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rustedhearts · 11 months

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the incident ♡ part i (boxer!steve x librarian!fem reader)

summary: a brutal argument and steve's terrible temper drive you away from your malibu home. steve loses you again, and this time, you're both left wondering: has he lost you for good this time?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring ✶ part ii, part iii ✶ main masterlist

tags: angst, so toxic, more manhandling (mostly just Steve grabbing her), shoving, brutal verbal argument, Steve is genuinely terrible, also there's like no build-up, we get straight to it lol.

a/n: this is it, folks. this is the incident, the one that changes everything for steve and libby. it's rough to read, and this is your warning now that it's bordering domestic abuse. but once again, i will never write explicit violence against women (as in, he will never hit her).

malibu, california, november 1992

"Every time. You do this every fucking time, Steve."

The back of your head was just as pretty as the front, but Steve hated the sound of your voice when it was yelling at him. He deserved it, of course—he always did. But that sharp, scolding snap—it enraged him. No matter how much he deserved it, no matter how awful he'd been. Steve hated being yelled at.

"Do what? He was askin' for it."

"Asking for it? Do you hear yourself? You knocked him out cold, you fucking prick!"

Steve stopped short in the open doorway of your Malibu home, holding the doorframe. Freshly cleaned, scented of lemon cleaner, a little slick on the floor. He watched you stomp up the carpeted stairs in your little heels, bag swinging with every pound of your feet. You had that pursed, scrunched look on your face he knew all too well.

But when you yelled at him, he just wanted to yell back.

So, he followed suit, quickly closing the distance between the pair of you. He reached the bedroom just as you threw your purse onto the bed, whipping around to head toward the closet.

"So fuckin' what? I'm just supposed to let some creep—"

"—oh my god, Steve! How many more times are we gonna do this? Its-it's fucking driving me insane!" you shrilled, turning to stare at him in exasperation from his position in the doorway.

Steve huffed, stepping into the closet toward his array of black fabrics on the other side. He whipped his shirt off and let it pool on the ground, belt clinking as he slid it from the buckle.

"Yeah, whatever. How d' you think I feel when I see guys like that all over you, huh? I mean, Jesus Christ, he was practically drooling on your tits, Libby," Steve snarled, hands waving in those open, empty gestures that you always rolled your eyes at.

You paused in your pursuit of changing clothes. Comfortability could wait. Steve needed to understand how infuriating it was to be tugged at and shielded like a doll. How enraging it was to be treated like nothing more than his object, something to possess and hold onto.

You felt like a toy in the tight grip of a boy that refused to grow up.

"He wasn't doing anything. We were talking, Steve. Would you have reacted that way if it were a woman?"

Steve rolled his eyes this time, shoving his jeans over his thighs toward his ankles. He kicked them off, reaching for a pair of loose, black Nike shorts that he usually wore around the house.

He kept his back to you as he yanked them over his hips, slung low enough to show the newly cut muscles he'd gained over gruesome training for higher-stake title fights. He'd been training at a rigorous pace that worried anyone not on his payroll—you most of all.

He was always littered in bruises, always sporting some kind of migraine bordering concussion—and most of all, his anger was at an all time high. If it wasn't something you did, it was something you hadn't done. If it wasn't you, it was anyone nearest you that breathed wrong. It was anyone, anywhere, anytime. No one was spared of Steve's wrath.

But you bared the brunt of it.

"No, because a woman wouldn't be slobbering all over you—"

"—we were talking, Steve! Something you and I don't seem to be doing lately. So yeah—"

"—what? What the fuck are you talking about?" Steve's face screwed sideways, body turning to face you finally.

"—yeah, I'm gonna talk to someone who actually listens to me. It's like talking to a brick fucking wall with you lately."

Steve reared back, then jutted forward: chin first, eyebrows furrowed, eyes squinted inquisitively. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He hadn't been listening to you?

"Well, maybe I'm fucking tired after working all day, honey. Maybe I don't wanna hear you whine and complain about how boring it is—"

"—ew, God, did you just say that? Do you hear yourself? You think you're so fuckin' important. So fuckin' high and mighty now that you're in Hollywood, right?"

Steve glared at you, jaw tightening. "You know I don't give a shit about—"

"Oh," you snapped, brows raising. "Oh, you don't? No? No, you didn't throw a tantrum after you lost that fight last year?"

"No—"

"You didn't freak the fuck out when Title didn't cut you 'what you deserved' after the Davidson fight?"

"No, don't twist my fuckin'—"

You were standing toe to toe now, Steve half-clothed and barefoot, the dress you'd been wearing all day still sticking to your skin from Californian heat and a humid gym. Your feet were killing you. Your face was flaming hot. Steve's nostrils were flaring rapidly and his breathing was growing unsteady.

This had been building up. After months of fighting and making up, after weeks of giving silent treatments only to be suckered into his kisses and murmured apologies. Months of picking up pieces of picture frames he broke in outburst, deciding to hang them up without the glass to keep from breaking because you couldn't afford his temper. Weeks of wondering when you'd break, when you'd finally snap and ask what the hell happened to the man that protected you, loved you, made you feel like something special and cherished?

Because the man standing in front of you was nothing like the man you first met. The man standing in front of you, millions of dollars richer and all the worse for it, was a cold, hard shell of who you once knew.

"I know you, Steve. You might think you can fool me by pretending you don't care about Hollywood and money and fame but—I know you, Steven. And all you care about," you stepped closer, glaring up the tip of your nose at the broad, fuming boxer, "is your ego."

It was the one-fingered push to his chest that set him off. You were on your way through the door, heading back into the bedroom to put space between the pair of you. But Steve wouldn't let you have the last word. Steve wouldn't let you be right.

"Oh, but it's my 'ego' payin' for all this, isn't it? Huh? I haven't heard you complainin' about all those diamonds around your neck, right?"

The grip Steve had on your arm was all too familiar, and he used it to yank you back around with a force that made you flinch. His hand burned where it wrung your bicep, and you ground your teeth to keep the tears at bay. You wouldn't cry prematurely. You had every right to scream and rage right now.

And with the way Steve was looking at you right now, all condescending pouts and head tilts, chasing your gaze when you wouldn't give it to him because he wanted to corner you—it made you feel truly insane.

"Yeah, you don't care so much about my 'ego' when I'm fundin' your lifestyle, do you, sweetheart? When I'm buyin' all those pretty dresses and fueling a fuckin' jet." Steve punctuated the sharp snap of his teeth with a tightened grip on your arm, using it to yank you into his chest.

You shoved at his chest, eyes starting to burn. "So fucking take it, Steve. I don't want any of it."

Steve tipped his head again, face too close for your liking. You suddenly didn't find those swampy eyes so endearing. The menacing sneer he wore in the ring wasn't so handsome up close.

"No?—"

"No!" you snapped, shoving him again, glaring up at him with wet eyes. "Take it all back, you fucking asshole! It means nothing to me. I was here for you. I was here because I loved you!"

You were crying now, and you hated yourself for it. Why wouldn't you just be strong, breathe through it? Why did he always have to get the best of you? Why did he always have to make you cry?

Steve was silent this time, and it almost made you feel worse. Since when did he have nothing to say to 'I love you?' With a whimpered grunt building in your throat, you shoved your forearm into Steve's stomach, urging him away. His hand loosened around your other arm just enough for you to rip it away, and with another shove to his chest, you yanked free from his hold and stomped toward the closet.

"Here, take it all back, you fucking dick!"

You hurled your clothes toward the bedroom where Steve was fuming at the end of the bed, glaring at all the items piling on the plush, cream carpet. Dresses, skirts, shoes, purses. When you returned to the bedroom, you yanked the pearl drop earrings from your ears and tossed them toward his looming figure. His eyes hardened when they barely brushed his nose.

"There, have it, Steve," you snapped.

You stomped toward the door, rushing for the stairs. Stepping over the mess you made, Steve was quick to follow, bare feet padding the freshly cleaned wood until they met the carpet of the stairs again. You ignored him, sniffling and wiping at your tears, until he took one large step in front of you. You took one back, bumping into the entryway wall as a result.

Blocking your path to the kitchen, Steve crossed his arms and glared down at you. He had you cornered. "Don't act like you're so fucking innocent here, honey," he sneered.

You rolled your eyes, mirroring his stance and folding your arms. "Yeah, I'm sure you'll find something to dock me for, Steven. What did I do this time, huh? Did I breathe wrong?"

"You always fucking flirt with them. You always flirt with other guys, and you know what that does to me. You do it just to fuck with my head." Steve tapped his temple and you tipped your head back with a groan.

"God, you're still on this? I don't flirt with anyone, Steve! The only man I want to be with is you!" Though you weren't so sure you even wanted that anymore.

You wanted Steve—grumpy but lovable, privately sweet and adorable with a dry sense of humor that always made you giggle even when he wasn't trying to be funny. You wanted the Steve that brought you flowers every time he came to pick you up back home in Indiana. You wanted the Steve that begged to wash your hair because he 'liked how your shampoo smelled,' and the Steve who watched you sleep because 'you looked so pretty.'

You didn't want Steve 'The King of the Ring.' You didn't want the Steve that glared and screamed and treated you like another opponent in the ring.

"Oh, yeah? Well what was so fuckin' funny that you had to caress that guy's arm today? Tell me, baby. Was he just so fucking funny—"

"—Jesus, Steve, shut up!"

The tip of Steve's finger bumped your nose when it came to point in your face. "Don't tell me to shut up."

You smacked his hand away, rivaling his mean stare with one of your own. If stares could slice, Steve's head would be in pieces by now.

"Or what?"

The apple of Steve's cheeks were round and red, and a splotchy trail of heat began to scale the length of his neck. You should have shut up. You should have walked away.

You should've left him months ago when you cut your finger cleaning up another one of his messes and he told you to 'be more careful.'

You shouldn't love a man like this.

"Stop it, Libby," he told you lowly, head shaking. "I don't wanna do this with you."

You scoffed, brushing your hair away from your forehead. It was starting to gather a sheen of sweat. "Yeah, right. You only wanna yell at me when I don't yell back, right? You push, and push, and push, and then call me crazy when I finally explode, right, Steve?"

Steve dropped his arms and placed his hands on his hips. His shoulders shrugged in that cocky, douchebag way that always had you boiling.

"I mean...if the shoe fits."

And it was there that any chance of dropping this argument went out the window. It was there that you truly lost it.

Bobbing your head, you dropped your own hands and used them to shove Steve's chest, punctuating every word with a little nudge. You were only adding fuel to the fire, but you were too enraptured by your own fury to care. Finally you were angry, and finally it felt good.

"Oh, is that right? Well, you know what they say about you, Steve? You're just. Like. Your. Daddy."

The house fell silent. You weren't sure Steve was even breathing. But he was staring at you, eyes void and face blank. The only sound that filled the emptiness was the thump of your own heart, like a gong reverberating in your ears.

The regret didn't have a moment to sink in before Steve lunged back into place and slammed his hands into the wall on either side of your head. You jumped, freezing stock-still between his arms caging you in. Your breathing shallowed, caught in the center of your throat.

"Oh, yeah?" Steve growled, tipping his head to find your eyes again. "That's how you feel, honey?"

"Well," you swallowed, steeling your nerves. Steve wouldn't get the best of you today. "If the shoe fucking fits."

"Shut up!"

The impact of Steve's fist against the drywall felt like a firework in your ear. Earth-shattering, ear-splitting, jolting you so hard you lost your breath for a moment. You felt the whoosh of air when he reared back, felt the boom of his hand breaking the foundation. It crumbled in chunks of shattered plaster, clattering against the hardwood.

The room around Steve seemed to vignette. Shadows gathered around the shape of his face, and the space in your lungs shrunk to a minuscule amount. You suddenly couldn't breathe. There was no room in your body for air. Your ears hurt and your cheeks felt swollen, the way they do when you're about to be sick. That sore, stinging ache that came from the onset of tears gathered behind your eyes.

Steve's face went through a series of shifts in the next few palpable moments of silence. First, contorted in anger: brows furrowed and angled down, lip curled into a sneering scowl, cheeks flushed hot red. Then: the brows softened and knitted together, his cheeks dimmed to a soft pink, and his mouth fell agape. His fingers uncurled from their place in the wall. More plaster fell to the floor in chips.

"Oh...oh, god, baby—"

You were out of there. You were so out of there.

You ducked under Steve's arm, still crowding you against the wall. You sprinted for the door, unconcerned about your purse or any of your belongings strewn around the house. The only thing on your mind was getting away.

"I-I'm taking the car," you stuttered out, though you weren't sure why. Maybe you were talking to yourself, reminding yourself to keep moving, to not stop. You couldn't stop. You had to keep going.

"No, don't take the car, baby—"

The jingle of keys between your fingers sounded miles away. As did Steve's voice, following you out the door with a pleading upturn and a nasally whine. He was crying. In the back of your mind, you registered that. Someplace in your head, you saw his tears, heard his pleading.

But you just kept going.

You slid into the car and slammed the door, immediately encompassed by the thick heat collected inside. The brown leather was warm. The engine rumbled to life.

Steve ran across the driveway, all flat grey stones he had redone. His bare feet collected flecks of dirt, little pebbles lodged in his heels. But he had to get to you. He lunged for the car—his car, with you in the passenger seat leaking a shower of tears he wasn't quite sure you knew you were shedding.

Steve banged on the driver window and winced at the sight of his own hand: swollen, split at the knuckles and seeping hot blood. It trickled down his hand and raced for his wrists. He hated how it stained the glass of the window, how it got all over the handle when he yanked at it.

"No, baby, please. Please, baby, open the door. Please, please, please."

You yanked the car into reverse, fingers unsteady and buzzing with some far off, tingling feeling. Everything felt like someone else's actions, someone else's body. It felt like you were watching from a distance.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't go. Baby. I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry."

You were hiccuping and choking on your own breath as you slammed your foot on the gas and whipped the car around. In the rearview, Steve jogged after the car, half naked and bleeding, and you hurried to put it in drive and haul off. You squealed out of the driveway, down the hill, and toward the end of the street, sobbing the whole way.

It was about five minutes later that you managed to get ahold of yourself. You slurped up whatever snot attempted to escape your nose, wiped it with the back of your still-trembling hand, and clicked on the turn signal to go right.

There were only two other people you knew in Malibu. Right now, you needed a friend.

♡ ♡

to be continued...

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marlynnofmany · 1 year

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A Peaceful Upheaval

The mutiny started politely enough. This was a courier ship, not some rowdy bandit cruiser, and the dozen or so people onboard approached the situation with all the calm levelheadedness of businessfolks at a board meeting. The captain was new. He was bad at this. He’d only gotten the job because his cousin had recommended him, and she was probably regretting that.

“We will discuss the matter with Captain Kamm when we land,” said Piercing Sunlight, the lizardlike Heatseeker with bright yellow scales. She was taking point in the conversation.

“Kamm doesn’t have to hear about this,” objected Captain Pockap, his green tentacles lashing in agitation. “All of you need to go back to your stations and reconsider how you talk to your captain.” He looked like an octopus with freckles, and he sounded like a petulant child.

“Did you not hear the statement?” Zhee asked with an irritated click of his pincher arms. His patience never seemed lengthy, but now it was getting shorter by the minute. “You are no longer our captain. We have decreed it.” His exoskeleton shone with purple glory, and he radiated annoyance.

The rest of the crew spoke up, agreeing in one way or another. Teeth were bared, and body parts I didn’t have made increasingly urgent threat displays.

I, the only human and the newest arrival to the team, stayed well in the back. This really wasn’t my business. I didn’t have much of a say. And I didn’t like the direction it was going.

When Pockap the ex-captain started yelling, I gave up on playing silent witness and ducked into the next room. I’d seen him pull a tiny stun gun out of nowhere before, hidden among his tentacles, and I didn’t like the odds of him opening fire on the crew.

Just as I thought that, he yelled “Who emptied the charge in this??” Then came the loud slap of a tentacle against someone’s face, followed by insulted gasps and an open brawl.

I edged farther from the door, looking around and realizing I’d trapped myself in the storage room where the extra stun guns were kept. Great choice. Stellar. And there was only one door.

Time to be a hide-and-seek champion, I thought as the sounds of alien violence grew closer. Somebody else gets to wrestle the octopus with the gun.

My hiding options weren’t great: under a table, behind a crate, maybe inside a cabinet, and the ventilation shaft was too small. The table and crate were terrible coverage. The cabinet with the stun guns was close to the door, but the one against the far wall looked big enough. I dashed over and flung it open.

Yup, that’ll do. Only the bottom shelves were full; the top three held just a couple stray tools, and I knew from time spent cleaning that the shelves were removable. I yanked out the top ones, stashed them below, then climbed in to curl up in a space that was roomier than my childhood closet. I crouched among wrenches and whatever, watching through the air slits as I pulled the door shut, making sure to keep it from latching. Locking myself in was another problem I didn’t need.

Speaking of problems, I thought as Pockap spun into the room, his green tentacles thrashing against Mur’s dark blue ones in a cartoonish tumble. I’d never seen two Strongarms fight before. It was kind of funny. They were slapping at each other’s faces and going for eye gouges, which meant neither could see where they were going. They knocked over the table and spread tools all over the floor before anyone else caught up.

When the twin Frillians waded in to break it up, followed by other beefy crewmembers, an unfortunate development happened: Pockap found a stun gun.

“Back off!” he shouted, blasting the nearest Frillian in the face and wriggling free of Mur’s grasp. Mur ducked behind a box while the other Frillian caught her frozen brother before he could hurt himself against the floor. Pockap froze her too, then brandished the gun at everyone else, yelling about how much the stun would hurt when it wore off, and how they had better respect him or else.

I held very still inside my cabinet.

What can I do? I thought. Too bad I can’t call the other ship from here. Nobody’s told Kamm yet. I shifted in place to keep my feet from falling asleep, and nudged the random tools I hadn’t cleared out. I froze at the scraping noise.

No one heard; they were all busy shouting at each other.

What even is this one — Oh hey. I rested my hand on the distinct shape of another stun gun. Whoever put things away last time did a terrible job, and I thank them for it.

I held it up in the dim light. Half power. Good enough for self defense. Or…

“One step closer and you’re spending the rest of the trip as a statue!” Pockap was yelling. “Only thawing out to hurt before getting frozen again!”

I opened the door just enough to snake my arm through, aimed, and zapped him in the back of the head.

Pockap froze mid-rant, and slowly toppled forward. Stunned silence filled the room until somebody saw my hand.

“Ha!” Sunlight laughed. “Is there a human in there? How did you fit? Great shot.”

I opened the door the rest of the way to loud approval, with half the crew exclaiming over the way their tall new crewmate folded up so well, and the rest dealing with Pockap’s mess.

“No amicable splitting of ways for this one,” Mur declared, cradling a sprained tentacle. “I won’t be writing him a reference.”

“No, I don’t think any of us will,” Sunlight said. She gazed at him thoughtfully as I climbed down. “Let’s call Kamm. No point in waiting til we land; she’ll want to know.”

“I’ll put the stun guns away,” I volunteered. “This cabinet is full of things in the wrong place.”

“Thank you,” Sunlight told me. “How did you fit in there? You have bones. Have you practiced hiding in tight spaces before?”

“No more than the next person,” I said. “Though I was really good at hide-and-seek as a kid.”

The lizardy alien blinked at me. “Hide and what?”

“It’s where everybody hides and one person has to find them,” I explained. “Then the last person found has to take a turn as the seeker.”

Zhee tipped the table back upright with his pincher arms. “Half of that sounds like a standard predator game, but I can’t imagine taking turns being prey too. How embarrassing.”

I shrugged. “If you say so. It was pretty useful today.”

“Yes,” Sunlight said with a smile. “You’re only prey until you decide otherwise! That’s the spirit. Well, we’re grateful for your childhood practice today. Let’s get this unworthy individual locked up, then talk strategy. I have some ideas of how we can improve on Pockap’s business plan that I think everyone will be on board with.”

I had no doubt. Captain Piercing Sunlight would be a much better leader than her predecessor.

She started off by giving me a bonus for putting my skills to good use, so clearly she was very wise.

~~~

The further adventures in backstory for the book! There’s more to come.

#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #hide and seek #haso #hfy #eiad #my writing #the Token Human

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writeforfandoms · 4 months

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Warrior Song 15

Find the series masterlist

Well, we made it to the end of this fic. This is not the last I'll write of Master Chief, but I may take a break for a bit. I think I managed to wrap up everything with this last chapter, but if you have any lingering questions, I'd love to hear them!

Now, let's get this lot squared away, shall we?

Warnings: Swearing, mention of injuries, little bit of politics, everything will be okay.

Word count: 2.7k

By the time you caught up to John, there were a group of Sangheili walking towards him. He didn't have a weapon in hand, so you figured it was safe enough.

“Master Chief,” the one in front greeted, silvery armor different from what you were used to seeing. “It has been a long time.”

“Arbiter.” Chief inclined his head, ever so slightly.

“You are a difficult man to find.”

Chief just shrugged. You held back your laughter.

“How did you find us?” Fernando joined you on your other side, subtly bracing you to help you get weight off your injured leg.

“There was unusual slipspace activity,” Arbiter said calmly. “Whoever was controlling the computer was sloppy - pieces fell through, and from them we were able to determine the coordinates of this weapon.”

You blinked. You’d gotten probably half of that, but you were also exhausted, so. Whatever.

“We have injured,” Chief cut in, fortunately not looking down at you. “Limited supplies.”

“I have enough to share,” Arbiter agreed easily. “I will summon aid as well from the nearest human ships. In the meantime, you must tell me what happened here.”

Chief nodded once, taking a step forward. Kelly (who had appeared from nowhere and nearly gave you a heart attack) ushered you and Fernando away, more or less gently.

“Kelly, what–?” You started to ask, frowning.

“You are supposed to be resting,” she reminded you. “I could always carry you.”

You huffed but didn’t object further. Okay. Fine. So she was right. But you wanted to know what was going on!

Somehow you ended up back in bed, pouting, a tray of food on your lap and Kelly making sure you and Fernando both ate. (Fernando opted to sit on the floor.)

After the third time you huffed at your food, Kelly huffed back at you.

“Keep that up and I won’t ask Fred for updates.”

You pouted harder but ate in silence.

Vaguely, you could hear the camp buzzing around you, excited voices and the stomp of feet and movement all combining into one continuous drone. You’d bet news of the Sangheili ships had spread fast. Or maybe they’d heard about the human ships coming to aid too? How long would that take? How long had you been asleep, even? Long enough for Arbiter to arrive, clearly, but how long had that taken?

“Stop thinking,” Kelly advised, poking your cheek.

“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled. And then paused.

Welp. You were dead.

Kelly huffed a tiny laugh. “So the explosion did knock the sense out of you,” she teased.

You had no defense for that, so you just hunkered down in your bed, ears burning. At least you weren’t as sore today, though probably still some level of dehydrated. Your thigh was definitely the worst of your injuries still.

“Why did you blow up Atriox?”

The sudden question from Fernando startled you, and you blinked rapidly as you refocused on him. “It seemed like a good idea at the time? And, I mean, it’s not like he was friendly.”

Fernando shook his head. “No, I know that, but why you?”

Oh. That was the issue. You swallowed, looking down at the blanket pulled up over your lap. “It’s not like I sat there and debated the pros and cons,” you started slowly, picking at a loose thread. “It just… happened. I was there. I had a grenade. Nobody else was close enough, and he was doing something, and I couldn’t think of any other way to stop him.”

Fernando perched next to you, taking one of your hands in his, ducking his head a little to meet your gaze. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, you got out okay, yeah?”

You sniffled once, hands starting to shake. “Only because of John,” you whispered, shaking your head a little. “It was dumb, but I couldn’t do nothing.”

Fernando wordlessly pulled you into him, one hand patting your back gently but a little awkwardly as you fought back tears.

“Here. Tea.” Kelly nudged you, ever aware of her strength, holding a mug until you took it. Fernando looked a little relieved, honestly. You couldn’t blame him.

“Any idea how long things will take?” You took a sip of the tea. A little bland, but warm and soothing.

Kelly shrugged, a monumental shift of broad shoulders. “Arbiter is chatty. Could be a while. Longer for ships to arrive.”

Naturally. You made a face but didn’t protest, just drinking your tea. You still felt unsteady, like thinking too hard about anything might tip you out of balance again. Logically, you knew you shouldn’t be surprised - you’d had a harrowing experience that was going to stay with you for a long time.

But logic was hard to come by when you were busy wrestling your emotions back under control.

The quiet was almost too much, after the stress of the last few days. But it was good, too - at least it meant there wasn’t any further excitement. Against your will, your head started to dip, eyelids growing heavy. The quiet was also very good for making you sleepy, at least when you were running on so little sleep.

Fernando pushed you to take a nap, promising he’d wake you when something happened.

So when you did wake up, bleary and confused, to someone sitting next to you, you thought it was Fernando.

“Go back to sleep,” John murmured, voice low and rough. A heavy arm settled over your waist as John laid down behind you, already dressed down.

“What happened?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep.

“Nothing yet.” He breathed out slowly, tickling the back of your neck. “Sleep.”

You huffed half-heartedly. You wanted more answers. But the furnace-like heat of him was soothing, his even breathing lulling you back to sleep before you could voice a complaint.

You woke next time over-warm, restless and finally alert again. It took a bit of doing to get out from under John’s arm, but you did it.

Only to find him awake, lips twitching with the barest of smiles, eyes bright with amusement. You dropped your head, torn between embarrassment and amusement.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.” He didn’t move, just watching you.

“Good, you can catch me up on everything that I missed yesterday.” You sat up carefully, mindful of your bruises and aches.

John shrugged, looking up at you while still reclined. “Nothing interesting.”

“Nothing interesting?” Your eyebrows shot up. “Somehow I doubt that.”

John shrugged again, though his lips twitched. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Arbiter has agreed to give us aid,” he said, either taking pity on you or deciding not to test your patience. “UNSC ships are on the way, but it’ll take time for them to get here.”

You nodded, not quite sure how you felt about that. You’d been away for so long, and then this Halo had become its own kind of existence. You didn’t know what would happen after this, anxiety rising at all the possibilities parading through your mind.

You breathed in slowly. You didn’t need to have all the answers right now. You were okay. You had time.

John was watching you, though he didn’t reach for you. He just watched.

You managed a little smile. “Breakfast?” Sure, you did both need to eat, but also you needed out of this conversation and out of your head.

That got him moving, and it wasn’t long until the two of you were walking to get food. Your thigh ached, forcing you to go slower than normal, but you grit your teeth and worked through it. John didn’t offer to carry you, which was good because you probably would have hurt yourself smacking him.

It was odd to see Sangheili around the base, standing taller than most everybody else. They kept out of the way, mostly, though a few of them had humans with them. You couldn’t hear the conversations, but you imagined mostly it was to do with supplies. Probably.

John still attracted stares, as always, and you could just hear murmurs rippling through camp about the encounter with the Endless. How anybody knew, you weren’t sure, and you weren’t sure you cared to find out. It didn’t really matter, anyway. Soldiers were terrible gossips, so the story was bound to get around and probably even grow.

But he wasn't the only one attracting stares.

You finally caught on when someone ahead of you in the chow line actually stopped and turned to look at you. Not at John. At you.

“John,” you whispered, gaze flitting from person to person, uncertain.

“Ignore them,” he muttered, gaze flicking down to yours before he gently nudged you forward.

You frowned but didn't say anything more, just getting your food and then finding an empty table. The stares bothered you though, in a way they never had when it was just John people stared at.

And then Fred plopped down next to you, making the bench shudder under his sudden weight, the bulk of him blocking most of the rest of the room from your view. The arm he threw over your shoulders helped.

“Good to see you awake,” he rumbled, flashing you a smile.

“Thanks.” You relaxed, finally doing more than just poking at your food. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, not much.” Fred smirked down at you. “Just that you became a legend.”

You choked on your bite of food. There were several moments of flurry as both Spartans tried to help, until you were no longer choking. “What?” You managed to ask, a little wheezy still.

Fred and John exchanged a look before Fred cleared his throat. “Well,” Fred started, unusually slowly. “Word has gotten around about your part in defeating Atriox.”

“I'm sorry, my what? My part?” You couldn't quite help the way your voice slowly went up in pitch.

“You did roll a grenade under him,” John pointed out, entirely too reasonably.

“That was hardly anything,” you pointed out, gaze darting between the two Spartans. “I was mostly useless.”

“You survived.” Fred spoke quietly, almost gently, his gaze fixed on you.

Your jaw dropped a little and you looked between the two rapidly, not sure how you felt. How you should feel. Your head throbbed, too much too soon, and you shoved away from the table abruptly. It felt like every eye in the mess was on you as you walked swiftly out, palms clammy, breathing fast.

You didn't want any of this. You hadn't done that for recognition, or anything like that. You'd just wanted to help.

A call of your name finally jerked you to a halt, and you blinked rapidly. You'd made it almost all the way to the edge of camp, the Pelican not far from you. Fernando watched from the open door, hair extra ruffled.

“You okay?” He asked, brow furrowing in his concern.

“Just…” You shrugged, hands flapping uselessly at your side as words failed you entirely.

Fernando didn't push. Instead he stepped down onto the grass, walking over to you. He looked at you, closely enough that you weren't sure what to think, before he nodded once.

“I see you learned part of why I avoid the mess.”

That startled a huff out of you. “I think so,” you agreed, dry but more settled.

“Come on, got some rations here.” Fernando dropped his arm over your shoulders, leading you into the Pelican. “Did Chief bother to catch you up on the actual news?”

“I think so,” you murmured, settling easily into the copilot seat and taking the bar that Fernando handed you. “We're getting supplies and stuff from the Sangheili, and human ships are on the way to us.”

“That's about it,” Fernando agreed. “Joy says it shouldn't be more than a week.”

“Right!” Joy popped to life between the two of you with an easy smile. “And then everybody will get to go home!”

Home. The thought filled your chest with an odd ache. You weren't ready to think about home yet. “But we've had so much fun here,” you snarked. “What are we doing about the remaining Endless?”

Joy shrugged, though the look she shot to Fernando was almost worried. “I don't think that's been decided yet.”

“You are doing nothing,” Fernando scolded, even as he held out a canteen to you. “You are staying where it is safe.”

You snorted. “I'm staying with John.”

Fernando eyed you, clearly debating if he could win an argument. His lips twitched. “Stubborn.”

You laughed quietly. “What's that old saying? Pot something kettle?”

Fernando just snickered at you. “Finish eating,” he ordered you. “And drink more water.”

You blinked at him, momentarily nonplussed. “Since when did you get bossy?” But you took another bite of the bar.

“Since things keep happening and you keep getting hurt.” Fernando watched you to make sure you ate and drank before he finally looked away, satisfied.

Silence settled between the two of you, comfortable after all this time together.

You wondered if you'd still be able to find this kind of quiet after the rescue ships arrived.

“You know you're not going to end up alone, right?”

You jerked your gaze to Fernando, who wasn't even looking at you, but out at the view ahead of you both. It looked deceptively peaceful, with only a few lingering marks of humanity around.

“I don't…” You swallowed, not sure how to finish that sentence.

“Chief will follow you wherever you go,” Fernando continued. “And I'm with him. Pretty sure Blue Team follows him too, mostly. So you won't be alone.”

You breathed through the shock and revelation of that. You'd unpack that issue another day.

“Neither will you,” you pointed out, giving him the same courtesy of watching the long grass sway.

Both of you pretended not to notice signs of high emotion in the other.

Heavy boots coming up the ramp made you both turn, watching as John approached. He didn’t say anything, just stood calmly between the two of you, one hand resting on your shoulder.

He didn’t magically make things better. The panic still gnawed at your chest, the ache in your thigh hadn’t abated, and the dampness under your eyes hadn’t suddenly gone away.

But you felt better, anyway. Just having John at your side helped.

Things weren’t okay, and possibly never would be. But you were all alive.

That was enough.

–

It took a week for human ships to arrive.

Arbiter had led an assault against the remaining Endless, with Blue Team of course. You stayed behind, with Fernando threatening to sit on you. You did hear afterwards that there were fewer Endless than anticipated. Kelly seemed relaxed… except for the tap of her fingers against her thigh.

But there was nothing else to be done. If some Endless somehow managed to get off the Halo, nobody knew how, or where they had gone. There was nothing to be done.

It took a little time to arrange evacuation - the wounded went first, then everyone else. Chief, of course, insisted on being on the Pelican, along with Blue Team and yourself. Fernando, of course, was piloting.

You personally made sure Lindsay and Carter got on board a ship.

It was odd, seeing the base so empty. Not many were left beyond a few Sangheili and the last of the survivors of the Infinite.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Fernando murmured, unconsciously mirroring your thoughts, even as he stood next to you.

“It is.” Your lips twisted in some complicated expression. You wouldn’t miss life here. You’d never miss those months of fear and cold and survival. But all the same… “Just as strange to suddenly be going back.”

Fernando hummed soft understanding. “It’s not all bad,” he said with a little teasing nudge of his elbow to your ribs.

“No,” you agreed, hearing John coming up behind the two of you. “Not all.”

“These are the last to board,” John informed you, one big hand settling at your waist. “The Pelican is loaded.”

You breathed in deep, slowly. This Halo truly was beautiful.

Maybe someday you’d be able to look at long grass and flowers again.

“Let’s go,” you said, turning away from the view to look up at John, staring into the familiar gold of his visor.

Even though you couldn’t see his expression, you knew he smiled. Just a little. Just for you. “Together.”

#warrior song #master chief x reader #john-117 x reader #f!reader

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ikilledjoffery · 2 years

Note

in desperate need of an Jacerys x reader fic 😭 romantic plot 🫣

1.2k words

taglist: @sweetybuzz25 @armanee

“Are you getting prepared to match your dress to those?” Jace popped his head up from where he was bent down, flowers in hand.

“No, unlike you uncle, I wish to show my affections to my one betrothed.” Jace stood up fully and wiped his empty hand off onto his pant leg.

“By getting her plants from a garden she sees every passing day?” Aegon circled where his nephew stood as he looked between Jace’s disgruntled face and the beautiful fresh flowers.

“The she you’re referring to loves flowers regardless of how many times she sees them. I think it best that you stay in your own marriage and not involve yourself in mine.” Jace held the flowers close himself, afraid that if he didn’t do such that Aegon may try to take them.

“Yes, well, when she’s done seeing flowers and wants more from her partner she knows where to find me.” Aegon copied Jace’s tone before he continued on his way through the garden, not necessarily looking for a fight. He just wanted to get a rise out of his nephew.

Jace stood and looked at the flowers in his hand, Aegon was right, you’d seen them a hundred times and there was nothing special about being given them. In fact it was even less special because now they were apart from their plant and were more likely to die. It’s not that he would ever take advice from his uncle but he did seem right about this. Jace took the flowers he had picked and sat them on the stones next to the area in which he had pulled them from with a sigh.

“I need to go to my training anyway.” With a shake of his head he abandoned the flowers he was going to give you and headed to the training court where he and his brother were being taught to spar and use weaponry properly.

Jace had returned to his quarters after his session dirty, cold, and exhausted. The irritation and anger Aegon had incited in him did quite a bit of good for his fight. But something in him still felt sorry that he hadn’t said anything to you, seen you, or given you the flowers he had picked beforehand. That was always your thing, so that you could give him well wishes before he went to train just in case. Especially if one day Aemond decided to join in. He began to remove his armor as he heard a knock at his door, assumed it was one of his handmaidens, and gave them the go ahead to come inside.

“You would not believe what I found!” You walked into the door holding wilted flowers in an extended hand with a smile.

“Y/n!” Jace stood up with one boot on trying to find his under shirt he had just stripped himself of, as he hopped around he tried to hold onto several objects in his line of sight.

“Jace!” You jested at him before sitting on the edge of his bed where his chest plate sat as he resisted gravity's urge to topple him over.

“Wait, what do you have?” He leaned his body weight on the desk nearest his bed to look at what you had in your hand.

“I was doing my walkthrough of the garden and I almost stepped on these! Someone must have picked them, I thought perhaps they thought them dead because they are a bit wilted. But they are healthy enough to stick in water and keep alive.” You handed your handful of flowers to Jace and he examined them, they were the exact same flowers he was going to give to you.

“Don't you tire of seeing the same flowers over again? Why the excitement over these?” Jace spoke out of insecurity and honesty and kept his gaze on the flowers.

“Jace, those flowers grow in the same place but not together, and yes I see them quite a bit but never together like that. While I do spend ample amounts of time in the garden I don’t get mess with the flowers much at all. I love the way they look, how I can rearrange them in a vase, and how I can see them every morning without having to rise much. It’s like asking a dragon why they get excited over seeing gold when they already have so much. Because each piece is different and means something of its own.” You spoke to Jace calmly and scooted closer to where he stood so that you could point out the different flowers and then even the differences between similar flowers.

“Do you want the truth about your flowers?” Jace’s voice was like light rain on stones as he looked at you.

“What truth do you speak of?” You smiled as he passed the flowers back into your hand and kicked off his other boot so that he was more even standing on the ground.

“I picked those flowers for you but was convinced to rid of them.” Jace sighed and reached out to touch your shoulder as he expected you to get upset with him.

“By whom?” The moment you said that a thought popped into your head that made you gasp, “It was Aegon wasn’t it. That little termite!” The look on Jace’s face said more of a yes than any yes that he could give you.

“I apologize my lady, I shouldn’t have been so easily coerced into ridding my hand of your flowers.” You rose from your seat and sat the flowers on the edge of the bed where you had been sitting in a neat little pile.

“Do not apologize, I understand how hard it is to ignore that tiny man’s agitating mouth. He would not have stopped until he knew he had affected you negatively. Know that I enjoy these so. They’re absolutely beautiful, you have quite the eye.” You now stood with your arms around his shoulders, hands brushing the upper part of his shoulders.

“I know I do, I look at you and understand what that means.” He placed his hands on your waist and stood with a smile on his face.

“Jace, we are going to get in some type of distress.” You laughed as you looked to him.

“Whatever do you speak of?” He tilted his head to the side and reached one of his hands up to mess with the collar of your dress.

“Well you stand here missing your top, and we stand here with our hands on one another. Looks awfully suspicious to someone outside of this perspective.” Jace suddenly came back to the realization that he was in fact stood in front of you half naked.

“I suppose you’re right. But before we allow chaos to consume us, allow me to do this.” He leaned down, his head still tipped to the right as he waited for you to meet him halfway.

“I suppose.” You huffed and leaned into him and did as he proposed. The moment his lips met yours the hand on your waist moved to your back to allow you to be as close to him as he could get you.

“I think you need to be clothed and I need to put your flowers in some water.” You separated the two of you and pressed your forehead against his with a small smile.

“Always the responsible one.” He winked at you before letting his grip on your falter which allowed you to move from him.

Picking up your flowers off the end of his bed you whispered, “Always the romantic.”

#jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacerys velaryon #jace velaryon imagine #jace velaryon x reader #jacerys x reader #jacerys imagine #jacerys velaryon x reader #jacerys velaryon imagine

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eldritch-spouse · 8 months

Note

Hi Pinnie! Chopping block anon here again! Could we fill this prompt with Santi or Ludwig? I'm banging my head on the nearest wall, I can't choose. Honestly, I know I'll love whatever you end up writing. 😍

How would any of the TCE gang react to finding the object of their obsession (that they'd been actively trying to keep away from the Clergy) on Morrel's chopping block? :o

[Ludwig isn't really a current part of TCE, so I'm going with good old Santi. Also, I feel that this isn't where you wanted it to go, but I got a few thoughts along the way. Fem reader.]

TW: Nonconsensual hypnotism; Implied nonconsensual sharing.

He knew something was up when you didn't so much as answer a morning text.

You need time alone. All humans do. He thought he would too when he would occasionally -Very rarely- Humor the thought of a relationship. But something didn't sit right with Santi when hours passed and you gave him nothing, absolute radio silence- When you're usually so talkative, even in your moodiest days, you'll at least bother to call him a pervert.

The incubus supposes he ought to keep himself busy for a bit before persisting again. He knows he's... A little too eager for contact, and that can naturally irk you. Maybe one day of relative silence might make you trust him more.

The demon has been making the rounds through most of The Clergy's floor for the entire night, restless in his pursuit of clientele, in a desperate effort to get his mind off you. Really, Santi has made more than enough money to honestly call it a day- The crowds are well-entertained and buzzing with a healthy amount of titillation, all is well.

Except he's not quite satisfied. He's in a foul mood honestly. Sometimes it would show on his sculped features as he pleasured those keening beneath him, nothing he couldn't wave aside or fluster out of their minds if they did notice.

He can't quite tell what brings him to the restaurant. Sure, he loves the dirty little thrill of sliding his hand down the table cloth and making someone loll their tongue out with pleasure while they pretend to eat, but most people here don't really have their minds on sex. They're harder catches, essentially.

And yet, when Santi passes by the main kitchen doors, a sound makes him halt. Not just any sound, a squeal. That by itself is no motive to stall, the incubus is well aware Morell loves his job, loves butchering, that he often takes the time to play with his food

-Like the dirty little fuck he is, sticking his fingers everywhere and bending helpless humans onto his cock, like toys, like fuckmeat. A depraved lunatic, pleasant company in Santi's opinion-

But, for some reason, the incubus is sure he recognizes that squeal from somewhere. It could be mere witless paranoia, but the echo of it in his mind doesn't let his feet unroot from their spot, so he figures he might as well check for himself. A dark hand knocks playfully on the heavy kitchen doors, receiving no immediate reply.

" Morell? " He tries.

There's some shuffling, then an eventual. " ... 'M busy! "

Yeah, "busy". Maybe balls deep in one of them already.

" Oh I'll be quick, dear- Just one peek, yes? "

More shifting and another stressed noise he could swear sounds a little too familiar, rubs him the wrong way, before something that sounds a lot like "piss off" gets mumbled back to him.

Typical.

That's why Santi only sighs before parting said doors and quietly weaseling inside.

The bobbles racing around only wave at him before buzzing around in their tasks, giving the demon a decent berth and easily circumventing him. As usual, they're completely unbothered by what their boss is up to.

The salacious, mischievous expression the incubus used in preparation to excuse himself to the chef dies as soon as his eyes scroll up to the chopping table.

Now is the time to pat himself in the back for listening to his gut, because none other than you, his darling minx, lie sprawled on that metal rectangle, like no more than a slab of meat. Your top has been torn off, pieces of it messily fashioned into a blindfold and gag. Morell stands with one hand on your thigh and the other tight around the handle of his cleaver.

Something inside him boils hotter than the rifts of Wrath. By the way you struggle in your binds, it's more than clear you're not enjoying a second of it, and Santi almost wants to believe Morell didn't intentionally seek you out. He's never been that nefarious, that putrid. To provoke the demon he works with.

He couldn't. Not when Santi never even introduced you to his coworkers. They only know your first name and vague descriptions of your face, your hair... That's not enough for someone he works with to miraculously hunt you down.

" Tha Hell did ah say?! Ya- "

" Where did you get that one? "

Santi almost doesn't recognize his own tone, and apparently, it gives the shroom monster pause too. Morell notices something's amiss, he's clever enough to notice the tense state the concubus is in, eyes glowing brighter at each passing second, deceptively still, one wrong answer away from perhaps impulsively starting a fight.

Morell looks at the human woman on his table, then back to Santi. " ... Tha fuck are ya on 'bout? "

" Where. Did you get that one? "

The chef's hand moves to your bare stomach, keeping you from squirming off the cold surface easily while he shifts to face his coworker better.

" Tha usual, Santi. I ain't been havin' time ta hunt 'em on mah own. " He shrugs. " Suppliers. "

The demon continues to glare at the blue monster for a long pause, finding no hint of a lie on those odd eyes. Only confusion and the remnants of exhilaration from what he was previously up to. This calms Santi a great deal. It was just a freak accident, yes? He let his favorite fox run a little too close to home, and she got snatched up... The incubus doesn't even want to think about what would happen if he hadn't come here in this exact nick of time.

Was it a silent nudge from Krulu? No. No, of course not, that's laughable- The lord of this pit spares no empathy for frivolities like their workers' love lives. Still, some unknowable force capable of penetrating the fog of this Clergy steered him well tonight.

Had this been no one of interest, the incubus would have still mauled the perpetrator to a pulp, if only just to prove a point. Or to thrill himself a little. But this is different. Very different. He can make the most out of it if he plays his cards right.

Santi shakes his head, then advances on the pair, unbothered by Morell's defensive puffing.

" You ought to start checking your stock more thoroughly. And not just their orifices. " He teases.

There's an eye roll. " Oh, tha's real fuckin' rich comin' from ya. "

He knows.

Nevertheless, Santi only smiles a little before hooking his claws into the waistband of your pants, grabbing your panties as well, before quickly pulling the fabric down. The newly revealed skin bares a jet black mark that is, by now, unmistakable to anyone who works with Santi. A concubus mark. His mark, elegantly claiming your most intimate parts for himself.

His claws tap idly on the meat of your hips as he watches the chef's face freeze, eyes widening.

" This one belongs to me. "

Silence. You wriggle and sob behind the gag.

" Shit. "

" Yeah. "

" I thought ah... Checked that one. "

The cook looks torn. There's some manner of guilt and cringing written on that darkened complexion, he clearly doesn't intend to continue this, but there's also some selfish sort of turmoil in his body language. As if he's upset he started the process and is now going to have a "pig" taken from his hands.

Santi's smile turns into a disgusting grin when a lightbulb casts complete depravity into his mind's eye. Your mark starts glowing, heating, and your struggling is rapidly paused. Morell squints.

" Hm, but what were you up to just now? "

The shroom hesitates, making some manner of motion with his dominant hand, which clutches his favored piece of sharp equipment.

Santi clicks this tongue. " Nice try. Before that. "

You start wriggling beneath the bigger monster's palm. It's no longer the jerking of a panicked figure trying desperately to escape, but a restless sort of agony. Morell's fuse lights up under the perceived scrutiny.

" Where tha fuck are ya goin' with this?! "

Santi arches a brow.

A quick glance flickers over your form. Today has been exceedingly traumatizing for you, the demon doesn't need to be in your shoes to know that. No one makes it out of Morell's kitchen, and if they do, they'll never be the same. You don't belong in The Clergy, not yet at least, and Santi knows that even with your currently arousal-fried brain, you're going to remember the events of today for the rest of your life- Something he can't allow to happen.

Fortunately, he knows someone who can just... Eat this unfortunate day out of your long term memory.

And, since you're not going to recall a lick of it, why not make this interesting?

What you don't know can't hurt you.

The incubus hums a wordless tune, pulling your remaining clothes down your legs, an easy task, your overheated body yearns to bare itself, he barely has to do anything. Once you're bare, Santi moves to the other side of the table, where your head rests, and starts undoing your blindfold.

Morell grumbles something incomprehensible and he snorts.

" Relax. Why would I stop you from pleasuring my minx? " Santi all but purrs.

" Yer real fuckin' weird. " Morell offers after an incredulous pause. " This ain't rubbin' ya tha wrong way? "

" Oh this is rubbing me all sorts of ways, Mori. "

" Gross- "

" You're hard. " The chef's protests are swiftly silenced. " I can't blame you. She's irresistible, isn't she? "

Morell crosses spotted arms over his chest and casts his eyes away. " She's uh... She's real purtty. "

That's one way to put it.

Santi chuckles when the torn cloth comes off, revealing a flustered, disoriented face. Your eyes glaze deliciously, pupils dilated in want as they surf between him and the blue monster, the mark's hunger going full throttle on your poor organism. The magic of a high-ranker is one Hell of a drug, isn't it? You make a desperate, muffled noise.

" There there, I'm here. You'll be taken care of soon. " He lulls, voice dipping in pitch just to make you shiver. Your head is lovingly raised so you can properly view the other. " That there is my friend. You wouldn't mind playing with him a bit, would you, love? "

Predictably, you nod enthusiastically, going as far as to part your legs in your stupor. Slick gathers excessively on your already stimulated pussy.

" Go on, Morell. "

Said monster gulps behind his thick scarf, drool clinging to his teeth at the lurid encouragement of his fiendish coworker, his fingers already itching to reach out and do as he pleases.

" Show us what you do with your piggies. "

#Santi oc #Morell oc #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia

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nikolai-alexi · 10 months

Text

For @jegulus-microfic

Prompt: Weekend (I’m a day late, but I fell asleep at my desk writing this last night lmao)

WC: 1,250 i really tried to keep it under 1k but fjdjdnfjr here we are i once again failed the “micro” portion of this

Tags: Poly RoseStarKillerChaser (Jegulus x Rosekiller), a very strange RSKC dynamic here, James and Regulus have been together for a year-ish but James, Evan and Barty are only just beginning to navigate their own little relationship, James is quite anxious about the whole thing but he’s trying really hard, it’s very vaguely implied that Regulus, Evan and Barty have been together for a while (in what capacity? idk man I just work here), it’s all very queer platonic tbh, they’re just a big puppy pile of exhausted people and everyone uses James as a human heater like the little reptiles they are, Barty is a human wrecking ball and just constantly walks into a room and bites whoever’s nearest to him because he’s Barty and what else would he do, I have an unreasonable amount of affection for James calling Barty “bub”, Evan is adorable and touch starved and just wants a hug, Reg is a cat animagus, it’s vvv wholesome

It’s the first weekend they’ve all managed to be together since term started. Which is, objectively, insane because it’s Christmas break. Every single time they’ve tried to spend any amount of time together, someone has had something come up. Whether that’s exam prep, suspicious friends, detentions, or projects, it’s all somehow managed to ruin their plans.

And look, James gets that trying to make four schedules align all at once whilst avoiding suspicion from friends or getting caught by professors is difficult, but he is sick of it. This…thing…they have going is new. It’s tremulous and blooming and none of them really know where the lines are with each other. It makes James so incredibly nervous. He knows where he stands with Regulus, after a year together he feels mostly confident in what he’s doing with Regulus, the boundaries, the navigating, the trauma responses. But with Evan and Barty? He has no idea what the hell is happening. It makes him anxious. He wants to know how to define the lines of this strange relationship the all have. They aren’t friends, but they aren’t not friends, but they aren’t lovers, but they aren’t not lovers. It makes James’ head spin. He doesn’t like not having clear expectations.

He’s forcefully ripped out of his rather maudlin thoughts when someone audibly collides with his side, knocking the breath out of his lungs with a soft “oof” and disturbing the previously peacefully sleeping cat on his lap. Regulus, in his frankly adorable animagus form, grumbles without opening his eyes more than a tiny slit and rearranges himself before going back to sleep. The scent of cigarette smoke, whiskey, and Evan’s vanilla shampoo invades his nostrils when he tries to turn his head.

Barty is slumped unceremoniously against his side, face buried into James’ neck, one hand atop Regulus’ soft fur, and the other fisted in James’ shirt.

Then Barty bites him. Hard.

James rolls his eyes. This, he understands. Their new dynamic may only be a few months old, but Barty entering a room and biting the nearest person to him? That was old news.

“That bad, bub?” He asks quietly.

Barty doesn’t say anything, just stops biting him so he can tuck his head into James’ neck and nod. James’ free hand instinctively comes up to card through Barty’s hair like he’s seen Evan do thousands of times. Barty stiffens at the first few passes of James’ fingers, but he slowly relaxes and James can feel his low hum resonate through his own chest.

He shifts just a bit and sees Barty’s ridiculously long legs hanging off the armrest of the sofa and chuckles. Barty is just a slumped over heap of awkward limbs and exhaustion. James’ wand is in his bag across the room, but a casual flick of his wrist has it sailing towards him.

Transfiguring the sofa whilst they’re laying on on it is a bit trickier, but he’s not been the top student in transfiguration for seven years straight for nothing. He manages to get a large bed with a bit of a crooked frame beneath them after several long minutes without disturbing Reg or Barty. Both of them are fast asleep. He’s not sure when Barty drifted off, but he can feel his soft snores against his neck.

Thank Merlin for the amount of Quidditch training he does, because trying to situate Barty is a feat, but eventually, he gets Barty tucked against his right side so he’s no longer hanging precariously off the furniture. Regulus has abandoned James’ legs in favour of smushing himself in between James and Barty, the body heat thief he is.

When Evan comes barrelling through the door of the Come and Go Room an hour later with dark purple bags under his eyes and a manic sort of look, James just holds his left arm out in invitation. Evan sheds his shoes and outer robes with easy efficiency and falls onto the transfigured bed in an eerily similar fashion to Barty. Evan isn’t quite as tactile with James as Barty is yet, so he has to quickly mask his surprise when Evan tucks himself against James’ side, tucking his freezing hands under James’ shirt.

“You okay?” James asks, careful to keep his voice as quiet as possible. Regulus still opens his eyes enough to glare at him, but perks up considerably when he sees Evan and comes to curl up on James’ chest, tucking himself under Evan’s chin. James feels him purring just seconds later. Reg doesn’t pick favourites, my left arse cheek, James thinks with a wry grin.

Evan sighs softly, and his breath tickles, but he doesn’t say anything, not that James expects him to. Evan is like Regulus with his words — selective and careful. When he speaks, you stop and listen. When he doesn’t speak, you listen to what his silence says. Evan and Regulus communicate more in their quietness than they ever do with speech. It’s been something James has had to actively work very hard on to understand. He and Barty operate on a much similar frequency to each other. They’re both chaotic and loud in their own ways. Barty has a mean streak that gets him into trouble, and James has no boundaries with other people which gets him into shitty situations. They balance each other out, sorta. James attempts to keep Barty from hexing first years and Barty pushes anyone who has the audacity to look at James wrong down the stairs. It works…sometimes.

James brings his arm up and very tentatively wraps it around Evan; a silent question hanging in the air between them, to which Evan nods his acquiesce. That small gesture makes warmth bloom behind his breastbone and he knows he’s not imagining the almost inaudible huff of laughter from Evan when he no doubt hears James’ heartbeat pick up underneath his ear. He doesn’t bother to keep the grin off his face.

He wraps his arm around Evan and drapes his arm over Regulus’ back, brushing his fingers against Barty’s. He doesn’t hold Evan to him, just keeps his arm loose and relaxed, draped over him. Never pinning or holding him down. Evan’s breath comes quickly for a few, long moments, but eventually it steadies out once more. It doesn’t take long, between being tucked against James’ side, the purring cat curled under his chin, and Barty’s annoying, but comforting snores, for Evan to fall prey to the siren call of sleep too.

James remains awake a while longer. He listens to Barty snoring, feels Regulus purring and his little paws making biscuits in his sleep, breathes in the smell of vanilla and the Forest after a rain shower that perpetually clings to Evan, and feels his mind’s activity slow to a crawl. All of his anxieties take a back seat, his racing thoughts settle down, and the constant buzzing between his ears quiets. He knows they only have this weekend. Monday will come around and Regulus and Evan will have to go back to their awful families for the holidays, he will go to his parents’, and Barty will be left, alone, at school. He knows they only have three days of this together, but from where he’s laying, this doesn’t seem like a bad way to spend their time together.

He loses the battle against sleep with a sweet smile stretched across his lips. Yeah, he thinks, this isn’t a bad way to spend it at all.

#jegulus microfic #jegulus #rosekiller #Jegulus x rosekiller #rosestarkillerchaser #regulus x james x evan x barty #regulus black #james potter #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #marauders era #barty crouch junior #1k+ words

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chaifootsteps · 3 months

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I honestly think the fandom is focusing all their unhinged fury at you because they constantly need someone to be a villain. First anyone who was a critic as a racist/sexist/homophobe. Then Erin came out about SH and suddenly she was the evil mastermind eating babies and trying to destroy their precious show. Then Ken came out and they were now the comically evil boogeyman of the week. Kedi got shit for defending the victims who came forward. Tracy and Goose are apparently villains now simply for existing in Viv’s field of view.

They always need a ghoulishly evil strawman to sling mud at and divert attention from the increasingly apparent fact that Viv is an awful writer and an even worse person. They’ve sunk years of emotional investment into what ultimately amounted to a huge letdown and for some people it’s just easier to double down than reconsider their original position. So they choose to make it someone else’s fault.

Erin’s gone. Ken is mostly just doing their thing. Kedi is doing their thing. Tracy and Goose refuse to engage with them. So they reach for the nearest possible thing and there’s you. You refuse to let everything Viv’s done get swept under the rug and that’s inconvenient to her and her stans so they’re making you the center of their next hate campaign. It’s the sort of behavior Viv has groomed them into because she refuses to be an adult for five seconds and tell them to knock it off.

Idk how she doesn’t see how bad it looks for her to sit back and allow this kind of behavior. Obviously she can’t control what her fans do, but refusing to denounce objectively repugnant behavior is not a good look.

I think you're 100% right. They need a supervillain for their own comfort, need to believe that if I just stop talking about this or go away, then criticism of Vivzie will too.

They don't realize that Vivienne Medrano's glaring flaws as a writer and a person will exist even if every critic currently shining a light on them disappears, and it will only be a matter of time before someone else notices and speaks up. No matter how hard they try, they can't protect her from herself.

#Anonymous #vivziepop #vivziepop fandom #vivziepop critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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snapeaddict · 6 months

Text

Snapetober Day 23 - Remembrance

Inspired by this prompt by @foodncomfort

The knocks got louder and louder, but he could not get to the door, nor did he want to - he vaguely wished for whoever was there to go away and turned his attention back to the bathroom mirror and sink. He was sick one more time, and he grimaced as another tremor ran through his stomach, painfully building its way up to his chest.

He had nothing to show for it. He could barely vomit some yellowish bile.

"Severus."

He bolted upright, turning his gaze towards the threshold and away from the vile contents of his empty stomach. Minerva McGonagall was standing by the door.

Of all people, she was here - he felt an uncontrollable fury rise within him, a sort of painful, rage-fueled despair.

"Get out", he said venomously, narrowing his eyes. "Get out, now."

Minerva looked startled. No - that was an understatement. She looked utterly shocked. But contrary to what he expected, she took a step forward and raised her hand, though with some hesitation.

"Severus, I don't understand. Are you sick? We were supposed to meet half an hour ago, I've been looking for you everywhere - I - I apologise for coming in uninvited, I was merely worried -"

"Get out."

She lowered her arm.

"What happened, Severus?"

Shaking his head, the Potions Master caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. Another rush of adrenaline, a nauseating feeling of shame submerged him and he felt the urge to seize the nearest object and throw it against the wall - but he was not like his father - still, sometimes he wished to be.

Things would be easier.

"I have told you to get out", he replied quietly, taking his eyes off the mirror and back to her. "Leave."

"I can't possibly leave you in that state, Severus. You look like you can barely stand. Are you having a panic attack?"

He snapped. Walking past her and almost pushing her in the process, he made his way into the living room, fixated on the door.

She had no right to come in. She had no right to watch him in his weakest moment, to humiliate him once more - no right -

"Severus!"

Certainly he looked like a madman.

"Do you really want to know what has gotten into me, Minerva?" he almost spit at her, now struggling to breathe properly. "Your precious Potter - he went into the pensieve, he went snooping, he saw a lovely memory of mine, from my schooldays - his dear father undressing me in front of a crowd... in front of his mother... He..."

He could not say another word. It made it too real, palpable, and he could not allow this to resurface.

Minerva took a step forward, once more. She tried to reach for him, but he recoiled, leaning against the wall for support.

"Severus. What do you mean, undressing you? I never heard anything about this. Surely I should know-"

"Why should you? Of all people, you and Dumbledore - aren't you the ones who did their best to turn a blind eye to anything that involved any Gryffindor? Did you think I would make a complaint? That Black and Potter would turn themselves in? You, Minerva, don't know anything because you never wanted to know."

The deputy headmistress looked petrified. Her face had gone almost as white as his, and her lips were trembling slightly; she stumbled upon her words, she shook her head, but found nothing to reply.

Undressed?

"Severus... I didn't know."

Undressed?

He laughed bitterly.

"We have already established this fact."

"I am sorry. I am so sorry."

Undressed?

"Leave."

For a second, she looked as though she was about to protest. But then she saw the effect each of her glances had on him - it was as if she burnt him with every look, with every word, every attempt at solicitude. There was no reaching through to him. Whatever it was that separated them, she could build no bridge - none.

And so she left, without a word, without a glance. Unknowingly, though, she did bring Severus some comfort: on her face was such a profound expression of shame that even he could not miss it.

#severus snape #pro snape #minerva mcgonagall #harry potter #severus snape fanfiction #snapetober #snapetober 2023 #snape #SWM #hp ootp

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iisasarcasticlittleshite · 1 year

Text

Thieves (Obey me x Reader)

In response to my last poll in which HCs won by a country mile, I present Mammon and Satan being needy little thieves! Enjoy!

MC has adapted several ways to evaluate the Devildom. This formerly alien place has now become rather familiar, but it plays by its own rules.

This is no less true for the seven brothers they share a roof with.

MC's had to learn quirks, hairpin triggers to flaming tempers, boundaries and fixations, but something they've also learned, is that each and every one of those brothers is a little thief.

Mammon had been oddly quiet all day. Ten hours without seeing him, and MC hadn't received a single text or disgruntled call. Not even a second hand message passed through his brothers.

It's odd, they find themselves staring aimlessly at their DDD as they make their way to their room for the evening. It's getting late, later than MC would've stayed out if not for Diavolo and Lucifer's company.

No amount of staring at the screen will change it though, no new messages from their first demon.

With a pursed frown, they push open their bedroom door, eager to get comfortable for the evening.

They peeled off the nice clothes they'd worn for dinner with the demon prince and reach for their favourite hoodie, the one that practically lives on the chair at their desk, only to be met instead by bare wood.

'Huh? Where'd I put-?'

Muttering to themselves, MC spun in a circle, searching for the familiar shade of painfully comfortable fabric, internally wondering how in the Devildom they'd misplaced THAT.

MC's more likely to loose their head than that hoodie, and as they finish the first lap of their room, they realise they haven't lost it at all.

It's been stolen.

Eyes rolling, they pull on an oversized tee shirt and shuffle out of the room, padding on bare feet.

Given the circumstances, there's only one demon who would attempt such thievery.

They knocked once on Mammon's door before pushing it open, and found him lounging on his sofa, wearing MC's double oversized, baggy hoodie as he scrolled through his phone.

'Whatdya want Luci-? Oh shit!'

The demon's expression was downright comical as he scrambled to try and cover himself with something. Too bad that the nearest object was a ridiculously tiny throw pillow.

Still, he's anything but a quitter and holds the item firmly to his chest. 'H-hey, what're ya doin' bargin' into a guy's room, human?!'

'Looking for that.' MC chuckled, leaning smugly against the closed door. 'If you missed me that much, you could've just said so.'

Mammon's cheeks became a delightful shade of rose, all too perfect to ignore. 'Like hell I'd miss ya! Puny human, you're lucky I don't-'

'Don't what?' MC purred, stepping forward until they stood between the demon's legs, gentle fingers combing the hair back from his face gently. 'Steal the rest of my wardrobe?'

Mammon gulped, wide eyes unable to look away from the human, his human, smiling down at him like he...like he mattered, like they loved him.

Before he can think to fake an objection, MC slid into his lap, arms sliding around his neck as they cuddled close, yawn slipping past their lips.

'If you're gonna steal my comfy hoodie, you'd better be ready to replace it, greedy menace.'

Of all the Devildom's lords, you'd have thought Satan sat on the far end of the spectrum when it came to open clinginess.

MC's a long way from being fooled into thinking that he's immune to missing them, despite the demon's stoicism.

On an outing with Solomon, MC had lost all ability to use their DDD (not at all because they were trapped in a pocket dimension after Solomon tried to prove a point).

By the time they'd returned to their proper places, MC had at least a dozen texts and three missed calls from the demon.

Rushing to the House of Lamentation, ready with apologies on their tongue for missing the planned reading date, they found the Avatar of Wrath's room empty.

Crestfallen, MC started typing a message on their way back to their own room, only to hear Satan's notification ping from beyond the door.

They found the mighty, terrifying avatar of Wrath, curled up on their bed with a book and MC's favourite plushie in his lap, their blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

'Shut the door!' Demanded the blonde, fighting off a blush as MC began to giggle.

With the door closed and locked behind them, MC arched a brow. 'Missed me that much? We resort to stealing plushies now?'

'It's still in your room, therefore, not stolen.'

'Uh huh. So you've just replaced me with a plushie sheep?'

Satan's returning smile was impish, one he saved for MC's playful bantering. He set the little sheep aside gently, and wordlessly opened his arms, eyes never once wandering from MC.

The human didn't hesitate, crawling into his lap in the little sheep's place, resting their cheek against his shoulder as Satan wrapped the blanket around them both and picked his book back up.

'Read to me?'

The demon pressed a kiss to the crown of their head, free hand gliding through their hair. 'Of course, love.'

#obey me mammon x reader #obey me satan #obey me x mc #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me fluff #obey me satan x mc

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kararisa · 1 year

Text

marigold promises

— 24. how could i, when it's you? [☕︎ = 0.9k words]

According to recent studies, bad weather has been linked to an increase in productivity. A rainy day can lead to more and better quality work getting done, which is especially useful knowledge for a sleep-deprived college student. Whenever it rains, you tend to knock out your tasks with relative ease.

You're not a big fan of the rain when it gets you wet, though.

As soon as the drizzle had started, you instinctively grabbed Albedo's hand and headed toward the nearest shelter — the greenhouse.

The first thing you notice as you enter the building with your companion is the scent of flora and dew. The second is the empty classroom setup near the other entrance.

You take a good look at Albedo. The rain wasn’t too heavy so his clothes aren’t entirely soaked through, but some water drips from his hair as he tries to dry off.

Right. This could be your chance to try and patch things up with him as best you can. But where do you start? What do you even say? Is it even worth it?

“I hope you’re not too soaked,” you say, beginning to dry yourself off. “It can get pretty chilly where we’re headed and I don’t want you freezing on me, now.”

“Cupcake,” he says. But you’re too busy trying to gather your thoughts.

Will he even hear you out? What will he say?

“Do you have an umbrella?” you dig through your belongings, looking for your umbrella. “We can share mine if you don’t.” You could talk to him while walking to your destination, would that work? No, maybe you could talk to him when you get to the restaurant?

The rain starts to pick up — you don’t hear his response, “Cupcake.”

“Let’s head off before it —“

"[name]," Albedo cuts through the sound of the rain and silences your echoing thoughts.

It gives you pause; you finally brace yourself and take a good look at him. His teal eyes, ever inquisitive, are looking straight at you. His hair is slightly damp, tied back in his usual updo. A pen is tucked behind his ear. And his pendant – the very symbol of your friendship.

He’s still wearing that damn pendant.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “What I said to you, how I treated you, was inexcusable. You bore the brunt of my anger when it was directed at anyone else but you. I hurt you, and I want to make it up to you in any way I can if you’ll let me.”

But wasn’t what he said true, in a sense? Day after day, you continue to chase after a goal you could never hope to achieve – outdo the one person who is smarter, better, and in so many other ways superior to you. Your efforts to surpass him have been obvious from the start, and he saw them for what they were: feeble attempts to be something you’re not.

That didn’t make what he said that day hurt any less, though.

You take one, two, three steps toward him until you’re right in front of him. There were so many things you wanted to say to him but you have one objective: Get answers — that's all you want from him.

Nothing more, nothing less.

He’s never felt so close yet so out of reach. But you know you have to take the first step.

A pause.

A breath.

And you finally respond, “Why did you do it? You take every chance you can get to butt heads with me, so why? Why concede when I know how much competing means to you?”

He keeps his gaze on you, “I… I was jealous. You’ve always been smarter than me ever since we were young. Even now when we both work equally as hard, you always surpass me. I’m not sure if that’s a testament to your own abilities or the lack of mine, but when Prof mentioned we had tied… I knew I had no chance of beating you if luck wasn’t on my side.”

“I’ve seen you work just as hard as I do,” you rebut, “You being a genius has nothing to do with luck.”

“Genuis… I don’t think I’m any genius,” Albedo averts his gaze. “I’m just… me.”

You reach out your hand and gently guide his chin towards you, “Look at me, Albedo.”

His teal eyes look into your own, reflecting your hesitation. In spite of it all, you were always one to take action.

And this time, you know exactly what to say.

“You’re one of the smartest people I know. That’s a fact,” you continue, dropping your hand to your side, “I’m sorry I snapped at you. That day… I jumped to conclusions when you told Prof you wanted me to be the representative. I thought you simply saw me as an obstacle, but you’ve made it clear now that’s not the case.”

“I thrust a decision upon you without talking to you first. That’s not fair to you.”

“And it’s not fair that I assumed you had malintent.”

“I literally glared at you.”

“I shoved you against a wall.”

He gives a small laugh at that, “I kinda deserved it, though.”

You laugh in turn, "Does this mean we can stop hating each other?"

He looks at you, confused, "Were we supposed to hate each other?"

"I thought you always hated me."

"I never hated you, Cupcake. How could I, when it's you?"

This time, it's your turn to look away.

The downpour only intensifies as you gesture to the door, "We should probably get going. Don't want the others arriving first now, do we?"

You two begin to make your way to the cafe, sharing your umbrella with the boy you once knew. The boy you now know better.

You don't mind getting a little wet if it means being closer to him.

— previous || masterlist || next

summary: it was evident that you and albedo have changed in the five years you’ve spent apart, but you know better than to view him through the lens of nostalgia. with one goal on your mind – graduate valedictorian – who better to stand in your way than the studious, intelligent, ice-cold albedo? one thing’s for sure: he’s going down.

author's notes:

even the rain was in on kokomi's plan

oh and to any of you who were playing slow burn bingo, don't forget to cross off "albedo says yn's name"

taglist (i):

@fvkkyu @mintreen @edreee @khyllynnn @xxmirrorballxx @aiikalvr @yaefics @unsterblich-prinz @aequha @alch3myy @lovely-althxa @nei-rinn @cridtiins @zestrya @skylions-den @moriiartt @theother-victoria @sunsethw4 @dazaisfavgf @serossidechick @koiir @lazy-sanns @sweetbunnybunbun @dee-zbignuts @redactedhimbo @yurstepm0m @fanfictwarrior @fuyaa @saoiirsee @ireallylikehamsters @elfxiao @whosxangel @kitsuvil @orionicchaos @blurr3db3rry @semi-orangeapple @kunikuzushiit @atlatcaheart @wrrapedroundmyfingerlikearing @scarafrisbee @lost-wicked-artist @kairxse @elysiasbae @eurekatanya @empathum @tatiratty @zannivrs @mikismusings @sunoo-bby @astolary

— the taglist is currently open! if you’d like to be added feel free to reply or send in an ask! – if your blog isn't highlighted it means i can't tag you.

#genshin smau #genshin impact smau #genshin x reader #genshin x you #albedo x reader #albedo x you #genshin fluff #albedo fluff #genshin modern au #marigold promises smau

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inkluvs · 9 months

Note

ribs — [ READ ] sender reads aloud to receiver with eddie munson 🫶🫶

rain or shine

WOO okay i think i really like this one? roma req 2/4 i hope u like this sweet <3 tw: implied insomnia? eddie being the sweetest <3 (0.4k)

eddie munson x reader

summer celly // masterlist // taglist

You can’t sleep. It’s not a new thing, Eddie’s used to it by now, you’d call him in the early morning, apologizing profusely for bothering him and he’d tell you to come over, and offer to pick you up because it’s so late. You’d say no, tell him it’s too late and that you’d walk over yourself, that you’d be fine, and that you’d be at his in 5, not giving him a chance to object.

He’d wait for you on the top step of the trailer, rain or shine, curly hair tied back, and a pair of thin wire glasses resting on his nose making his sleepy eyes look bigger. You’d smile and the sight, pretty brown eyes meeting yours as you scolded him for waiting outside, telling him that he’d get sick if he continued this. He’d lie, quite obviously, and tell you that he was just getting some air and you’d smile, stepping over him and pulling him inside.

Both of you would then go to lie down and Eddie’s voice would be low as you stare at the ceiling, your vision clouding at the edges with fatigue. His chest would vibrate against your cheek with each word from his lips, as he told you about his day, about his next campaign, anything and everything he could think of. Anything to get you to relax. Anything to get you to rest.

Eventually, you’d get frustrated with yourself, angry that your body didn’t want to cooperate, annoyed that you were dragging Eddie along with you. The boy would then get up a little too quickly, your chin knocking against his, and he’d look for the nearest book and flashlight, knocking over things on his nightstand in the process. He’d find them and flip to a random page, laying back down with the light in his other hand. He would then start reading, stopping only when your breathing evened out and you let out soft snores. Stopping only when you relaxed into him in your sleep.

There’d be an imprint of his shirt on your cheek the next morning, and you’d rub the indents in your skin before touching the fabric of Eddie’s shirt, apologizing again to the boy for bothering him the previous night. He’d shush you, still half asleep, before yawning and pulling you back into him. You’d succumb to sleep like it was the easiest thing in the world.

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soulofapatrick · 1 year

Text

Picture Perfect - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel is helping your dad refurbish your house, getting to your room and Joel knocks over a box with a bunch of private stuff and a picture of him shirtless on top

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: smut oral f!receiving; age gap (reader is 23 and Joel is 41)

Notes: dedicated to @chaotic-mystery for introducing me to the dbf!Joel genre

Y/N’s POV

I should’t be watching Joel, in my room, sweat glistening on his tanned skin in the summer heat. He’s currently shirtless, muscular arms flexing with every movement as he wields his tools, chest sculptured yet so soft at the same time. He moves so fluidly and with confidence, every movement deliberate and precise like it’s all second nature to him. I have known this man for years, having become my dad’s best friend not long after we moved to Austin, Texas and dad joined Joel’s construction company.

Dad and Joel grew so close it wasn’t a surprise when he became a fixture at our table, coming over for dinner once a week with Tommy - his cheeky and flirty younger brother - in tow. I remember admiring Joel’s larger than life attitude, booming laughter that would fill up the room and a sense of humour that would have dad reprimanding him despite how all of us were trying not to laugh.

As I grew older I couldn’t help it but began to notice things about Joel that I hadn’t before and he quickly became the object of all my late night needs, no one else attractive enough to really capture my attention. I know how dirty and wrong it is, to fall for my dad’s best friend as he’s old enough to be my own dad but the way his muscles rippled under his shirt when he worked or how his shirt clanged to his skin when he got all hot and sweaty from the summer heat… a girl had needs and Joel is a perfect specimen. I had tried to push the thought away for months, thinking it was a silly crush but then I started to notice more and more.

The way Joel would look at me across the table, deep honey eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer than he should, feeling a spark of electricity shoot through me. He’s been making more excuses to come over more often and help Dad with the renovations until Dad just hired him and Tommy. He’s invited me to dinner at his a few times and I’ve declined, worried if we start something we won’t be able to stop. That playful smirk and the gentle touches as he passes me, body brushing against mine and leaving me breathless, making my resolve slip further and further away.

That’s why I’m currently watching him, leaning in my doorway with two glasses of ice coffee in my hands and unable to speak or tear my eyes from him as he’s beautiful. He’s wiping the sweat from him forehead with the back of his hand and I notice the silver slivers of scars decorating his strong arms from all the construction work. He’s told me stories of how he got some of them before. He’s suddenly moving, rising to his feet and it’s like the world slows when his elbow catches a small shoebox and the contents scatter across the floor. The coffees are placed on the nearest surface before I’m scrambling forwards to gather the contents before Joel can take a good look at any of them but Joel’s already there. He’s grabbing the one thing I didn’t want him to see: a photo of him.

He’s rising again, turning to me with an eyebrow raised and an amused expression on that godly face. Those honey eyes twinkle mischievously and the corners of his lips quirk into a playful smirk until he sees the horrified look on my own face. His gaze softens a little and there’s something else there - a hint of desire as he takes a step closer to me with the picture still in his hand. The intensity of his gaze has my heart trying to skip a few beats and my cheeks flush with heat as there’s no way I can talk my way out of this one. He knows exactly what it is and what was in that box along with the picture.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here sweet girl.” Joel’s speaking, voice low and husky, sending shivers down my spine. There’s a playful edge to it, something else to it, something that makes my heart soar with hope that he might feel the exact same way as I do.

I go to speak, come up with a witty response but it dies on my tongue when Joel takes another step forwards until my back hits the wall and he’s crowding around me, hands resting on either side of my head. His breath ghosts over my face, hot and heavy, and the smell of the sweat on his skin mixed with the scent of his aftershave and musky cologne makes me weak at the knees and wet between the legs. The smirk on his face lets me know he hears the soft whimper that leaves my lips as I try my very hardest to keep my hands to myself as Tommy is still working in the next room. The sound of him hammering and sawing making me oh so aware of how close Joel is right now. What would Tommy say if he saw us like this?

Joel’s eyes are dark and intense when he looks at me, lips curving up into a bigger smirk as he asks, voice low and teasing, “So, what do you have to say for yourself? What would you daddy think of his little girl getting off to an image of his best friend, hmmm?”

“W-what do you mean?” I choke out, voice barely above a whisper and not very confident as desire and nervousness washes over me when I look up at him.

He’s leaning in even closer, breath hot against my ear, “You know what I mean,” He growls, lips brushing against my skin and sending shivers down my spine, “That picture in the box. You get off to it, don’t you?”

My heart races even faster with anticipation, knowing what’s coming next, one of his large and calloused hands moving to cup my jaw and draw me into the kiss. It’s desperate and needy, hands finding his shoulders and grasping onto hi tightly while one plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck. I can feel the warmth of his skin under my fingertips, the muscles in his back rippling as he pulls me closer, both hands moving to my hips and gripping them firmly as he presses his body against mine. The kiss is electric and intense, shivers rolling down my spine and I can feel a heartbeat but I’m not sure if it’s Joel’s or mine, my body responding to every touch.

His tongue slips past my lips when I let out a gasp, a small sound echoing his low moan when I tug at his loose curls, needing him closer and needing more of him. The kiss turns more passionate and all-consuming, fuelled by months of pent up desires. The intensity is building between us and I want more, I need more, whining when he has to pull away so we can gasp for air. His hands slide from my hips and down my thighs to the edge of my skirt, the rough pads tracing lightly up the insides of my thigh as he moves his lips to my neck. My body is on fire, his breath hot against my neck and fingers moving achingly slowly to where I want them. I’m tilting my head back and spreading my legs further to give him more access and he takes advantage of the opportunity. His fingers hook my panties to the side to slide one teasingly through my folds while his other trails kisses down my neck and collarbone, each touch igniting a deep and primal desire that is almost overwhelming.

“J-Joel, please.” I’m gasping out, the rough pad of his fingers making a singular quick and tight circle over my sensitive clit. He’s smirking into the skin of my neck, one hand slamming over my mouth as I cry out when he pushes in a finger to the knuckle without a warning. He curls it, hitting that sweet spot immediately and I’m moaning around his palm, hips rolling down when he begins to pump it in and out before adding a second one as that coil begins to tighten in my gut.

“You gotta be quiet sweet girl.” He coos in my ear before pulling back so he can watch the way his fingers disappear into me and how much my legs are shaking as I can barely believe that this is actually happening. Joel Miller, my dad’s best friend, is looking at me with that same desire and want as he sinks to his knees. I keen at the sudden emptiness, having to cover my own mouth when he sucks those fingers clean and letting out a low sound, his eyes fluttering shut in pleasure, “Patience darlin’.” He’s smirking again, one hand holding my hips against the wall as they buck into the air, searching for needed friction.

“Joooelll!” I’m whining, curling my hands in his hair and pulling and he’s chuckling, a deep rumble in his chest as he complies, hooking a leg over my shoulder. I groan in frustration when he blows cold air onto my wet heat, a moan slipping from his lips when I tug on his hair again before he’s licked a bold strip between my folds, sending a jolt through me. As soon as he starts he doesn’t let up, tongue delving into my fluttering core as far as it can go before moving on to swirl around my clit and sucking hard before going back to thrusting his tongue and it makes me see stars. My legs are shaking at I get closer and closer to euphoria, my hips grinding down on his face and his nose bumping my clit just right. His name is falling from my lips like a whispered prayer and his hands are on my ass, nails digging half moons and keeping his face pressed between my legs as the elastic band snaps and I’m seeing white. I can’t tell if I’m crying out, my whole body convulsing at the power of the orgasms, Joel’s large hands the only thing holding me up as he keeps going. He helps me ride out my bliss, not stopping until he’s swallowed up every last drop and fuck he looks so dirty when he pulls back.

Joel’s honey are almost black, pupils blown out and his chest is heaving. His face and beard glistening with my juices and his weathered cheeks are flushed red but despite it all there is a warmth and openness to his expression that has me breathless. It’s as if he’s wanting me to understand that this is more than a one time thing, he wants it to be more than that and fuck, so do I. He’s helping me get my panties and skirt back into position when the door flies open and I’m shrieking.

“James is back with dinner!” Tommy rushes out, finally taking in the scene he walked into and his russet eyes widen. Eyes flickering from where I’m leaning against the wall, chest heaving to where Joel is still on his knees with my slick still covering his face as if he’s unashamed of what just happened between us. I expect Tommy to turn and run to tell Dad but instead a cheeky smirk forms on his lips as his eyes brighten, “Didn’t know you were so-”

“Shut up Tommy,” Joel speaks, voice playful yet firm as he pulls himself to his feet and wiping his face on his discarded shirt, “Tell James we’ll be down in a second.” Tommy chuckles, throws a wink in our direction before bounding out the room and shutting the door behind him. My cheeks are burning and I can barely look at Joel when he turns back to me.

“Hey doll,” He’s hooking a finger under my chin, tilting my head up to meet his soft gaze. The look in his eyes is intense and serious, making my stomach flutter with nerves, especially when he speaks, voice low and husky again, “I want more sweet girl, I really do. But right now your dad’s waiting for us. We can talk about this tomorrow, yeah?”

I’m nodding, heart racing with anticipation for tomorrow and worry about how am I going to be able to face my dad downstairs? Joel was between my legs only minutes ago and now we have to go have a friendly meal like nothing happened? Joel’s silencing my thoughts when his lips meet mine in a sweet and tender kiss that speaks volumes of his affection for me. It’s a kiss that promises more to come but also reassures me that he really does care for me deeply.

As he pulls away, his hand lingering on the small of my back, and I can't help but lean into him. It's as if we're in our own little world, and nothing else matters. Tomorrow can wait; for now, we have each other, and that's all we need until he’s reluctantly breaking the moment but stepping back and pulling on his shirt.

“Come on, your dad awaits sweet girl.”

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

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sigmoon · 8 months

Text

𓇢𓆸 Wildflowers under the summer rain

Chapter two: Daffodils

You and Fyodor meet for the first time, and he offers you to become his right hand, cooperating with him in return of him saving you from Meursault.

cw: Brief mentions of PTSD, reader having slightly violent thoughts, some Pushkin slander.

Pairing: Fyodor Dostoyevsky x reader

During your brief period of detention in Meursault, you were certain that this place was a madhouse, its guards no less vile and bordering on insanity than the inmates. Eager to escape from this place, you gladly and blindly followed the men who somehow managed to find a way out (you still couldn’t wrap your head around how, since Meursault was a literal maze) and dragged you along with them.

But even though only a few hours have passed since you left the floating cube and your fellow inmates behind, you already wondered if Meursault was really that horrible compared to where you were now.

Your new home, as they called it, was a cold, gloomy underground labyrinth, spreading across god knows how many miles. The rats that occasionally scurried around your feet and made you jump and shiver, were still the most pleasant individuals down here.

Countless men with cold frowns, armed to the teeth with guns that looked so heavy you doubted you would even be able to lift them, one after another silently guiding you through the tunnels before passing you on to the next guy, ignoring all your questions about where you were, where you were heading and why you were even here.

At last, you were shoved into a room with a heavy steel door, which fell into its lock behind you with a loud ‘bang’, making you flinch. The room itself looked everything but cozy, enveloped in darkness, only a bunch of lit computer monitors on a wall illuminating the room in a purple light. As you took in your surroundings, fidgeting with the sleeves of the white prison onesie you still wore, your feet bare on the cold concrete floor, you were able to make out three figures spread across the room.

One of them was ridiculously tall, with strange, white bandages wrapped around his head, the other one slouching on an armchair in the corner, sending you such a lecherous look that you avoided looking his way altogether, so that your gaze landed on the third one, sitting at the desk before the huge monitors.

His aura almost knocked you off your feet. The man’s entire figure was radiating something so sinister and dark that you ached to be back in your cell— torturous, but familiar and less creepy than this. His gaze made you uncomfortable, felt like he was looking all the way down to the abysses of your soul, but it was also strangely hypnotizing. However, you felt a sudden urge to mark your territory, causing you to stare right back at him.

“When I heard of Meursault gaining another cruel, bloodthirsty, and dangerous inmate, I did not expect it to be a delicate creature like you,” he finally spoke. His voice was smooth like velvet, low but not deep, and laced with a thick accent you couldn’t quite define yet. His face was almost expressionless as he looked you up and down, only the corners of his mouth twitched into the faintest smirk.

“Your pet is drooling,” you replied dryly, ignoring his comment and pointing at the man on the armchair, who was still unashamedly sending you that weird look. That pervert looks like he has the shadiest search history on the planet, you thought and shivered. His staring creeped you out, but also enraged you, making you want to lunge forward and bash his head in with whatever nearest object you could reach, or simply slit him open and strangle him with his own intestines.

The man at the desk frowned at his subordinate on the armchair, which caused the latter to guiltily lower his gaze. Returning his attention back to you, the man introduced himself to you as Fyodor Dostoyevsky (which answered your question about the accent), the two men next to him as Ivan and Pushkin, and began extensively explaining why he saved you, out of everyone, from spending the rest of your days in Meursault.

Despite his thick accent, he spoke eloquently, explaining to you how your “little purging” before you got imprisoned caught his attention and how fitting an ability user like you would be for his organization. When you asked Fyodor about his own goals, he paused briefly before calmly asking his subordinates to leave the room.

“They don’t need to hear everything,” he explained once you and him had the room to yourselves. “You see, you and I, we are more alike than you think.”

“I doubt that.”

“Why?” he cocked his head. “Our motives are quite similar. We both want to create a world where the guilty are punished appropriately for their crimes so that those who have been wronged can find rest. Our goal is to make the world a better place, essentially.”

You looked at him, skeptical of what he claimed to “fight for”.

“The way I’ve been making use of my ability isn’t entirely noble or humane,” you said.

„I’m aware. My ability in its entirety is rather lethal, and yet I utilize it to achieve something greater than what we can currently imagine,” Fyodor said with a gentle smile, but the dark circles under his eyes did his soft expression no favor, he still radiated an energy that encouraged you to leave this place as soon as possible.

“By carrying out God’s will, a little harm at the cost of the guilty is justified, I believe. He has a plan, and I’m his servant, building the foundation for his creation. And when the deed is done, humankind will live in peace and harmony, abilities like ours becoming obsolete.”

You feared you were going to suffer a stroke if he kept on talking. Every sentence was dripping with arrogance and narcissism, making it almost painful to listen to him. As if that fanatic knew anything about your ability. There was no way he could know the full potential of your gift, even if he knew the exact details of how your victims were violated by you. There was so much more to it all that he had no clue of, parts of yourself that not even you fully understood.

“Whatever it is you’re offering or suggesting, I’m not interested,” you said, determined to turn down his offer to cooperate and just leave this place, starting anew somewhere far away.

“Oh, I’m afraid that’s not an option, my dear. I have no use of someone wasting oxygen here and refusing to contribute something.”

“Then show me the exit and I’ll be out of here in a heartbeat. It’s not like this place is particularly inviting to stay longer than necessary.”

“Think again," Fyodor chuckled. “Does that sound like something I would seriously agree to?”

“Not if you ask like that, no,” you murmured. What a stupid question. Considering how much you’ve seen and heard here by now, it was naive to think he would simply release you. He didn’t need to say it out loud for you to know that your options were working for him or dying. And as often as you longed for that sweet escape sometimes, being actively faced with the option scared you too much to go through with it. After all, there was a reason you had never actively tried it before. And besides, what services could he possibly ask of you, if you agreed to assist him? Considering what you’ve been through by now, it probably couldn’t be that awful.

“It’s not like I have much of a choice, anyway,” you sighed resigned.

“I knew you were a clever girl,” Fyodor chuckled, satisfied with your answer. “But one thing still makes me curious. What causes a person like you to commit such gruesome crimes? What did that man do to deserve to be so violated? Or any of the others you tormented…”

There it was. The question you’ve been dreading since this conversation started. You didn’t want to talk about that thing with Fyodor, couldn’t say it out loud regardless of who stood before you. However, Fyodor seemed to already have an idea, as your chest heaved with shallow, rapid breaths, or when you pressed your lips into a thin line, the look in your eyes betraying the unbearable feelings of shame and humiliation your soul harbored ever since it happened.

“Oh,” he murmured. “I understand.”

“Yup”, you choked out, feeling your chest tighten as you suppressed the urge to cry.

An expression that almost seemed like pity spread on Fyodor’s face, before he cleared his throat.

“Then I think that you have all the more reason to cooperate with me. I can give you the unique opportunity to continue ridding the world of those who destroy the lives of the innocent, just more efficiently than you did before, and without state forces being able to stop you. Consider it, you could seek revenge in the name of those who are unable to do it themselves, with your ability,” he said.

You remained silent, unsure what to do or say. You were an emotional wreck, this conversation, the past weeks in Meursault as well as the turbulent jailbreak taking a toll on you and using up great amounts of your strength and ability to think straight, let alone make a decision.

“How about we continue tomorrow, hm? I already have something in mind that you could do for me, and I’m certain you will handle the task with ease,” Fyodor suggested, noticing that trying to convince you now would be futile.

You nodded in agreement, craving nothing more than to be left alone right now.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee ♡

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Hio’s note: This chapter may not seem like it, but it took so long to finish, since it’s more like a “filler episode” than a very important contribution to the plot. But I needed to somehow involve reader’s and Fedya’s first meeting into the story instead of diving into the drama/smut/etc. right away. I hope you enjoy this chapter and the next ones anyway :)

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supercap2319 · 2 years

Text

The Return

Derek Hale X Male Reader

A/N: Based on the teaser clip.

The door to the locker room creaks open as Derek Hale carries his teenage son, Eli, in his arms bridal style. Y/N is at their heels as the young Hale protests to be let down. “Dad, put me down! Jesus.”

“Please put me down!”

“You… You said you couldn’t walk,” Derek said.

“I can hop.” Eli looks at his dad, a pleasing look on his face. “Fine.” Derek lets him down.

“Thanks.”

Y/N watches Eli hop toward the bench. Guess he inherited his father’s stubbornness. Outside, Y/N can hear the crowd of people who are cheering for the Beacon Hill lacrosse team. Coach Finstock blows his whistle. Y/N and Derek walk slowly towards Eli as he grunts a bit. “You almost had that shot, Eli,” Y/N said.

“No, I didn’t,” Eli says.

“Yes, you did. I, we both saw it,” Derek countered. “You were right at the goal.”

“You’re better than you think you are,” Y/N said.

“I was in for less than a minute, Y/N. I’m not good at all,” Eli said. “I got the ball for a second and I got knocked on my ass and twisted my ankle. That wasn’t nothing.”

“Eli!” Derek uses his father voice. Calm and commanding. “It was nothing, dad.”

“It was something. I was watching, coach and he saw it too. You’re good.” Derek and Y/N sat on both sides of Eli. “You’re really good. And if you can heal, you could play tomorrow night. And you can help them win,” Derek said as he looked at his son, a gentle look on his handsome features. It was rare for Derek to be gentle with anyone, minus a few people. Eli and Y/N were a few of those people. “The first step to transforming is healing. But you’ve gotta be willing to learn.” He puts a hand on his shoulder as Eli looks at him for a moment and grunts at his twisted leg.

Y/N bites his wrist and shows Eli it. All bloody. The young boy scrunches his nose in disgust. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Vampire blood can heal almost any injury. If your leg hurts that much, I can help heal you.” Y/N told him. “Or I could use some healing herbs back at my house?”

“I’ll go with the herbs,” Eli says quickly.

Y/N smiles. “Okay, fair point.”

Derek watches with a gentle smile on his face. It was good to see Eli and Y/N getting along so well. After his divorce from Lois, Derek wasn’t sure how his son would feel if his dad started seeing his old high school sweetheart again. Turns out that he didn't mind at all. As long as his father was happy, he was happy.

This little moment between them didn't last long as another door to the locker room creaked open as someone walked inside. The sound of a bowstring being pulled back was heard as Derek saw a shadowy figure in front of them. Something sharp and gleaming pointed at them. It whizzed towards them as Derek pushed Eli’s head down. “Get down!” The object that almost hit Eli in the head was an arrow. Black with a silver tip. It was lodged in a locker behind them.

“Run! Run!” Derek told him.

“I’ll keep him safe.” Y/N grabbed Eli and speeded away. The intruder draws another arrow from their quiver as they launch another shot. Derek uses his strength to move a row of lockers in front of the arrow. The person drops their bow as they grab a knife from their boot. They expertly twist it in their hands as Derek growls. The person charges and runs on top of a bench as they bring their knife down to take a swipe at Derek, who dodges it. The intruder jabs the knife forward as Derek blocks it with his arm. They go low as Derek blocks that as well. They take a swipe as Derek backs up. They charge as Derk grabs their arm and slams them against the nearest row of lockers.

He roars in their face as his eyes flash blue. Who thinks they can attack him, his son, Y/N, and live? The light catches the person’s face as he stops and is shocked when he learns who’s attacking them. It's… Allison Argent! Derek’s eyes return to normal as his fury has quelled. “Allison?” It can't be her. Allison has been dead for years. Stabbed in the heart by an Oni demon’s sword. Now she was here? Allison takes Derek's moment of hesitation as she pushes him back and punches him. as she switches the knife in her hands to her right as she raises it and stabs down with it. She pushes down with both hands as she tries to sink into Derek's chest. The Werewolf holds it up as they're both locked in a battle of strength, both sides pushing up and down. Derek doesn't want to hurt Allison, but she's not making this easy for him to hold back. He roars as he grabs the huntress, spins, and throws her to the ground as he runs towards the doors of the locker room.

Allison gets back up as she takes out a miniature crossbow and raises it towards the fleeting werewolf. She fires the trigger as the arrow flies and slices through the skin flesh of Derek Hale. A clean hit through his neck as he slams against the doors as he goes flying because of his forced weight on the easy moving doors. He slides to the floor. Allison picks up her bow as she walks towards Derek, an ominous feeling in her steps as the flickering lights of the locker room give her a predatory vibe. Derek struggles on the ground as he tries to crawl away from her, right hand on his bleeding out neck wound. He gasps and chokes, as he can’t even get any words out to reason with the Argent girl. Derek falls on his back as he looks up at Allison. Blood drips from his mouth and onto the floor as Allison stares coldly at him. This is it. This is how it’s going to end.

The huntress draws another arrow in the string as she pulls it back and takes aim. This time, she'll hit more than just a grazed wound. This time it will be a bullseye. Derek closes his eyes as he hears the arrow leave its bow and he prays that Y/N will look after Eli once he’s gone. Derek waits for the impact to hit him, but it never does. He hesitantly opens his eyes and, to his surprise; Y/N is standing in front of him, arrow caught in one hand. He shows Allison his vampire face as he roars, fangs out and sharp. “Leave him alone!” He stares at the intruder with anger, but that’s quickly replaced with shock as he sees who’s attacking them.

“Allison?” Y/N whispered. He stares at the daughter of Chris Argent. The daughter who was supposed to be dead, not alive and well. His brother’s first love. It just wasn’t possible. “Allison, I don’t know what’s going on, but we can help you. We’re not your enemies. Please put the bow down.”

Allison looks a bit shocked, but she quickly recovers as she draws another arrow and fires it, as the Heretic has no idea what’s in store for him. He catches the arrow and screams as he feels it burn his skin. He looks down at his hand, then the arrow. Vervain. He looks at Allison. How did she get vervain? Allison draws two knives as she charges towards Y/N as he runs towards her at super speed and dodges a swipe at his face as he grabs her and throws her back inside the locker room. He waves his hands as the doors close with telekinesis. Y/N’s not sure how long that will last, but he has to get Derek out of there fast. He rushes to him and kneels down.

“Hang on, Sour Wolf, I’ll get you out of here.” Y/N scoops up Derek in his arms and speeds away from the school building. He stops just in front of a car as Eli is leaning against it, a worried expression on his face. When he sees Y/N and Derek, he runs towards them. “Dad! Dad!”

He touched his dad’s face. He looks so worried that Y/N can see tears starting to form in his eyes. “Hey Eli, please don’t cry. He’ll be fine, I promise.” Eli wipes his almost fallen tears, as he looks at Y/N. “I wasn’t crying, dude. I have something stuck in my eyes.”

“Right. We need to get him somewhere safe.”

“Where?”

“My place,” Y/N said as he loaded Derek inside the car and got in the front seat and Eli in front as they drove away.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #teen wolf #werewolves #derek hale x male reader #derek hale #derek hale x y/n #derek hale x you #Derek Hale x guy #vince mattis #eli hale #tyler hoechlin x male reader #tyler hoechlin #Tyler hoechlin x guy #crystal reed #allison argent

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indie-summer · 3 months

Text

twisted

for @cycleprompttuesday

prompt: color

—

It was all João Almeida’s fault.

Or at least that is what Jonas thinks when he finds himself standing on a Twister mat, right next to Tadej Pogačar.

Despite Jonas’ objections, João insisted that, of course, five could play this game. Then he took the role of referee, safely away from all the messy contortions that were bound to happen, and made the other four take places on the mat.

Now, Jonas has his right foot on a yellow circle, left foot on the green one. Tadej is on his right, Cian and Juan stand on the opposite side. Then João starts bossing them around.

“Right foot, blue.”

Actually, this was Juan Ayuso’s fault.

Had Juan not started to mess around with the (mostly abandoned) hotel game room, he wouldn’t have found all those board games. The Twister box looks as old as Jonas, and that is saying something—he is the eldest of the men playing the game. Twister is for kids, and for the life of him, Jonas can’t remember why he accepted to take any part in it.

Now, Jonas and Tadej try to go for the same blue spot. Tadej places his right foot there first. He grins at Jonas, who has to think fast and drag his foot to the nearest vacant blue circle. Jonas tells himself the rush of adrenaline comes from his weird competitiveness, and not from the touch of their bare feet.

He doesn’t even acknowledge what Cian and Juan are doing on the other side of the mat, when João says, “Right hand, yellow.”

After giving it some thought, it was all Cian Uijtdebroeks’ fault.

Because Cian was so young—therefore, so full of energy on this second rest day of the Tour. Cian also longed for having friends in the peloton, and Jonas took him under his wing. Much like Jonas, Cian felt most comfortable around his own team. But unlike Jonas, he looked for acceptance elsewhere, too. Juan was a nice kid, so when he invited Cian over for game night at the UAE hotel, Jonas said to his younger teammate, sure, you should go, it’ll be fun. And when Cian confessed that the idea of going alone made him feel a little embarrassed and too self-conscious, Jonas said, fine, I’ll go with you, I’ll stay just for a little bit.

Now, he deeply regrets this.

He easily lowers his hand to the yellow circle next to his foot. Then realizes that Tadej took the spot available… well, right between Jonas’ legs.

Jonas is familiar with that hand, from the lines and freckles to the long fingers and short nails. He can’t see it, but knows there’s a wound on the palm, from that minor crash last week. He remembers the feeling of the scabs against his skin.

Right now, Jonas really can’t reflect on that hand between his legs, so he looks around to see what the others are doing. Juan seems to be in a comfortable position, his hand right next to Jonas’, a boyish smile on his face. Cian is all contorted on the mat, his face out of sight, but hopefully having fun.

“Left hand, green,” João says.

Ultimately, this was all Jan Tratnik’s fault.

After all, Cian wouldn’t even be in France with the team had Jan not fallen ill a week before the grand départ. It was a minor cold—not serious enough to get anyone worried, but just that he had to give away his spot in the Tour squad.

Jan was really frustrated at that outcome, but surely not as much as Jonas is at the moment, when he has to stay on all fours before Tadej.

He immediately lowers his left hand to claim the nearest green circle. He feels more than sees when Tadej reaches for the one right next to it, his arm stretching between Jonas’ legs. Tadej laughs at their awkward positions, then laughs even harder when Juan falls to the floor.

Jonas is still recovering from the sound of Tadej’s laughter when Juan gets pulled out of the game by João, who loses no time before spinning the needle again.

“Right hand, red.”

To be honest, it was Tadej’s fault.

None of this would be awkward at all, if only Tadej hadn’t knocked on Jonas’ door a week earlier, on the eve of the first rest day.

That night, Jonas could not even feign surprise at the sight of Tadej at his doorstep. Tadej didn’t need to voice what he wanted; the desire in his eyes said it all.

Today, Jonas tries his hardest to reach for any red circle, but his balance is compromised. He slips to the side, collapsing on the mat, right on top of Tadej’s arm. He accidentally takes Tadej to the floor with him, and Cian wins the game.

Cian throws his fists into the air and celebrates as if he had won a race. João ceremonially claps his hands, but the mockery is friendly. Jonas knows that Cian’s bright smile is not about the victory—it’s about the sense of belonging.

Jonas feels it, too, when he quickly exchanges glances with Tadej.

Jonas calls it a night, but encourages Cian to stay. Cian agrees and promises it’ll be just for a little longer. Juan takes the spinner from João’s hand and announces that, this time, he will be the referee. João pouts, but takes his place on the mat. Tadej tells them that, if Jonas is going to have an early night, so should he, too. The others protest, but Tadej still follows Jonas out of the game room.

As soon as the door closes behind them, they openly stare at each other for a beat. Tadej doesn’t need to voice what he wants; the softness in his eyes says it all.

Jonas takes Tadej’s hand and lets him guide him to his room.

Really, Jonas has no one but himself to blame for any of this.

And he’s not sorry at all.

#cycling rpf #pogagaard #tadejonas #cycle prompt tuesday #prompt: color #not beta read #i wasn’t going to ask someone to beta my flash fic so all mistakes are my own #non native english speaker here #so be gentle please #wtf is a preposition #wtf are verb tenses

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