was starkly different from the one who had readily swapped playful jabs with you the night prior. 

Maybe whatever buzz he’d managed to acquire before you’d interrupted him had made him uncharacteristically pleasant, and today’s outburst was indicative of his true self. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and willed yourself to focus on the case study being presented on the board rather than your own personal Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t shake the mystery that was Eddie Munson. Guests had had their choice words with you before—there was a reason why you had pepper spray at the ready—but this felt different. When most guests screamed like he had, they were specifically angry at you; it was the reaction you had expected when you’d told Eddie that he couldn’t smoke pot in the motel. Others simply were not in their right minds and didn’t realize that they were shouting at a random woman and not their mom or childhood bully or the monster under the bed. 

Eddie differed from both categories in that he’d recognized his mistake. That he was frustrated at the situation, not at you. That he had started an apology that he might have finished If you had stuck around.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe he would have continued yelling, face growing red with rage. Maybe he would have stopped his tantrum but stormed out to the bar without a second thought. 

You looked down at your notebook page, still blank except for the date. 

Maybe you should stop playing this game of what-ifs and actually listen to the lecture. 

After your professor handed out the rubric for the final paper and dismissed the class, you and Nora made a beeline for the food cart outside the building. Dining hall food was too expensive and bland; besides, Niko knew both of your orders by heart. 

He greeted you with a chipper smile as soon as you approached the cart. Bacon sizzled in its own fat, drowned out only by the sound of the chopper scraping against stainless steel as Niko scrambled the eggs.  

“Better enjoy this nice weather while it lasts,” he said, fuzzy gray brows pinching together. He grabbed two styrofoam cups from a stack and filled them with coffee. “Temperature’s s’posed to skyrocket this summer.”

You grimaced, pulling a few bills from your backpack’s front pouch. “If food service doesn’t work out for you, Niko, you should look into meteorology.”

He brushed off your sarcasm and adjusted his apron over his protruding belly. He added cream and sugar to the coffees and slid them towards you. “Been doin’ this a long time,” he said, gesturing to the food cart set-up. He took your four singles and handed you back two quarters, doing the same for Nora. “Longer than you two’ve been alive. And some things never change: you kids always have somethin’ smart to say.” 

Your mouth watered as he toasted the rolls and added a slice of American cheese to yours before combining the ingredients into hearty sandwiches. He carefully wrapped them in tinfoil and handed them over. 

You smiled, uncovered the sandwich, and took a hearty bite. Melty cheese oozed out from the roll and clung to your lip, and you collected it with the tip of your tongue. “At least we’re consistent,” you teased, waving goodbye as you and Nora walked to the bus stop. 

“What went down at the motel today?” Nora asked, chewing her food as she spoke. “I mean, I’ve seen you get to class early during a blizzard,” she added with a knowing grin. 

You remembered that day, February winds whipping around you and cutting through your layers of clothes like a knife. The snow stung your nose and cheeks and made it nearly impossible to see three feet ahead of you, but you’d made it to class before the professor had even arrived.

“Nothing really,” you tried to say nonchalantly, taking another bite of sandwich to keep your mouth busy. You don’t want to think about the way Eddie had raised his voice at you this afternoon; more specifically, the shame that tugged at you for being disappointed. You’d had one decent interaction with him and you’d foolishly assumed some kind of mutual respect had been built, but it all boiled down to the basics: he was a guest at the motel who would be checking out on Friday, and then you’d never see him again.

Nora wrinkled her nose, not quite believing you, but any further interrogation was interrupted by the bus squeaking to a stop. You dropped the five quarters into the tray before squeezing your way through the aisle.

“Just…” Nora dropped her voice to avoid drawing the ire of your fellow commuters, grabbing onto a pole to steady herself, “you didn’t need to break out the pepper spray or anything, right?” 

You gave her a grateful smile. “Nothing like that. I promise.”

“Good.” She reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze, careful not to brush up against anyone else. “Because I need my study buddy in one piece.” 

“I’m fi—” The bus lurched forward suddenly, the driver slamming on the brakes just as the yellow light turned red. You tightened your grip on the pole and planted your feet into the floor to keep your balance until coming to a complete stop. The other passengers grumbled and groaned as they shifted, leaving trails of mumbled sorry’s in their wake.

The Metropolitan Transit Authority would likely cause your demise well before any motel guest could get to you.  

It was barely after six PM when you got back to the motel. The sun began to creep down from its pedestal into purpling clouds and teased dusk’s beginning. Horns honked as rush hour traffic dragged along the expressway as though their cacophony would make the other cars evaporate into thin air. 

You had about four hours before your shift started; it was just enough time to work on the paper, take a quick nap, and boil water in your electric kettle to make some Cup Noodles. 

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Eddie leaning against the wall, a cigarette burning between his pointer and middle finger. It was freshly lit, but he still extinguished it under his foot before stepping closer to you. His brown eyes flickered from the ground to your face and back down again. 

“Hi.” Short but polite, your customer-service smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. You could see Mom through the glass door, leafing through paperwork that was almost certainly a stack of past-due bills. 

Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing one Reeboked heel against the pavement. “I went to that bar you told me about.” He said it all in one breath as though he expected you to take off running. 

“Oh.” One corner of your mouth quirked up in a hesitant half-smile. “Did you, um, did you get to watch your show?”

He nodded, a forlorn look clouding his eyes. His right incisor dug into his lower lip. “Yeah. Thanks.” He paused, and you started for the door once again before he spoke up. “Sorry, I—you said you had a class today?” he asked, clumsily tripping over his words.

There was no sense in lying; not with your backpack hooked over your shoulders. “Mhm.” 

“Were you…” His tongue swiped nervously over his lips. “Did I make you late?”

You shook your head. “I got a dollar cab.” Not quite a lie, just omitting the truth. At this point, you were willing to let him smoke weed again if it’d result in easy conversation.

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek, head tilted slightly as he assessed your response. He seemingly accepted it at face value, exhaling a quiet, “that’s good,” and fumbling in his pocket for another cigarette. 

You took that as your cue to leave and ducked into the lobby to greet your mom with a quick wave. She returned it with a weary smile, eyes creased at the corners. The soft lines etched into her forehead had deepened over the past few months. The Reagan-Bush trickle-down economy era might have come to an end, but its remnants still affected small businesses and the even smaller people running them.

“How was class?”

“Good.” 

The usual exchange, no real information revealed. The mother-daughter song-and-dance performance of the ages. As long as neither of you disrupted the routine, the music played on.

Ten PM rolled around too quickly, and you plodded into the lobby with a stomach full of sodium-drenched noodles and your tote bag full of books. A street light flickered outside, more off than on, illuminating the sidewalk in a hazy glow every so often.

Mom handed over the register keys and placed a kiss on your cheek before she left to go to bed in the room she shared with Dad. Nighttime was the only time they got to be together uninterrupted, and it was spent sleeping.

That wasn’t what you wanted. When–if–you found somebody to share your life with, you wanted to have conversations with topics besides financial upkeep. You wanted to talk about meaningless topics and make each other laugh. You wanted to lay with your head on their lap, gazing into their eyes and revering in the beautiful silence. Nothing forced or planned. Just being.

You positioned yourself behind the desk, spreading your supplies in front of you. You’d managed to draft the opening paragraph for your essay before sleepiness overtook you and you’d had to nap, and your goal tonight was to revise it to perfection. The upcoming weekend would be spent at the public library, nose deeply buried in every psychology book they owned while you outlined the body.

Red pen marked up your page, commas added and removed three times over. Arrows shifted sentence order, while some sentences were altogether crossed out with heavy lines.

It was perfect. It was all wrong. You loved it. You hated it.  

Maybe I should scrap it altogether and start over. 

Your palm pressed to the notebook page, ready to tear it out and crumple it into a ball with jagged edges that would dig into your skin. 

“Hey.”

In your intense focus, you hadn’t even heard anyone walk in. A rookie mistake; somebody could have snuck up on you and you’d be none the wiser.

Eddie stood there, a folded one-dollar peering out from between his thumb and forefinger. He shuffled to the desk and held out the money, his eyes offering a silent apology. 

“I owe you for the, uh, cab,” he mumbled, lips forming a tight, nervous smile. “And don’t argue with me. I know my bullshit made you late, so…” He flitted his free hand as if dismissing potential concern.

You clicked your tongue in mock disapproval. “You’re not from New York City, are you?”

Eddie shook his head with a laugh, fingers scratching at a stubbled patch along his cheek. “How’d ya know?”

“A New York man knows better than to tell a New York woman not to argue with him,” you teased, capping your pen. “Also, you tried starting a conversation with me earlier, and any New Yorker knows that’s a cardinal sin.”

“Having a conversation?” 

“Making small talk with a stranger.”

His nose crinkled in adorable bewilderment as though the thought never occurred to him. “We’re not strangers. We met last night.”

The innocence of his remark drew a genuine laugh out of you. “I see the same people on the bus every day,” you told him, “and they’re still strangers. Being more than mildly aware of someone's existence doesn’t mean I know them.”

“Fair point,” Eddie conceded, leaning in slightly, “but I’d argue that we know each other’s names, so we’re not total strangers.”

Humming your acknowledgment–but not necessarily agreement–you plucked the dollar from his grasp and tucked it into your back pocket. “I’ll put this towards your bill.” 

“Oh, yeah. About that.” Eddie cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are there any pawn shops around here that’ll buy a guitar?”

“No, sorry.” There had been one down the street but it had already been shuttered for a few years. Guests would go there all the time to hock whatever they could to pay for another night at the motel.   

He let out a long, disappointed sigh. “Shit. Okay.” The playfulness behind his eyes faded. “Um, thanks anyway.”

He turned away from the desk, shoulders slumped. You knew that look all too well; it was the stance of someone who just needed life to cut them a break.

“Eddie?”

He swiveled back around, his curls a half-second behind. “Yeah?”

“Do you know how to re-wallpaper a room?”

“Huh?” Your question caught him by surprise, and he took a moment to collect himself. “I mean, yeah, kind of. I did it for my uncle’s trailer once. But I’m not, like, a professional.”

You smiled. “No professional experience necessary.” You gestured to the various spots on the wall where the paper was cracked and peeled. “If you can make this look presentable, you can stay a few more days. Free of charge.”

His expression immediately darkened, eyes narrowing and crossed arms closing off his body. “I don’t need charity,” he asserted through a tensed jaw.

“It’s not charity; it’s a favor.” The harsh reaction caught you off-guard, but you refused to let him unsettle you again. “Look around: do you really think we can afford to hire someone to install new wallpaper?” 

You didn’t bother to wait for his response before continuing. “We need to fix this place up, and you need a roof over your head.” Shrugging casually, you held onto the hope that he would also view this as a mutually beneficial offer and not a pity handout.

Eddie just scoffed, a rejection in itself, compounded with a growling reprise: “I said, I don’t need charity.” 

Spikes jutted out from his words and pinched your skin, each one a reminder of your uncanny ability to worsen every problem you tried to solve. 

Offering a job to someone you barely knew? He gave you a buck to pay for the cab you only had to take because of him—not exactly the best character statement. The man could be a serial killer who preys on low-budget motel owners and you’d be none the wiser, signing his checks like you weren’t his next victim. 

Maybe next week, you could hire Ted Bundy to change bed linens. 

“Understood.”

He looked at you so intensely his pupils should have bored a hole right through you. Behind his eyes wasn’t an ounce of hate or even anger. 

It was raw shame. 

I’m sorry got caught in your throat and didn’t reach your tongue until he had disappeared back down the hall, out of sight. 

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @chrissymjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @reidsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @bewitchedmunson @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

[reaveries]

▬  𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲

gif credit to @robpattinsongifs (much higher resolution on their account)

summary: late-night visits from your definitely human boyfriend

pairings: edward cullen x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k (approximately 7 minutes reading time)

a/n:  I’ve had this baby marinating in my drafts since January, when I was going through my bi-annual Twilight Renaissance. I was actually in the middle of writing a RE2R Leon Kennedy fic today and decided to put on a twilight playlist, and then I just knew I had to finish this one. It’s my first *published* non-RDR fic heehee (I have so much in my drafts, it’s insane). Anyways, enjoy (pardners)!

masterlist archive of our own

It’s that dreadful time of year again. 

The sun is making its curtain call as students from the nearby elementary school trip over themselves running home. Little girls and boys have sticky remnants of lunch peeking from the corners of their mouths and the grass is still slick from morning showers. But dusk is impatient in February, and its eagerness is encouraged in a town hidden beneath perpetual overcast nine months out of the year.

The school children ran past her window minutes ago when the sky had been painted brilliant indigo. Now, when she looks up the only thing left to see is her own dark reflection and the warm orange glow from a candle on the sill. Its tall flame stutters, collapsing and rising with the damp breeze. 

A page turns, disrupting the otherwise quiet room. The only other noise that can be heard is a soft pitter of water dripping onto the floorboards from a coat hanging off the closet door. 

She reaches for a mug sitting on the corner of her nightstand and promptly sets it back down upon finding it empty. It returns to its spot atop crumpled receipts and library hold slips belonging to the growing stack of books accumulating dust at her bedside. These books tower over the permanent nightstand residents: lazily discarded beaded necklaces, a sample bottle of floral perfume from Christmas, two little ceramic bunnies purchased from an antique mall in Port Angeles last summer, car keys, and drugstore chapstick. It might be worth convincing her to let go of some of these post-object permanence discoveries, but that is a matter for another time.

In a desperate attempt to comprehend the words she’s reading, she rolls onto her back and extends her arms straight in the air so the book hovers a foot from her face—a change of perspective to freshen the mind.

It does not help. 

No matter how much she shifts or squints, the antiquated prose remains stubbornly uninviting. She can’t fathom why anyone would willingly subject themselves to something so archaic and convoluted and furthermore, recommend it as one of their favorite novels.

With a huff, she adjusts the headphones at her ears, hoping the music will clear her mind. But despite her best efforts, the book slowly drifts closer to her chest and her eyelids grow heavier as the music lulls her into a dreamless sleep. 

When she wakes to cold fingers grazing her jaw it’s impossible to tell whether she’d fallen asleep or if she just blinked. The weight of the headphones gently disappears as they’re pulled off and set down on the nightstand. She grumbles incoherently and stretches out her legs, not unlike a cat after a long, difficult day of lounging around. Her eyes begrudgingly flutter open and immediately find him only inches away. He’s watching her, peering down with a twinkle in his amber-colored eyes.

“Edward…” she whispers.

“Dracula,” he says, eyebrows raised as he makes the observation. “I thought you didn’t like Gothics.”

She reaches a finger into the book on her chest and folds the page over before tossing it carelessly into the sea of knitted and quilted blankets at the foot of the bed. With the haze of sleep still clouding her eyes, she smiles sheepishly up at him.

“I’m trying.”

He chuckles lightly and brings his hand to her hair again, brushing stray strands off her forehead and tucking them behind her ears before leaning down to place a chaste kiss above her eyes. Though his lips are soft, the icy touch of his skin sends a shiver down her spine. He’s always cold; a result of his anemia, he says. However, the downpour that's dampened his hair and clothes to his skin has chilled him even more so.

In an effort to sit up, she raises herself onto her elbows and catches a glimpse of the bright red digital numbers on her bedside clock.

“You’re late, you know,” she chides, watching him settle uncomfortably at the head of the bed. He sinks down among the pillows, their plushness contrasting humorously with the stiffness of his demeanor. He reaches behind his back and tugs free a stuffed rabbit lodged between him and the headboard, then sets it down softly beside himself.

“I had to make a quick stop. I hope you can forgive me,” he says in a hushed voice, so as not to make too much noise in the resting house. His eyes flit towards the nightstand and she follows them to see a new item sitting amongst the disorder. A tall styrofoam cup with steam rising thinly from the lid. Coffee. 

The mug she just finished sits right beside it. She’d considered brewing more but that was before being rendered unconscious by Bram Stoker nearly an hour ago. Her heart swells at his thoughtfulness, but a more pressing question comes to mind before she can voice her gratitude.

“How did you even climb up here with that?” She asks, reaching for the cup with both hands.

“I’m very…agile.” There’s a look in his eyes that tells her there’s more to it, but she chooses to ignore it for now with a shake of her head.

The taste is immediately harsh, significantly more bitter than how she makes it herself. Any trace of a smile dissipates and is replaced with a pronounced look of disgust.

“Good God, Edward,” she exclaims. “Decaf? What did I ever do to you?”

He laughs and takes it from her hands, leaving her still reeling from the unexpected taste. “As much as I love staying up with you, you need sleep,” he says, a hint of sternness in his voice. “You didn’t get any last night and you don’t hide it well.”

He says the last part sweetly, tilting his head to the side and following her motions with his eyes, watching her pick up the stuffed rabbit by its cotton paw.

“Don’t hide it well?” She repeats, the indignation in her voice contrasting with the softness of the toy as she raises it high into the air and brings it down against his chest with a soft thud. “Well maybe I wouldn’t have to hide anything if you—weren’t—keeping—me—up—all—night!”

With every word, the rabbit hits his forearms poorly attempting to shield himself from the blows. Edward grins as she attacks him, the soft toy barely making a sound against his arms. He watches as her hair falls across her face in the midst of the unrelenting attack, the warm glow of the candle casting a soft halo around her.

But then, his amusement fades as he sees the exhaustion in her eyes. 

He gently takes the rabbit from her and sets it aside before grabbing her arm mid-swing and pulling her into his chest. She sighs heavily and surrenders, relaxing against him. "I’m sorry," he whispers, his lips brushing against her hair. “I’ll let you rest tonight.”

Despite his tender words, a residual half-baked frustration lingers inside her. “How did you manage to stay awake in class?” she mumbles into his sweater, the words muffled. “I mean, you didn’t get any sleep either.”

He chuckles, as if privy to some inside joke.

“Well, someone had to take your notes for you,” he says, his fingers trailing through her hair in a soothing motion. “And besides, you looked so peaceful drooling away.” 

She looks up at him, a hint of a drowsy smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I did not drool,” she insists.

He grins down at her, his eyes alight with fondness. “Of course not.”

She groans and buries her head into his chest, to which he responds by encircling his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

“I’m never falling asleep in front of you again,” she grumbles.

His chest rumbles beneath her cheek as he laughs. “Alright, angel.”

He shifts his hand from the crown of her head to the curve of her back, tracing languid circles over the fabric of her t-shirt as the room fills with a comfortable silence. The rain outside grows heavier, tapping against the glass with a more insistent force. Her body is warm against his and he can feel the steady thumping of her heartbeat as if it's his own. A few minutes slip by, and he senses her breathing even out and deepen. Without disturbing her, he reaches for a nearby blanket and drapes it over her, then turns his gaze to the candle on the windowsill.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, as the dwindling flame fades out of focus. 

This is his favorite part of the day.

Vague arrays of soft, muted hues and shapes swirl around in his vision, overtaking the warm surroundings of her bedroom. They morph into recognizable figures after some time, and he can hear them speaking when he focuses. For the most part, they sound as if he’s underwater and they’re conversing on the shore. But every now and then, a clear phrase emerges.

Suddenly, the floating shapes assimilate into a figure resembling him and he realizes what this dream is. It’s a recurring one he’s particularly fond of. He settles in and pulls her closer as the scene ebbs between reality and distortions of the unconscious mind. 

He can’t remember how he used to pass the night hours before he met her. Books, records, films--looking back, they feel hollow compared to nights spent like this. Part of him hopes he’ll never know what it's like to want for this. But these dreams, and her thoughts in the waking hours, assure him he won’t ever have to find out.

#twilight #twilight fanfic #edward cullen #edward cullen x y/n #edward cullen x reader #the twilight saga #twilight 2008

[sprout-fics]

Goodnight, Darling

(Price x GN! Reader)

Wordcount: 1.1k Rating: General Audience Tags: Rainy days, Cuddling, Fluff, Tooth-rotting fluff, Price being a softie but only once you finish your paperwork, Naps, Comfort fic A/N: Literally all I wanted today was to curl up on someone's chest and doze. Call me self indulgent, because I am.

There’s a dismal, sodden grayness that falls over the base during summer rainstorms. As the overcast and heavy sky buckles inwards, releases a downpour that trickles down to a misty shower, you feel the heaviness of the atmosphere weigh down on your form, drain the vigor from your weary muscles until you’re merely a slouched, bleary-eyed figure blinking lazily at the wet windows. It’s the type of day for you to go back to bed, curl up under the covers and surrender to blissful dreams until the sun comes out once more. 

Unfortunately for you, this particular afternoon has you filing a series of tedious reports, the boxes and letters on the forms swimming before your eyes. Whatever remnants of energy you had to conquer the task have long since been sapped away with the dismal drain of your tea, the mug sitting lonesome and empty on the desk. You cast a sorrowful look at it imploringly, wishing it would refill itself but feeling far too lazy to do so yourself.

“Chin up, sergeant. Not done yet.” A voice reminds you from the other side of the desk, and you lift your eyes to see Price holding aloft an intelligence report, brow furrowed in concentration as he devours the words imposed onto the paper. He’s traded his hat for a pair of spectacles that balance on the bridge of his nose, and you can’t help but think the man looks rather professorial, and dashingly handsome in a strange, gruff way. 

You grumble at his scolding, slouch further forward into your seat so the chair scoots out behind you petulantly. 

“Sleepy.” You murmur, and Price’s eyes flick to you for just a moment, measuring you before he provides: “Almost done, love.”

Love.

It tugs at a warmth in you the rain doesn’t touch with its cold, wet drizzle. It’s a reminder of his affection, his tenderness for you, and you know for a fact that there’s a part of him that begrudgingly finds your little complaint as endearing. You want to wrap your arms around him, want to nestle into his chest and fall asleep cradled in his arms. You’re tired, cold, bored and sleepy and he’s right there.

“Just a little break.” You try at first, and Price pretends not to hear, flipping a page in the folder to scan the other side. “Please?”

When he doesn’t respond you fall back into your chair with a little groan, slouching so your chin touches your chest. That makes him glance at you, and even though his lips don’t pull there’s a smile in his eyes. 

“Finish your current page.” He tells you idly, and doesn’t elaborate. 

You sit up straight at that, reach for your pen and re-examine the document, scribbling in a few boxes, making a few notes before setting it down and looking at him expectantly.

Price’s eyes don’t stray from the folder, and instead he reaches out a hand, beckoning you to hand him the report. You try to hide a wince as you do, realizing how quickly you filled it out, and when Price looks over the paper his gaze peeks over the top, placing it down on the desk and sliding it back to you. 

“Forgot something. Try again.” He tells you, and you groan, swallow down a protest and commit yourself to examining the document more closely. You find the error, a missed checkbox and signature towards the bottom of the page, and when you hand it back Price nods accordingly. 

He stands, doesn’t stretch, and paces over to the worn, dipped cushion couch on the other side of his office. You watch as he sits, heaves a weary sigh before arranging himself lengthwise on the couch, briefly glancing over his paper towards you, locking eyes meaningfully. 

You don’t need to be told twice. 

You go willingly, don’t bother to kick off your shoes before gently trying to arrange yourself across his front without nudging him too severely. It takes a minute or two for you to get settled, chest to chest with him, fully splayed out across his front, but when you do it’s bliss.

He’s so warm, solid and full under you, his chest rising under your cheek with every even inhale. A hand settles across your back, thumb smoothing several times into the dip of your waist before it goes still. Legs tangled, you drink in the scent of him, heavy with acrid and smoky from his recent cigar, but musky and forestry underneath with his cologne. You’re so comfortable, so utterly content that you can’t contain a sigh of utter satisfaction, fogging across the soft fabric of his sweater upon which you rest your head. 

“Could spend the rest of my life like this.” You tell him honestly, and your next inhale is a jaw splitting yawn as fatigue takes its full hold of you. 

“I have no doubt.” He offers, still a little distracted. 

You prop your chin between his pectorals at that, pouting a little. Price pulls the report away from his face to look down at you, eyes resting over the rims of his glasses. He seems to catch your mild displeasure in your eyes, because there’s a bemused sort of smile that morphs his expression, accompanied by a small chuckle. 

A hand presses up against your nape, and Price strains to lean forward for a moment, placing a brief but indulgent kiss on the crown of your head.

“Take a nap, darling.” He tells you fondly, gently pressing your cheek back into his chest. “I’ll be here until you wake up.”

You can’t possibly argue against that, and as you lay your cheek against the warmth of him, you can hear the steadying thump of his heartbeat echo into your ear. It gentles you into stillness, languor, and soon your world is dimmed by the sound of drizzling rain muffled only by the soft exhales of his breath. 

As you drift off, you feel a hand stroke across your cheek, a tender voice that whispers:

“Goodnight, darling.”

#captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price #john price x reader #captain john price x you #x reader #gender nuetral reader #drabbles #To add to masterlist #Listen I'm a sleepy gorl I want 1 big chested man to sleep on is that really too much to ask?

[cheesus-doodles]

Yakuza Boss Izana + Pudding

Valentine’s Day Shorts

Masterlist | Valentine's Shorts List

‎‎‎

took the previous week off to rest, am back at it again! happy belated valentine's day! the izzy in this is in my head is the shaggy hair future izzy <3

"Hey!" But you could only pout as you watched Izana dig into your half-eaten pudding. "That's mine!"

"Serves you right," the white-haired man huffed, spooning a generous heap of pudding straight into his mouth as he swiftly dodged your attempts to grab the cup back. You really were adorable, he mused as he watched you from the corner of his eye, to think that you could match his speed and reflexes. "You ate my share."

It was a rather cold winter afternoon down by the banks of the river, the overcast sky blocking out any sign of the usual sunlight, and the breeze that swept down the waterway only lowering the temperature even more. Well bundled up in your thick coat, you still shivered slightly, snuggling into your finance's side - and for all his pointed words, Izana was more than happy to let you, pulling you closer to him.

You shot a few more longing glances at your rapidly diminishing sweet treat, lightly brushing a strand of hair aside from his cheek before it could touch the pudding. "But what makes you think its yours Izzy?"

"You know what day it is!" His rebuttal came immediately. Though, the yakuza boss did note that you seemed more amused than distraught at his antics as he grumpily polished off the last of the dessert, before haphazardly tossing the now empty container back into your paper bag without a second glance and plopping down to lay his head on your lap. That was delicious, and you should be ashamed.

Twelve years the two of you have been together, and you have never failed even once to make - hand make - a treat for him on Valentine’s Day, be it chocolates, biscuits or any number of other sweets. Yet today, of all days, he was the one that had to hunt you down, only to find you by the bank of your favorite river, enjoying a treat in the form of a pudding by yourself. His pudding.

"I can't believe you," he grumbled. It was an unusual look for the well feared mafia boss who laid sprawled across your lap, sulking like a rebuffed child, violet gaze refusing to meet yours. "Eating all by yourself. Today!"

You didn't answer him, but the slightest ruffle of the paper bag caught Izana's attention even as you continued to run one hand through his mob of hair. And blank eyes turned just in time to catch you pulling out a second cup of pudding from your paper bag.

"Guess this one is mine then," you chirped playfully, popping open the top to reveal a pristine soft surface off which light bounced, the pudding glinting even in the dim sunlight. "Don't mind if I -"

The pudding cup was gone from your hand before you could finish your sentence. And your jaw-dropped expression were reflected in that familiar empty gaze as you followed the sound of slurping to find said stolen cup in the tanned hands of your finance. "HEY!"

Izana only started chewing faster.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #tokyorev #tokyorev x reader #tenjiku x reader #yandere izana x reader #izana x reader #tokyo revengers izana #kurokawa izana #izana kurokawa #izana scenarios #kakucho #kakucho x reader #tokyo rev #tokrev kakucho #tokyo rev x reader #yandere tokyo rev x reader #cheesus drabbles

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

(cw: age gap 25/41; nsfw, mdni 18+, playing catch, smut, buttstuff ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

the part before: lazy evenings - also check out the "spending time with mh!k" parts which kind of happen in between <3

Going for a walk

...has become one of our usual weekend activities. At least to get ourselves out of the house for a little while, get some fresh air and not coop up inside the whole time. The little patches of forest right outside his house are perfect for that.

I put on my fluffy socks, which are pink in contrast to the all black clothes I’m wearing. König looks at them and bites back a laugh.

“What? My feet get cold easily.”, I tell him, defensively.

“Oh, I know.”, he says. “I’ve had the pleasure of warming those Eiszapfen before.” (icicles)

We put our shoes on, also getting some jackets, because there is a gentle breeze blowing today, and head out the patio door. My DocMartens right beside his combat boots, and the contrast between them makes me grin inwardly. I push my hand into his, tugging on his arm, so we start walking.

The sun is fighting its way through the clouds, the sky overcast and gloomy. It had been raining the whole night, so the path into the little patches of forest is muddy, fresh rainwater puddles sitting on the forest ground. I accidentally step into one of them, mud splashing in all directions.

“Careful, you'll get those nice shoes dirty.”, he quips, looking down at them.

“They're here to get dirty, silly.”, I clap back.

He pulls up his eyebrows. “I wasn’t sure you knew that.”

I shoot him a look. “Shut up, they’re just new.”, I explain, looking down at his worn-out dirty boots that surely have seen better days. “At least mine have been made in this century.”, I jab at him, trying to hide my grin.

“Yeah, yeah.”, he grumbles, but he also pulls me closer, lifting my hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss onto the knuckles.

The last time we went for a walk out here, I tried to climb him like a tree because my intrusive thoughts won. I mean, who wouldn’t wanna be high up? I still remember how it felt to sit on his shoulders when we were at the concert, so I just couldn't resist.

“Hold still.”

“What are you doing?”

“I said, hold still.”

“Wos wird des, wonn’s fertig is?“

“I don’t speak your language, funny big man. Just stay still, so I can climb you like a tree.”

“Like a- a tree?”

“Yes.”

“I mean, you can climb me any day, Kleine.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Are you actually trying to climb me like a tree?”

“Yes, now hold still.”

He sighed, a laughter shaking his chest as I lifted my weight up by his shoulders, stepping on his thigh to move further up.

“That tickles.”, he grumbled when my fingers buried into his back muscles.

He finally just lifted me up, so I could sit on his shoulders which was as fun as I remembered it from the concert, but turned out to be a safety hazard because of all the tree branches higher up.

This time I’m not trying anything like that, also it would be quite daring to put my muddy shoes onto him. I mean, I’m more than sure that he can handle a little dirt, but still.

I’m taking two steps for his one, the pace making me pant. I pick up speed, taking bigger steps to keep up, but in turn he does the same until we’re both doing lunges across the forest ground, laughing like stupid.

I shake my head and slip out of his hold, darting away from him before turning around to look back at him, grinning in his direction.

“Whatcha doing now?”, he asks, a little edge in his voice.

“Can't catch me!”, I tell him, sticking out my tongue before I run towards a tree, hiding behind it.

I see his face light up in a grin, taking a few steps into my direction, and I can't suppress the little giggle that rises up my throat as I see him stalking towards me, calm and collected, no rush in his strides.

A little flurry of excitement rushes up my spine when he comes closer and I stumble a few steps back, my eyes not leaving his. He's looking at me, from under his eyebrows, the grin on his face turning into smirk, his strides getting bigger, the sounds of leaves and breaking branches under the soles of his boots, the squelching of mud accompanying every one of our steps.

I run a little bit further into the woods and I can hear him following me. Like Red Riding Hood running from the Big Bad Wolf...

Fuck, this was just meant to be a little fun game of catch, but the implications the situation has… it's getting me worked up, just thinking about it, how it would be like if I actually ran from him, tried to escape from him, until he catches me, certainly not a challenge for the big guy, and has his way with me.

I can feel the pang of need between my legs, a gush of wind making me shiver – or was it my dirty thoughts?

My panting drowns out the rest of the sounds and when I go to hide behind the next tree, a wide one, I don't hear him come round the other side and I almost collide with his chest. A little yelp escapes me before I giggle again, turning around and running the other way, but his arms are too long and he just grabs me, his hands closing around my waist.

“Gotchu, Kleine.”, he whispers into my ear as he pulls me against his chest, engulfing me with his arms and his warm scent. I still giggle while I wiggle in his hold, playfully trying to escape again, but I'm not going anywhere.

“Okay you win.”, I say then, jokingly pouting a little bit.

He turns me around, laughs while he lifts me up, up over his head, way too high up, until we're almost imitating that famous scene from Dirty Dancing which has me yelp and laugh. "König!"

He lowers me down again until I rest against his chest, my hands holding onto his shoulders, my legs closing around his hips, and he leans in to give me kiss. “Now... What's my reward for catching you?”, he asks, a spark of mischief in his eyes, not being serious at all.

But I'm also very willing to take our playful spat in that direction. And there is something that has been in the back of my mind, the last few times we had sex, something that I wanted to try, even though I'm not entirely sure he'll fit.

“You know what we talked about? Doing something different?”, I start, a little smirk stalking onto my lips.

He perks up. “You mean...” He lifts his eyebrows.

I nod. “Yeah.”

“I remember, yes. You want to try today?”, he wants to know.

I nod again. “Yes.”

A slight shiver shakes him, pulling me closer to him. “Are you sure?”, he asks again.

“Yes, König, I'm totally sure.”, I say, trying not to roll my eyes while a big grin forms on my face. It's endearing honestly how he always makes double sure of everything. I just told him that I want to try anal with him – which is a challenge considering his... size – and he is nothing but sweet about it.

“No need to get sassy.”, he chuckles against my lips, but he doesn’t get a move on. He kisses me again and I can feel the frenzy and hunger in it, even before he deepens it.

I’m trying not to squirm in his hold and failing miserably at it, grinding my hips into him which pulls a soft grunt from his lips.

“Then what are we waiting for?”, I whisper, looking up into his eyes.

A hint of surprise lights up his face, but it gives way to a simmering heat. “Your wish is my command, Prinzesserl.”, he drawls, repositioning me in his arms, taking long strides back to his house. Not hurry, but calm determination making his steps even bigger than they normally would be. He’s not even breathing harder as he almost runs, carrying me, which… I knew he was in good shape, but this is just ridiculous.

When we reach the patio, I slip out of his hold and enter the house. I quickly kick off my shoes, just letting them fall onto the floor which makes him shake his head and tut as he closes the back door behind him.

“We can get them later.”, I say, shrugging off my jacket as well, impatiently getting rid of the clothing.

He’s mumbling something under his breath, picking my boots up and quickly putting them and his own away while I run up the stairs. He can’t leave anything dirty, not even for a moment, and I sigh with a bashful smile. I should have known better, the big man and his love for keeping everything cleanly.

He catches up to me a few seconds later, his arm closing around me as he spanks my butt. “You’re lucky you’re this cute.”, he grumbles, hoisting me up. The shoes are quickly forgotten about, my legs closing around his waist again as he carries me to the bed, where he lies me down on the mattress.

He takes his sweet time to prep me, undressing me first before getting rid of his own clothes. Kissing every part of me that is unveiled, his breath coasting over my skin which makes me shiver.

His tongue licking a trail down from my sensitive neck to my nipples, turning to stiff peaks as he softly bites them, sucking, nibbling.

His hands wander further down, brushing over the soft skin of my tummy and hips until his fingertips reach between my legs, finding me shamelessly wet already.

Pushing his thick fingers into my pussy first, getting me even wetter with his languid strokes, before getting up again to fetch the buttplug and lube, two staples that hardly are missing anymore when we have sex, but today they're all the more important.

He's taking some of the slippery liquid, lubing me up and pushing the buttplug in slowly when it fully slips into me and I sigh, getting used to the feeling. He's still playing with my pussy, his thumb doesn't stop drawing circles over my clit until his mouth takes over.

Fuck, I don't think I can ever get enough of that, his lips on the sensitive skin, his hot breath coasting over my wetness, his tongue dipping into me. He knows what gets me going, his touches deliberate, getting me to the edge, softly pushing me over it with his mouth on me. My moans intermingling with the sound of his licks when I come against his mouth.

He's pulling the buttplug out again, pushing his fingers in instead. Just one at first, sliding in easily with how the plug already worked me open, then a second one. He takes more lube, sinking his fingers deeper. His eyes are intently looking at them disappear into my hole, his brows furrowed, but his jaw slack, sucking in small breaths.

He's watching me, my reactions, my small movements, the roll of my hips into his hands. When I breathe out and try to relax again, he slowly adds a third finger, and the stretch is making me gasp, the intensity is making me shake.

With a small shout from my lips, the orgasm hits me unexpectedly. "Coming from just my fingers in your ass? Oh Liebes.", he coos, not stopping to finger-fuck me as I pulse around them.

I pry my eyes open, taking in the soft expression on his face, my chest heaving with deep breaths.

"Fuck, it's so intense.", I say, my fingers brushing over my cheek and lips. "I don't know how you'll fit."

"It will fit, don't worry.", he softly drawls.

When I pull my hands away, he sees the moment of worry and hesitation on my face, the smirk dropping and his hand slipping out.

"We don't have to.", he interjects quickly, crawling over me. "We can stop anytime.

My hand shoots out, cupping his cheek, and he takes it and presses an kiss to the palm. "I want to do it.", I say, looking up at him, feeling the blush creep onto my cheeks. "At least try."

His eyes search mine. "Okay.", he says, pulling me into him.

He turns me around, positioning me on all fours while he kneels behind me. "Like this, you have control over it.", he explains, putting his hands on my hips.

"Okay.", I echo him, taking a deep breath.

He’s getting more lube, spreading it on his length and guiding me back until his tip nudges against my hole.

I gently sink down on his dick, really slow, taking inch by inch. Stopping every so often when it gets too intense. Leaning forward again, easing up, reminding myself to just relax. Relishing the feeling as I’m trying to take all of him.

He brushes my hair to the side, his mouth coasting over my neck, the tickling touches sending shivers over me. "Doing so well, Liebes.", he whispers. "Almost there." His arm closes around me, his hand dropping between my thighs, stroking over my pussy, circling my clit.

I sigh, slumping into his chest, holding onto his thigh, sliding further down until he is fully seated in my ass.

"Good girl.", he drawls, the praise washing over me, when he captures my lips in a searing kiss, and my hand tangles in his hair.

I start moving back and forth, grinding myself against him, his length sliding out and in again. Just a little bit at a time. He groans, softly rolling his hips to meet mine.

"Fuck.", I whine. My movements are getting sloppy quickly, filled to the brim over and over again. I can feel the tension in my lower belly, breaking the kiss while I try to ride him like this, the swell of my ass pressing up against his groin.

All of a sudden, he pulls himself out of me and I whimper at the loss of fullness.  "Fuck, I'm sorry. Need to see your face when you come around my dick.", he breathes.

I turn to the side, so I'm facing him as he places me right on front of him on my back. My knees drop to the side in an instant, and he hums, placing his hands on my thighs, pushing them back to expose me even more.

His eyes drop down and he spits. A dollop of saliva drips onto my pussy, running down to my ass, adding to the wetness and lube.

He's gently pushing in again, and the stretch is making me whine. Fuck, this still is intense. He leans down, his long dark hair falling around us like a curtain. Kissing me, softly nipping the sensitive skin.

"Where's this dick, hm? Tell me.", he whispers while he thrusts languidly, pushing even deeper.

"It's in my ass.", I sigh, the soft sound turning into a moan when his hips meet mine again.

I can feel the smile on his lips against mine. "That's right, and you're taking me so well.", he says.

I whimper, his praise tightening up the intense feeling inside me, and that's before he's picking up tempo, still not fucking me like he usually would. More slow and deep than hard and fast, but with the steady rhythm and how he stretches me out... This is driving me crazy.

Especially when he slips two fingers into my slick pussy, his thumb pressing against my clit as he fills me up to the brim like this.

"Oh fuck.", I curse, my eyes rolling back.

He played with both my holes at the same time before, but this is almost too much this way. His thick digits pump into my wetness, the same time his dick pushes into my ass.

"How does that feel, Liebes?", he wants to know.

"Feels good.", I breathe. And it does, even if I can barely handle the feeling of fullness.

"Yeah? You like that, hm?", he asks.

"Yes.", I moan, my eyes turning up, I can feel the tension pooling in my lower belly again and my thighs are starting to shake. "Fuck, please..." My words turn into moans, unable to finish my plea. Just a little more, I think, desperately needing to come.

And he doesn't stop to fuck me while his other hand is slowly caressing up my body until it gently closes around my throat. A little move that makes me pant even harder, tingles erupting all over my body.

His thumb pushes into my mouth that has fallen open, brushing over my tongue. I hum as I close my lips around his digit, sucking on it which makes him smirk down at me.

He's not moving much, just softly rolling his hips, pushing his dick in and out of my ass. His gaze is on me, and I'm desperately trying to keep my focus on his face, but I feel like I have already lost my mind. All my holes stuffed by him, his dick and his fingers, my mewls getting muffled by his thick thumb.

"You gonna cum for me like a good girl?", he whispers, and I hum again, nodding hastily.

"Yes, yes!", I mumble around his digit, losing myself in his eyes staring up at him.

His hushed words, their soft drawl, being at his mercy like this, catapults me over the edge. I can feel the tension snap, the orgasm is wrecking through me, my back arching, my hands flying out to desperately hold onto him, onto his arm that is strewn over my body.

His thumb slips out of my mouth, his hand capturing my face, I can feel the wetness of my own spit on my cheek as he makes me look at him while I pulse on his dick and fingers. The sounds dropping from my lips are almost obscene.

"Look at me, yes fuck.", he curses, taking everything in, his gaze fixed on mine.

His eyebrows furrow, his eyes pressing together, just for a moment. And he comes inside me while my orgasm is subsiding, the waves of arousal still shaking me. Pressing his lips to mine as choked moans escape his throat.

He pulls out of me, and all I can do is slump into the sheets, totally fucked out. Having your holes stuffed like that really does a number on you. My mind is hazy, and I feel like I'm floating, the tension leaving my taught body with every deep breath I take.

"You okay, Liebes?", he asks, posing the same question he always posed when you first started fucking, and he still comes back to it.

"Oh yeah.", I sigh, pulling him closer again, not willing to let him get up, let alone get up myself. I'm not even sure my legs would carry me. "That was quite... something.", I remark, looking up at him, the slightest blush staining his cheeks, like always after he just came.

He laughs a little, deep and soft, as his body slumps onto mine again and we just lie here for a moment.

"Quite something, huh?", he teases me, his nose nuzzling into the crook of my neck. I push some of his long dark hair back, my fingers brushing through them.

"No thoughts, head empty.", I mumble, snuggling into him. "No energy for big words."

He laughs again, his hand roaming down my body, squeezing my hip ever so slightly as he relaxes into me. And a soft calmness falls over us as we bask in the afterglow, his warmth engulfing me.

After a while of just laying here, he lifts me up with him, carrying me to the bathroom. He's drawing me a bath in the tub we rarely use, letting me soak in the warm water that helps relax my taught muscles, washing away the remnants of the hot and heavy fuck. He even puts on some music before sinking into the water himself, almost flooding the bathroom, and I laugh when "Fairies wear Boots" by Black Sabbath starts playing from the Bluetooth speaker, but he just grins down at me.

Somebody else might have put on something sultry and chill, but not him. Pulling me into his arms, chuckling a bit and then singing along "Fairies wear boots, yeah you gotta believe me…", the words in his deep soothing voice making me smile to myself.

I'm feeling very pampered and I can't complain – I would never complain – sitting on the couch afterwards, a snuggly blanket around my shoulders and a bowl in my hands with some pasta dish he quickly whipped up.

He drops onto the cushion beside me and turns on the TV. We started watching Bojack Horseman, a show I’ve watched before and he hadn't seen yet. Because he almost never watches shows, even though he pays for all the streaming services. I mean, he also has Spotify and listens to CDs and vinyls much more often. Did I mention that he's old?

I turn to look at him, sitting there with double my portion on his plate. He looks back at me with a quizzical stare, munching on some noodles, a sight that makes me giddy, and I can't even really pinpoint why. The big guy so casual always makes my heart sing.

"You think you'd might wanna chase me through the woods some time?", I ask him straight forward while shoving some pasta in my face.

He halts, pulling his eyebrows up. "You'd like me to?", he asks back, dropping the fork into his noodles.

I nod. "Yeah." I can't help a little blush creep into my cheeks. "When we played catch today... I couldn't help but imagine it...", I confess.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, his eyes searching my face to look for answers, his expression unmoving and serious while he pans down my body, the bowl of pasta on my lap.

"With those short legs?", he quips then, looking at them for a moment, a grin breaking through.

I gasp. "Rude!"

He laughs a little before pulling me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead and dropping the banter. "We can try that... Just need to talk about the, uh, logistics some more." He pulls back to look at me. "I want you to feel save.", he says, his thumb caressing over my cheek.

"I always do with you.", I simply answer, giving him a small peck on the lips.

When I break away, I catch something in the corner of his eyes, an emotion I can't quite grasp, but it's gone the next second when he picks up his fork again.

"What?", I ask, unable to let it be.

His mouth forms into a lop-sided smile while he shakes his head. He doesn't say anything, but quickly takes my hand in his, squeezing my fingers, meeting my gaze for a moment. And the little gesture puts me at ease. I relax back into the cushions and turn my attention to the flatscreen again, returning to eat my pasta.

I can feel his eyes on me for another moment longer, my shoulder nudging his, and we continue watching the show.

the next part: comforting him or more in the Masterlist ~

#metalhead!könig #she likes the dark #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig x reader #tw: age gap

[kopivie]

as a continuation of this post.

you squeeze your eyes tight and wait for the worst to happen. you can only imagine what sort of pain you were about to be subjected to. your stomach churns as your mind conjures up the sickening sounds of bones crushing and teeth gnashing; of flesh being ripped from the bone and blood being splattered like paint upon a canvas. you wait, and you wait as the gardemek gets closer. you can practically taste the putrid steam that pours from its nostrils. you wait and you wait...

...but death never comes. or at least, not in the way you expect it to.

"at ease."

his voice is gruff, like he's speaking through his teeth. you've never heard him like this before. on any other occasion he's calm, cool, and collected; he normally sounds like he has everything under his control. but right now, after hearing him sound like he's holding himself back, you wonder what expression he's wearing.

you're paralyzed with fear. your entire body is taut and wound tight, almost as though rigor mortis has already set in. but you're not dead, you have to tell yourself. you're not dead. you repeat that phrase over and over like a mantra in your head even as the presence of the three-headed gardemek diminishes. you're not dead. you're not dead, not dead, not dead not dead not--

"you're okay."

your eyes may still be closed, but you know he is here. he is right in front of you. you can feel it. you can feel him. his hands are ghosting over your frame -- your hair, your neck, your shoulders, your cheeks. you can smell him, rich and heady -- intoxicating. hell, you can practically taste him with how close he seems to be.

he calls your name. his voice is still rough, but it is becoming softer as he speaks. perhaps he doesn't want to scare you any more than he already has. "look at me," he begs. he pleads. would he grovel if you asked him to? "please, look at me. open your eyes, my love. you're safe. it's been taken care of."

your neck feels stiff as you shake your head.

you feel his hands finally come to rest on your cheeks. his hands are calloused and cold, yet also warm and grounding. his touch sends a shiver down your spine. your joints creak as you bring your hands up to cover his own.

"that's it," he breathes. "i'm right here. breathe with me. i'm here. nothing will hurt you while i'm here."

your breathing is shallow, but he, wriothesley, is patient. he is always patient when it comes to you. four beats pass, then six, then ten. your breathing is stable and he is still here, grounding you to this plane of existence. finally, finally, you open your eyes.

and there he is. pale grey eyes stare back into your own. maliciously, your mind wanders to the sky above the overworld. you wonder if today is sunny. perhaps the sky is overcast. if it is, you wonder if the clouds are the same color as his eyes.

you used to seek refuge in nature whenever times got tough. but since you won't be returning home for the forseeable future, you let your mind run free. you start to sink as you return his gaze. lower, lower, and lower still. the closest you will ever get to seeing the overworld again is by staring into his overcast eyes. you hope and pray to whatever god exists that you'll get a glimpse of some cumulus cloud reflected through his irises. but when reality inevitably hits you, when the adrenaline starts to bleed from your pores and your body starts to deflate, you realize that the only thing that's reflected in his eyes is you.

he does not dream of the overworld. he does not dream of freedom like you do. he does not wish for a life outside of these walls. he wants for naught but you.

you feel bile sour your tongue. some savior he is. your words of thanks become rotten and disgusting. you swallow it all back and tear your eyes away from him. "i want to lay down." your voice is hoarse. "take me to my room." belatedly, you add a, "please."

he regards you closely. he analyzes you, scans you like the very gardemek that you nearly lost your life to mere moments ago. in times like these, you wonder just how much difference exists between him and the very mechanical beasts he commands.

his hands leave your face and he sighs. you recognize that sigh. defeat. he won't get any gentle treatment from you today either. but you know he won't think much of it. he never does. he will try again tomorrow.

hopefully, you think as you march to your room, he does something about that monster.

#[ 💭 — thoughts. ] #wriothesley x reader #hades!wriothesley x reader #good heavens #its eepy time #im so sleepy honk shoo mimimi

[imtrashraccoon]

It's here! I don't have a name for these series of connected prompts just yet but I'm sure I'll think of one! I was originally going to write the characters doing more in this chapter but it didn't work out. Still, I'm happy with this narrative I'm creating. By the way, I am planning on posting this to AO3 like all my other works if you want to check it out!

@owl-bones Please let me know if you don't want me to tag you for each prompt. Thanks for making the list!

Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Horror - Hot Drinks

Word Count: 2,914

It was a dreary day today, yet despite the overcast sky and brisk breeze that often whipped snow into your face, it was the nicest it had been in days. You'd practically gone stir crazy after a freak snow storm had blown in several days ago and so now you were getting some much needed fresh air.

It had been an incredibly spontaneous decision to come out to this barely traveled trail. You'd been meaning to check out the area for ages but had been too busy in the fall. While your winter gear was generally enough to keep you warm on most days, it seemed like you should've worn an extra layer or two with how chilly it was out here in the woods in comparison to the city.

Regardless, you were moving at a steady enough pace to keep your blood pumping. So long as you weren't out here for longer than a few hours and got home before it got dark, you should be alright.

The walk had been every bit as beautiful as you'd expected it to be. While the forest was mostly made up of deciduous trees, you were now walking through a large grove of mature cedar trees, which just so happened to be your favorite type of conifers. The dense shrubbery served to insulate this part of the trail from both the wind and the sounds of the wild, not to mention that they smelled lovely as well.

The path made a sharp turn to the left up ahead, although right in front of you was a natural gap in the treeline, possibly made by animals as they passed through this grove. Feeling a tad curious, you ducked under the branches and emerged in a small clearing on the other side.

The clearing seemed to be natural as you couldn't see any signs of tree cutting, even with all the snow. It was framed on all sides by cedar trees whose boughs were blanketed in a thick layer of the white powder. It was strange though. You couldn't see anything that looked special about this little clearing and yet it was so peaceful here.

You'd only walked a few paces into the open space when you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Something was very wrong.

Some sort of primal instinct deep inside your soul screamed for you to duck and your body responded without even thinking about it.

You heard the unmistakable sound of an object whizzing through the air where you'd been standing moments prior.

You barely had time to register what happened before someone roughly grasped your shoulder and flung you into the snow.

You landed hard on your right side. The cold snow stung your face. There was pressure on your abdomen.

It took a moment for you to catch your breath. When you did though, you shifted slightly to see what had just attacked you, but as soon as you did so, the pressure on your side increased sharply.

A low rumbling growl was the only warning you got to stay put.

Now your mind was racing. This wasn't a random animal and no human could possibly sound like that. So could it be a monster? They'd been on the surface for a couple years now and were pretty commonplace in the city. In fact, you didn't know of any that would willingly choose to live out in the middle of nowhere after being trapped underground for centuries.

"Uh... H-hey, can...can we talk about this...?" Your voice came out much hoarser than you'd expected it to but you didn't know what else you could do right now.

Nothing happened for what felt like ages. You continued to stay as still as you possibly could, save for the pounding of your heart and how badly you were trembling. The snow was cold and your clothes were rapidly becoming soaked, but you barely registered it.

Your attacker suddenly shifted their body and the pressure on your abdomen eased, although it didn't go away entirely.

You chanced turning your head in their direction this time, rather than trying to move your entire body.

Your gaze immediately locked onto a singular glowing red eyelight. It belonged to a hulking figure of a skeleton monster who was currently pinning you to the ground. The eyelight itself took up almost the entirety of his socket and there was a thin line through the center, likely acting as a pupil. The only other details you could make out from this angle was that he was breathing rather heavily and he had a large hole on the top of the left side of his skull.

You didn't dare break eye contact for fear the monster would lash out suddenly if you did so. Whether it was how blown out his single pinprick looked or the tight smile that seemed much too wide for the current situation, but you could tell something was very wrong him right now.

Taking a shaky breath, you tried to speak to the skeleton again. "H-hey... Big guy... Are you...? Is something wrong?" you asked. Although to your frustration, your tongue betrayed how nervous you really were right now.

He said nothing and just continued to stare down at you, or maybe through you was more accurate. If looks could kill, you'd be dead at least a hundred times over.

For whatever reason, he wasn't actively restraining your arms, just preventing you from getting up. So against your better judgement, you slowly raised your left hand and reached for his face. Although you quickly discovered he was at least several inches out of range and you couldn't actually touch him.

His eyelight tracked your movements and seemed to focus on your outstretched fingers. He still said nothing though and just sat in silence.

"It's okay... Did I startle you earlier?" Your voice was becoming stronger the more you spoke and while you were still rather nervous, you were feeling a bit more confident than before.

He seemed to be acting pretty distant. The lights were on, pun unintended, but nobody was home. So what had stopped him from actually hurting you earlier? The only thing you could think of was when you tried to talk to him and since it seemed to be having a positive effect, you decided to keep doing that.

"Hey... Um, you scared me pretty bad, you know...?" No response. "But it's okay! I'm... I'm not mad or anything..."

People said you tended to ramble when nervous but you'd never believed them until now. Not that you'd been in many life or death situations before now to know, or at least none where talking your way out had been an option.

"Okay... I'm not going to hurt you, but... I'm going to try doing something." With a nervous chuckle, you added, "Just...don't take my hand off, okay...?"

You waited a moment to see if he'd try to respond but shocker, he still didn't react. So against your better judgement, you attempted to sit up so you could reach him. You moved slowly while keeping a close eye on him, but thankfully, he didn't show any signs of further aggression.

He startled when your mittened hand met the right side of his face. His red eyelight wobbled and flicked between your outstretched hand and your face. The corners of his painfully wide smile fell a fraction as he seemed to properly take in the current situation.

"Ah, that's better," you murmured. "You seemed far away so I was wondering if you could actually hear me. Are you...? Are you okay?"

He said nothing and continued to stare at you. Then his gaze flicked back to your hand and his bonebrows furrowed slightly. Before you could protest, he grasped your wrist and with some hesitation, jerked it away.

Crap... His hand is like twice the size of mine.

He let go of you and managed to stand up, staggering away from you. Complete shock was practically written across his skull and you could see how desperately his mind was scrambling to make sense of this awkward situation.

Although your muscles were a bit numb from the cold, you slowly crawled to your feet and attempted to dust yourself off. Although the snow had completely soaked through your pants and coat so your efforts were futile.

"..."

The mysterious skeleton muttered something that was so quiet, you almost didn't realize he'd said anything in the first place.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that..."

He blinked, somehow, and actually made eye contact with you this time before trying again. "...sorry..."

His tone was about as deep as you'd expected a guy of his size to sound, although it was also rather subdued. You couldn't be sure if that was just how he spoke or if he was feeling ashamed about what had just happened.

Speaking of his height though, this monster was much taller than you'd initially thought. He was easily more than a foot taller than you were, even with the way he was purposely hunching his shoulders. Was he trying to make himself look smaller?

"It's alright, you didn't actually hurt me," you responded.

He gave you a strange look but didn't say anything else, instead he started looking around in the snow.

Feeling rather awkward, you chewed your lower lip and kicked a small clump of snow. He didn't seem like much of a conversationalist and you didn't blame him right now.

After a moment of searching, he seemed to find what he'd been looking for a couple paces ahead and to the left of where you were currently standing - a large axe with a rather sharp blade. The way it was stuck in the snow suggested he'd actually hurled it at you and the thought of how close your brush with death had really been, sent chills down your spine.

But, if he had intended to kill you from the beginning, how come he'd hesitated to follow through?

You watched as he hefted the axe onto his shoulder with minimal effort. There was one more question on your mind now though.

Who was he?

Taking a step forward, you cleared your throat to get his attention. "Do you need me to call someone?"

He straightened up a bit more but remained facing away from you. "...no."

You frowned and pressed again, "Then...do you live nearby? Do you need help getting home?"

"...no," he responded in that same quiet tone. He turned to look at you again but this time his expression seemed more perplexed than anything.

You didn't know what to say next. You wanted to do something, anything, to help him, but he'd denied each of your attempts to do so. You couldn't just walk away now, not when he was so clearly struggling with something.

"what's with you?"

His question was a bit surprising and it took a second for you to come up with an answer. "You're hurting... I just want to make sure you'll be okay..."

He threw his skull back and laughed. It was a slow, bitter sounding laugh that nearly broke your heart to hear. After what felt like several long minutes, his laughter finally calmed down and he fixed you with a scrutinizing look once again.

"i just about killed ya."

You nodded solemnly, "But you didn't..."

He cut you off with a harsh glare. "and you're incredibly lucky right now..." he growled. "...i'm a dangerous person and you're pretty foolish for stickin' around this long."

You crossed your arms in annoyance. "Yeah, I guess I am foolish..." you huffed. "I don't know how to leave people be, I'm too nice for my own good, and I can't say no to people even if I really don't want to do what they ask me to. So yeah, I know I'm foolish!"

He raised a bonebrow as your voice got louder and louder but let you keep ranting until you'd gotten everything out. Running his free hand over his skull, he chuckled quietly. "wow...sounds like you've had a lot of experience, huh?"

"No kidding..." you muttered.

His footsteps crunched through the snow as he moved closer and you looked up at him again when he stopped about a foot away. He seemed to size you up for a moment before his permanent grin widened slightly.

"you're a funny human..."

You balked and took a step back. "Wha...? What's that supposed to mean?" you stammered.

He chuckled again and placed his free hand on your left shoulder. His touch was much gentler this time, even with the tips of his phalanges being rather sharp like claws.

"just that. ya got spunk to look at a guy like me an' think 'i can help him'." He hummed thoughtfully and then asked, "so how'd ya do it?"

"Do what?"

"shake me out of it..." He trailed off and a confused frown flickered across his face for a moment. "you were talkin' but i don't remember what you said until you touched me..."

"I don't understand. I didn't do anything more than that though. I just... You seemed...like you were somewhere else and not fully aware of what was happening? I guess I thought that maybe physical contact might help?"

"huh, interestin'..." he murmured thoughtfully. "so you've never heard of intent?"

You frowned slightly. The way he'd specifically put emphasis on that word made you think it meant something different than what you'd initially thought. "I can't say I have," you said with a shrug.

He started to respond when a sudden gust of wind blew through the small clearing and caused you to shudder as the cold air went right through your soaked clothing. You clutched your coat closer and stamped your feet in an effort to warm up.

Changing the subject, he made a quiet tisk sound and commented, "you'll catch your death if ya stay out here much longer, human."

A little voice in the back of your head wanted to retort that you wouldn't be this cold if it weren't for him, but that would be cruel, so you didn't. Instead, you gave a little laugh and tried to smile, but it wasn't exactly easy with how badly your teeth were chattering.

"Um, my car's not that far from here and before I left the house this morning I made a thermos of hot coffee... If you'd like some...?"

He laughed, much more genuinely this time by the way, and shook his skull. "crazy human... do ya have no self-preservation instincts or somethin' ?" he asked in a tone that practically screamed "ya can't be serious?".

You nodded, "Compared to some men I've met, you've been downright pleasant to make conversation with." Turning to head back to the trail, you added, "It's probably a good thing you took me by surprise though, because I definitely would've tried to fight you if I'd seen you coming."

"you'd definitely be dead then," he muttered bitterly.

You chose not to continue this morbid train of thought and walked on in silence. It was a bit surprising that he'd decided to actually take you up on your offer, considering he'd rejected every other one, but you didn't mind in the slightest.

After a few minutes of travel, you asked, "Do you have a name?"

He made a low humming sound before answering. "axe..." He grinned when you shot him a confused look and nodded his skull towards the weapon he had slung over his shoulder.

"I see... It's kind of...fitting? If I can say that?"

"mhm. what about you?"

"Oh! How rude of me... It's..." you gave him your name, "Sorry, I guess I completely forgot my manners in the heat of the moment..." You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly.

Axe repeated your name out loud a few times like he was trying to commit it to memory. You paid him no mind as you knew all too well how annoying it was to forget someone's name. You didn't think you'd ever forget his though, not with how crazy today had been.

You caught him typing something into his phone out of the corner of your eye before he slipped it back into the pocket of his shorts again. He really hadn't needed to borrow your phone afterall it seemed.

"i am sorry for scarin' ya that badly...and for nearly killin' ya too," Axe muttered. He looked rather sheepish all of the sudden, like his previous apology wasn't nearly good enough now that you'd talked a little.

You waved him off and smiled warmly. "Hey, it's fine now. I'm not mad at you for something you couldn't help."

"i'm surprised you're not askin' more questions about me or why that happened in the first place..."

"Do you want to tell me?"

He shook his skull silently and glanced away.

"That's fine then... If you're gonna be okay now, then that's all I care about."

You hummed happily as your little car came into view at the side of the road where you'd parked it earlier. That coffee sounded absolutely divine right about now and you were so glad you'd decided to make it. Thank your lucky stars you'd thought ahead today.

Your companion had grown rather silent all of the sudden and when you glanced at him, you saw his bonebrows seemed to be knit together in deep thought. While you definitely were curious about him and where he came from, you didn't want to pry into something that wasn't your business.

Besides, the less you knew, the better...

#badsansuary #raccoons drabbles #undertale #horrortale #horrortale sans #axe #horror sans x reader #reader #female reader #probably...it won't come up much #oneshot #have some empathy dear

[hobiebrownismygod]

Rising - 1610!Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

~3.1k words

Synopsis: Miles knew he would have to battle with his guilt from his Uncle Aaron's death, but he never expected to get involved with the Prowler again. This time, the Prowler returns with a new face.

TW: Death, Mention of Murder & Robbery

A/N: Reader doesn't have a specified race. I talk about Reader's eyes a little bit, but nothing is specified other than them being pretty <3

Edit: Based off prompt by @homiesondaweb go check them out

____________________________________________________________

10:36 A.M. Aaron Davis's Funeral - Miles' POV __________________________________________________

"Thank you for coming." Miles watched as his mom quietly whispered her thanks to the numerous family members approaching them with their kind words and back pats. He forced a smile as a woman he didn't even know cupped his face in her hands, her condolences barely audible over the loud murmurs of the rest of the funeral crowd. The cold Brooklyn breeze sent shivers down his spine, his thin suit coat doing little to prevent the goosebumps from rapidly spreading across his skin.

It was a gloomy day, dark clouds on the horizon blocking the sun, the inevitable chance of pouring rainfall growing closer and closer as the wind pushed the overcast towards the funeral service. It had been exactly one week and two days since his Uncle Aaron's sudden death. The cops, well Miles' dad Jeff, had done a good job covering up his uncle's involvement in the collider sequence that generated the tens of tiny earthquakes, shaking New York to its core and leading to thousands worth of property damage. It was as if the Prowler had never existed. They said that his uncle died during one of the earthquakes, trapped under the rubble while trying to help evacuate a neighborhood but Miles knew better.

He knew the truth. He knew that his uncle wasn't a good guy. He knew that he'd been working with Kingpin. He knew about the Sinister Six. But worse than all the rest, he knew that it was his fault his uncle was dead. Because if he hadn't been bit by that damn spider, Aaron Davis would still be alive.

"Dear friends and family, we gather here today in grief and love to remember the life of Aaron Davis and to support one another during this difficult time. As we come together, let us take a moment to offer a prayer of comfort, healing, and strength..."

It was starting. Miles quickly took a seat next to his mom who was silently dabbing the corner of her eye with a small, white napkin. She put her hand on top of Miles' squeezing gently and shooting him a slight smile before they both turned their heads to look back over at his father, who was approaching the podium to give his farewell speech. Miles watched as his father pulled out what looked like a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, looked at it for a moment, and then shoved it back in with a sigh. He placed his hands on both sides of the microphone, eliciting a small, high-pitched screech, evoking subtle winces among the crowd.

His dad cleared his throat, and began to speak, his voice wavering slightly with every change in tone. It was hard for him, probably harder than it was for Miles. Miles couldn't help but feel a little proud of his dad for being able to stand up there and talk about the man that they'd lost, because he knew that if he himself tried to go up there, he'd break down and never be able to build himself back up again.

"Aaron was my baby brother. But more than that, he was my best friend." His dad chuckled slightly, memories flooding his mind as he continued, "I remember when we were young, how the two of us would go out causing trouble like we were invincible. Like nothing could break us..."

As Miles's focus slowly wavered, he felt his father's voice becoming more and more muffled. Miles' mind was overwhelmed by unwelcome thoughts, flooding his senses and making his swallowing sharper and his eyes heavier. If I hadn't been bit...would he still be here today? He closed his eyes quickly, to prevent himself from breaking down right there, swallowing back his tears before opening them again and looking back at his father. If I hadn't been followed...would he have survived?

If I'd shook him off my path that day, he would've never realized that I was going to Aunt May's house. And he wouldn't have caught me. And I wouldn't have taken my mask off. And he wouldn't have been shot.

Miles heard clapping and opened his eyes again, forcing a smile onto his face and clapping along with everyone else while his dad sat down in the seat next to him. Another person went up to the stand, someone Miles didn't know. As the person began to talk, Miles felt his mind wandering again, back to those horrible, horrible thoughts. But there was a hint of truth behind them, wasn't there? If I hadn't-

He felt a tingling sensation in his body, the hairs on his arms standing up and a weird, almost nauseating feeling entering the front of his forehead. His spider-sense. It was detecting something.

He subtly turned his head to the side, where the sense was telling him to look. His eyes scanned over his surroundings, taking in the faces of all the people there, most of whom he'd never met before. Many of them were relatives on his dad's side, people who he didn't meet often because of his dad's messy relationship with his parents. He'd never told Miles why exactly he never got to meet his grandparents, but Miles knew not to ask. Family issues were difficult.

His eyes landed on a pair of people, one larger than the other. They were both covered from head to toe in funeral attire, the larger one wearing a black suit and the smaller one, probably a young girl, wearing a simple black dress. They looked just like everyone else, except for the fact that they were wearing face-masks to cover their faces, something you didn't often see at a funeral. It was as if they were trying to hide something.

Miles continued to stare at the pair, gears turning in his brain as he tried to see if he could recognize them. Despite not being able to see their expressions, they looked solemn. His spider-sense began to die down and he decided it must've been a fluke, but even then he couldn't help but continue to gaze at them. Especially at the girl. He was mesmerized. He couldn't even see her face, but he felt some kind of weird connection. Like he knew her from somewhere. Or she knew him.

Suddenly, her eyes darted towards him. He immediately looked away, feeling his face turn hot as he pursed his lips together, looking down and fidgeting with his fingers. His spider-sense went off like crazy and he could feel her hard stare boring into his skull, those entrancing eyes glaring right at him. He stayed like that for a few minutes, barely even breathing as he waited for her to look away. When she did, he looked back more subtly this time, and then looked back at the stand with a newfound sense of focus.

"Aaron Davis was a good man who died a hero's death. May his soul Rest In Peace for all eternity..."

Another person who must've been close to Miles' uncle was talking, preaching about how perfect he was. Miles couldn't help but wonder...if only they knew. His uncle was a hero, but not for the reasons everyone else believed. He'd saved Miles. But Miles couldn't save him.

Eventually, after all the speeches finished, Miles stood up and walked with the crowd toward where his uncle's coffin would be buried. Everyone watched intently as the coffin was lowered into the ground and everyone stayed silent while they threw in their white roses and other flowers. Some were crying, some were sniffling, but Miles stayed quiet. He couldn't break down yet. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

Once everyone else was finished, Miles approached the coffin silently, a single sunflower in his hand. He raised his hand out toward the coffin, and let the sunflower fall down, catching on the wind and slowly drifting onto the top of the coffin. "Goodbye, Unc." He whispered, just loud enough for nobody else but him to hear. He felt red hot tears filling up his eyes as he stepped back from the grave. "I'll miss you."

____________________________________________________________

8 days earlier, 17 hours after Aaron Davis's death Your house - your POV __________________________________________________

"Hey kiddo."

You looked up as your father walked into your room, sitting down on the bed and watching you as you continued working on your newest project. Hover-shoes. They looked like normal shoes, but the soles were replaced with a strong magnet which would push you off the floor and help you hover for a little more than a few minutes. They would be useful if you ever needed to sneak around without making noise, because they'd prevent you from touching the ground.

You placed the shoe sole you'd been manipulating down and looked over at your father, eyebrow raised. He rarely delivered good news like this, so something must've happened.

"Hey? What's up?" You asked, slightly nervous as you watched him put his hand on the back of his neck before looking away from you. The guilty look on his face told you something was definitely wrong. You quieted your voice to a whisper before leaning toward him slightly. "Don't tell me...we've been compromised?" You asked, eyes wide with fear as your mind immediately went to the worst.

You and your father weren't the average duo. Actually, you were a lot more than average. Murder, espionage and robbery weren't father-daughter dates that were revered in modern society. But it was how you survived. It was really all you knew. You were just a little kid when you discovered what your father really did for a job, murdering and stealing for unknown bosses, a mercenary of some sorts. But unlike a normal child, you were excited. You weren't scared of your father's job, in fact, you wanted to be a part of it.

Your genius intellect might have had a hand in that reaction, considering you were never normal to begin with. Always the top of your class, always having to wait for the others to catch up, life was phenomenally boring for someone like you, so a bit of excitement never hurt. Your father's job also helped you build connections, connections with people most would be scared of. Except these connections did more for you than any fancy private school ever could. Learning from the best, although the public would consider them the worst. Being taught how to accomplish impossible feats. A life fit for a little Einstein.

"No, nothing like that" your father said quickly, waving off your fear that you'd been caught. The constant meetings between criminals in the apartment you stayed in would probably raise suspicion eventually, but for now the two of you were in the clear.

You leaned back in your chair, arms folded over your chest as you tilted your head at him. "Then what?" your breathing slowed down as your fright subsided, heart-beat back to a regular pace. Being a genius didn't prevent the occasional panic attack, although occasional could be considered an understatement. They happened often and randomly. You were never 100% safe when the chance of losing your ability to move and breathe was always on the corner. It was one of the reasons your father was so against you being out in the field. But you wanted to be there anyways, because after all, where's the fun in staying to the side?

"It's about...Aaron."

Your eyes widened as you leaned forward again, hands clasping in your lap. "What happened?" You asked quietly, dreading the response you'd receive. Aaron Davis was the Prowler. A revered member of the Sinister Six cartel. The mercenary of all mercenaries. Your role model. Your dad's best friend. Nothing could happen to your idol, the man who ate dinner at your table just three days ago. Nothing.

"He's dead."

You swallowed that sharp pain in your stomach back, blinking away the arrival of a tear in your eye. "What happened?" You repeated, voice a little bit harsher, tone a little bit colder.

"We're not sure. He was killed during his hunt for that kid. The new Spider-man." Your expression hardened. "Spider-man?"

Your father nodded solemnly. "We're trying to figure out who this kid is. The rest of the cartel wants him too. Aaron...we think he killed Aaron. Our cameras show him fleeing the crime scene."

You nodded back, folding your arms over you chest as you leaned back in your chair for a second time. You tilted your head so the back of it hit the top of your chair, before rolling it to the side, looking back at the pair of shoes you'd been working on. "So what's the plan then?

Your father stood up, putting his hands in his pockets before he approached you. "Before we go over the plan, I have something that might cheer you up, kid." You looked up at him, a little surprised. A present of some sort? Unlikely. Why would he bring it up after dropping something so heavy on you?

You stood up and followed him out, arriving in the living room where a medium-sized box sat on the couch. He leaned down and gently lifted it before handing it over to you. "Open it." he said with a nod.

You scrutinized his expression, trying to guess what might be in the box before you opened it. "What's this, then?"

"Just open it, (reader's name)."

You chuckled softly before removing the top of the box, peering inside curiously. A soft gasp escaped your lips, eyes watering at the sight of the present. Removing the top layer of tissue, you pulled out a mask.

The Prowler mask.

"He-he-did he-?"

"He left a voice message saying it was for you." Your father forced a smile at your expression. He was trying to support you, but he was obviously frightened at the idea of his daughter growing up so fast. Of his little girl turning into him.

"Thank you." you whispered, blinking back your tears. This gesture was almost too much. Your idol wanted you to carry on his legacy. It was almost poetic in a sense.

Your father nodded, putting his hand on your shoulder in a comforting way. "Lets talk about this plan, shall we?"

____________________________________________________________

7:50 A.M. - Monday Two days after the funeral - Miles POV

____________________________________________________________

"Mami, I'm gonna be late for school!" Miles said quickly, dodging another one of his mom's sloppy kisses before walking out the door. "Hey, un momento más! Dame un kiss first!" Miles groaned as his mom grabbed his face and placed another kiss on his cheek, but he couldn't help but smile at the gesture. She handed him his bag before walking back inside.

Miles was already late to school. He had 5 minutes until class started and it took 10 minutes for him to walk there. There was no way he'd be able to make it in time, unless...

ten minutes later

Miles arrived on top of the school building, panting slightly as he struggled to pull his school uniform over his head after three minutes of intense web-swinging. Swinging was almost as tiring as running, but Miles would never complain about how it felt to swing through the city as Spider-man. The adrenaline pumping through his veins, the exhilarating feeling of the cold wind slamming against the skin of his suit, speeding past cars and trucks, threading the needle between buildings and alleyways.

He was still going to be late, he realized as he tried to fix his tie while he ran through the hallways. He skid past the door he was supposed to enter and tripped, falling onto his face before he recovered and swung the door open, right as the bell rang.

The entirety of the class turned to look at him, the silence so loud you could hear it as he walked inside, beads of sweat still wetting his eyebrows. "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Morales." His physics teacher said with an eye roll, her voice barely drowning out the sound of his bright red Jordans squeaking across the floor while he attempted to sit down. "Nice of you to wait for me" he replied with a sheepish grin, setting his backpack down.

His teacher gave him a fake smile before gesturing for him to stand up. "Actually, I'm going to have you sit next to someone else for a little while." she said, eyeing the boy Miles had sat down next to. Ganke Lee shot her a sly grin back before subtly giving Miles a high-five under the seat.

"Back corner of the room. Quick, don't keep us waiting." Miles looked back at the area she was pointing at and shuffled toward the empty seat. He barely gave his new partner a glance before he sat down. He looked over at the person he'd have to share a table with and he let out an audible gasp.

Those eyes...

____________________________________________________________

Your POV

____________________________________________________________

You glanced over at him, eyes narrowing as you began to recognize him, scanning over his figure. An amused grin spread across your face as you watched him shut his mouth and turn away, obviously embarrassed at how loud he'd just been. You shook your head gently, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.

"Everyone pull out your textbooks and turn to page 76. Today we'll be learning about-"

Despite the teacher's ongoing lecture, you could feel his eyes on you, unmoving from your face. You bit the inside of your cheek, debating with yourself on whether or not you should ignore him. You decided to confront him, but before you could say anything-

"Hey. What's your name?"

You looked over at him, tucking a strand/lock of hair behind your ear as you did so.

"Y/N. You?" You tried your best to seem dry. You weren't here to make friends, but you couldn't help but shoot a smile at the sweet-looking boy next to you. He returned it, resting his face in his palm and leaning against the table as he watched you.

"I'm Mil-" his voice cracked slightly and he ducked his head in embarrassment, looking away. You stifled a laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you nodded at him. His face was a little flushed when he looked back at you. "Miles. Miles Morales."

____________________________________________________________

Taglist:

@s6onder @therealloopylupin2099 @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @niqetine @gwennesy @itsparis-07 @@vileviale

#atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #miles morales #beyond the spiderverse #spiderman #miles molares #miles morales x y/n #itsv #spiderverse #across the spider verse #miles morales x you #miles morales x reader #miles Morales x you #rio morales #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x you #spiderman fanfiction #miles morales fanfiction #miles x y/n #miles x you #miles x reader #spiderverse fanfic #spiderverse fandom #atsv fanfiction #atsv fandom #atsv fanfic #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman across the verse

[bluecapsicum]

Blue hours and twilight sky illustrations for my daily meteorological fiction project, Reports From Unknown Places About Undescribable Events (Twitter, Instagram, Mastodon).

Keep reading for the companion texts.

August 18th - We report, in between two dreams (nonsense dreams, foggy images and whispers, barely more than that), the sky is coming alive before the sun has even risen. The blue light that is coming through the window is not enough to make us open our eyes all the way.

October 26th - We report, deep into the deep blue, the road shrunk into the single ray of light of our car's headlights. The sky is coming down low on the horizon, and we have not come across another car for a long time. This blue hour is turning dark.

November 4th - We report, here where the sun poured into the horizon a little while ago now, the clouds are catching lights from the city. It has been a humid day, and we know that as long as the city lights are on, the sky will remain this colour.

November 11th - We report: we saw the moon rise and disappear behind clouds. The sky has washed away. This is it for now. The sun is not going to rise from the sea, the sea is going to swallow this beach, all things will get darker still - the earth will not shake. One more night in our life.

December 1st - We report: first day of December, and we are still here under the same sky as everybody else, still moving forward even though we sometimes have trouble with directions. The birds are all leaving further South, but we have decided to stay, for now, as the sky keeps darkening.

December 14th - We report: there is hardly any hope for us to see the Geminids peak, this year, but the snow is more than enough of a consolation. We took a walk in silence. It did not snow for a very long time, and the layer of white was thin everywhere we went. Still, the country was silent.

January 18th - We report Jupiter and Saturn at nightfall today; we expect Venus to follow shortly after, although the sky might be overcast by then. It is still too bright for us to be able to see stars, but we know that the Aquarius constellation is right there, rising over the horizon.

April 4th - We report that a few owls are living around this place. They seem to be crepuscular, and they usually come out around this time. If we stay really still, we can hear them going about their business, and even see them sometimes. The sound of their howls is comfortingly unsettling.

May 14th - We report: we are on the tail end of the blue hour, when everything fades to grey. It has gotten colder since the sun set, but the whole day has been a bit windy and chilly anyway. Now, as the light becomes dimmer and dimmer, we try to take hold of the moment.

May 25th - We report: the night is only beginning to settle, and the clouds loom dark and velvet in the cold twilight. When the dim blue light weighed upon us like water, pressing everything down until we could hardly see anything anymore, everything grey - we took a slow path to sleep.

#drawing #illustration #digital art #digital #artists on tumblr #clouds #sky #night #weather #sea #snow #blue hour #birds #road #twilight #(the time of the day) #long post #clever reports #reports #thanks for stopping by and see you soon #image description in alt text

[vsnyarbll]

the wound on his hand

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

summary: Prince Aemond got hard as Y/N checked the wound on his hand.

warnings: NSFW (not smut, just sexual thoughts), targcest.

words: 1.260

a/n: Sorry for any mistakes. English is not my native language. MDNI

People in King’s Landing woke up to a warm day after several cold and overcast days. Queen Alicent wanted to take full advantage of the sunny day, so she organized a tea party in the garden.

The ladies divided themselves into their usual group of friends and settled down at the tables. The Queen was sitting with her daughter Princess Helaena. Since she became queen, she had lost her friends one by one.

Unlike the Queen, Princess Rhaenyra's table was quite crowded. Her return from Dragon Stone after a long absence had brought her into the limelight.

Princess Y/N, the daughter of Princess Rhaenyra, tried to ignore her mother's glare as she entered the garden. She was late again, but this time it wasn't out of absent-mindedness. She was particularly late to avoid the ladies and their endless questions.

While looking for a table to sit at, she immediately skipped the table where her mother was sitting. She wanted to sit next to her cousins Baela and Rhaena, but the ladies' daughters had already occupied their table. Jacaerys and Lucerys were seated at another table with their father, the king, and Daemon.

She was about to head for the exit when someone waved at him. She walked towards his uncle. The table he sat at was in the far corner of the garden. There was a single chair and a loveseat right across from it. Y/N stood at the end of the table and looked at Aegon. “What do you want, uncle?”

Aegon put what he thought was a sweet smile on his face. "The idea of you leaving while we suffer here disturbed me."

Y/N studied the faces of her childhood friends. They had both changed a lot. But Aemond seemed like a completely different person. “Don't you have any friends other than me?”

Aegon laughed nervously. “We have lots of friends. We just wanted to sit alone today.”

“Name one of your friends.”

“Well, Aemond has Criston.”

“I hope you’re not talking about Ser Criston Cole.”

He fixed his fainting gaze on her face and said, “I don't know why I'm trying to prove myself to you. I don't care if I have friends or not.”

She was happy to have her friend back.

“Have fun, uncles.” She turned around and heard Aegon say "fuck" under his breath.

“Would you like to join us?”

Y/N nodded her head and took the only empty seat at the table. Aemond was sitting in the single chair. Aegon was on the far side of the loveseat from Aemond. So, Y/N was sitting between them. Aegon had probably done something to piss Aemond off again. She thought to herself. That's why he was sitting far away.

By order of the queen, servants served tea to all the tables. There were also a variety of cakes on the table. Aegon and Y/N started chatting after their tea arrived. They were talking fast as if they wanted to close the time they had been away for years.

Aemond listened to their conversation, if watching Y/N's facial expressions counts as listening. He missed her more than he could admit or imagine.

After a short time for Aemond, Aegon showed Y/N a ring he had found in one of the rooms in the castle. Of course, the ring had dragon wings on it. And a red stone in the center.

“Whose ring do you think it could be?”

“It's definitely Aegon the Conqueror’s ring.”

“Only in your dreams.”

“Take a closer look, it says 'Aegon' on it.”

“It's a shame that your hands are so soft.” Y/N said as she held Aegon's hand to get a better look at the ring.

Aegon quickly withdrew his hand. “Why is that?”

“How many times in your life have you held a sword? You don't even ride your dragon?”

“We didn't all grow up savage like you. I grew up in a castle. As a prince.” He said with a fake offense.

Y/N smiled. Aegon was Aegon.

“And would you prefer my hands to be like Aemond's anyway?”

Aemond took his last sip of tea and put his cup down on the table. “It's better than being useless.”

“Aha!” Aegon seemed prouder to be offended.

“Show us your hand.” said Aegon.

Aemond held out his hand, sighing. Aegon just watched as Y/N held his brother’s hand from below. His hands were rough from years of sword practice.

“It would hurt if he grabbed your tit.”

“Aegon.” Aemond said in a warning tone.

Y/N blushed at the thought of him doing it. Aemond looked at the princess out of the corner of his eye.

The topic of conversation at the table was the same image that had occupied the prince's mind for several nights, or rather, several years. She is in his bed. Her long silver hair is messy on his pillows. Y/N tired of his teasing. She is too stubborn to say the words herself, but her eyes beg him to give her more. Her naked figure.

He didn't dare to think more in front of so many people. He wanted to shake his head to clear his thoughts. Instead, he locked eyes with his brother. He was looking at him with a knowing smile. Aegon was drunk but not stupid. He knew what was going on between them. Maybe love was not his specialty, but the desire was.

Then they both saw the princess squeeze her thighs when they looked at her. Apparently, Y/N’s mind was in the same place as Aemond’s. Aegon smirked at his niece's action.

When she realized Aemond was looking at her, she turned the back of his hand to change the subject to prince’s hand. There was a fresh wound.

“Aemond! What happened to your hand? Why didn't you get help?”

Y/N ran her fingers gently around the wound. He clenched his jaw at her action.

“It happened at the practice. It's nothing important.”

“It seemed important to me. You should see a maester.”

Y/N started stroking Aemond's wrist with her thumb without realizing it. Aemond felt himself melting into Y/N’s touch. But at the same time he was getting harder.

Y/N reached for the ribbon in her hair and untied it. She carefully wrapped it around Aemond’s hand. She covered the wound completely. Y/N had never bandaged before and didn't know if what's she had just done would help. But she couldn't stand by and do nothing because she knew Aemond would get no help.

"Thank you.” he said quietly. He liked that she was trying to help him, but he was also surprised. Aemond was not used to people paying attention to him.

"You're welcome, my prince."

Then the queen called Y/N to her side. She said, "Excuse me" and got up.

“Come back to us.” said Aegon.

“I will.” She said with a smile.

When Y/N walked away, Aemond carefully adjusted his pants.

Aegon burst into laughter. “You're pathetic. She just touched your hand and you got hard.”

"I wondered what would happen if she touched any other part of your body," he said as he reached for the bottle of wine on the table.

Aemond felt embarrassed for the first time in a long time. He felt like he was becoming like his brother. Getting hard in public was not something that could happen to Prince Aemond. But then he reminded himself that he was in love with Y/N. So, what happened to him was not because of lust but because of his love for the princess. Wait. He… he was in love with Y/N?

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x y/n #aemond one eye

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC’s Lucien Ice Flowers Date English Translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

Lyric Poetry Free SSR Event | Prologue+Day 1-3 | Day 4-6 | Day 7-9 | Day 10-12 | Day 13 (Ice Flowers Date)

[T/N: before reading the date, please read the prologue and event first. they're pretty short, plus the date references the event a lot and will make more sense with the event.]

✂———————–

✧ [Subbed Video Ver - Turn On CC!] ✧

✂———————–

✧ [Transcript Ver] ✧

—[Part 1]— Video Timestamp: [00:02]

The sound of the alarm clock wakes me up from my dream.

There is a faint sound of drizzling rain outside the window. I squint and glance at the dark and gloomy sky leaking through the gap in the curtains, then turn around to snuggle up to the soft warmth beside me.

MC: Lucien... the alarm is ringing…

My brain is reluctant to kick into gear, so I let instinct take over, wrapping myself around Lucien like a koala clinging to a tree.

Strands of my hair are gently teased by his breath, carrying a hint of nasal sound as it grazes past my ear.

Lucien: Do you want to get up now?

MC: Let me lie down a bit longer…

I bury myself deeper into Lucien's embrace, and a trace of warmth falls onto the tip of my ear.

(🥺 he's pecking her ear)

Lucien: But this Miss specifically instructed me last night to wake you up on time today to find the last specimen material.

Lucien: Do you plan to postpone the plan?

Memories struggle to surface in my mind, and I bury my head deeper in embarrassment.

MC: How about... ten more minutes?

He laughs softly, his hand gently patting my shoulder. Not sure if he's urging me to get up or coaxing me back to sleep.

Lucien: Collecting material shouldn't take that long. You can give yourself a few extra ten minutes.

His nearly indulgent tone makes me snuggle closer to him even more unscrupulously, and I rest my head in the crook of his neck.

MC: Today is perfect for lazing in bed…

Lucien: [hoarsely] After all, the temperature dropped last night, and now it's only four degrees.

Lucien: [whispers] Compared to the cold room, it's indeed more comfortable here.

MC: Hmm...? Wait, four degrees?

I open my eyes in surprise, reaching out to fumble around the bedside table.

MC: Didn't it warm up yesterday?

MC: I specifically loosened the soil in the flowerpots, thinking about planting the seeds I collected...

Lucien leans over me, fetching my phone and considerately opens the weather app.

Lucien: The cold wave is more severe than anticipated. The temperature dropped overnight yesterday. But if today's weather forecast is accurate, it should clear up by noon.

I stare dumbfounded at the plummeting temperatures on the screen. Instinctively, I shrink back into the blankets.

As if he has read my mind, Lucien smiles and tucks the blanket around me, snuggles close to me affectionately, as if he too is a little afraid of the cold.

Lucien: (whispers gently) Since the weather isn't cooperating, we can just stay at home today.

Lucien: I happen to have a few movies I've been wanting to watch with you. We haven't found the right opportunity before, but maybe today is perfect.

He looks at me with a gentle smile, his warm body heat enveloping me along with the soft blanket, inviting me to sink back into the gap between dreams and reality.

✂———————–

—[Part 2]— Video Timestamp: [02:28]

Staying in bed for the entire morning has provided comfort for both body and mind.

As noon approaches, sunlight begins to filter through the overcast clouds, signaling a clearing in the weather. The plan to go out and search for specimens is once again put on the agenda.

MC: Shall we just look around the neighborhood?

Lucien: Sure. Given the weather, there might be another rain shower later.

I retrieve two thick sweaters from the wardrobe, while Lucien brings matching scarves and coats.

This late spring chill is indeed quite fierce.

Despite the increasingly radiant sunlight, we still fully bundle up, and the air remains cold enough that I can't help but huddle close to Lucien.

As I nestle into my scarf, I scan our surroundings in all directions.

Although we're not going too far, I still want to try to find something sufficiently special to mark the end of this collection journey of over ten days.

MC: Those fallen leaves look quite beautiful! But considering we started with leaf specimens on the first day, wouldn't it lack a bit of originality?

Lucien: Hmm, plant specimens already make up a considerable proportion. We should indeed consider materials from other categories.

MC: Should we buy a butterfly specimen material kit to revisit the "original intention" of making specimens?

Lucien: But there's already a butterfly on the display shelf that you praised as special before.

Lucien: [with a hint of grievance in his tone] If your attention is taken by other similar specimens, it will hurt its heart.

The person next to me deliberately reveals a slightly distressed expression, yet he softly raises the corner of his lips.

Remembering the butterfly he made with clean and white fish bones, who knows how long it took him. I can't help but laugh and pull him away from the neighborhood.

MC: Let's go check out other places and seek some new inspiration!

Unfortunately, even after we leave the neighborhood, the situation hasn't changed much.

We went to our usual café, and took a stroll in the bookstore, but apart from getting a rosy nose from the cold, we came back empty-handed.

Seeing that it's about to drizzle again, I thought today's search might come to an end. However, Lucien quickly takes a couple of steps and leads me into the convenience store on the street.

The warm air, mixed with the aroma of cooked food, instantly dispels the cold from outside, like a small campfire amid a concrete jungle.

I relax my shoulders, which had tensed up from the cold, and lean in close to him as we walk to the counter, picking out a few skewers of fish balls, radishes, and other items for a warm hotpot.

MC: Convenience stores truly are an important part of the city…

MC: They provide warmth in winter, coolness in summer, and offer coffee and boxed meals for every working folks.

Lucien: It also serves as a resting spot for the little explorer who's been searching for a long time.

I hear the sound of a payment code being scanned. When I turn around, I see him grabbing two hot chocolate from the hot beverage section.

Lucien: Sugar helps activate the brain, encouraging people to make better decisions.

Lucien: After searching for so long without making a decision, do you have any particular thoughts about today's collection item?

He hands me one of the hot drinks, gesturing for me to sit at the bar table. Those calm eyes of his seem to have already seen through all of my thoughts.

I wrap my hands around the warm package, sipping the hot chocolate slowly, one gulp at a time.

The mild taste of milk softens the richness of chocolate, and the lingering sweetness dances on my lips and tongue. Normally, it might seem a bit too sweet, but at this moment, it tastes just right.

Perhaps because I’m back in a comfortable environment, the emotions that were lingering in my heart melt into the faint background noise, escaping from my lips with a shallow sigh.

MC: Do you think I'm too fixated on the idea of the "last specimen"?

MC: I always feel like what I find isn't special enough, and in the end, I come back empty-handed, spending the whole morning in the cold breeze for nothing.

The light rain pitter-patters on the window, leaving long streaks of water behind.

Lucien also opens his hot chocolate, speaking softly.

Lucien: Although it may require more time and effort, I believe this kind of perfectionism is also an indispensable part of life.

Lucien: Since these specimens capture fragments of our lives, I'm not willing to compromise when it comes to matters related to you either.

A light and tender curve graces his lips as he reaches out to re-tie my scarf, forming a neat and beautiful knot.

Lucien: Moreover, better options might unexpectedly cross our paths in the future.

Lucien: Just like the surprises you've brought me time and time again.

He rubs my hair.

Lucien: So, stay with me a little longer on this road to the future.

I smile at him, then half seriously point to the convenience store loyalty card that came with the bill after he paid.

MC: If we still haven't found the right collectable by the end of today, let's turn this into a specimen.

MC: Let's use the blank squares to remind me that better things always await us in the future.

✂———————–

—[Part 3]— Video Timestamp: [06:35]

Returning in the afternoon, we add a new stamp to our loyalty card, and in our hands are snacks and drinks bought from the convenience store.

I was about to turn on the air conditioner when Lucien seemed to recall something and asked me to wait for a moment.

After a thorough search in the storage room, he brought in a small tea table with a built-in birdcage-shaped heater.

MC: What is this...? How did I not notice that we had something like this at home before?

Lucien: It's a gift from when the Bioultima Research Institute purchased machinery before.

Lucien: Thinking that you might enjoy the atmosphere of ‘gathering around a fire’ together, I stored it in the storage room. Finally, I have the chance to use it this time.

MC: What kind of machinery comes with a small heater as a gift?

Two completely unrelated things being connected caught me off guard for a moment.

Lucien: It’s from the manufacturers who provide constant-temperature incubators.

Lucien: During that period, they planned to expand their product line and started making electric blankets and heaters.

MC: Pfft…

I couldn't help but chuckle as I watched Lucien shrug his shoulders, plugging in the heater. I lay out a cozy "nest" with a blanket and waved him over to join me in one corner.

MC: Please step into the trap~

Lucien: I'm more than happy to fall into this trap.

He brought another blanket, further reinforcing our little corner.

The knob turns, and the heater lights up with an orange glow. The surrounding slightly damp and chilly air gradually warms up, becoming fluffy and cozy.

MC: Not bad, not bad. Indeed, it reflects the "scientific research standard"~ And using a small heater for warmth is much more romantic than turning on the air conditioner.

Under the blanket, I embrace his arm, his body temperature more comforting than the heater and snugly pressed against my side, we're all wrapped up tight under this flowery blanket.

MC: Since the heater comes with a small tea table, should we grab some things and warm them a bit?

MC: There's probably some oranges and snacks at home, and do we still have a big half-bottle of rice wine in the fridge?

Lucien: Mm. Besides the rice wine, there should be a jar of dried osmanthus in the kitchen cabinet.

MC: Sounds good!

I nod in satisfaction, already able to imagine how enticing this tea spread will be. Even the placement of each item is meticulously arranged in my mind, perfect in every detail.

Lucien: Aren't you going to get them?

Lucien's voice, tinged with confusion, pulls me back from the fragrant reverie to reality.

I sheepishly lift my head and stick out my tongue at him.

MC: It takes courage to face the cold head-on, and it also requires a bit of determination and time.

As I speak, I purposely blink at him and put on a pitiful expression.

MC: Or... could Professor Lucien do me a small favor?

Lucien: Well, that's a bit tricky. I'm reluctant to leave such a comfortable spot myself.

MC: Huh?

My tactic of being coquettish totally bombed, making me blink in a bit of surprise.

The gentle laughter ripples through the confined space. Under the blanket, he tightens his embrace around me, and with a sudden force, he lifts me to my feet.

Lucien: [whispers playfully] Since neither of us wants to leave the warmth of the blanket, why don't we just go together?

The blanket securely wraps us together as he takes slow steps forward, allowing me to move along with his stride.

His body warmth seeps through the fabric and onto my skin, providing a comforting warmth but this closeness also makes us stumble in our movements.

MC: We can't walk with you like this.

I laugh and try to poke him as usual, but almost lose my balance. With Lucien's quick eyes, his agile hands swiftly pull me back into his arms.

Lucien: For safety's sake, it's better if we stick together and move in unison.

He candorly spoke the childish suggestion, and as he looks into my eyes, they are sparkling with a bright smile.

I've always been helpless against him when he's like this, so I simply hug him tightly, raising a smile on my face.

MC: Then I'll take the lead~

MC: Left foot, right foot, left, right....

He cooperatively sways left and right with my "commands" as we move forward together.

The distance that was usually just a few steps away is lengthened as our body rubs against each other. Our laughter warms the blanket that gently brushes against our cheeks.

We move and drag our way slowly to the kitchen, teasingly hindering each other as we attempt to get the rice wine, fruits, and dried osmanthus.

With silent understanding, we wrap ourselves snugly in the blankets once again, nestling and rubbing against each other, as we slowly make our way back to the heater.

He doesn't release this prolonged hug until we both settle onto the sofa.

MC: It feels like you're exceptionally clingy today.

Lucien: [in husky tone] To ensure ample warmth, it's only natural to diligently protect the heat source.

MC: [laughs] Hmph, that's nonsense!

Although I say this, I happily share my body warmth with him, finding a more comfy spot as I lie down on his chest.

Snacks are placed on the tea table, carefully and slowly warmed. The mildly sweet aroma of heated rice wine mixes with the scent of osmanthus and citrus.

Lucien reaches out for a book, while I shelter inside his embrace and swipe my cell phone, allowing tranquility to sink and float along with the warm air in the room as we comfortably mind our own bussiness.

Occasionally, I take a few pastries and snacks to share with him, or pour two cups of rice wine. The delicate sound of clinking cups accompanies the smooth fragrance of the wine before it glides down our throats.

People are always particularly prone to indulging in sweet moments.

Whether it's the rhythmic flipping of book pages or the gradually equalizing frequency of sound in videos, my consciousness becomes entranced without me realizing it.

I don't know when I fell asleep, I just remember having a peaceful dream while wrapped in soft, cloud-like fabric.

As I stretch and yawn, I hear a soft voice coming from my side.

Lucien: Good Afternoon.

I look in his direction.

The late afternoon sun has sprinkled over the entire living room as if the previous cold and gloom were things of the distant past.

Amid all warmth and tranquility, beams of light shine generously and cordially, outlining his figure and casting a soft glow around him like a veil.

Lucien lazily props his hand against his face, the corners of his eyes and eyebrows gently curved into a soft arc.

The heater raised the indoor temperature, and his shirt was unbuttoned, showing off a lot of skin on his chest.

The blanket that was wrapped around him remains dutifully covering his body, cocooning him in coziness.

Everything is spread out in the sunlight, casting a sepia tone reminiscent of old movies.

Lucien: Why so quiet, are you still not fully awake yet?

He stretches out his fingers and waves them in front of my eyes.

MC: I'm already awake.

MC: I just woke up and was immediately greeted by a sight that delights the eye and warms the heart; I can't help but want to look at it a little longer.

I hook my fingers around his, letting the strands of my hair cascading over my shoulders slide down my back with the motion.

Lucien: Although I'd love to continue admiring you in front of me, I'm afraid I need to break this distance for now.

The unexpected answer left me momentarily stunned, just staring dazedly at him as his eyes unabashedly revealed a hint of grievance.

Lucien: You've been resting on my leg this whole time. I didn't dare to change positions at will.

Lucien: But it's really starting to feel numb.

MC: Pfft... You could've woken me up too, you know!

[a big fox who deliberately shows off his chest just to enjoy his lover’s stunned look and still uses the chance to openly ‘grieve’ as if he’s being ‘wronged’ pfft]

✂———————–

—[Part 4]— Video Timestamp: [13:14]

The rice wine is still warm, and there's still half a box of snacks left.

Sweetness fills the entire space, and I let out a contented sigh as I pour a small cup of rice wine for both him and myself.

As I taste the wine, my gaze curiously falls on the screen of Lucien's computer—there's a paper that seems a bit beyond my grasp, and beside him, there's also a book with specimen illustrations.

MC: What book are you reading?

Lucien: Literature on specimen preparation.

Lucien: Among the specimens we've made recently, the less conventional ones seem to make up the majority.

Lucien: Since there's such an opportunity, why not take the chance to brush up on some relevant professional knowledge?

MC: As expected of you! So, what has our Great Professor learned?

Lucien: I realized that my understanding of specimens may have some misconceptions.

He sets aside the computer and pulls me into his arms, flipping to a page in the book with illustrations of plant specimens, and starts to speak.

Lucien: In the field of collection, the significance of specimens mostly lies in preserving a particular moment of life forms, much like taking a photograph or recording a video.

Lucien: It can be understood as a record of the past.

Lucien: But from the perspective of scientific research, it mostly serves the research and analysis of relevant topics.

MC: From what it sounds like, it actually seems more like some kind of reserve for the future, doesn't it?

The person behind me nods and gently rubs his chin against the strands of hair on top of my head.

His scent, mingled with the fragrance of alcohol, fills my nostrils, as I attentively "listen" to his lecture, yet greedily rub against his neck.

Lucien: The side branches we prune from the hydrangea will encourage more lush growth, and perhaps the seeds you've brought will sprout someday in the future.

Lucien: There are still many spaces left on the loyalty card waiting for us to fill.

Lucien: Compared to keeping records, it seems that our collection shelf has also unconsciously left many expectations for the future.

Lucien: I should also learn from these specimens to find the presence in life that will make you pay attention…

There's a dark undercurrent in his eyes that lures me to delve deeper, as if there’s a river flowing with honey, making me willingly and wholeheartedly drown in it.

Lucien: Then I'll put what I've learned into practice, and bring back home even more things that can make my little lady happy.

Lucien: And not to end up like today, "spending the whole morning in the cold breeze for nothing”.

A speck of warmth touches the tip of my nose, bringing back memories of the cold, wind-filled morning.

Not to be outdone, I pinch his earlobe. The blanket slowly moved, causing the book originally placed on me to fall to the ground.

MC: I thought you were going to announce some groundbreaking scientific discovery, how did we end up here?

Lucien ignores the fallen book and just grabs my wrist with his free hand, then firmly holds it with his fingers.

Our already close distance is further reduced, and I can almost feel his breath brushing past my lips.

Maybe it's from knocking back too much rice wine, but the heart pounding in the chest is loud and clear in my ears, yet I can't tell if it's his beat or mine.

Lucien: I thought this conclusion hit the nail on the head.

Lucien: After all, it's only through practical application that theory can truly prove its worth.

Our breath intertwines and circulates with each exhale and inhale, floating amidst the gaps of beautiful dreams, as the light, airy sense of haziness envelops my body once again.

I simply lean forward, closing the last bit of distance between us, and affectionately kiss his cheek.

MC: But for me, what leads me to look forward to the future is neither memories nor specimens.

MC: Rather, it's you.

His long eyelashes resemble the antennae of a butterfly, trembling ever so slightly as if confirming something, casting an alluring look.

MC: You gave me a hot chocolate, a little heater for warming the rice wine, a warm blanket, blank loyalty cards...

MC: And there's also an exceptionally clingy Professor Lucien.

MC: [smiles widely] It's you who brought romance and anticipation into my life.

Lucien's breath momentarily hitches, and then a warm sigh flows out from his lips.

Lucien: Then let's leave the last space on the shelf empty, we'll make this sense of anticipation our final collection. And together, let's wait for the next wave of happiness to arrive.

MC: Sure, leaving it blank does add a poetic touch.

Following my heart's desire, I kiss his eyelids. The gentle kisses and embraces weave a finely knit yet dense web, slowly making us fall into a light trance.

We enjoy the blurry and dizzying moment peacefully until a faint pattern on the window catches my eye in the hazy light.

I look towards the windowsill and find a delicate pattern drawn by ice crystals as if it were a fragment left behind by winter.

Lucien: What's wrong?

Sensing my distraction, Lucien softly pinches the nape of my neck, attempting to bring back my attention to what we were doing.

MC: I've discovered a happiness that has arrived unexpectedly.

MC: Lucien, look, there's an ice flower on the window.

With a smile, I break away from his embrace and casually pick up the book that had fallen aside for a long time, handing it back to him.

Lucien's gaze falls on that place, a hint of astonishment lighting up his dark eyes, which are even more touching than the view on the window.

MC: I didn't expect to see ice flowers. I'm starting to quite like today's cold air.

The gaze that had captivated me suddenly shifts, and the only thing reflected in those eyes is me, gazing back at him just as deeply.

Lucien: Then let's seize it.

His large hand covers the back of my hand, guiding me as our hands slowly glide along the window together.

The tips of his fingers seemed to shine with a faint, unnoticeable light.

Before I can ponder over it, starting from the point that we touched, ice crystals spread from the windowsill towards the center, spreading out into feather-like patterns.

I forget to breathe for a moment.

He continues guiding my movements until the entire window is covered with exquisite patterns we've drawn together.

MC: So beautiful!

I throw myself into his arms, my hands instinctively wrapping around his shoulders.

The tiny fragments transform into graceful patterns covering the entire window, imprinting the intertwined warmth and cold, weaving a flower that belongs only to winter in the spring.

I've heard that ice flowers on windows, just like snowflakes, each have their own unique shapes.

The beauty captured by him must indeed be a mark that belongs solely to him.

Lucien: Is this "material" enough to become our final specimen and deepen your anticipation for the future?

With a faint smile, he pulls the curtains further apart, allowing this scenery to be fully displayed before us.

MC: There won't be a better specimen than this!

MC: Thank you for personally "capturing" the future in front of me.

I tilt my head up and place a kiss on the side of Lucien's face, unable to suppress the smile at the corners of my lips.

MC: In that case, I'll try to give you more "now" as a gift in return.

A pair of slender eyes gently curve, quietly awaiting the words I'm about to say.

MC: I'm not as amazing as you, who is always able to see so far ahead...

MC: Always able to move forward with such determination, turning that mere anticipation of the future into reality, surprising me time and time again.

MC: But just like today, I can find various little sceneries around us.

MC: And then tell you, "Lucien, look, a flower is blooming over there."

The cold light outside the window filters through layers of ice crystals, refracting into tiny iridescent rainbows, and melting into his warm and flowing gaze.

A kiss, like an answer, lands on the corner of my lips, letting me taste a sweetness sweeter than all the drinks and refreshments in the world.

Lucien: [hoarsely] After experiencing happiness, people will naturally have expectations for the future.

Lucien: [x2] They’ll have the desire to relive the experiences they once had, again and again, or seek other happiness they haven’t yet experienced.

Lucien: [x3] But now, I feel that, compared to the distant future, the present moment is even more touching.

Lucien's lowered voice sounds a bit hoarse, reminding me of a big fox's subtle purring when it's in a pleasant mood.

Lucien: [x4!] After all, in the face of the immediate beauties, all hypotheses about expectations will seem too illusory.

Lucien: For example, the ice flower that bloomed in this window because of your attention.

The hand embracing my waist intimately confines me, and it feels as if the temperature inside the room has heated up again.

Lucien: And another example is you.

The heater emits heat that makes people cling to the warmth, and all the wonderful scents I can think of are blending and surrounding me.

Spring has just begun, and there are still many good days ahead.

✂———————–

#PURRING BIG FOX #yes they impliedly make love and he was a bit disatissfied that she got distracted LOL #when i said that physical touch is lucien's main love lang I MEAN THIS they're soo clingy #anyway i usually wrote afterwords #but imo the date is already really clear abt the theme so i didn't #mlqc lucien #mr love queen's choice #mlqc cn #mlqc spoiler #mlqc #mlqc translation #mr. love queen's choice #mr love lucien #mlqc xu mo #mlqc spoilers

[northern-passage]

It's starting to snow. You blink up, the sky overcast, the entire world dull and grey. You've been chopping wood for... a while. It was dark when you started. You're shivering, now, too, your sweat gone cold beneath your clothes.

You stand slowly, groaning, rubbing your already sore arms and shuffling back towards the cabin. You leave the maul, and all the wood, scattered around the yard, wincing at the idea of bending over and piling it all up. You'll do it later.

On the porch, you stomp the snow and ice off your boots before quietly ducking back inside. It's blissfully warm in the cabin, and you strip off your outer layers, hanging your jacket by the door before retreating to your room.

Noel is still asleep, curled up in the blankets and furs with just the top of xir sleeping cap poking out from under the covers. You sit down on the edge of the bed, rubbing your face with your hands, frowning down at the fresh blisters forming on your palms. You can't help but pull up your sleeve and eye your forearm, flexing your hand and touching the old scars there.

Noel stirs behind you then, and you glance over your shoulder at xem, just as xir face appears from beneath the blankets. Xe blinks up at you, and it takes xem a moment, blinking the sleep from xir eyes, before xe reaches out and presses a hand to the small of your back.

"Good morning," xe mumbles, drawing slow circles over your back with xir hand.

You grunt, moving to pull your boots off, while Noel sits up behind you.

"How long have you been awake?" xe asks softly, wrapping xir arms around you and resting xir chin on your shoulder.

You sigh, melting back into Noel's warmth as xe lifts xir chin and presses a kiss to your shoulder. You don't know how long you've been awake. If you even slept at all. Noel shifts and pulls xir hands back then, before draping one of the blankets over your lap.

You stare down at the blanket, running your hand over the thick fur, though you stay unmoving, sat on the edge of the bed. If you lay down right now, you don't think you'll be able to get back up. You really overdid it this morning. You're not as young as you used to be.

Noel's hand on your back again as xe slides closer, another kiss placed just between your shoulder blades. And then xe slips xir hand under your shirt and starts to massage your shoulders, your back, with another kiss on the nape of your neck. Noel's hands are warm, unlike yours, and you close your eyes, letting out a long breath.

"Let's stay in bed today," Noel says, and you chuckle, opening your eyes again, wincing as Noel works xir hand against one of the knots in your shoulder.

"I'm not going to argue that," you say, and Noel smiles, sliding xir hands down your back, holding your sides and kissing your neck again before xe gently pulls you back towards xem.

You let Noel guide you, groaning as you push yourself up onto the bed, your arms heavy, your back twitching as you flop back onto your pillow. Reflexively you grab at your arm, holding it against your chest, though you know the soreness is just from chopping wood. You know this. But you can't help touching the scars again, cradling your arm and flexing your hand.

"Is it bothering you?" Noel prompts, lowering xemself down on xir pillow next to you. Xe reaches out, putting a hand overtop yours, before grabbing at the blankets and pulling them up around the both of you.

"Yeah," you say gruffly. "It's nothing. Just getting old," you joke.

Noel chuckles. A few seconds of silence then, with unasked questions hanging in the air between you. Did you sleep? Are you having nightmares again? Is it getting worse?

But Noel doesn't ask any of that, though you can feel xem staring at you, can feel xem shifting closer, can feel xir warm breath on your neck. You turn to look at xem, closing the rest of the space between you, reaching out and laying a hand against xir cheek. Noel turns and presses a kiss into your palm before closing xir eyes, sinking into the pillow as you trace xir cheekbone with your thumb.

When xe opens xir eyes again, xe searches your face for a long moment. Those familiar golden eyes.

"I'm here for you," xe says then.

You pull your hand back, glancing sideways, staring at nothing. You don't say anything, instead just rolling onto your side and wrapping your arms around Noel, burrowing down into the mattress as Noel pulls the blankets up over your heads, a shield against the cold and everything else.

You'll worry about it later. Right now, you just focus on Noel in your arms, the little kisses xe presses to the back of your hand, the rise and fall of xir breathing against your chest, just the two of you in your own little world.

#noel lykaon #snippets #this is from when he was gender selectable so only xe/xir

[ssahopelessly]

On the Clock Feelings

Synopsis: Reader is the newest employee to Family Video. While Steve has taken a liking to her, the same can not be said for Robin.

Warnings: FamilyVideoSteve x FemReader featuring Robin, new job, defensive/protective Steve, workplace banter, Steve injuring himself, pining / let me know any I missed

Word Count: 2.1K

a/n: Hey, hi, hello! This is my first oneshot in the Strangers Things universe! I had originally wrote this earlier in the year but finally got around to finishing it. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

“Where’s Robin?” She had asked from the passenger seat.

“Oh- she’s skipping her lunch.” Steve lied. Robin Buckley was in fact not skipping her lunch. More like Steve had asked Robin to sit in the Family Video breakroom for just one day. Steve was also subsequently $10 more broke than yesterday, the two being completely unrelated. “So,” he tried to change the subject, “how are you liking Family Video?”

“It’s… not terrible.” She mumbled over her milkshake, poking it with the spoon as she tried to break down the oreo bits before they clogged up her straw. “Keith is… a bit much though.” This made Steve laugh. Not as if he wasn’t always laughing in her company, but because on some level it made him feel sorry for her. The fact that Keith was their manager remained to be some lifelong karma lesson that Steve couldn’t quite figure out. At least it was Saturday and Keith happened to have today off. “And… I know she’s your friend… but Robin keeps pushing her work onto me.” Her body had slid lower into the seat, still cradling the cup closer to her chest. “Like I get it, I’m the new guy. But do I have to do all the putbacks- gobacks? Like she does know I can run the desk, right?”

Steve wiped the smile from his face as he brushed the salt from his fingertips over his knee. “No, she knows. Robin just- Robin likes to feel like she’s in control.” This wasn’t incorrect. Steve knew Robin was trying to manipulate their roles so they would have more chances to interact on the clock. So far it was working, though he was now certain to talk to Robin about maybe letting them have desk time. “But I’ll talk to her.” Looking over to her, he noticed she was still jabbing away at the cold cream. “Is there anything else?”

“Steve. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” His actions froze, the finger twiddling he had started paused.

“I didn’t- that’s not what-“ he was fumbling for an explanation now. Once he realised how he felt, every action around her became a coordinated step.

“It’s never been like this,” he tried to explain to Robin one night. “I just get around her and start stumbling over everything.”

“Wow, it’s like you have to actually try.” Robin had then mocked him.

“It’s just- Robin is my friend… and you’re also my friend, and I don’t want my friends to fight.” How self preservative, he thought. He watched as his words played through her mind and he hoped that labeling her as a friend didn’t hurt her in any way. It’s not like they weren’t friends… but Steve knew he felt more than a friend to her.

“Well, as your friend, I can handle myself.” Looking up to Steve, she tried not to think of how he had been looking at her. She tried not to think of how Steve Harrington, her coworker, had been almost caught staring at her lips, choosing to believe the stare and everything else in consideration were hopefully unrelated. “What is it?” Shaking his head, the look disappeared and a few strands of hair fell over his face.

“It’s nothing.” Looking at the watch on his wrist, he then reached for the keys, turning the car off. “We have to go anyway.” With a simple nod, that was mostly for herself, she started helping him gather up their trash and whatever else they would need to take back into Family Video. She had almost forgotten about the overcast sky above them, the endless gray cloud that seemed to linger over all of Hawkins.

-

When they reentered Family Video together, Robin’s head naturally perked up in their direction. “Oh thank goodness, you’re back!” She called to them from behind the desk. (Y/N) felt like it was mostly to Steve though, as she had never outrightly been so relieved to see her before. Springing up from her seat, Robin rounded to the cart that had been sitting just in the front corner of the desk, her hand lingering on the metal frame before sharing a smile to Steve. “Now that you’re back, this lovely cart needs to be put away and-“

“Actually Robin, I was hoping we could have the desk.” Robin froze completely in place, hands still grasping the cart as she had started pushing it towards the two.

“What?” There was an incredulous indention to her voice, almost like she couldn’t believe Steve was disagreeing with her.

“It’s just, she wanted to see the protocol for some technical situations. More practice on the computer, you know?” Nodding her head, Robin was cutting them both a glance that (Y/N) couldn’t quite pick up on.

“Right.” She pushed the cart around them now, gently bumping into Steve’s shoulder. “Well, maybe you should time me. I’m sure I can put this away faster than the two of you.” Steve rolled his eyes as Robin took the cart and pushed it away and into the aisles, disappearing for now. The two of them entered the little corral that was the hub inside the desk, the walls being the desk itself as it wrapped around them. From the corner of his eye he could see how she hesitated to even sit down, just standing ever so slightly behind him as she looked around the desk, almost unsure to touch anything.

“Here.” He pulled a stool out from under the counter, motioning for her to sit in front of the computer. When she did so, he tried to then figure out where the best place for him to stand would be. “So- you’ve used a computer before right?” He settled for standing just a bit behind and to the side of her.

“Only a little bit?” She still sounded unsure of herself. He wondered if it were her nerves and whether, had it been anyone else in this situation, would she sound the same? She was practically sitting in front of him as he reached around her for the mouse, careful not to lean onto her or anything.

“Okay, well for starters, you’re going to want to shake the mouse to wake up the computer.” He bumped the piece and waited for the static of the screen to come to life. But there was no static, it remained silent. Pursing his lips to the side, he tried to then look under the desk and he saw it. The computer had been turned off. “Or make sure, it’s turned on.”

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Her voice called down to him. It brought a smile to his face as her humour started to return to her, meaning she was feeling comfortable again. For Steve though, he was too worried about how close he was to her legs that he almost didn’t notice how close the underside of the desk was. That was all, until he hit his head under the counter on his way back up.

“Shit!” He cursed under his breath as he stood back up to his normal posture. He tried to focus on the giggling she was failing to control, but he couldn’t ignore how badly his head felt, a burning sensation over the spot.

“Are you okay?” Her body had turned to face him now, her knees nearly brushing his legs.

“Sure. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Steve hoped she wouldn’t read too much into his words. He hadn’t wanted to talk about the horrors he had seen in the last four years with her just yet. Honestly, he had hoped it would be something that she would never need to know about.

Too distracted by the pain and his thoughts, he didn’t notice how her hands reached up to hold his head in her hands, palms resting just below his ear near his jawline. Her touch was soft and delicate, and Steve considered how he hadn’t felt anything as pure as her hold. Looking into her eyes felt like a mistake though, like a tar trap that he wouldn’t escape, not that he wanted to. While her eyes were full of concern, he saw the tender affection swimming in her irises and he tried not to drown in it. To be the star athlete he had once been praised for. But his teammates had never swam through tar. And he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so much in just a stare. “Well your eyes don’t look dilated.”

“They’re not?” He asked, his voice a whisper as his hands reached up to hold on to her wrists. “That’s good?”

“Really good.” A smile was pulling at the corner of her lips like a homecoming banner being pulled up a wall. “It means, no concussion.” The smile stayed, and he couldn’t fight the smile growing on him at the idea that he had put hers there.

“Oh.”

“How do you feel?” With his fingers over her soft skin, he could feel the slight muscle tremor as she had tried to withdraw her hold, but he just squeezed her wrists instead, taking comfort in the warmth they were temporarily providing him.

“It still kind of hurts.”

“Maybe you need ice?”

“Yeah,” the last syllable dragged out, “ice.” He had to let go of her then. They couldn’t stay that way, no matter how much his heart was crying to. He couldn’t fathom willingly trading the warmth she had provided him, even in that small moment, for a bag of cold ice to numb the pain at the back of his head. What about the ache in his heart? Was there a reliever for that?

While he was lost in his daydream, she got up from the stool, and with her hand now holding his wrist, tried to pull him to the backroom of Family Video. “Robin, we’ll be in the back!” Steve would’ve winced at the volume which she was talking, but her guiding him to the back seemed to balance out his pain for comfort ratio.

“No funny business!” Robin called to them from somewhere in the shelves. “I mean it Steve Harrington!”

“Got it!” He rolled his eyes as they passed through the door, her hold on his wrist guiding him to the table at the center of the room.

“Sit here. I’ll get the bag of ice.” Somehow she had found a plastic bag in some drawer behind him and the freezer had been miraculously capable of making ice today. With a paper towel wrapped around the bag, she offered it to him to hold to his head, and it was then he felt his first wave of guilt. He’s a former student athlete, he should be taking care of himself. Why was he so resided to letting her take care of him?

“You didn’t have to do this, you know? I’m the one who hit my head on the counter.” He tried to point out to her as she took a seat in the spot next to him. She kept her hands to herself now, watching him as he winced between the pain and the cold temperature of the ice.

“Yeah well.” Her eyes looked around him before settling on him once more. “I just wanted to make sure…” Breaking their gaze, she looked down to her fingers, hands clasped together so neither of them would be tempted to hold the other. “You’re like, the only one looking out for me, here. I just wanted to do the same for you.” She looked back to him now, not sure what to expect from his expression. But there was a smirk on his lips, a smugness she hadn’t seen on him. “What?”

“You just…” Waiting on his words, she wasn’t really sure what he would say. “You care about me?” The smug coating of his words never left his face. Her brain was backpedaling to get out from under that feeling.

“I mean, you're my coworker.” Ouch. “And the only one that’s been checking in on me. So yeah?” Removing the ice pack from his head, he noticed how some of the ice was beginning to melt, a small collection of water at the bottom of the bag.

“Coworker?” He asked, attention still on the water sloshing around the bag.

“Yes?”

“That’s funny.”

“What?”

“That’s just a weird label for someone you care about.” He thought he had this one. That they had danced around each other verbally enough that he could win this one.

“Well that’s what you are, so-” It’s not what I would like to be. Steve let their banter die out.

Let her have this one, he thought to himself, there will be plenty more to come.

-

Thank you for reading!

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington reader insert #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x fem #fangst #stranger things fandom

[barnesafterglow]

friday (i'm in love)

summary: every day you love bucky. every friday he pretends to love you too

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: college!au, angst, phoebe bridgers made me do this, ambiguous ending

a/n: i've been working on this bad boy since august and finally got around to finishing it. i actually really like this and i hope you all do too! please remember to reblog and comment - i love getting feedback!

masterlist ─ i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary and turn on notifications to stay updated on when i post!

The Monday sun trickled through your half opened blinds, waking more sweetly than you probably deserved. Your eyes cracked open, seeing a peaking glance of the blue morning sky, and a half smile made its way to your face. Mondays were usually hard for you but you thought that just maybe today would be a change.

That is until your hand reached for the other side of the bed, feeling the sheets cold from a body long gone. Any warmth the splashes of sun may have granted you seeped from your body, leaving you as cold and empty as your sheets. Disappointed - but not surprised - you slipped from underneath the covers and made your way to the bathroom. While you were waiting for the water to heat up, you hesitantly looked at yourself in the mirror.

It was the same as every Monday of the semester -  messy hair, the remnants of mascara just under your eyes, the peak of a smattering of bruises across your collarbones - always low enough that no one could see them but you, and the person who left them there. But they would mostly fade by Friday, just to be replaced over the weekend.

It was a pattern you had somehow let yourself fall into, no end in sight. Every time your roommate gave you the side eye, or poured you a glass of wine when she heard your muffled sobs over the sound of the running shower, or heard the door quietly open and close in the way too early morning hours while she was awake in the living room, you tried to come up with ways to end it, ways to break the cycle. You would never do it, of course, but maybe if you could imagine, just for a moment, an end to the hurt you put yourself through, you could take a breath of relief.

As you stepped out of the lobby of your apartment into late fall air, you tampered down a quick flash of anger. It didn’t seem fair that the light blue of the sky and the golden rays of the sun were allowed to be out and proud when your own blue mood was so dark it neared black.

But still, just like every Monday, you took a deep breath and headed to your first class.

You were halfway across campus when you saw Bucky, talking to Sharon, and the quick flash of eye contact before he looked away, not so much as a wave of recognition, threatened to bring you to your knees. 

And the sky remained blue and clear.

-

Tuesday was so dark and cold it gave you whiplash.

The second day of the week was always a little easier, the wound less fresh, and you eased yourself out of bed, still sore from yesterday’s workout - where you ran until you could barely breathe because it was the only time you stopped thinking of Bucky. The warm shower nearly held you hostage, knowing you would be faced with a bitter chill once you stepped outside.

You managed to get out despite the protests from every cell in your body, and spent a long time getting ready, delaying the inevitable.

Your heart thudded, heavy in your chest, as you navigated campus, never sure when your greatest daydream and darkest nightmare would emerge from the crowd to haunt you with empty eyes.

The universe granted you reprieve for a day.

-

Wednesday wasn’t as kind.

The same weather matched your overcast mood and you bundled up in the first sweatshirt you grabbed from your drawer.

It wasn’t until you were already out of the door that you realized it was Bucky’s, and you let out a choked sound before you composed yourself.

Of course it would be your luck to be just outside the building when you got a message your only class for the day had been canceled, and you decided to make the trip worth your time by heading to the library.

You studied for your upcoming exam, digging into your textbook with a highlighter and a middle-of-the-week attitude.

As you turned the page, it sliced your finger and you let out a hiss of pain. The other hand gripped your pen so hard you thought it might explode in a splash of ink and shame. From the way your week was already going, you honestly wouldn’t be surprised. 

Dropping the pen on the table with a soft clatter, you dug around in your bag, searching for tissues you knew you didn't have. You finally gave up, sticking the bleeding fingertip in your mouth so you didn’t get blood on the page of notes you had been diligently working on. You looked around to see if anyone had seen your miniature fiasco, but everyone else on the floor was either immersed in their own studying or chatting quietly amongst themselves.

In your glance around, the elevator doors opening caught your eye at the very same moment Bucky walked out. Your heart swelled in a flurry of hope as his face split into an easy grin, until you realized he was looking over you. You turned your head enough to see Steve and Sam just a few tables over, and Bucky took a couple steps forward until his gaze dropped enough to see you. And your sweatshirt.

He came to a sudden stop, smile disappearing from his face, and he took a sharp turn towards the corner of the library where the stairwell led back to the bottom floor. You could barely hear the slam of the heavy door over the shattering of your heart.

-

By Thursday, you had fully convinced yourself to move on.

You had one last crying session with Wanda, over a bottle of wine and a mountain of good advice you would try desperately to take.

With a warm buzz, you felt light and airy on the decision to do better, be better, be stronger. No matter how many times you had told yourself the last time was truly the last time, you were convinced this was it.

Instead, Friday brought you a hangover and a text from Bucky.

Usual tonight?

You ignored it all day. You turned your phone off, shoved your laptop in a drawer, took away any form of communication you had with him. You spent the day catching up on reading you had been telling yourself you would get to for months.

It almost worked.

Wanda was gone for the weekend - she mistakenly trusted your promise that Bucky wouldn’t be coming over.

Because by the time the clock struck midnight, you texted him back.

-

For most of the next week, you didn’t see Bucky at all.

Monday it was a downpour, the sky black and the wind cutting your skin. You knew he skipped class on days like that. After class, you went for a run, watching the rain splatter on the window that looked over campus, and tried to push him from your brain. It worked.

Tuesday, in the early hours of the morning, you got a panicked call from your mom. Your dad was in the hospital and she needed help for a couple days. You packed a bag and got in your car, heading home without a second thought.

Wednesday you were so busy you didn’t think about Bucky at all.

Thursday, it was almost easy to block Bucky’s number.

Friday, you heard it.

Knock. Knock. Knock knock knock.

The pattern that let Wanda know to disappear into her room, where she could pretend she didn’t know what was happening. Bucky didn’t like anyone to see him there, even the girl who heard everything the two of you did through the thin walls.

The doorknob rattled, and you could tell he was surprised to find it locked. Every Friday before, it had been left open for him.

Evening your breathing, you opened the door and saw his confused face. Your thoughts wrestled between slamming the door shut and leaping into his arms.

In the end, you did neither, stepping back and letting him trail you to your bedroom.

“You never answered my text.” There was no emotion behind the statement. He said it like it was a simple fact, no different than telling you that your walls were grey.

“I know.” He sat on your bed like he belonged there.

“Why?” You backed away as far as you could, your back hitting the wall, your arms crossing over your chest like they could protect you from his words.

“Why do you think?”

“I have no clue.” You were in disbelief. He had no clue? No clue what you felt for him? No clue that he broke your heart a little more every time he came and went?

“I’m done. With us.” You tried to keep your voice from shaking, but there was still a slight waver. You wondered if he even noticed.

“What do you mean you’re done?”

“I mean I don’t want to do this anymore. Don’t want to see you. Don’t want you here.”

“Why?” So many why’s. So many sharp words he didn’t even know were cutting you deep.

“What do you mean why, Bucky? This isn’t fair anymore! You stay here all weekend, you slip in my bed and in me and then you’re gone by the time I wake up Monday morning. And every Monday I can’t hold my tears back, even though I know you won’t be here.”

“Baby, you -”

“Don’t call me baby.”

He looked genuinely shocked, and you knew why. You had never raised your voice at him. The two of you had never even gotten in any kind of fight; he didn’t care enough to.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just,” he stopped, seemingly gathering up his next words, “you knew what this was when we started.”

“And what is ‘this’? What am I to you?”

“You know what you are. You’re a… friend. With benefits. We said there were no strings attached.”

“No, you said there were no strings attached, and I went along with whatever you wanted because I knew this was as close as I could ever get to you loving me back.” The words flew from your mouth before you could catch them, and the tension that blanketed the room was so thick you felt like you could hold it in your hands.

“What?” His voice was barely a whisper, the first time he had shown any true emotion since he walked into your apartment.

“Just forget it.” You took a deep breath. “Get out.”

His eyes held a thousand questions, and you didn’t want to hear any of them. He sat, still as a statue, just staring at you.

“I said get out.”

It was like the words awoke him from a trance and he stood quickly, stumbling past you as he made his way out of the apartment.

-

The weekend hurt - the first weekend you hadn’t spent with Bucky in you didn’t even know how long.

But you didn’t cry.

You thought that might be a good thing.

-

By Monday, you were truly feeling better - the first Monday you could remember not having an emotional hangover. You got up early and went for a morning run, and didn’t even have to push the thought of Bucky from your mind. Then you went home and showered and got ready for the day. As you walked to class, you held your head high, a ghost of a smile on your face.

You felt good.

Then you saw him again. 

It was like deja vu, life in slow motion, a moment so perfectly timed you couldn’t even make it up in fiction.

You passed Bucky, the same as just a couple weeks before, talking to Sharon. Except this time, his arm was slung over her shoulder, a cocky grin on his face. Except this time, he actually looked at you, met your eyes in a stare, and his face dropped.

Except this time, gazes still locked, you watched each other, heads turned, until the moment passed and you were on your way, heart stilled in your chest.

-

Tuesday and Wednesday you couldn’t even get out of bed. 

It was like the small modicum of progress you had was washed away with the rain that pattered outside your window.

You wouldn’t - couldn’t - eat, so Wanda resorted to bringing you glasses of water, making you sit up and drink at least two before she would let you go back to wallowing.

She was a good friend; you knew she would make you get out of bed eventually, and she would help you move on. And you would try.

Thursday, the door cracked open, and you figured it was her finally coming to drag you out of bed. Instead, Nat and Wanda walked in.

Without a word, then got into bed on either side of you, and held you until you couldn’t cry anymore.

-

The weekend was easier. You went out with your friends you had been neglecting. You didn’t see Bucky. You felt better, at least a little bit.

You thought that maybe you would always love Bucky - love the way he touched you, love the way he would lay in your bed for hours and talk about anything and everything, love the way you knew each other inside and out - but you could also move on.

It was possible, you just had to try.

-

Monday night, you were sitting on the couch watching old TV reruns when you heard a shuffle outside your door.

Knock. Knock. Knock knock knock.

#bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #angst #marvel' #mcu #tiff writes #friday i'm in love

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

The Heart of Your Home Pt 3

Summary: Arthur comes across a woman in need. What he thought was a simple good deed would take him down a much further path than anticipated.

Warnings: Cursing, eventual canon-typical violence, eventual smut.

Word Count: 4,861

A/N: Knocked this one out quicker than the last chapter...phew!

Your bed felt entirely too large as of late. 

A simple routine followed early every morning. Roused awake by the dim rays of dawn peeking through the gossamer curtains of the bedroom shared by you and your husband. You were always the first to rise, shaking sleep from your body as you got dressed and began your work in the kitchen, having a hot breakfast ready by the time the door creaked open a second time. 

Since your move to New Hanover, you have often found yourself in your own company. The cold spot of Frederick’s sat empty and unused. His chair sat unmoving, only one plate and a single set of silverware adorned the table. 

It was all business, you knew that. Frederick was naturally a man of action. It’s how you were able to live comfortably, convinced employment for yourself was unnecessary, even if it meant frequent boredom in the household. 

Boredom, and loneliness.

He assured you plenty that it would lead to bigger and better things; a larger house and plentiful land, and no need for you to lift a finger for household chores. The two of you sitting on a spacious porch, watching a handful of bubbly children play in the expansive yard. 

A future you were not opposed to, but at present, you wished your husband was...well, more husbandly. 

Frederick was not a horrible man by any means. He showed his love and affection often, and always ensured you had what you requested— a new coat, seeds to start an herb garden, a horse of your own to travel to town when needed since carriages were far and few in between out here. 

But when it came to entrepreneurship, it almost seemed as if the band on your finger didn’t matter much. 

You sat at your usual seat on the table, once again enjoying an egg and toast breakfast by yourself across from the chair that sat empty for the fifth day in a row, not counting his stop at home just two days prior. What was supposed to be a quick visit to Valentine turned into a week-long affair. He arrived a few hours later as he promised, only to apologetically explain the new turn of events. A week in Annesburg, a mining town in eastern Hanover from what you understood. 

The smile on your face was forced, with your bid goodbye and a safe travel. He hadn’t even stayed for dinner. 

Come to think of it, the last person to occupy that seat hadn’t been Frederick at all. 

A sudden onset of rain pulled you from your thoughts. Surprise flooded you, not even glancing twice at the sky when waking up today, though dully aware of the gray overcast outside of the windows. 

Automatically, you glanced up at the spot you knew would start leaking soon, only to remember that issue had been fixed just days ago. Not even a patch of condensation. You smiled, once again grateful for the man who so selflessly offered his time for that very task. 

The remainder of your breakfast was spent quietly listening to the downpour outside. You were thankful for the warmth inside, providing a sense of coziness despite the empty feeling that stirred in your belly. The meal satiated you, but it didn’t fill the hole your husband left. 

As you began cleaning your plate, a knock on the door startled you. Rarely did you ever expect company, and Frederick wouldn’t knock, he’d just come right in. 

Wary, you dried your hands and approached the door slowly. You grasped the knob and opened the door just enough to peer through. 

To your delighted surprise, standing there waiting was Arthur. 

“Arthur!” you exclaimed with more enthusiasm than you’d realized. Opening the door fully, you greeted him with a smile. As early as it was, you had to remind yourself of the open invitation to your house. “Good morning, what brings you here so early?” you asked. 

The tall man stood there in what appeared to be a newer black leather jacket and his normal hat, both covered in beads of rain cascading down the smooth surfaces. He smiled at you politely. “Mornin’. I was headin’ back from West Elizabeth when it started rainin’, thought I’d hide out for a bit since I was in the area. You mind?” 

You shook your head. “Of course not, come in,” you stepped aside and gestured. “Stay as long as you’d like.” 

His smile turned grateful as he passed through the threshold. “I appreciate it.” 

You watched as he hung his jacket and hat, exposing a different wardrobe than what you’d seen him in previous. Usually in simple clothing, he appeared to be wearing something fresh and new. A crimson red shirt with a high folded collar, the top two buttons hung open to reveal his neck and upper chest, a view that was concealed by a scarf previously. His hair had been long and shaggy before, now had a neat short, faded cut and was slicked back. 

His pants seemed to be...more form fitting, or was that your imagination? 

Arthur’s eyes met yours for a second, and you realized you’d been staring for a beat longer than intended. “Somethin’ wrong? Or is my mug that ugly?” 

“You’re not ugly,” you said automatically, your response surprising yourself. You could appreciate a man that cleaned up well. Men like Arthur worked hard, you found, and they didn’t put much stock in their outward appearance. They didn’t have anyone to impress, as they were just trying to make an honest living for themselves and their families. 

Truth be told, this change made him look quite good. Not that he was worse off before, but something about this wardrobe change drew more attention to finer features you really hadn’t noticed before. 

Though it wasn’t your place to say so. 

His face slightly faltered at your comment, which piqued your curiosity. Rather than questioning it, you changed the subject. “Would you like some breakfast?” 

“That’d be great,” he said, the smile returning. “Thank you.” 

You began to work diligently, grateful for the opportunity to keep your hands busy. Cleaning surfaces only got you so far when you were the only one dirtying them, and you were beyond thankful for the company. Two more eggs were cracked open, and two fresh pieces of bread were placed inside the oven to toast, all the while Arthur sat at the table. 

“I take it the roof ain’t leakin’,” he said, catching your attention. 

You glanced over your shoulder to shoot him a smile. “Nope, thanks to a certain someone.” 

He chuckled lightly. “Glad to know my handiwork didn’t go to waste.” 

“Then I know what handyman to contact if something else breaks around here,” you joked. 

Arthur gave a half shrug, his amused smile remaining. “As long as I get paid or get another good meal, I’ll be your goddamned handyman for life.” 

A giggle passed your lips. You of course knew he was joking, but the thought of him being around more... 

Your thought was halted when he spoke again. “Your uh...husband out on business again?” he asked lightly. 

You hid your frown by facing the oven again. “As usual,” you answer with equal lightness, though it was feigned. 

Arthur grunted in response. A moment of silence passed before he added, “Everything okay here?” 

“Fine,” you answered, reaching for your stash of herbs in a nearby cabinet. To your dismay, you found it was empty. Frowning, you closed the cabinet and sighed, “Shoot.” 

“Somethin’ wrong?” 

You turned to face Arthur. “I’m out of herbs. I’m afraid your eggs will be a little dull,” you explain, turning back around to attend to the rest of your cooking without waiting for a response. 

You heard the chair shift, and just mere seconds passed when he was standing next to you. Glancing over, he was digging through the satchel at his hip. You were about to ask what he was doing when his hand reappeared and he held it out to you, laden with a few sprigs of herbs. 

Blinking in confusion, you peered up at him. “Huh?” 

He gestured with his head toward the frying eggs, as if it were plainly obvious. “Figured I could spare some.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but from previous encounters, you learned refusing his generosity never worked. Holding out your own hand, he pressed the herbs into your palm. His hand, covered by a leather fingerless glove, felt surprisingly warm for having just stepped in from the cold rain. 

“Thank you,” turning to the eggs again, you peered at the herbs briefly. Thyme and oregano, you realized, peering at each individually. The dried leaves crumbled in your palm as you sprinkled them upon the eggs. 

How was it that Arthur always seemed to be there when you needed him? Not needed him, you amended to yourself, just needed something in the moment when he happened to be there. Needed saving from a pack of wolves? Arthur was quick with his bullets. Needed a patch job on your leaky roof? Arthur could do that. Needed some herbs to add flavor to your dish? No worries, Arthur had some. 

When you felt the pangs of loneliness left by your husband’s ambitions, Arthur showed up... 

A small feeling stirred inside you, one that you couldn’t place at first, as heat settled in your cheeks. You recognized the sensation as you’d once felt before in your younger days, before marriage. Recalling those memories of strolling the streets with your friends as they spoke about their potential future husbands. The mere thought of settling down with a man to support and dote on you gave a feeling of excitement and reassurance. It’d been a long time since you felt that, not since your wedding day. 

Frederick had proven to be that sort of husband, despite your private grievances about him earlier. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be working as hard as he did to provide a better life for the both of you. What reason did that old feeling arise? 

Shaking your head, you turned your focus back to the eggs, removing them from the stove before they had the chance to overcook. The toast followed, and you set both on to a clean plate before bringing it over to Arthur. He dug in almost immediately, a look of satisfaction crossed his face with the first bite. 

You didn’t even have to ask if he liked it, because the first thing out of his mouth after swallowing was a compliment. 

“Delicious, as always,” he said before shoving another forkful. 

You smiled and took your seat again. Arthur’s visits were always pleasant, even when neither of you carried long conversations some of the time. Unlike most of the men you’ve met, Arthur didn’t seem loud and boisterous. You knew he was a man well-traveled and skilled in his ways, which left you somewhat envious of his aptitude. 

Curiosity began to bubble in you. There were only a few sparing details you learned, and questions burned in your throat. You decided to speak up. “Arthur, can I ask you something?” 

Arthur had been chewing on the toast when his focus settled on you. “Hmm?” he hummed through a mouthful. 

“What is it that you do, exactly? I know you seem to travel a bit from what you’ve told me, and I wondered what sort of career calls for a man of your expertise,” you asked in one breath, realizing how nervous you were to even utter that. 

Arthur swallowed, a thoughtful look on his face for a split second before he answered. “I go wherever work needs to be done,” he answered. “Stagecoach escort, delivery runs, loan repayment, it changes every day.” 

You nodded. That made sense of course. Escorting stagecoaches explained his talent with firearms, knowing that often he would have to protect important people. “And do you have a wife? Family?” 

There was a full second before he replied. “No, no wife,” he didn’t acknowledge the second half of your inquiry. 

That you found hard to believe. He was kind and caring. Tracking back to your previous thought when observing his appearance, he certainly was easy on the eyes. Time and nature had its effect on him, yet that didn’t hinder his soft gaze and kind smile. How was it there wasn’t a lucky woman to call him her husband? 

But you didn’t dare to ask for an elaboration, lest the reason would be something worse than just choosing to remain unwed. “I see,” you say, trying to think of something else. “What were you doing in West Elizabeth then?” 

Arthur peered at you, a glimmer of amusement in his eye. “I thought I was here for breakfast and decent company, not to be interrogated,” he chuckled. 

“Oh!” you glanced down, a blush forming in your cheeks. “I’m sorry, if it bothers you—" 

“No harm done,” he interrupted, waving his hand in your peripheral. “I was out there huntin’. Heard the moose are somethin’ else.” 

“Hunting,” you repeated thoughtfully, looking back up at him. You’d never seen a live moose before. But from what you understood, they were quite large. “Were you able to find a moose?” 

“At first no,” he sighed. “Tracked one for a while, until I jus’ about ran into a damn Grizzly.” 

Your eyebrows shot up at that. “What? A Grizzly? Are you okay?” Obviously he was, since you didn’t see any sign of injury. 

The chuckle returned, and Arthur raised his arms in show. “Fine, fine. In fact, I made decent money off him at the butchers. Went right back to track that moose, found him not too long after. Thankfully the trail didn’t get too cold. Harvested plenty o’ meat from that son of a—” he paused. “Pardon my language.” 

That last part made you smile again. Ever the gentleman, you thought to yourself. “Lots of meat, huh? I’ve never had moose meat before...” you thought out loud. “Is it good?” 

“Why don’t you find out? Have some for dinner,” he said, once again digging into the satchel. Half a moment passed by before he produced a wrapped package, placing it on the table. 

You stared for a moment in surprise, your eyebrows raised. “Really?” 

Arthur shrugged. “Plenty more where that came from, I got more than enough for myself.” 

A small huff of a laugh passed your lips. This man was certainly full of surprises. “Thank you, guess I will have some for dinner tonight.” 

It didn't stop there. Arthur dug further into his bag, producing another handful of herbs. “Might as well replenish your stores along with it,” he said, placing them next to the package of meat. 

You recognized an assortment of more thyme and oregano, as well as mint, sage, and a few others that were harder to discern amongst the pile. There was a moment of wonder, was there an end to his generosity? You opened your mouth to speak when his wide yawn caught your eye. It was still early morning, and curiosity burned within you once again. 

“How long were you out there?” You voiced your thoughts. “Seems like you had a busy day, and it can’t be past 8 am.” 

Arthur stretched, groaning in the effort as his arms raised above his head. He then answered, “Took half the night, I got to Big Valley late afternoon yesterday.” 

“Half the night?” You repeated in shock. “Have you even slept?” 

He shook his head and shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal. “Thought I could tough it out ’til I got home, that is, before the rain started.” 

And the rain was still falling, you deduced after glancing out the window behind you. A frown set on your lips as you turned to look at him again. The fatigue in his face was obvious now; dark shadows hung underneath his eyes. “Why don't you take a nap in the guest room?” You gestured toward the closed door off to the side, next to your own bedroom. “It might be a while until the weather lightens.” 

Now Arthur was the one protesting. Shaking his head, he waved away your offer. “That ain't necessary, I’ll be fine.” 

“After spending an entire night hunting a moose and nearly getting killed by a bear? And riding across state lines?” You sternly pointed out, though kept your tone from being too stony. “I insist. Rest up for a little while, then you can be on your way. I'm sure your horse is as tired as you are,” he didn't have to mention, nor did you have to see his stallion that you very well knew was occupying the empty stall in the barn. 

Arthur looked as if he were about to argue, but he paused as he considered your words. “I suppose it couldn't hurt...” he stifled another yawn before clearing the remnants of his meal. You stepped forward and grabbed the plate, once again gesturing to the same door. 

“Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be out here if you need anything.” 

He nodded in response, standing up and heading over. As he passed, you detected the hint of a grateful smile. 

--- 

Within the first hour you’d arranged Arthur’s gifted herbs into piles in your cabinet, noting there were enough to get your by for a week. The moose steak was placed to the side for prep later. The second hour was spent performing your normal chores, deliberately dragging yourself not to finish too quickly. Every so often you glanced at the closed door of your guest room, ensuring the sleeping body behind it was comfortable and not in need of anything else. The only noise was Arthur’s gentle snores from the other side. 

By the third hour mark, you’d run out of things to do and took to spending time outside, resting on the rocking chair on the porch. The rain stopped maybe an hour and a half before, and the misty gray skies made way for beautiful blues, the sun warming the soaked land as the wilderness began to stir. 

Your eyes fixed on the garden you started a while ago now, having abandoned it since a frost all but eradicated your budding plants. You ought to start again, you thought, hopefully a hardier crop would wield better results. They were the same herbs you’d spotted growing wild out in this climate, and you had to wonder why yours failed. 

Not that you minded taking a trip into town for supplies, self-sustenance was something you hoped to achieve down the line, as long as Frederick’s plans came to fruition. 

You also hoped it would be somewhere with warmer weather. 

You had an urge to visit the barn behind your house. If Arthur was okay, you’d best check up on his horse too. The poor thing had to be as tired as him, after trekking miles of mountains and wilderness. You began to wander over, boots sloshing in the soaked ground. The barn’s faded white paint loomed into view. 

Pulling open the door, you stepped inside to be greeted by the two lovely horses who were contently chewing on the same hay pile. You smiled and stepped even closer, rousing their attention as their heads raised to look at you. 

“Hello, sweet things,” you say to them, petting your mare first then stroking Arthur’s stallion, who you now realized completely dwarfed your horse. 

It was quite cute seeing the two of them side by side. Frederick didn't buy a horse of his own, claiming he didn't know how to ride that well. Ironic, given how much he traveled, but he claimed he was fine with hitching a ride when it was necessary. This, however, left your horse without a companion. You knew they were herd animals, and you felt it wasn’t fair that she was the only one. Even though you couldn’t read her mind, you couldn’t help but think she was just as lonely as you at times. 

You were thankful these two got along just as well as you and Arthur did. 

There was a pile of carrots placed upon a nearby barrel, and you grabbed a few. Both horses nickered in realization when you approached with tasty snacks. You offered one to your mare first, then the stallion, who took it so gently it was surprising. 

“He likes you,” 

You jumped at the voice and spun around to see Arthur in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded, watching you with a slight smirk. His jacket and hat were back on. 

“Sorry,” he said when he realized he must've startled you. 

“That’s okay,” you reply as your heart quieted. How long had he been standing there? When did he wake up? As the stallion’s lips fidgeted against your arm, you continued, “Is he usually this friendly?” 

Arthur shook his head. “Naw. He weren't like that when I first got him, tried to buck me off more than once.” 

This news surprised you. “Really? I can't imagine that...” your hand idly stroked the fine horse’s velvet nose as he nuzzled you for more carrots. 

“Took a few weeks jus’ to get him used to me,” Arthur said. “Now he's one of the most loyal horses I've ever had.” 

The statement brought a smile to your face. “Then perhaps you have some competition,” you joked as you reached up to rub the stallion’s ears. His head dropped even further, his brown eyes softening to your touch. 

With a chuckle, Arthur sidled up and patted his steed’s neck. “I suppose so...” 

Silence fell between the two of you, marveling in the horses’ presence. Not that you minded, Arthur was the only person you felt comfortable being silent around. There was no necessity to fill the void with idle, meaningless conversation. Something about his presence relaxed you, even more so when just bonding with these beautiful creatures. 

You watched as he grabbed a carrot, breaking it in half to offer both pieces to each horse. They both took each piece as if they were starving, to which Arthur laughed again. A quiet, gentle laugh that warmed your heart. His eyes softened with each pat he offered, then turning to your mare, he rumbled, “You're a good girl,” with a stroke to her neck. 

That made you smile. It seemed that his calming presence also seemed to reach the animals. Your mare’s head sagged and her eyelids drooped. 

His eyes met yours, and the eased expression changed to curiosity. “What?” 

You blinked, the smile vanishing at an instant with realization you were caught staring again, quite unintentionally. “Uh,” flustered and flicking your eyes down in slight embarrassment, you asked, “I assume you slept well?” 

“Like a baby,” he answered with a deep stretch. “Though I guess I better not wear out my welcome.” 

These words caused your heart to stutter. The thought of him leaving already didn’t sit right with you, but you couldn’t explain why. 

Some irrational part of you almost invited him to stay for dinner. You’d come up with the excuse to experiment the concoction of herbs and moose meat he provided you earlier. But you also knew it seemed absurd to even think this. The man had to go home, to whatever was waiting for him. He mentioned he didn't have a wife, but a man as busy as him must've had other priorities. You remembered him once mentioning he wasn’t looking forward to something at home. 

What sort of home life did he lead, exactly? 

He was pulling his steed away from the hay pile, and you somehow detected the reluctance in the horse’s eyes. The feeling was mutual, but you had no reason to feel that way. 

As Arthur approached the open doors, a question bubbled in your throat. It was oh so tempting to ask, even though you knew it was silly. 

“Thank you for breakfast, and allowin’ me to rest,” Arthur said, pausing to tilt his head to you. “Didn’t know exactly how much I needed that.” 

You smiled again, finding comfort in the fact that he found refuge with you. “You’re welcome...” just as he and his stallion stepped through the threshold, you called out, “Wait.” 

He stopped again, looking toward you expectantly. 

You realized you spoke first without thinking. Well, you had to follow through with it. “Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow?” you asked, your heart jumping to your throat with each word. 

You waited for a refusal, a shake of his head, a scoff. Instead, a thoughtful look crossed his face. “I guess your husband ain’t home for a while?” 

“Only for a few more days, but I’ll admit it’s quite lonely...and I’d love to hear more about your adventures, if that’s okay. Everything you’ve told me seems quite intriguing and—” you stopped yourself short, realizing you were rambling. Taking a second to recollect yourself, you added, “Only if you want to.” 

To your surprise, Arthur frowned. “I hope I ain’t leavin’ the wrong impression on you, wantin’ my company when it’s only convenient for—” 

“No!” you interrupted quickly. “Arthur, I thought you better of me! I was the one who established that anyway,” you reminded him, giving a weak laugh hoping to pass this conversation as humor. “Think of it as a pleasant dinner between friends.” 

He stared for a long moment, contemplating your words. “Friends,” he repeated, his stance shifting a little. Did he look...uncomfortable? “I ain’t the sort you’d want as a friend.” 

“Why, because I’m a married woman spending time with a man other than my husband?” you questioned, placing your hands on your hips. “You are my friend, Arthur. You’re certainly no stranger at this point. You’ve helped me plenty of times even though you didn’t need to, and I’ve helped you too. I'd be happy to serve you a plate or have an empty bed ready anytime you arrive at my doorstep. I’m sure Frederick would love to meet you too, when you’re not up on our rooftop.” 

Arthur was silent again. His hat hid most of his expression, but you could see the frown still slightly etched against his lips. His head tilted up so he could peer at you from under the brim. With a small, humorless chuckle, he asked, “Is it really that important to you?” 

You gave him an incredulous look. “Yes,” you said bluntly. “You saved my life. That put me in a debt I can never repay, but I try where I can. You’re the only person who’s extended me any kindness out here, and I won’t take that for granted.” 

With a sigh heaving his chest, Arthur quietly responded, “Guess I can’t argue with that.” 

Feeling triumphant, you smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you for understanding,” your gaze drifted to the outside. “I’m sorry for holding you up.” 

He made his familiar gesture to wave off your apology. “Nothin’ to worry about, I’ll get home all the same,” Making his way fully out into the open, he mounted his stallion with ease. He glanced up at the now clear sky and into the woods, before settling his gaze to you. “Thank you for earlier, really. I appreciate it.” 

The smile on your face widened. “Any time, Arthur. I truly mean that,” you reminded him. 

He nodded in understanding, his lip slightly twitching into a half-smile. It was a short goodbye before he trotted off, his figure soon swallowed up by the trees. Your mare let out a soft whinny at his departure, to which you came to her side and patted her neck. 

“It’s okay, I’m sure they’ll be back soon enough,” you said to her soothingly, but you had to wonder if the reassurance wasn’t only for her. 

Arthur’s presence, while still fairly new, has had a significant impact on your life thus far. Your stomach churned, partly due to his absence, and partly due to anxiety of the previous conversation. You hoped your most recent invitation hadn’t scared him off. Your words to him rang true; you’d be perfectly happy repaying your debt until you were old and brittle. 

But it wasn’t just that. How was it that you were so comfortable with him around? Surely in a more civilized state, rumors would spread like wildfire. A married woman so eagerly welcoming an unwed man into her home to frequently would earn you looks of spite and venomous whispers in the crowd. But this was not your home back east, and you were no longer part of that society. 

Arthur was your friend, that you were certain of. He instilled an air of peace and safety in his wake but stirred feelings of excitement with a life so unlike your own. You wanted to learn more, to hear of those tales that once seemed so far-fetched to you. If you could hear them every day, you would. 

And so, you were in for a pleasant surprise when he appeared that following day in the late afternoon, waiting patiently on your porch when you opened the door.  

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader