#so my anxiety is through the roof when I should really be winding down for sleep

[singularattitudeofasafetypin]

Safe With Me

Masterlist

Summary: Reader gets anxious when Eddie drives fast but is afraid to tell him in case he thinks she's boring.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: insecurity, descriptions of anxiety, reference to a parent driving dangerously when mad

Please don't steal my work

Eddie always drives like a maniac.

His rickety old van was infamous around town, careening down quiet roads and scaring the life out of their residents. Hopper had issued more tickets than he could count but nothing seemed to deter him. Maybe it was the rush it gave him? The thrill of breaking the rules or maybe he was just reckless?

Whatever it was, it just wasn’t the same for you.

Driving always made you anxious. You could count on one hand the number of times you’d driven since getting your licence. Every time you tried your mind was flooded with all the things that could go horribly wrong. Panic set in your chest. Thoughts rushing so loud you couldn’t focus on the road in front of you. You didn’t even own your own car.

But it ran deeper than that.

When you were younger, you could always tell if your dad was mad by the way he drove. Always pushing the speed limit after an argument, getting just a little too close to the car in front and yelling out the window when someone got in his way. Your heart would race, breath hitch when he broke sharply, and your foot tap on an imaginary break when he didn’t slow ‘til the last minute. Thankfully, nothing bad had ever happened to you, but it frightened you all the same.

When you and Eddie got together a few months back, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. You’d had a crush on him forever! All it took was a push from Nancy and a shove from Dustin to find out he felt the same way.

Eddie was wonderful! The perfect boyfriend really. You couldn’t be happier.

But then he’d offered to drive you home.

You’d happily climbed into the passenger seat, smiling as he shut the door behind you. He kissed your cheek, flicked on the radio, and turned the key in the ignition.

It was all you could do not to gasp when he pulled out of the parking lot.

From the first lurch, your heart began fluttering like a bird straining against your ribs, desperate to be free of its cage. Eddie kept talking like nothing was wrong. You could barely make out his words over the noise of the radio and the rushing panic in your ears. You tried to smile and nod at what you hoped were appropriate times but adrenaline was coursing through your body, breath coming in sharp, shallow gulps.

He skidded to a halt outside your house and immediately hopped out to get the door for you.

‘Your palace, my lady!’ he grinned, helping you down by the hand with his usual theatrical flair. You smiled weakly.

‘Thanks Eddie.’

He kissed you goodbye and you did your best to smile and wave as he went tearing down the street and around the corner before letting a shaky breath out. Residual nausea beginning to dissipate as you stepped inside.

In hindsight, maybe you should have just talked to him. Told him how you felt, been honest. You know, the sort of thing you’re supposed to do in relationships but it was all still so new! You rehearsed the conversation in your mind a thousand times but it just sounded pathetic. Like you were making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe you were? ‘Just leave it!’ you thought, ‘He’ll think you’re so boring!’

So instead, you made excuses.

‘Sorry Eds, I can’t. My mum’s picking me up today!’

‘I want to bike home today. It’s so sunny!’

‘I’m going to Nancy’s, she said she’d take me.’

It was all going so well until the universe turned against you. Or rather, the weather did.

You stood under the bike shelter, staring up at the charcoal sky as fat raindrops fell hard against the roof. They spattered over the school parking lot, sloshing in puddles and trickling along the gutters while a bitter wind waxed and waned. Icy drips hit your knuckles, white as they gripped your bike’s handlebars. You sighed. Ten minutes since school ended and the sky had only gotten darker. The rain wasn’t stopping any time soon.

Tugging the yellow hood of your raincoat over your head, you ventured out into the deluge. You were busy dreading every second of the freezing ride home when your attention was caught by a familiar voice hollering your name. You couldn’t help but smile when you turned. Eddie was sprinting toward you, his own dark raincoat held over his head rather than around his shoulders while his scuffed-up trainers splashed along the ground.

‘No way am I letting you bike home in this!’ he scolded good-naturedly when he reached you, ‘Let me give you a ride home!’

Your smile faltered.

‘It’s okay Eddie…’ you searched frantically for a reason to refuse him, ‘I was just gonna call my mum!’

Sure, you were! Halfway across the parking lot, clearly heading away from school. The lie was so obvious, Eddie nearly laughed. ‘Don’t you remember? You said she was at work today!’

‘Oh yeah,’ Idiot! You cursed yourself, ‘Nancy then! We’ve actually been meaning to meet up and study.’

Eddie frowned a little, ‘She’s got that thing after school, doesn’t she? I saw her unlocking the darkroom on the way out.’

Strike two!

‘Yeah, I uh…’ your confidence crumbled, ‘I can just wait for her or something…’ The ruse was becoming thinner by the second. Eddie folded his arms.

‘What’s this actually about?’ he asked, ‘Why won’t you just let me take you home?’ His words weren’t angry or accusing, just confused, but a flicker of panic began to rise in your chest. ‘You haven’t let me drive you anywhere for weeks,’ he went on, ‘Have I done something to upset you?’

‘No!’

‘Then what is it?’ his dark brown eyes filled with worry as thunder rolled in the distance. Eddie’s arms ached from holding his coat, his fingers bitterly cold. The rain had seeped into his shoes and through his socks but he didn’t care. All that mattered was figuring out what he’d done wrong!

It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t remember anything he’d said or done that could make you pull away. You were just as content and affectionate most of the time but at the end of the school day, you couldn’t seem to lose him fast enough.

You wouldn’t look him in the eye now, your hands gripping your bike so tight he was afraid you might hurt yourself. How had he managed to screw up the best thing that had happened to him so soon?

‘Please?’ he was begging, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his fear as you bit your lip nervously, ‘Just tell me!’

‘I don’t like it when you drive fast!’

You just sort of blurted it out. No ceremony, no elegance. The words fell clumsily from your mouth, tugged almost involuntarily. Eddie didn’t say anything.

Now the words wouldn’t stop, tumbling out too fast, trying to justify. ‘I know, it’s stupid! Childish, I know!’ Despite the cold, you felt your cheeks turn warm. ‘But it just makes me really anxious and I-!’

‘Is that all?’

You stopped abruptly, looking up as an elated smile began to pull at the corner of his mouth. This wasn’t what you’d expected. His eyes held a mixture of gratitude, guilt, and hope.

‘Yeah?’ your voice came out uncertain but the smile only spread wider.

It was as though a weight had been lifted. Of course, Eddie felt awful that he’d scared you, even more so that he hadn’t even noticed. But this, this was something he could fix! He laughed a little, almost giddy with relief. ‘So then, I just won’t drive fast baby!’

You blinked in surprise, rendered speechless. Eddie shrugged his coat on at lightning speed, his hair already sodden by the time he was easing your bike from your grip. ‘Really?’ You hadn’t expected it to be that simple. He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as though it was obvious.

‘Really! Now come on, you’re getting soaked!’ and without waiting for an answer, he turned and started wheeling your bike across the parking lot. You hurried after him, puddles splashing under your feet and wetting your socks.

‘You mean it?’ you asked when you reached the van. Eddie was pulling open the doors and stowing your bike safely in the back. He just nodded, opening the passenger side door next and helping you in.

He climbed in the other side, wriggling his coat off and tossing it behind him before turning the key in the ignition. You fiddled anxiously with your fingers. ‘You don’t think I’m being annoying?’ insecurity gnawed away at your stomach, ‘Or boring? Or silly? Or-? ‘

‘Sweetheart,’ Eddie interrupted, taking your hand and pressing a reassuring kiss to your fingertips. He looked up at you with those kind, warm eyes and melted your concern with his soft, tender voice, ‘I want you to feel safe with me.’

You sighed out. There was no deception, no hidden irritation or passive aggression. Eddie really meant it. He wanted you to be happy. Your peace was his priority.

‘Okay?’ he asked, still watching your face for confirmation.

You smiled shyly and nodded, ‘Okay.’

Eddie grinned back, pressing another kiss to your hand before dropping it and returning his own to the steering wheel.

True to his word, the ride home was as gentle as you could have wished for. You doubted Eddie had even driven this responsibly on his test… if he’d ever taken one. After five or ten minutes, you found the usual anxious knot that twisted in your chest had unwound. The tension in your muscles evaporated and soon you were laughing and joking with Eddie and singing along to the radio.

Before you knew it, he was pulling up outside your house. Funny, you thought, he’d been so cautious and yet the journey seemed to take half the time. You kissed his cheek and hopped down from the van.

The rain had stopped. Tarmac still dark and damp and small puddles were left here and there but blue sky and sunshine were breaking through the clouds, warming the sidewalk and glittering gold in the dew drops.

‘Can I pick you up tomorrow?’ Eddie asked, opening up the back to lift your bike out. He was tentative, worried he was pushing too far but you smiled and nodded.

‘Yes, thanks Eddie!’

You took the bike from him and turned to wheel it toward the porch when an indignant ‘Hey!’ sounded behind you. Eddie clutched at his heart, collapsing onto the side of the van gasping dramatically, ‘No goodbye kiss? Oh, cruel temptress! Is there no compassion? No mercy?’

With peals of laughter, you ran back to oblige him. He squeezed his arms around you, smiling so hard it was hardly a real kiss. This time, there was no barrier between you. No shadow, no secrets. Only the sweetness that honesty in love brings.

You walked your bike back down the garden path, waving to Eddie as the van pulled away. You watched him draw further and further down the street until he disappeared around the corner.

You smiled and rummaged for your keys. The weight on your shoulders had dissolved to nothing and somehow, you were even lighter than before.

Eddie Munson always drove like a maniac.

Until he didn’t.

Until you.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I really enjoyed writing this. If you liked it, please reblog and comment! I love hearing what people thought of my writing! Check out my masterlist for more!

Taglist: @sadbitchfangirl, @neewtmas, @ladymunson

#eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things 4

[eydi-andrius]

Side Characters End Up Alone (Gojo Satoru x Reader)

cw/tw: angst, unrequited love, childhood friends, drunk gojo, hurt with no comfort

a/n: listen to footnote by conan gray for the added feels

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

"Let's just date each other. What do you think?" Satoru asked, laughing with a hiccup.

It hurts.

Seeing your feelings being laughed at after all those years. He knew……he knew you loved him. More than just a friend. He knew and he brushed it off. He knew and rejected you far too many times that you can count.

What the fuck is this about?

"C'mon! Don't just stare like that. What do you think about being my girlfriend?" He joked again. This time with a tap to your shoulder. He was breathless as he laughed at his unfunny joke, alone.

"You're drunk." With a swallow, you tried to remove the glass of alcohol he was holding. He called you earlier because it turns out his girlfriend broke up with him again.

It was his fault. He never really gave her the time she deserved. How many times did she give him a chance? You don't really know.

"Eh! Don't be like that! Let me drink my heart out. I thought friends join you when you're suffering from heartbreak?" He pouted with unfocused eyes. You came here a bit late. You were scared because he sounded so drunk on the phone. And drunk Satoru can be a handful to others.

"Stop being childish. Let's go." With a firm resolve, you grab the glass he was holding and hoist his shoulder to yours to assist him to walk outside.

When you came, bottles of different types of alcohol were placed on the booth. He never drinks this much. It was your first time seeing him this broken. They have broken up before but you have guessed, this time, she might have stepped down on him and called quits forever.

Swaying, you did your best to help him out. He was heavy and the both of you barely walked straight.

He was singing a tune you don't understand while moving his body along. It was hell as you tried your best to move him downstairs without breaking both of your necks.

Somehow, once you stepped at the last drop of the stairs, he turned quiet. Concerned as to why he shut up all of a sudden, you looked up to see that he was staring down at you. His cheeks were tinted pink, his eyes watery and he was breathing through his mouth, letting out the smell of alcohol.

"But really, would you go out with me?" He asked again but this time you snapped.

How many years have you loved this guy? You grew up together. Joined Jujutsu High as a late transferies. Witnessed his blooming friendship with Geto and Shoko. Being there with him when Geto and him had a fall out.

All your life, you have been by his side as a side character. All your life, he knew how you felt. Satoru is no stupid. He knew and still he did this. Something gut-wrenching and cruel to someone who had been with him from the start. Someone who loved him so much that she was willing to let him go and held to their friendship. Because she told herself that it was better to hide and bury her true feelings. Friendship is more important than hers.

"Stop making fun of my feelings!"

Your scream was loud to the point that some patron looked at the direction where you two were standing. Some were too drunk to notice the drama. But it was enough to catch attention.

Eyes blurry with tears and breathing heavily to stop the sharp feeling of hurt, you looked up and stared at his blank face.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

He was drunk. You should have been more patient. More lenient.

Looking around, your anxiety spiked through the roof when you saw that the people near you two were staring and muttering to each other. The buzz was not that loud but it was loud for you. Panicking, you stepped back and ran outside.

The smell of the pavement and the freezing wind welcome you as you race outside. Usually, the after rain calms you. Yet, the feeling of hollowness filled your space. It was cold. And you feel so alone and hurt.

Part of your brain regretted it. Some believe you have done the best thing.

You're not drunk, you shouldn't have done that.

He deserved it for being an asshole.

Your mind quarrels with each other as you try your best to breathe properly after that sudden jog. Being an office worker, exercise was never your strong suit.

What will you do now?

You bit your lip when you finally composed yourself. You're so stupid. Satoru was drunk and he probably didn't mean to hurt you. Right?

You hugged yourself for comfort, finally feeling the chill outside. If you don't go and find your car soon, you're probably going to get sick. But there is no way that you will just leave Satoru alone while he is that drunk.

Deciding to go back and find your friend, you were surprised to hear your name being called out and seeing Satoru stumbling forward when he finally saw you.

"I-I'm really sorry. I was drunk and not thinking. I- I never meant to hurt you."

Trigger words.

Most of the time, you let it go. Well, it was your fault anyway. Deciding to still be friends even though your interest for him is deeper than love itself. You know it was suicide to still be friends with him but you rather have that than losing him altogether. He was that precious to you.

However, right now, you realized something important. A person who has no self-respect will receive the same thing from the people around them. Although it hurts, and it was a slap in the face. And you probably shouldn't have said it because you were too angry, there was something inside you that snapped and decided this was the best course of action. You deserve more than what Satoru offers you.

"I'm so sorry too. I knew it was my fault for still continuing our friendship even though I know I will lose and there will be more times that you will hurt me unintentionally by acting friends because I told you so. But god, Satoru, I fucking hate you!" There, you said.

His blue eyes, to whom you wanted to only and will always look at you, widen with surprise. Even in these dim lights, his existence shines so beautifully.

"I cannot do this anymore. I am done! I am so done being this stupid! I am done trying to follow the crumbs you give me each time. My feelings are always true, Satoru. And I don't deserve being trampled and played like this." Warm tears run down your cheeks as you heave and try to compose yourself, afraid to pass out from anger.

"You know how much I love you but you always, always, do this shit to me! Stop playing with my heart!" Running your hand through your hair, you looked around and blinked trying to stop the overflowing tears that seemed unending.

"This…..this will be the last time you will do this to me. There will be no us anymore. No friendship. No ever. I'm done. We're done. You will never get away from hurting me again." Pulling the bracelet he gave to you when you were young, you threw it on his face.

The beads scattered and exploded when your pull made the old and worn rope, keeping them together, snapped in two.

With a final look of pain and the sight of his defeated face, you walked towards your car and left.

He didn't even bother to stop you. You knew he wouldn't. He never did all those years. Even though he sees the pain in your eyes as he enjoys the company of his lover in front of you.

You watched him for the last time in your side mirror. You watched his silhouette getting smaller and smaller, and just standing there, with no plans to move at any moment.

With one last look, you turned your head at the road ahead and you promised to yourself that this would be the last time you will do this.

This time, all your love will be given to the deserving.

And that person was you.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo angst #gojo satoru fic #gojo satoru #gojo sensei #angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #fic: side characters end up alone #eydi andrius #Spotify

[separatist-apologist]

My Whole Life Is Ruined

Summary: When you hold me, it holds me together, and you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever

Surprise @talons-and-teeth! I'm sorry for the wait- I was not your original secret santa. I pulled this together based on what I know about you and I hope you like it! @acotargiftexchange

Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for making a moodboard with practically no instructions other than one Taylor Swift lyric and the description "Azriel has been hiding the fact he's Gwyn's mate and they have sex about it."

--

Insomnia was nothing new. 

Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d fully slept through the night. The past chased the present, running in circles as she ran after her tail, almost grasping it before she woke covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Sometimes, bathed in nothing but moonlight, Gwyn wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t dream of her sister, of a life long gone.

It didn’t rattle her as badly as it used to. Sitting in the bed Nesta had so graciously offered up, Gwyn pushed the blankets from her legs to let the cool, winter air caress her overheated skin. Leaving the library still felt like a picked over wound. She didn’t want to go back, cloistered away from her friends and the life she’d begun to enjoy living. That didn’t mean she wasn’t scared.

Anxiety seemed to thrum beside her heartbeat, a constant presence she could only just shake if she was otherwise occupied. Right then, in the dead of night, Gwyn felt it snake around her until it was wrapped tight around her throat, choking a scream that always seemed so close to escaping.

She didn’t bother changing out of her thin nightdress, certain neither Cassian or Nesta would be up this late. If they were even back—they’d gone to Hewn City that evening for some meeting with a Day Court prince, giving Gwyn full run of the House of Wind. Not that she did anything terribly interesting with all that power—Gwyn got a book and some hot chocolate and spent the night curled in a chair reading until she finally dragged herself into bed.

Maybe she should have trained on the roof first. Really worn herself down so her brain was too exhausted to conjure up memories of the past, all the while whispering of how she might have prevented it, if she’d only been stronger, smarter, cleverer. Forcing her to relive it, to pick it apart to see what could have been different.

That was exhausting, too.

Cold air hit her the moment she pushed open the door, howling a greeting that might have scared someone else off. Gwyn liked the biting cold, the raucous yelling, the silhouette of the mountains looming like shadows in the distance. A half moon poured light over the rooftop, causing sleeping weapons to glint beneath. Maybe, she thought ruefully, she should have put on socks. Hair caught against her lips, and as Gwyn worked to push it out of her face, wishing for a hair tie, too. 

It wasn’t too late and yet she was already here, wasn’t she? Might as well just power through, ignoring her discomfort like she was so accustomed to. The bite of cold was a reminder she’d survived—she was alive. So what if it burned a little? Sometimes Gwyn thought she fought better when she was in pain.

And more often than not, she suspected she deserved to feel it. That the curling peace was a mistake and everyone was going to realize what an imposter she was. They’d tell her she didn’t belong with them and cast her back out. Gwyn was always just waiting for it, a hammer that might fall at any given moment. 

A blade just against her neck, never quite striking.

Gwyn pulled out a dagger, her favored weapon, and held it for a moment in her hand. Nesta was all brute strength, and Emerie terrifying yet easy grace, but Gwyn liked to be the shadow in the dark. The knife at someone's side rather than a screaming sword coming for a person's throat. While Nesta and Emeries radiated the kind of beauty that made men cower, Gwyn liked to think she was sweeter, more unassuming. People looked at Nesta, at Emerie, and were taken by their perfection.

They looked at Gwyn and wondered why she was with them. So Gwyn trained harder, made herself someone that couldn’t be ignored. Not forever, anyway. She was good at hiding, besides, taking to trees, blending into the background so often that on more than one occasion, Cassian and Nesta didn’t realize Gwyn was in the room until she cleared her throat. 

Unbalanced, Gwyn took a second dagger and for a moment, was the wind itself. Recalling the movements Azriel had been teaching her, Gwyn stepped like a dance, twisting her body and slashing her blades against invisible foes.

A real ones, too. A shadow moved from the edge of the ring, catching her by surprise. Gwyn darted, and just as Azriel had taught her, grabbed them, slamming their body to the ground. It was thunder the way that massive, familiar form crashed against the world, a mighty god dragged from the heavens themselves.

Azriel groaned, eyes closed even as his hands grabbed her waist, holding her knee painfully against his ribs. “That was good,” he gasped, fingers curling into her skin. 

“I’m so sorry,” she replied, dropping the blade she’d pressed to his throat. A thin line of blood snaked over golden, tattooed skin, staining the rather lovely black jacket he was wearing. Why was he up here, she wondered? Shouldn’t he be enjoying himself with his friends and family? 

Azriel swallowed hard, opening hazel eyes that cut through the otherwise oppressive dark to look at her.

“I’m not.”

And then he released her, letting her scramble backwards, heart thumping in her chest. Azriel didn’t move, wings spread wide around against the ground. He looked like a fallen angel and Gwyn was awed at the sight, the realization that it had been her who’d felled him. He was looking right back at her, his expression clouded by shadow. Was he angry? He said he wasn’t, but surely he didn’t appreciate being assaulted in his own home. 

Not that she saw much of him since she’d moved in. Azriel, who maintained a bedroom in the House of Wind, was suddenly gone and when Gwyn was really down, she sometimes thought it was because he didn’t like being around her. Here he was, though, clambering to his feet, his eyes sliding down her body. She could feel the heat of them like he was touching her skin and was grateful for a sudden burst of wind hitting her like a bucket of ice water.

Careful, she warned herself. 

It was hard, though. Anyone with eyes could see how beautiful Azriel was. She wasn’t stupid. It didn’t hurt that in her worst moment, Azriel’s had been the very first she’d seen. A savior—a dark angel, come to wreak bloody vengeance on her sister's behalf. It had been Morrigan who’d taken her away to safety, but when Gwyn thought about how she’d escaped, she always remembered Azriel’s curved, lethal blade, sliding cleanly through the bodies of the same males who had killed her sister.

She’d always been grateful to him for it, even if she’d never tell him. He’d never once looked at her like he remembered, had never betrayed an ounce of pity. She’d expected him to say something back when he’d first joined their training, wary and distant. And maybe he knew, because he kept his distance until it was safe, had held himself at an arm's length and let her decide how much or little of him she wanted. 

The problem was Azriel himself. Outside of being the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, he was just nice. Not in the way Cassian was, with big smiles and silly jokes, but with serious eyes and a dagger in hand, forcing her to move again and again and again. Your steps are off, Gwyn—you’ll get yourself killed that way. Eyes on your opponent, don’t look away. Hold your breath, don’t let them know you’re there.

Because he knew it mattered to her. That she wouldn’t be caught off guard ever again, that Gwyn would never let someone hurt her. Often, she wondered if he didn’t understand that pain, if it didn’t mirror some tragedy of his own. They didn’t talk about it—they didn’t need to. It was an understanding between them, something so intimate she would never share it with another living soul.

She kept waiting for Azriel to step back, to tell her she’d done enough, that she should finish with Cassian. He never did. Even when he was gone, Gwyn practiced knowing he’d want to see the progress she’d made while he was gone. And when he returned, he’d wait on the roof even when she’d flippantly told him it would be easier to just send word via letter.

I don’t mind waiting.

Those words still felt so charged to her. Like he was trying to say something else, eyes glittering and bright like the stars overheard. Gwyn pulled herself from her thoughts to look up at Azriel looming overhead, his wings flared around him as if he was trying to make himself seem larger. It was working—he was massive, muscular and tall and just like before, half fallen angel, half terrifying god come to earth so he might reign. 

“You look cold,” Azriel commented, caught looking at her. 

Gwyn put her hands on her hips. So what if he was? “I’m not.”

“Bullshit.”

Smothering a smile, Gwyn asked with faux outrage, “Are you calling me a liar?”

She swore the corners of his lips twitched. “To your face, even.”

“The cold doesn’t bother me,” Gwyn said, shifting from one leg to another, a gesture he seemed to register with sharp-eyed interest. Proof, she realized as his fingers began making quick work of his jacket. “No, that’s not—”

“Suck it up,” was Azriel’s dark voiced response, draping the warm jacket against her shoulders, leaving himself only in a black shirt stretched over his muscular torso. His eyes slid back down to her legs, lips flattening as he realized she was without shoes, too. “You’ll catch your death out here.”

Gwyn could smell the heady, masculine scent of him coming from the fabric, her arms far too small for the large holes. Still, she didn’t protest, turning to look toward the outline of the mountains instead.

“Maybe. But what a way to go.”

“It’s hardly heroic to die from the cold,” Azriel murmured, turning to follow her gaze. Did he know what she was thinking? How they had nearly died in the blood rite, thrown in wearing only a thin night dress against well-armed warriors? She wondered if Azriel would have found that heroic, even if it had been the cold that had gotten them.

Gwyn blew out a breath, the steam of air curling between them as one of his shadows darted out, illuminated by starlight. It wasn’t the first time and she wondered if they thought she, too, had a shadow for them to interact with.

Or if it meant something else.

Something more.

“Inside,” Azriel finally said, a gust of wind ruffling his night dark hair.

“You’re fussy tonight,” she grumbled, not protesting when his fingers pressed against the small of her back, pushing her toward the door. Heat pulsated from the touch, settling low in her stomach. “Did something happen?”

Azriel pulled open the door with his free hand, his touch never quite leaving. “No. Hewn City is unchanging.”

She glanced up at him, the light softening the harsh lines of his face. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s predictable.”

“I want to see it,” Gwyn declared, though in truth she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Still, the corners of Azriel’s mouth twitched a bit, as if the whole thing amused him. 

“You would devour them,” was his easy, good-natured response. “To their endless delight.”

“And yet I’ve been snubbed yet again,” she teased, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Do I file my complaint with you…or…?”

“You were spared the grating presence of Vanserra,” Azriel said, cocking his head with a half smile. “But I will pass along your discontent to the High Lord.”

“Be sure that you do,” Gwyn replied, grinning by the time Azriel deposited her into a chair in the study. He didn’t go far, sitting on the arm, his wings draped behind them. She could see the flexing muscle of his thigh beneath his well-tailored pants. If she’d wanted, she could have touched him.

It was obscene how badly she wanted to. How she had to clench her fingers to fists to keep from reaching out, well aware that Azriel would withdraw entirely and, perhaps, never speak to her again. He’d been nothing if not unfailingly polite, besides…though…he had been looking at her in the clingy, short nightdress, hadn’t he? 

Just because you were cold, her mind reminded her. After all, she was still wearing his jacket. Gwyn shrugged out of it, heat blooming over her cheeks as she shoved it into his lap. There. She’d gotten to touch him without him knowing and give him back his jacket before she convinced herself to keep it.

And possibly sleep in it.

Azriel arched a dark brow, hazel eyes staring at the rumpled fabric now balled in his lap. “What did the jacket do to offend you?” he asked, taking it in broad, callused hands. He’d removed his siphons, leaving the scarred skin wholly on display. She wondered what had happened to him—and why. 

If he’d ever gotten his revenge for it.

“It’s yours—that’s enough,” she replied flippantly. Holding her gaze, Azriel picked up the jacket and brought it to his nose. Time seemed to stop, frozen entirely as she watched him do this.

And he watched her, daring her to say something. She opened her mouth, gaping, only to close it.

And Azriel smiled. Broad and unrestrained, as if he were so delighted he couldn’t help himself. Tilting his head toward the roof, he murmured, “House—some tea, if you don’t mind.”

Of course the house didn’t mind. Two cups of steaming tea rattled on the coffee table before them, complete with sugar and honey, if either of them wanted it.

Gwyn didn’t think she could pick up a cup without betraying the rattle of her hands. Why? Azriel had discarded the jacket casually, tossing it to another chair like it was uninteresting to him. And was he closer, now? His thigh was, she was certain, but had his arm always been behind her. If she moved a few inches, he could have slid into the seat to join her.

He could pull you into his lap if he wanted. 

Which, of course, he didn’t

Didn’t he?

“Why are you here?” she asked, hating that breathless quality of her voice. Azriel heard it, too, head snapping to the side, nose flared as though searching for something she couldn’t place. 

“I like to be near you,” he replied. He could have thrown her across the room and surprised her less. Once again, Gwyn opened her mouth only for no sound to leave her throat. 

“You—you’re never here,” she finally managed. Azriel leaned forward, the faelights gilding the dark ink of his tattoos scrawled over his biceps. He took one of the cups and handed it to her, fingers brushing her own.

“I can’t stand being around you,” was his maddening, level response. 

Gwyn’s stomach sank. “What?”

She couldn’t drink—not when such a strange admission hung between them. Azriel, so unused to verbosity, was now forced to explain himself. It occurred to her just as he turned fully to look at her, some of the color drained from his otherwise beautiful face, that perhaps he wanted this confrontation. She didn’t, though, and wished she could have told him so. Things were fine between them—distant, maybe, and filled with a lopsided yearning on her end, but that was better than whatever he was about to do.

Gwyn had the distinct feeling Azriel was about to crush her. Emotionally ruin her. Destroy her so recklessly there would be no coming back.

“You still don’t feel it?” he asked instead, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “After all this time?”

A new fear speared through her gut. There was only one thing Azriel could possibly feel—and one thing she could possibly not. Gwyn had to set the shaking cup of tea down before bolting from her chair, arms wrapped around her chest. 

“You don’t feel anything,” she declared, deciding if she felt nothing, neither did Azriel. 

Pain lanced across his expression, replaced by grim determination. As he stood, Gwyn knew Azriel wasn’t going to let it go until they both felt exactly as he did—until she felt the mating bond. 

Gwyn shook her head, backing away as he advanced. “Don’t do this, Azriel—”

“Is it that terrible, then?” he asked her, his low words filled with a familiar emotion. One she recognized all too well—the loathing, the self-hatred, the expectation that of course she would reject him. 

“It’s—” Gwyn couldn’t breathe for the closeness of him, for the wanting to touch him. And maybe she did feel it, in her way. Had felt it the moment he’d strode into that cursed, wrecked room looking like the god of vengeance. She’d merely been too hurt to know it, too broken, too emotionally devastated. He should have frightened her and he never had.

Even then, towering over her with his muscular frame, Gwyn didn’t flinch away. She merely met his gaze with blazing defiance.

“You’re wrong,” she told him, keeping her voice light as she pushed at his chest so she could slip around him. “Or mistaken. There is no bond and I’m certain if you saw a healer, they’d—” Azriel grabbed her wrist, spinning her so her back was pressed to the floral papered wall behind her. Dipping his head, Azriel ran his nose the length of her neck.

“You’re no mistake, Gwyn.”

“I am,” she whispered without meaning to. Azriel could do so much better. Surely…surely he wanted better. What had that been like for him, she wondered, and before she could stop herself, she added, “When did you feel it?”

Something primal flared in those bright eyes of his. “Dinner with Nesta and Cassian. You touched my hand and I…” Holding up the offending hand, Azriel flexed his fingers in memory. “I felt the snap.”

That had been almost a year. It had been the last time Azriel had dinner with all of them, and right after she’d formally moved into the House of Wind. Gwyn still remembered that night—Azriel had bolted before dessert, murmuring something about needed to talk to Rhys. Gwyn had thought nothing of it—might never have thought about it again had he not pinned her against a wall to declare that had been the moment he’d felt a mating bond snap. 

“We’ve been training together for months,” she replied with no small amount of outrage. He’d been keeping this secret for that long? 

“I thought you’d feel it,” Azriel all but growled, eyes bouncing over her face. “And when you didn’t…”

“Rhys knows?”

“And Cassian—”

“So Nesta, too?!”

Gwyn shoved him again, harder this time. Azriel let her, she suspected, stepping back so she could have some breathing space. “They all know but I don’t.”

“And you’re taking the knowledge so well,” Azriel replied with a bite of sarcasm.

She whirled, wishing she had a dagger in hand even has the dried blood from his healed wound still taunted her. “I think I deserved to know before Cassian.”

“I needed his help,” Azriel admitted, running a hand over his mouth. “I needed to know how he managed it.”

“How difficult could it be,” she asked flippantly, intending to leave him there so she could think. Foolish to turn her back on a predator. Azriel had her again, wrapped in one strong arm, the other holding her jaw so she had to look at him.

“Hell,” he rasped, his anguish plain. “Every minute of it has been hell.” 

In Gwyn’s defense, she managed one, final, protest. “It’s just—”

His mouth covered hers before she could finish that statement, could say what they both knew she’d been thinking. As if he found the words so abhorrent he wouldn’t hear them, would swallow them until he’d snuffed them from their very existence.

Gwyn forgot what she’d been about to say at all. She’d thought about what it might be like to kiss him. If his mouth would be soft or rough, if he kissed like he fought or if there was passion bubbling beneath his icy exterior. She hadn’t been prepared for what it would feel like or how desire would overtake her so thoroughly she didn’t care about anything else. Were those her hands cupping his neck? Her lips hungrily kissing him back like a crazed, desperate creature?

Her tongue meeting his own, her legs moving until he had her back against the wall so he could press the length of his body against hers? 

There was only one thought in her name, an echo repeated over and over. Mate. Mate. Mate. 

Maybe he should have just kissed her at that dinner. Skipped the yearning, the anguish, the uncertainty. At least they would have been kissing, anyway. Gwyn forgot herself entirely, nails digging against his shoulder until Azriel helpfully hoisted her into the air so she could wrap her legs around his waist.

“Don’t talk about my mate like that,” he panted, dragging his teeth against her neck. “I love her.”

Gwyn whimpered. What did she say to that? As it turned out—nothing. Azriel kissed her again, sparing them both whatever incoherent nonsense might have tumbled from her lips. She might have sworn she loved him too, if only to convince him to keep kissing her like he was.

Gwyn was certain Azriel’s kiss had ruined her life. How was she supposed to go back to things as they were before? It wasn't knowing that he was her mate, but knowing the way his hands felt cupped against her face and the way wildfire sparked in her blood when his tongue slid into her mouth? 

The worst of it was when his hands left her ass, letting her slide down the hard slab of his body before she was ready. He pulled away, lips swollen and eyes wild, to take a healthy step away from her, though it seemed to take an immense amount of effort. For her part, she kept herself pressed to the wall, unsure what was happening.

“You know now,” Azriel managed, his voice hoarse, “and that’s…that’s all I wanted. I ah…I should go before—”

“You’re leaving?” she asked, strangely hurt by this new rejection. Gwyn knew all about mating bonds. What fae didn’t? Before she’d come here, she’d once dreamt of her own mate, giggling with her sister in their bunks as they imagined what that person might be like. If they existed at all, given the rarity of such a thing. It was almost funny that he’d been right here all along, close enough she could literally touch. 

And he was going to leave? He didn’t want to accept it? Did she? It was all happening so fast but of course you didn’t reject a mate. She could see the wariness on his face, could watch in real time as he pulled up his defenses as she realized that yes. That was exactly his expectation.

Why? She knew from Nesta’s stories that Azriel was well sought after. And she wasn’t blind. What female didn’t dream of a male with his bone structure? He was powerful and close to the High Lord, and beyond all that, Azriel was kind. A genuinely good person, the sort of male one could spend centuries with if they wanted.

What could she even offer him? Gwyn’s thoughts raced, listing all the reasons he ought to have stopped, why keeping this a secret made so much sense. She didn’t notice Azriel creeping closer and closer until his fingers were under her chin, lifting her face so she had to look at him. 

“You’re doing it again,” he murmured, his voice dark and dangerous. “Thinking unkind thoughts about my mate.”

“You can’t tell me what to think,” she shot back, her own voice trembling a little. He was so certain, so unbothered and in her entire life, had anyone ever immediately felt that way about her?

Nesta and Emerie. Catrin. 

Azriel.

“You have it all wrong,” Azriel murmured and she wondered if perhaps he could read her mind. “It is you who could do so much better.”

His words drew a gust of laughter from her lips. The mother had certainly chosen well, putting the two of them together. What a pair—she wondered who would relent first? Her, or Azriel? Who would believe they deserved a mating bond first? It occurred to Gwyn, as she reached for his arm to pull him closer, that she was a shade too competitive—she wanted it to be him who broke first. Who relented first, who believed he was worthy, was deserving. 

And she could see, from that golden glint burning in his own gaze, that he was thinking the exact same thing. 

“You’re stupid,” she whispered, surging up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. She could taste the smile spreading over his face, sweet against the warm heat of his mouth. It took her an embarrassing amount of time to realize he wasn’t smiling because she’d told him to stop talking, but because she was kissing him. Gwyn hadn’t even considered not kissing.

He was her mate, after all. He was hers. She felt that the way she felt her own heart, the possession, the desire, the heat. She didn’t feel the cord the way everyone spoke of, but perhaps that was mere metaphor. After all, Gwyn believed Azriel wouldn’t lie to her about something so life altering.

Besides. She liked kissing him, new as it was. Azriel was unhurried and thorough, just like every other task she’d ever seen him undertake. And for the first time in a long time, she wondered what it would be like if he paid her that sort of attention in the bedroom. They stood there like that, his arm keeping her on her toes, steady against his warm, solid body. Momentarily, Gwyn wondered what might happen if Nesta and Cassian were to come in and decided she didn’t care.

How many times had she walked in on them in far more compromising positions, besides? 

Tiny steps had Gwyn flush against the wood wall, pressed against Azriel’s hard body and oh. He wanted her. Wanted her in a way that emptied her mind of all other thought beyond the desire to touch him.

And she was allowed, she realized with giddiness. He belonged to her. It was a possessive thought that overrode everything else, including all her good sense. He was hers.

“Mine,” she whispered into his mouth, not meaning to. Azriel groaned, tangling a hand in her hair to tilt back her head, his tongue delving back between her teeth to really taste her. Without the leathers he usually wore, it was surprisingly easy to find the golden buttons on his jacket, undoing them before Azriel’s own brain seemed to catch up with what was happening.

His wings flared, enveloping around them for a moment as he pulled back, his breathing heavy.

“Cassian will be home soon,” he whispered, holding her close against him as if he expected his friend to take her away. “Nesta too.” “You have a bedroom here, right?” Gwyn said with more daring than she felt. Azriel’s once half-lidded eyes flew open, those hazel eyes searching her own. 

“I do,” he whispered, swallowing audibly. “There’s no rush—”

“Please?”

One moment she’d been standing there, her hand flat against the white, linen shirt Azriel wore beneath his jacket and the next her feet were in the air, her body cradled against him as he walked.

“I can’t think when you’re around,” Azriel was saying, his steps echoing against the wood. “Can’t think just looking at you. Sometimes I think I’ll wake up and this will have all been a dream.”

“It’s real,” she replied, pressing her lips to his neck. “I’m real. We’re real.”

He shuddered, all but running up a flight of stairs. There was no reaction when his wing clipped a door frame nor did he say a word when he had to use his nice shoe to slam his bedroom door shut. Gwyn wasn’t given the opportunity to really look around his space, either—though it seemed sparse and filled with dark, moody colors. 

Azriel had her on the bed, his own body over top her own before she could exhale the breath she’d just taken. 

“Tell me to stop,” he said, the maddening male. She would have told him she didn’t want him to, but he was kissing her again, his burning lips all but bruising her own. Drawing a leg up, Gwyn could line up their otherwise mismatched bodies so he was pressed exactly where she wanted him. 

They were going to do this. She wanted to do this. When she managed to take a breath, the taste of blood faint against her tongue, she rasped, “Take this off.”

Azriel was on his knees in a moment, shucking off his jacket before all but ripping off his shirt, too. There in the dark with nothing but silvery moonlight to illuminate him, Gwyn was allowed to really look at him. 

He didn’t move, a lock of dark hair half obscuring the intensity of his gaze. “All of it,” she decided before she lost her nerve. 

Azriel cocked his head, his lips pursed as though he’d tell her no.

“Please,” she added.

Azriel groaned again, softer this time. Somewhere in the house, a door slammed closed and a mingling of male and female voices rose like music, a soothing hum in the background as Azriel slid off the bed entirely.

Wings tucked tightly against his toned back, he quietly locked his door before turning back to her. “We don’t have to,” he said, his fingers hovering over the laces of his pants. Gwyn had a suspicion Azriel would spend the next century saying this and she’d spend the next century  reassuring him that she wanted all of it. All of him.

Maybe he’d realize in the morning when she snuck into the kitchen and begged the house for his favorite meal. She had no idea what it was, but surely the magic that governed this place did? Would he eat it from her hands? Or would he balk, certain this was just another dream?

“I know,” she said, leaning up on her elbows. “Take it all off, anyway.��

Gwyn knew what Azriel was wondering but her past was murky—forgotten in the dark, the ugly replaced with his easy, unassuming beauty. Still, she held her breath as he undressed entirely, drinking in the sight of him. This was the male she’d knocked to the ground, the very same that could kill another person without a second thought.

Underneath the thick, armored leathers and weapons lay just a male made of skin and bone. Gwyn’s eyes traced the tattoos adorning his shoulders and chest, the intricate swirls snaking up his neck and vanishing behind his back. Every inch of him was muscled, softer now that he was relaxed and still present just below the warm brown of his flesh.

And between his legs…

Gwyn giggled. She couldn’t help herself. It was so big—surely they weren’t supposed to be that large? That thick? There was an air of male pride shimmering around him, his legs spread a little wider as if to say, drink it all in. 

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, his voice a dark, teasing growl. Prowling forward, Gwyn’s heart spiked loud enough he must have heard.

“I wasn’t prepared for…” For what? For him? Azriel was so quiet, so unassuming…she just assumed if he had all that going on he’d brag a little more? Swagger about the way Cassian always was? 

“I’d be a poor mate if I left you wanting,” he replied, his eyes glazed over once his knees hit the edge of the bed. Perhaps it was the sight of her, still dressed, scrambling on her hands and knees so she could crawl toward him. She just wanted to touch, to feel if his cock was as hard as it looked. 

Azriel sucked in a breath when her fingers curled around the base of his shaft, just barely touching. Looking up, she murmured, “Is this what you like?”

“I like you,” he replied, scooping up her hair in his hands as Gwyn stroked him experimentally. He choked out a sound, his heartbeat thudding in her ears. She supposed that was her answer—he liked the way she touched him.

Pride filled her chest knowing she could please her mate, even with something as simple as touching him. Gwyn stroked again, letting her wrist twist at the end as her eyes refused to leave his face.

“Gods,” he whispered, his wings tightening against his back. “I’ve imagined…Gwyn…”

She was allowed a third pass before he pushed her back, her clothes pulled off her body so quickly all she managed was to lift her hips and raise her arms. 

“Do you know how many nights I’ve laid in this exact bed and imagined you just like this?” Azriel began, his voice a dark, sultry whisper. “Splayed out…naked…undone?”

“No,” she squeaked out in response, half embarrassed to be undressed before him. Azriel’s gaze burned against her skin, warming a path from her collarbone to her thighs. 

“Would you like to know what I dream about at night?” he questioned, sinking to his knees so he was eye level with the edge of the bed. 

Arousal ribboned through her, making a fool out of her. “Yes,” she replied, strangely excited to be the object of this man’s fantasies. 

Strong, scarred fingers curled around her thighs, pushing them wider before hooking them over his shoulders. He was staring at her cunt, now, studying her like she was some priceless piece of art. 

“I dream of tasting you,” Azriel breathed, the warmth of his breath fanning against her. Gwyn squirmed when he kissed her inner thigh—the left, and then the right—before using his tongue to lightly take that first taste he’d been dreaming of. Gwyn might have asked him how he liked it had it not felt so good. 

Besides, she knew he liked it—Azriel groaned loudly, spreading her apart wider with his fingers so he could taste her everywhere. Gone was his slow exploration, his desire to take his time. All of it had been replaced with the animal kneeling between her legs, licking and touching her cunt like his life depended on it. 

All traces of her embarrassment evaporated, leaving only instinct behind. Gwyn surrendered to the urge, letting desire wash over her until it was all she knew. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, well aware he probably couldn’t. 

Azriel pushed a finger into her gently, moaning at whatever he felt. Gwyn hadn’t considered what it would feel like to share space with him—to feel him inside her own body but now…

“Az,” she panted, her hips rolling against his mouth and hand. She wanted him to stop licking, to replace his fingers with his cock. Heat was building in her chest beyond simple arousal, heavy like a chain. 

Unbreakable.

A bond. A real thread she could follow straight to the male between her legs. It reverberated and then snapped just as Azriel sucked her clit into his mouth, eliciting a scream that was half his name. Could he feel it too? No—his had snapped months ago and he’d just been living with it.

Gwyn couldn’t see how. If she didn’t have him right that second she might go insane. Reaching for his powerful biceps, Gwyn tried to pull him off her but the waves of pleasure made her hands shake. 

“Az,” she tried again, his name a breathy moan against her lips. Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding against him in what must have seemed like encouragement to keep going. Maybe it was—she didn’t try very hard to get him off her.

Azriel managed a third finger, a whine slipping from his throat at the effort. Gwyn just barely registered any of it, her body jerking a second time from pleasure so bright and heady she could have died from it. It was too much—Gwyn was burning, was in free-fall with no one to catch her.

Digging her nails into his skin, she yanked at him. Azriel emerged, lips wet and eyes wild. “Please,” she heard herself saying, the magic words that, apparently, could convince him to do anything she wanted. “I need you.”

His fingers were wet as they skimmed the side of her body, palm grasping her breast before his lips found hers. He tasted sweet and she supposed it was herself, truly, she was tasting on his tongue. He was hurried, his desperation making him sloppy. When his teeth clashed with her own, nipping the sensitive skin of her bottom lip, Gwyn had enough.

“Az—”

“Don’t beg me,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against her own. Caressing her cheek, Azriel added, “I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t have to beg.”

“I feel it,” she replied, running her hand up and down his spine. “It’s a real thread.”

Azriel exhaled with relief, a smile ghosting his pretty face. Whispering something that sounded like gratitude toward the gods, he adjusted his body until she felt the blunt head of his cock pressed against her. How had he stood it? The waiting, the wanting, the utter need that Gwyn was all but drowning in. If they didn’t do this, she thought she might die from it. 

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you.” It wasn’t a request, though Gwyn had no intention of telling him anything. She expected a little pain, expected little pleasure. Why else had he used his mouth first? 

Gwyn had read enough books to know that there was blood and pain and so when Azriel slid himself an inch into her, she braced herself against him, her nails digging into his biceps. She could feel his eyes on her, searching for even a hint of discomfort. There was something reassuring about knowing he’d stop if she wanted. That he cared if she enjoyed herself. 

Gwyn didn’t need a book to know not all males cared about such things.

Azriel took his time—like he knew he had eons of it, that he didn’t have to rush. Gwyn loved him for it, eyes burning with unshed tears at the thought. She’d tell him all this later, when they’d had a chance to breathe and eat and really talk about everything that had otherwise been left unsaid. Instead she dragged her lips down his neck and focused on the feeling of his cock in her body, pushing further and further without any of the accompanying pain she’d expected.

She was slick enough that he felt less like an intrusion and more like a welcomed guest, and once he’d seated himself entirely, it seemed as though they’d been made like two puzzle pieces destined to fit. 

It took a moment to get used to the stretch, to breathe despite the feeling of fullness. Azriel gave it to her instinctively, as if he knew exactly what she both wanted and needed. There was that same sense of I have all the time in the world, despite her knowing he was desperate. A bead of sweat slid from his temple, rolling down his neck and his arms shook from restraint.

He didn’t move. 

Not until her mouth made its way to his collarbone and she whispered, “Give me more.” He groaned loud enough to shatter the silence, pulling himself out with a slowness that bordered on madness. 

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, burying his face into her neck. “I’m losing my mind.”

She couldn’t help the exhaled smile, raking her fingers through his hair. “Did you dream of this, too?”

“No,” he admitted with a grunt, sliding his cock back into her body. “I didn’t dare.”

“Why?”

“Couldn’t,” he managed, thrusting again with a little more intensity. “Would have gone crazy from wanting you. Surprised you couldn’t smell it on me.”

As if she would have known what she was smelling. There was no point in telling him so—not as Azriel confessed the depths of his devotion, the lengths he’d gone to give her time, space, and whatever else she’d wanted. Would he have continued to do so forever? 

Gwyn kissed his cheek. “I want you. I want this.”

He groaned again, sliding his hand between their otherwise flushed bodies to rub at her still swollen clit. She’d been half distracted by his words to pay attention to her body but right then, when his thumb began making tight circles, Gwyn was pulled back under the depths of shadowed darkness, half consumed by the male laying on top of her. 

Their mouths met, messy and unrestrained. Strange how kissing merely heightened the pleasure coiling through her—Gwyn wouldn’t have guessed that. In her books, everything was so neat and clinical. They kissed, they touched, they fucked with nothing in between. In real life, sex was messier, more fluid. Or maybe she and Azriel merely had more passion than the people in her stories.

Those love stories had once brought her such joy. Now they seemed dimmed in comparison to what was happening to her and her own feelings. 

“I need to feel you come,” he whispered, betraying how close he must have been. Gwyn felt the same way. She needed to feel him, needed to see him wholly unraveled. All because of her—no one else was allowed to know what he sounded like, what he looked like. They got control, they got the ice but she got the heat, the impulsivity—everything he was, everything he’d ever been. 

Gwyn came to the thought of that future, tightening around him as her back arched her into his chest, offering very little give. Azriel kissed her, swallowing the sound of her moans greedily. They belonged to him, anyway. 

He came mere seconds later, his own noise of pleasure delightfully loud for a male that was so often silent. Gwyn kept herself wrapped tight around him, arms winding against his neck, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. His pumping was erratic, uncontrolled and a little desperate. Gwyn was obsessed with this side of him—wanted more of it.

Azriel didn’t withdraw when he was done, his heart thudding against her breast. “It’s not enough, is it?” she whispered, thinking they both ought to feel sated. She didn’t. In her books, the heroine was always spent, the hero falling asleep not long after. The pair would wake in each other's arms, content and glowing from the night before.

Gwyn wanted to shove him to the floor and climb atop him. Wanted to hear him beg, too—wanted more of the whimpering, the groaning and everything in between.

“It was never going to be,” he panted, kissing her softly. 

“How long will it last?” she wondered, brushing a damp lock of hair from his face.

“Eternity, I imagine,” he replied, his eyes burning with that same unflinching intensity. “For me, at least.”

Gwyn’s heart exploded, racing in her throat. “Are you hungry?” she whispered, deciding she couldn’t wait for the morning. She wanted to do this right now. Wanted him to know that this meant something to her, even if she was scared, too. 

Azriel went still. “There’s no rush—”

“That’s yes or no, Azriel.”

A smile broke over his face. “Starving,” he admitted in that dark, sultry voice. 

“You have to get up,” she reminded him, pushing half-heartedly at his shoulder. Azriel lowered his mouth for another kiss.

“In a minute.”

Strange how a minute could stretch.

Into lifetimes, even.

#gwynriel #I DID IT

[raewritez]

for the want of the sun | chapter sixteen: another climb

a/n: hey guys…long time no see…

Zuko and I are by Iroh’s side the moment we hear him wake. It’s morning, and songbirds have found their perch in the forest outside. The sun streams through the rotting panels of wood, painting Iroh’s weary face in soft light.

“Uncle,” Zuko urges. Iroh breathes in, prying open his eyes. Zuko releases a sigh of relief, and so do I. “You were unconscious,” he says. “It was a surprise attack. Azula did this to you.”

Iroh pushes himself up. “Somehow, that’s not surprising.”

I stare at him in worry. “How are you feeling? I mean, obviously not great. I tried making the salve you taught me but I don’t know if I did it right-”

“I’m fine, my dear. Thank you.”

Zuko stands up and rushes to the kettle that we put on the fire. Neither of us really know how to make tea, we just used some of Iroh’s herbs that he had stashed away. I’d seen him do it enough times, but he makes it look easy.

He carries a cup of steaming tea over to us. “Here, Uncle. I hope we made it the way you like it.”

Iroh takes it from his hands gratefully and takes a sip. I see his eyes widen, his jaw clench.

Zuko looks at him hopefully. “How is it?”

“Good!” Iroh exclaims, a little forcefully. “Very, uh, bracing!”

Zuko gives me a satisfied smile. I give him a thumbs up, but when he turns away, I give Iroh an apologetic grin. He shakes his head with a smile.

Then, Zuko says: “Uncle, I’ve been thinking,” and I know that whatever he’s about to say is cause for concern.

“It’s only a matter of time until I run into Azula again,” he continues. “I’m going to need to know more advanced skills to face her.” He pauses. He sends the both of us a look. “I know what you two are going to say; she’s my sister and I should try to get along with her.”

I shake my head. “Um, no? She’s insane. And I’m not a firebender, so…”

Iroh nods. “Yes. She’s crazy and she needs to go down.” He pushes himself to stand, groaning as he does so. I reach out to help him but he waves me away. “It’s time to resume your training.”

Zuko nods solemnly. “Thank you, Uncle. I’m ready for this.”

—

He and Iroh hike up to the mountain peak in the evening, and hours pass before I hear the thunder. 

I’d busied myself with cooking, mixing together vegetables that I’d found in the overgrown garden outside the cabin. There’s carrots, tomatoes…not quite enough for a meal, but we’re working with what we can get. I spend most of the day alone. My mind wanders, and my chest hurts when I think about things for too long, but the sun is out and the grass is lit golden in the evening and I convince myself that it’s enough. When the rain comes in, I watch it through the window, and listen to the quiet melody of the droplets on the roof. 

When Iroh breaks through the door, obviously troubled, I stand, heart already racing. “What did he do?”

Iroh shakes his head, clearly distressed. “He wants to bend lightning. I told him he is not ready, but he won’t listen.”

“He’s out there?” The sky is dark, and the wind has picked up drastically. As usual, the mention of Zuko stirs anxiety in my body.

Iroh nods. “I’m still weak. I can’t…”

I nod. “It’s okay. I’m going.” I have no coat or protection from the rain, so I make my way to the door.

“Be careful, please,” Iroh says. 

The grass is slippery under my feet, and the wind whips at my face, and I scan my surroundings for Zuko. I hope I won’t find him fried somewhere.

It hasn’t been ten minutes when I see him, figure moving slowly down the mountain with shoulders hunched. “Zuko!” I yell, walking as fast as I can without slipping. I call a few more times before he notices me.

I’m shaking my head when I approach him. “What were you thinking?” I yell. “Bending lightning? You know how dangerous that is! You’ve been out here for hours…” I pause my lecture when I realize that the drops falling down his face are not just rain, and that his good eye is tinged in red, and that his face is raw with emotion that makes him look like a young boy.

I fall silent, staring. The rain is loud around us. He won’t meet my eyes, his gaze cast down to the ground, and his shoulders begin to shake.

“Zuko,” I whisper. I take a step forward. I’m surprised when he falls into me, arms reaching, pulling me to him. “I-”

“Please,” he chokes out, and his breaths are short and fast. “I can’t-” He’s shaking, and I grab his wrists that are placed on my shoulders.

“Zuko, breathe. It’s okay. You’re okay.” I’m trying, but he’s not with me. Not really. If he were more conscious, I’m sure he’d recoil at the touch we’re sharing, at his vulnerability. He’d be pulling away, but right now he’s not, so I’m trying. I place my hand on his chest. “Zuko. Look at me.”

He does. His eyes meet mine, glossed with tears and rainwater, a dull brown. I recognize then what the look is on his face: defeat. He shakes his head. “Why does this always happen? Why is it always so hard?”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t have an answer for him.

I pull him close to me. His arms wind around my waist, clutching, and I’ll let him have this moment of respite. He’s quiet, and I almost don't catch his whispered “I’m sorry,” but I do. I just hold him. I hold him until the rain stops.

—

We leave the next morning. Iroh’s well enough to get back on the road, the road to wherever we’re going. Our ostrich horses managed to follow us, so we saddle them up, Zuko with his Uncle, and me alone. Zuko avoids my eyes the whole morning. 

It’s later, when the afternoon sun is high and sweltering, and Zuko’s nonstop navigation has Iroh and I catching eyes that the day turns for the worse.

Iroh groans loudly, looking to see if Zuko noticed. When he receives no response, he does it again, until Zuko pulls back on the reins, closing his eyes in frustration that has me smirking. “Maybe we should take a break,” he says.

“No, please, don’t stop for me,” Iroh says, clutching his chest in faux pain. 

Zuko glares back at him. “Get off.”

Iroh slides off the saddle, triumphant. I hop to the ground, my knees almost buckling as I hit the earth, and my body screaming in the pain that comes from sitting still for hours on end. But almost as soon as I’m standing straight, I leap back, an arrow narrowly missing my foot.

“Woah!” I exclaim, tripping. 

“What was that?” Zuko calls, but the answer comes in the rumbling coming up the trail. A group of men dressed in red costumes surrounds us, an array of weapons raised. I step back quickly, coming to Zuko’s side, and he raises his hands in defense.

“Colonel Mongke!” Iroh exclaims. “What a pleasant surprise!”

A tall man with intricate facial hair lifts his head in disdain. “If you’re surprised we’re here, then the Dragon of the West has lost a few steps.”

Zuko glances at his uncle. “You know these guys?”

“Sure,” Iroh grins. Colonel Mongke and the Rough Rhinos are legendary. Each one is a different kind of weapon specialist. They are also a very capable singing group.”

I snicker. “Singing? Like acapella?”

The man glares down at me. “We’re not here to give a concert. We’re here to apprehend some fugitives!”

Iroh sighs. “Would you like some tea first? Jasmine, maybe? I’d love some.”

“Enough stalling,” the man scoffs. “Round them up!”

One of the other men begins swinging a ball and chain around, aiming at Iroh. Zuko shoots flames towards the group, while I leap over and quickly push at his pressure points. The chain falls to the ground with a clatter. When I look back, the men are slumped on the ground, and Iroh is pulling my arm to drag me to the ostrich horses. I grab the horn of the saddle, putting my foot in the stirrup before pushing myself to sit on top. 

“Go, go!” I yell, kicking at the horse’s sides. 

The three of us gallop down the trail, leaving the men in the dust. My chest is heaving as I try to catch my breath. I catch Zuko’s eyes, the shock prominent in both our faces. 

Iroh breathes in. “It’s always nice to see old friends.”

I can’t help the look I give him. It’s been a long day.

“Too bad you don’t have any friends that don’t want to kill you,” Zuko snarks, steering the reins. 

Iroh assumes a pensive look. “Hmm. Old friends that don’t want to kill me…”

—-

taglist: @aquaamethyst96 @kaygilles

#atla #avatar the last airbender #prince zuko #zuko x y/n #zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko fanfic #avatar fanfic #avatar x reader #zuko #iroh #for the want of the sun #fire lord zuko #aang x reader #kataang #aang #ba sing we #earth kingdom #azula

[set-phasers-to-whump]

a light at the end of the tunnel

prompt: comfort

whumpee: eddie diaz

fandom: 911

hi here's my 31st and final fic this month!!! how the time flies...anyway this fic is set current times-ish (though full disclosure i am behind by two episodes) and is pre-buddie. hope you like it!

It has been a hellishly long week. It’s the tail end of it now, a rainy, windy Saturday evening. Eddie is lying atop his bed fully clothed with his eyes screwed shut, trying to force himself to fall asleep. 

It’s not working. He feels like there’s electricity buzzing under his skin, like he can’t quite breathe properly, like there’s a weight sitting on top of his chest. 

It’s too much. This week has been too much and the silence of his empty house is too much and he never should have agreed to let Chris go on that overnight trip to the aquarium because if he hadn’t then his son would be here and Eddie would be able to exist. 

But he’s alone. The rain drums on the roof and the wind whistles at the window. He gives up on keeping his eyes closed and stares up at the dark ceiling. 

He wants…he wants something. He doesn’t know what it is. It isn’t this, though. This crushing weight on top of him and the low-level anxiety rippling through his body. 

His phone rings. The sound startles him, momentarily distracts him from himself. 

It’s Buck. He picks up, squinting at the bright light of the screen. 

“Yeah?” He’s surprised by how normal his own voice sounds. 

“Hey, Eddie. Do you wanna come over and, uh, watch a movie or something? I know Chris is at the aquarium and we’re off tomorrow and I’m so bored and I was wondering if you were bored too -”

“Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

“Great, yeah, okay. See you soon.”

Eddie stares down at his phone for a few seconds. It’s earlier than he’d thought - not even 8:00. The thought of dragging himself up and driving to Buck’s is unpleasant, but the thought of being at Buck’s, of not being alone, of having someone to distract him from everything, is wonderful. 

And so he gets up. He’s still dressed, so at least he doesn’t have to bother with that. He scrubs a hand over his eyes as though he’d actually done any sleeping and then grabs his keys and heads outside. 

He jogs through the rain to his truck. The chilly air fills his lungs and makes them burn, but it’s pleasant, sort of grounding. He breathes in deeply, inhaling the scent of the rain, then climbs into the driver’s seat and sets off. 

It’s not until he’s knocking at Buck’s door that he wonders whether he should have brought something. But it’s too late to do anything about that now. 

Buck opens the door and raises his eyebrows. “What, did you lose your key?”

Eddie blinks. His key to Buck’s apartment is in his pocket. He knows he has it. He has no idea why he’d decided to knock. 

He shrugs and follows Buck inside. Now that he’s here, he’s all of a sudden not certain that being here is the best idea. He feels…on edge. Like one tiny thing might cause him to explode, to collapse. 

“Come on,” Buck says. “I’ve got pizza. It’s a little bit cold, but…”

“I’m not really hungry,” Eddie replies. He tries to smile, to wave it off. He can feel himself failing.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

He can’t not say yes. He figures it’s probably hardwired into his brain. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“Oh,” says Buck. “We don’t…we don’t have to watch a movie, then.”

But if they don’t watch a movie then there’s no reason for Eddie to be here. And he doesn’t want to go home. Even though he does feel weird, like he isn’t sure that being here is smart when he feels like something in him might crack, he can’t imagine leaving. 

“No, no, I’ll be okay. I’ll try not to fall asleep on you.”

Buck shrugs. “If you’re sure. You want anything to drink?”

Eddie shakes his head. All he really wants to do is sit down. 

He gets his wish. They sit on Buck’s new couch, which isn’t actually new. It’s secondhand and well-worn. Eddie sinks into it so deeply that he wonders whether he’s going to simply fall through the bottom. 

“Any preference?”

Eddie stares at the TV without actually seeing anything. “Up to you.”

Buck deliberates silently but intensely for several minutes. Eddie watches him. And then catches himself watching, and stops. 

Buck settles on a movie Eddie’s never seen, some old detective film shot in black and white. Eddie stares at the opening credits until his eyes start to water. God, he’s tired. 

He’s not sure how long they’ve been watching the movie - or rather, how long Buck’s been watching and Eddie’s been staring - when Buck gently taps him on the shoulder. 

“Eddie.”

“Hm?” He shakes his head slightly, turns to look at Buck. 

“You sure you’re alright? You seem…I dunno. Off.”

Eddie shrugs. “It’s nothing.” His chest feels tight again. Maybe he should just leave. It’s the last thing in the world he truly wants, but. He’s put himself upon Buck too many times before. 

And by this point he knows Buck doesn’t mind, doesn’t think any less of him for breaking, for being unable to hold himself together. But he can’t entirely force himself to believe that. It’s complicated. 

“It’s not nothing to me. If something’s wrong. That’s not nothing, Eddie.”

He shrugs again. Part of him is screaming to just talk, to tell Buck his stupid problems and be comforted about them. Another part is screaming, just as loudly, that he can’t do this, isn’t allowed, shouldn’t want to. 

“Eddie, please.”

He takes a breath that kind of shudders on the inhale. “It’s not even…there’s nothing really wrong. It’s just. I don’t know, everything? Not everything. It’s this week. I don’t…a lot of bad calls, Chris was angry at me, weird conversation with my mom, I don’t know. I don’t know why it’s like this.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Buck says. He’s moved closer to Eddie at some point. Their legs are touching now. Buck’s hand is on his shoulder. “Sometimes it’s just like that, you know? Too much happening all at once.”

“But it shouldn’t - I shouldn’t -”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Eds. That stuff doesn’t matter. It’s okay to just…to just be overwhelmed sometimes.”

Eddie doesn’t know if he can make himself believe that. But Buck sounds so sincere and he wants to believe it, he thinks. He wants…

He wants a fucking hug. Which is the most embarrassing thing in the world to realize, to admit to himself. He feels his face heat slightly just from the thought. He wants to just be held for a little while and forget about everything else. 

But he can’t have this, because he’s incapable of asking and it’s not like Buck can read his mind. 

“You still with me?” Buck asks. His hand is still on Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing gently. This is good enough, Eddie supposes. The pressure of Buck’s leg against his and that point of contact, warm and sturdy, on his shoulder. It has to be enough. 

Eddie nods a slightly belated response to Buck’s question. 

“Is there anything I can do? I mean, I know you said you didn’t want anything to drink but I can make coffee, or tea, or something, or…”

Eddie shakes his head. He closes his eyes. Despite his best efforts otherwise he can feel a pressure in his head, feel the prickling sensation of tears. He’s going to cry over, what, having a rough week? No. Absolutely not. 

“Hey,” Buck says. Eddie carefully opens his eyes, looks over again. Buck is looking back at him and he looks so fucking open and concerned and all Eddie can think is how easy it would be to just lean in a little, to rest his head against Buck’s collarbone but he can’t, isn’t supposed to, shouldn’t want to. 

And then Buck is leaning forward and Buck is slowly wrapping arms around him and it’s clear he’s just waiting for Eddie to pull away but Eddie absolutely is not going to do that. 

After a beat Buck apparently realizes this, too, and then he’s putting a hand on the back of Eddie’s head and running fingers through his hair and Eddie finally does rest his head against Buck’s collarbone. 

He can hear Buck’s heartbeat like this, steady and even. Almost immediately the anxiety buzzing beneath his skin goes quiet. There’s still a sort of pressure in his chest but he takes a few deep breaths, inhaling the familiar smell of Buck, and it feels like the weight pushing down on him has lessened. 

They stay like this for quite a while, Eddie leaning on Buck and breathing deeply and feeling the tension and stress fade away. Buck, for his part, just holds on, lets Eddie lean on him. His fingers are still in Eddie’s hair and it’s one of the nicest things Eddie has ever felt in his life. 

He thinks he’d probably be willing to stay in this position forever, but now that all of the overwhelming sensations have abated, Eddie’s well and truly exhausted. He can’t stop himself from yawning against Buck’s shoulder. 

“You tired?” Buck asks. 

Eddie sort of nods. He is tired, but he really doesn’t want to move. 

“Do you want the bed? I know the couch isn’t the best, so -”

Eddie cuts Buck off with a shake of the head. “Couch is good.”

“Do you…uh, do you want me to stay?”

He does. It takes him several long seconds to work himself up to nod. It feels like admitting something terrible at the same time as it feels like getting something he’s wanted for a very long time. 

They do some readjusting - or, mostly, Buck does some readjusting. Eddie is too tired to do much work. 

He ends up lying across the couch with his head pillowed on Buck’s legs. Buck’s fingers are once again carding through his hair. It still feels like the nicest thing in the world. Eddie feels…content, for the first time in what feels like ages. 

He is finally able to fall asleep.

thanks for reading! that's a wrap on whumptober 2022 and with that i am a completionist for four years running! it's been a slightly crazy month but i've had a great time and i hope you've enjoyed whichever fics you've read!!!! love you all sm <3

#whumptober2022 #no.31 #comfort #911 #fic #eddie diaz #emotional whump #held #i say things #my writing #anyway. tomorrow is my 20th birthday. fucked up. #i am about to be In My Twenties. a twentysomething. insane. #feels illegal for me to be getting so old what the hell!! #but also. happy halloween! hope people had a great day :) i've seen some truly fantastic costumes on campus today which was great #but yeah. fourth year babey! wild how much has changed. #ok gonna go now. have a great rest of your halloween everyone!

[twilicat24]

Just when things seem to be Okay my idiot fucking brain has to find something else to get stressed about

#I am starting to fear that my kitty may be preggo #and while this would certainly not be the end of the world #she is still very little #and it's really not the best time to be rehoming kittens #so my anxiety is through the roof when I should really be winding down for sleep #I should have been more firm about keeping her separate from the rest of the house until Diego got fixed #but as with everything my parents just don't have any sort of discipline when it comes to ANY of the animals #at least I managed to get it through their thick skulls that the kitties should be INSIDE ONLY PETS #so even if she is it won't happen again :/ #twi rambles

[bumbleklee]

HELLO!!! Can you do the reader that feels like a second choice for zhongli, kaeya, Childe, and xiao?

baby ur a shining star (cut for length + reader is gn)

zhongli

after hearing about guizhong and her relationship with zhongli, you had a sinking feeling in your stomach

you couldn't help but wonder if he was still in love with her and you were being used as a place holder to pass time

around the anniversary of her death, zhongli became distant from you and it sent you spiraling

for days, you didn't come out of your apartment and you weren't planning on it anytime soon until zhongli came by to see if you were still alive

He had a key to your apartment. You knew that - you gave it to him - and yet, you were still surprised when he sat down on the edge of your bed.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt a large hand caress your shoulder over your duvet. "Zhongli?"

"Are you sick?" He asks instantly, reaching forward to touch your forehead. You lean out of his touch and sit up in bed, grasping the blanket still. You keep your gaze down.

"No," You say quietly.

"Then, where have you been?" He asks.

"Where have I been? Where have you been?" You demand, frowning. Zhongli had been more than distant to you over the past week. You could hardly see him for more than five minutes before he was rushing you away so he could take a walk through the forest alone. And he had cancelled your dates!

Zhongli frowned himself and looked away, "I apologize. I've had a lot on my mind."

"So have I," You say. You cross your arms, "Is there someone else?"

The words float of your mouth to carelessly and Zhongli looks taken aback. "Someone else? Of course not."

"What about Guizhong?"

There's a silence in the bedroom and Zhongli peers at your face for a moment. His expression is unreadable and you wish you hadn't spoken the words you did. Suddenly, his hand reaches out again and lands on yours this time.

"Y/N, Guizhong was a good friend of mine many years ago. I mourn for her passing but you are my future," He tells you, "Please understand that you are the only one I care for now."

kaeya

dating kaeya came with anxiety and worries

he was a very attractive man and his personality was more than flirty at times

it wasn't rare to see him shake off multiple women or men at the tavern or on the streets of mondstadt after they had drank a little too much

you knew he would never betray you, he loved you too much, but when you saw how much affection he received from strangers, your heart couldn't help but ache

You knew going out to the tavern with Kaeya would only end in an argument. He was by your side for no more than ten minutes before some Knights pulled him to their table. You clenched your jaw and sat at the bar alone, Diluc sending you a sympathetic smile.

Your eyes ghosted behind you often and the sight of a woman wrapping her arms around Kaeya's waist had you fuming silently. You gripped the glass in your hand and your feet moved on their own. You grabbed Kaeya by his arm and dragged his tipsy body out the door without a word.

"What did I do?" He slurred, "I wasn't done hanging out."

You gave Kaeya the silent treatment as you walked home and he lingered like a lost puppy behind you. When you both had changed into your pajamas and Kaeya tried to spoon you like he did every night, you pushed him away.

Dejected, Kaeya sat up. "What did I do?" He asked again, more sober this time.

"Why don't you go ask your girlfriend from the bar?" You snapped.

"Come on," Kaeya groaned, "We've talked about this. I can't control what other people do."

"I don't care."

You crossed your arms tightly and laid down in bed, your back facing Kaeya. You felt a familiar warm feeling in your chest and your bottom lip quivered slightly, your eyes filling with tears.

Kaeya's arms were around you the second he heard you sniffle. "What's the matter?" He asked seriously.

"You're not going to leave me, right?" You asked, spinning around in his arms.

He cocked an eyebrow at you, "What? Of course not." He leaned close to your face and pressed his nose against yours. "Is this what this is all about?"

You only nodded.

"I love you," Kaeya continued, "And no one, not even that lady from the tavern, is going to come between us. Got it?"

childe

when you first started dating childe, he made you promise that you understood that his work came first

and you did because, frankly, you didn't think you would ever be second choice to the duties of a fatui harbinger

but the more involved you became with childe, the more you realized that maybe you had bit off more you could chew

Childe had stood you up the second time that week. You waited at the Liyue Pavilion for over an hour until you realized he wasn't coming and went home, utterly devastated.

When he finally returned home to you, it was early in the morning and you were half asleep on the couch. The sound of him closing the door woke you up and you only frowned at him. Childe tried to reach over to you to give you a kiss but you peeled away from him.

"I'm sorry for not making it, Y/N," Childe began, "I just -"

"Got caught up with work," You finished.

He looked down at his shoes and you looked elsewhere too. This exact scenario was happening too often and you weren't sure how much you could take of it. And Childe seemed to have similar thoughts as he sat beside you on the couch.

"I'm really sorry," He tried again.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better, Ajax? Because it doesn't."

He clicked his tongue. "You're right," He said, "Listen, Y/N. I think we should end things before I really can't be there for you. Things are only picking up from here."

There was a silence. "Yeah," You agreed.

"You'll find a nice person one day that won't be so involved with what I do," He chides, "Anyone would be lucky enough to call you theirs."

You wanted that person to be Childe. Except, Childe was just like every other guy out there. He told you he loved you yet couldn't even make you his priority.

xiao

similar to childe, it isn't a person that makes you feel like second best

in xiao's case, it's his duties as the yaksha that bury worries deep in your heart

he's not around most nights and during the day, he's always on edge and distant

you've become accustom to his routine but you weren't sure how much more you could take of it

For once, Xiao stayed home with you at night. You had cooked dinner and even though Xiao hated mortal food, he shoved it down for you. The two of you stayed up to watch the sunrise on the roof and you fell asleep in his arms.

When you woke up in a cold sweat hours later, Xiao was gone. Your window was open, the wind rushing in, and you frowned deeply. You sat up in bed, rubbing your forehead. He couldn't even stay the night.

"Xiao..." You whispered into the night. "Xiao?"

In a second, your partner stood in front of the bed. "What's wrong?"

"You left me," You scowled, standing up to shut the window. Your feet stomped against the cold floor with too much emphasis. Xiao didn't respond so you snapped your eyes towards him. He was just staring at you. "Do you even love me anymore?"

He was taken aback by your words, "Huh? Of course I do."

"Then why don't you show it?" Your tone had fell drastically and you held back your tears.

Xiao was beside you in moments, his hands cradling your face gently. His eyes searched yours crazily and you felt the urge to pull away but refrained.

"I'm new at this," He whispered, "I'm trying."

You sighed, "Well, try harder."

He nodded, "I will."

Once you had vented a bit longer, Xiao lead you back to bed and wrapped his arms around you once again. When you woke up in the morning, you were throughly surprised to find him next to you still.

a/n sorry u break up in childes

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin hcs #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin kaeya #kaeya #kaeya x reader #genshin xiao #xiao #xiao x reader #genshin zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli #childe #childe x reader #genshin childe #genshin tartagalia #tartagalia x reader #tartagila #genshin x reader #genshin self insert

[staticscreenwriting]

Fake Dating || Jess Mariano

My entry for day 5 of our Christmas Calendar. Find all the information here. We’d love for you to join us.

Summary: Reader is invited to her ex boyfriend’s Christmas Party and doesn’t want to show up alone. Playing pretend leads to a confession. 

Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.

There’s something magical about Stars Hollow in the winter. The snow covers the ground and the roofs like a layer of marshmallow fluff and Christmas lights twinkle at you from every corner. 

It’s like a scene straight from a Hallmark card brought to life.

Sounds like a little piece of paradise right here on earth, right? Like a dream.

Yeah not when you have to stomp through the snow, hands freezing, toes merely made of ice by this point, hair a mess atop your head, and all that fuels you to continue going is the anxiety coursing through your veins and the promise of warmth and a hot cup of coffee waiting for you at the end of your journey.

When she reaches the sacred halls of Luke’s cafe, a big scowl pulls the corners of (Y/N)’s lips downwards. Coming back home was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to feel the way it did when she was a kid. Safe and comforting and warm. Only everything is different.

A big mug of steaming coffee is set down in front of her before she can even properly sit down on the barstool by the counter. Luke greets her with his signature grunt that might seem grumpy to some but really it’s how he shows his love. Being at the receiving end should make you feel proud. 

Okay, maybe not everything has changed. Maybe some things stayed the same. Even if it’s the little ones. Sometimes they mean everything.

“ What’s got you scowling like that ? “ he asks as he rings up the person by the register. 

“ Hmm — the heartbreaking realization that we can not stop the passing of time and that with every ticking second the magic of Christmas gets lost a little more as our bitter little hearts grow colder? “ 

Luke takes a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “ Look I already have one aggressively sarcastic jokester around right now, I can’t use another one. “ 

“ What do you mean? “ 

“ Jess is here. “ 

It’s like the sun cuts through her cloudy mind for a split second as the words register. There’s something about Jess she can never quite put into words. A silent understanding about the world and everything in it that he shares with her. Back when they were teenagers, angry and lost, the only place they found belonging, found understanding, was in each other. 

And while she knows she never held the importance in his life that Rory did, while she was never at the receiving end of his romantic interest, she knows she meant something to him — means something. Sometimes you need to find someone else who’s lived their own tragedies in order to help you overcome yours. 

Jess was her best friend and she was his. And while times have changed and distance has kept them apart lately, they both know the other is just a phone call away and a little part of their heart will always belong to each other.

“ Jess is here? “ 

“ I’m here. “ he announces his presence as he steps out from behind the curtain separating the stairs to the apartment from the cafe. 

“ Woah, what’s got you looking all gloomy? “ 

“ That’s what I asked her but I only got a smartass answer. “ Luke points out before making his round across the room serving refills to eager customers trying to hide from the harsh winter winds raging outside.

“ So ? “ 

“ So, you didn’t tell me you were gonna be here. “ 

Jess just shrugs and averts his eyes in the way he always does. The way that makes him look so casually cool and unphased when (Y/N) knows he’s anything but. He has the biggest and softest heart of anyone she knows. It’s just hard sometimes, to let it show when the people who were supposed to love you most left it scarred and broken. 

“ Didn’t know I was gonna be here but then Doula called last night and asked if I wanted to spend the week before Christmas with them too instead of just Christmas day and I didn’t have anything else to do anyway so — “ 

“ And you can’t say no to your sister. “ 

“ Yeah, that too. But back to you. The last time I saw you this sad was when you made me watch that Mickey Mouse Christmas movie that had you crying for like 3 hours after it ended."

"He sold his harmonica to buy Minnie a present Jess! He gave up his music for her."

"You gonna start crying again? "

"I might. Because it's sad and also just to annoy you."

"Okaaaay. Look just - just tell me what's up and maybe I can be talked into watching another cheesy movie if that would cheer you up a little."

He's sweet and gentle and he cares so much. And while she wishes he'd show this side of him to other people sometimes, to let them see the real him, there's a certain sense of pride that fills (Y/N)'s heart knowing she's one of the few people that part of him is reserved for.

"I don't think that's gonna be enough this time, although I appreciate the offer. I ran into Riley earlier."

" Riley Riley? From High School? "

" The same one. Who broke my heart and started dating one of my friends right after dumping me at the firelight festival. " 

There's a dangerous gleam in Jess' eyes. One she's very familiar but hasn't seen in a long time, not since that one night at truncheon when he told her about Rory and Logan and how he felt used. When he called her drunk and sad. When -

"That guy is an asshole, nothing new. But I thought you were over him."

"I am. I totally am. But you know since we're all adults now and civil and we haven't seen each other in a while he thought it would be nice to invite me to this Christmas party they have tonight. "

"They?"

"Him and Lexi. The same girl he dumped me for. They are married now and, by the look of their house, pretty well off too. “ 

“ Okay, so what did you say? “ 

(Y/N) takes the last sip of coffee, letting the bitter taste settle on her tongue hoping that maybe it can overshadow the taste of regret and shame and sadness that has been stuck there ever since talking to Riley.

“ Well, what was I supposed to say? No ? “ 

“ Yes! That’s exactly what you should’ve said. Come on, Goose. Why would you say yes? “

“ I couldn’t say no. That would’ve made it look like I'm still into him or something.”

Jess only regards her with the signature Jess Mariano scowl and judgmental eyes. Not mean or malicious, just maybe a little disappointed.

"Maybe I'll go ahead and ask Lulu if she'll lend me Kirk for the night. Just so I don't have to show up alone, like a loser."

“ You’re not a loser. “ 

“ You’re my best friend. You’re basically contractually obligated to say that. “ 

"I don't remember signing - "

"Aah in pretty sure you did " (Y/N) interrupts him before pushing herself off of the barstool. " Alright, I gotta run. Need to figure out what to wear tonight and ugh this completely ruined my whole hair washing schedule. Anyway, I will come around tomorrow and report back about the epic failure of tonight's dinner. "

As she rushes out of the diner, red scarf fluttering behind her like a lick of fire, she yells a happy "thanks for the coffee, Luke" and just as the door is about to close, Jess can make out a faint "Bye Maverick. Love you." And though she said it a thousand times before it never fails to make his heart beat just a tiny bit faster.

"Bye Goose."

She looks nice. Pretty even. (Y/N) has to admit that much as she regards herself in the mirror adorning the wall of the entryway. It's taken some time to do the hair and makeup but it looks good. Doesn't mean it feels good. Or right.

She wants nothing more than to slump back on her couch, stuff her face with junk food, and put on a Christmas movie. Maybe invite Jess over because… well Jess makes everything better. And it's not that she doesn't like getting dolled up or going out. If it was just any other place and any other person. 

A knock on the front door shakes her from her daydream or rather day-nightmare?

There's a lot of faces she would have expected to see on the other side of the door. Stars Hollow is a tiny town with nosy people and friendly neighbors always ready for a quick chat. Not this though. She never would've expected him.

"Jess? What are you doing here? And dressed so fancy."

"It's not fancy," he huffs, a cloud of breath forming in the icy winter air " it's just dark Jeans and a white dress shirt."

If she didn't know him any better she'd describe him as bashful right then. And maybe it was the cold nipping at his cheeks but maybe, just maybe, there's a blush dusting his cheeks.

"Oh wow is that the man version of jeans and a nice top?"

"Huh?"

"Forget it," she waves him off, "what are you doing here?"

"You need a date and I need to get out of the house before Liz ropes me into one of her crystal healing circles. "

Now it's her time to blush.

"You want to be my date?"

He's quiet for a moment, contemplating his words, before nodding his casual, entirely unbothered Jess Mariano nod.

"Sure. I mean you read all those fake dating romance books. I know you do, don't even try to deny it. And I'm a good liar so we are basically made for this."

"Fake dating yeah … yeah that's right."

"So is that a yes? I can't wait to see pretty boy Riley's face when he sees us showing up together. Dude never liked me."

"Are you doing this to help me or to piss off Riley?" 

"Little bit of both."

"Alright, I'll accept that. Let's go."

"You look beautiful, by the way."

"Thanks, Maverick."

"You're welcome, Goose."

"Woah, I mean I knew they were rich but I didn't expect to be invited to a Gatsby party," (Y/N) exclaims, eyes wide with surprise. 

There's a lot of people here. Entirely too many for her to feel truly comfortable. Tinsel and ribbon decorate each corner and just by walking up the driveway and entering the entrance hall, she's counted 12 perfectly decorated Christmas trees. 

“ Well, let’s hope they don’t have a pool. “ Jess replies as they make their way through the crowd looking for food, or drinks, or both.

“ What’s that? “ Jess asks, lips pulled up in a questioning scowl, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at what he assumes to be the food. There are several big silver plates loaded with all kinds of cheeses and cured meats and other indefinable things.

"Food?"

"You sound convinced."

"Yeah, I guess maybe we should stick to the cheese and champagne for now."

"Very fancy," Jess remarks and raises his glass. 

"Very fancy indeed," (Y/N) agrees and clings her glass with his before they both take a sip of the bubbly concoction.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Jess inquires as they weave their way through the crowds. "The dinner at the Independence Inn."

"The Bracebridge Dinner!"

"Yeaaah that one. Wouldn't be surprised if they bring out the horse-drawn carriages at some point later today." 

Even to this day, there's still a sense of mischief in Jess' smile. It's not as prominent and pronounced as it used to be but it's still there. 

"I remember you forcing me to commit a crime that night."

"What are you talking about?"

"The snowman."

"Oh my god," Jess lets out a mix between a laugh and a scoff. "It was a snowman. I hardly think that's considered a crime."

"It is in Stars Hollow. But hey at least it worked. It earned you brownie points with Rory."

The mood shifts. Not necessarily in a bad way just, something is different. It always is when Rory gets brought up. Sometimes (Y/N) thinks it's because that whole relationship left scars on Jess and sometimes she thinks it's because he still isn't entirely over her. She's not sure which hurts worse.

"Sure."

"What's - what's going on there anyway?"

"With Rory?"

"Yeah. She's back in Stars Hollow. You're visiting a lot. Might be time to rekindle a past love."

At those words Jess downs the rest of his champagne, a bitter look crossing his handsome face. "I think maybe that ship has sailed. Don't think I'm what she needs. And she's not what I need either. Not anymore." 

His eyes lock with hers and for a moment she swears there is something there. A static in the air. A sizzling. Goosebumps rising on her skin and heart fluttering inside her chest and then -

"You came!" Riley's voice cuts through the air like the blaring of an emergency siren taking away all of what could be and what might've been and all the magic that came with it.

He still has the same swooping brown locks and those piercing green eyes and even now she can see why she fell in love with him at 17. He's the boy from the romcom, the teen drama heartthrob. He's the High School sweetheart that you marry, have kids with, buy a golden retriever with. 

He's the one that leaves you for your friend. That laughs about your passions. That thinks money fixes everything. 

Maybe it wasn't all that bad that they didn't work out. Maybe it was for the best.

"... and you brought Jess."

Before she can even react, she feels the weight of Jess' arm settle on her shoulder and pull her closer. 

“Good to see you too, Riley. She’s allowed to bring her boyfriend, isn’t she?”

“Sure she is.”

There’s a wave of animosity crashing over them like a tidal wave only (Y/N) can feel none of it. Her heart is too busy beating out of her chest at the sound of Jess calling himself her boyfriend. Sure it’s all pretend. It’s all a lie. It’s all fake.

And yet it still makes her feel a fluttering inside her chest.

“We’ll come on, let’s fill up our drinks and you guys can tell me all about how — this happened. “

Riley leads them to a table and sits down before motioning to the waiter and getting all 3 of them a refill of their champagne flute.

"So, you two, huh?”

“Yup.” Jess responds, his lips popping the ‘p‘. “Us two.”

“How did that come along. I mean not that I’m surprised.”

“What do you mean?” (Y/N) asks, eyebrow raised in question. Sure, there’s always someone who asks about her and Jess and whether or not they are more than friends, but it’s usually people that don’t know them very well. Riley should know better. 

“Come ooon. It was just a matter of time with you two. Everyone could see you were into each other. I mean, why do you think Jess hated me so much back in High School. It’s because he was jealous.”

There’s a sense of self-assurance and arrogance in Riley’s voice. Like he’s some cheesy movie villain spewing exposition to our clueless heroes that will change their lives forever. Only that’s not true. This can’t be true. It’s all just pretend and he has no idea what he’s talking about. Right?

“Or maybe I just didn’t like you because you didn’t treat her the way she deserves to be treated.”

“Come oooon, man”

His voice is aggravating, like nails on a chalkboard. Like a blaring fire alarm. 

“No, you come on. Remember when she had that poetry reading. The one she’d been working and practicing on for months. The one where she won an award? You weren’t there. I was. Because it was important to her. Because I was proud of her. She’s the most creative, brilliant person I know. So I’ll be there whenever she needs me to be. Because she deserves that.”

It’s like her body moves on autopilot when she leans over and places a soft kiss on his cheek. Really she wants to kiss his lips but maybe that would be overkill. And maybe that’s not how she wants it to be. No like this. In a moment of misplaced emotion. Not again.

“Okay man, I give you that. I should’ve been there. You’re right. Still, I wonder what brought this on now? What made you guys realize?”

“He sends me pictures of every dog that comes into the bookstore because he knows they make me smile.”

“Every time she finds a copy of my book she buys it.”

They speak simultaneously and for a second this room full of people feels like it’s only the two of them. Like time stops and all noise is sucked from the room and all that can be heard is the beating of their hearts.

“Well, that’s cute. Good for you guys. Seems like you’re on the same page. Glad you finally figured it out and hey, it seems like you’re happy.”

“We are,” (Y/N) agrees, locking eyes with Jess. 

“Yeah, we are”.

“Aww you guys,” a voice cut through the moment. What is it with these people and their constant interruptions?

Lexi crosses the room and drops down on Riley’s lap, her finger pointing at the ceiling right above Jess and (Y/N). 

And sure enough there it is, green and white with a sparkling red bow dangling above their heads like it’s mocking them. Like it says “how far are you willing to take this huh? This play pretend? This lie? Are you willing to break your own heart in order to keep up this charade?”

“You guys,” Lexi nagged, unaware of the tension. Unaware of the fluttering inside (Y/N)’s chest. Unaware of the fact that it’s so much more than a lie. So much more that it will never be. “It’s a mistletoe. You gotta kiss.”

She turns to look at Jess, almost getting lost in his gorgeous brown eyes. She’s wanted this. For so long. Ever since she was a teenager but for just as long, Jess had made it clear that a friend was all she was ever gonna be. So maybe this is her only chance. Maybe this is it.

“Kiss me,” she whispers softly and shrugs her shoulders trying to seem casual. Like this doesn’t break and reassemble her heart all at once.

And he does. He kisses her. Softly touches her lips with his, holds onto the side of her face with a gentle touch. And time stands still and spreads up and nothing makes sense only everything does. He tastes like champagne and nostalgia and love. And it’s so hard to let go and pull away but her heart can’t take much more. It’s about to burst right out of her chest. 

Jess softly pulls away before going in for another sweet peck. It’s short. Barely there. It’s a whisper of a kiss. But it’s there and it’s too much. 

“I uh — I gotta pee. I’ll be right back”.

Only she doesn’t move towards the bathroom; instead, she finds herself on the patio, looking out towards the trees and hedges covered in thousands and thousands of sparkling fairy lights. This looks like the scene from a movie only the tears of frustration piling at her waterline giving away that this is in fact real life.

The cold winter air whips harshly against her skin and yet it feels less cold than the knowledge that the boy you want, the one you’ve always wanted, will never be yours. He’ll never want you back.

“Please don’t ever leave me alone with Riley, he’s such an — hey are you okay?”

He’s so casual. Why is he so casual? Does this mean nothing? It means nothing. It’s a lie, (Y/N). It’s just a lie!

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” she confesses, as the tears pearl down her cheeks, “ I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do it again. Not after last time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The kiss, Jess! After that opening night at Truncheon when you kissed me after Rory screwed you over. I promised that the next time I’d kiss you it would mean something. But it doesn’t, not to you. Does it?  It’s just a lie.”

For a moment he just stands there, looks at her with an unreadable expression. There’s just them and the night and the lights and the stars.

And then he smiles. It’s a tiny smile, but it’s a Jess smile so it means everything.

“You think that kiss meant nothing to me? I’ve thought about nothing else but you since that night. I’m sorry I kissed you then but not because of the kiss. I’m sorry about making you feel like I just kissed you because you were there. That’s not it. I only realized that night when you showed up. You always showed up when I needed you. Still do”

“It’s what friends do.”

“No one ever did that for me. Not my friends. For a long time, not even my family. Only you,” he exclaims and nervously combs his fingers through his hair. “Earlier today I sent the guys the first draft of my new book.”

“You’re writing a new book?”

“I’ve thought about nothing but you since that night. So much that I wrote a book about how I felt. I wrote this book for you. It’s yours. I’m yours. And I know this sounds so fucking cheesy, saying this out loud gives me the heebie-jeebies. But I need you to know. None of what I said was fake or pretend. I’m in love with you, Goose. And maybe — maybe  Riley was right. Maybe I’ve always been.”

Snow falls softly around them as some horrible indie rendition of Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas sounds from inside, a few people drunkenly singing along. The wind nips at her nose, her cheeks. Her fingers are numb and her toes are but icicles by now. But it doesn’t matter. None of it does.

All that matters is the way he cradles her face in his hand, the way his heart beats in time with hers, and the way his lips feel as they meet hers in a passionate kiss.

And this one, this one means everything. It’s real and it’s true and it’s perfect.

“I’m in love with you too, Maverick. I’ve always been. But then there was Rory and I thought —“

“I was scared of losing you. Back then I fucked everything up and I couldn’t risk fucking up with you. Rory is always gonna be a part of my past, being with her helped me grow but you — that’s different. I need you. Always did, always will. And now I’m at least a little less fucked up and a little more deserving of you.”

“Oh Jess, you silly boy. You were always enough. “

“You wanna get out of here”

“Fuck yeah, please.”

There’s something magical about Stars Hollow in the winter. The snow covers the ground and the roofs like a layer of marshmallow fluff and Christmas lights twinkle at you from every corner. 

It’s like a scene straight from a Hallmark card brought to life.

Sounds like a little piece of paradise right here on earth, right? Like a dream.

As the snow falls outside and (Y/N) is cuddled into Jess’ side, a big mug of hot cocoa clasped tightly in her hand, warming her up, she thinks it’s better than any dream.

This is her reality now. No fake story. Not pretending. No dream.

This is her life now and yeah, it feels quite magical. 

#jess Mariano x reader #Jess Mariano x female!reader #Jess Mariano x f!reader #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano fanfic #Jess Mariano one shot #Jess Mariano Oneshot #Jess Mariano imagines #gilmore girls fanfiction #ChristmasCreationCalendar2021

[pennylanefics]

Space Heater - Theo Raeken

a/n: this was supposed to be a small fic about playing with theo’s hair, but it turned into more.

*gif is not mine, credits go to the owner*

•••

“God, it feels so good to shower,” Theo sighs as he walks into your room. You smile and admire his exhausted figure. You found out he was practically homeless after being brought back from the ground, so you invited him to stay with you.

The two of you had never been really close, but you were the one to convince the pack to bring him back, hearing his cries of pain and cries for help. As much as you didn’t think he was a good guy, you could tell he regretted what he did. And the fact that he didn’t ask any of the pack if he could stay with them proved he was back to help and not take advantage.

“Yeah, you look a lot more comfortable.” He chuckles and runs a hand through his hair.

“My hair was getting so greasy and gross, it feels so much better. And I don’t have to rely on cologne anymore.”

“Yeah, I think everyone is thankful for that,” you giggle. Theo smiles and stands in your room awkwardly.

“Oh, uh, I came in to ask if you have an extra pillow? I would use mine but it’s kind of flat.” You nod and stand up, walking with him to the hall closet to give him one.

“If you need anything else, just let me know,” you tell him.

Before you can walk into your room, he grabs your hand gently and gives you a thankful smile.

“I really appreciate you letting me stay here. I know bringing me into your home probably isn’t what you wanted, but I am really grateful you were willing to.” His voice is soft and serious, and in that moment, all of your thoughts and assumptions about him went out the window.

“Of course, Theo. you’re still human, er, well…” you both share a laugh at your slight misstep, but he understands.

“You deserve a roof over your head, a shower, a warm bed, and food. I wasn’t going to keep you from that if I have the room for you.” He starts to respond, but opts to remain quiet.

Instead, he just silently backs into his room and shuts the door. You do the same, hopping into bed after a long day and falling asleep quickly.

Around 2:15 in the morning, you were awoken by wind against the house, then the incoming rain, thunder, and lightning followed. Seeing as you couldn’t get back to sleep after ten minutes, you head downstairs to get a glass of water.

As you were walking through the kitchen threshold, you bump into Theo.

“Oh, sorry,” you gasp, knocking into his chest. He grins and shakes his head.

“Are you alright?” You wonder. He glances down at his water.

“Uh, just came down to get a drink.” You could tell he was lying, and in this moment, you wished you could hear heartbeats. His slightly shaky hands and ragged breathing gave everything away.

“Hang on a moment. Let me get some water for myself and then let’s head upstairs.” He nods and stands there, watching you move around the kitchen swiftly. When your glass is full, you motion for him to follow you upstairs.

He is about to go back into his room, but you catch his wrist and nod your head in the direction of yours. You turn the light on just to make it a little warmer and brighter to contrast the storm outside.

“Come here,” you whisper, crawling into bed. Theo hesitates for a moment, but when a particularly loud gust of wind shakes the house, he is quick to join you, but still keeping his space.

“Did the storm wake you up?” You ask.

“Yeah. Usually I'm not phased by them, but when I was underground, they...they w-were, uh…”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to continue.” He inhales and exhales deeply.

“What's your favorite letter in the word monday?” You randomly ask. Theo is slightly taken aback by the odd question. He laughs a little, feeling the anxiety fade away a little.

“My favorite letter in the word monday?”

“Yeah. Like my favorite is the ‘y’ because it ends the word and just gives it a nice little ring.” He is silent for a moment, thinking over it probably too much.

“I’d say the ‘o’. It’s not the first, but it is an important letter.” He pauses. “What’s with the weird ass question?”

“I just figured you needed something to take your mind off of things. So why not throw an incredibly random and nonsense question at you.”

“Well thank you. It definitely helped and I thought too much about that question. And now I’m going to be thinking about what my favorite letter in every word is.” You giggle and rest your hand on his bicep.

You both were laying on your sides, facing one another. He stares right at you, his mind racing.

“You know, you’re the last person I expected to help me come back,” he whispers. “I always thought you hated me.”

“I did,” you admit. “But hearing your painful screams and cries for help, I could tell you changed. I had a feeling that you’ve changed as a person.”

“I have. And I can’t thank you enough for convincing everyone to bring me back.” Suddenly, a loud boom of thunder roars in the sky after a bright flash of lightning. The lights in your room flicker then turn off completely.

“Was that the power?” He wonders, sitting up.

“Yeah, I think so,” you sigh. Theo falls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“You know, I’ve always thought you were cute,” he murmurs after a few minutes. “But Stiles warned me to not get close to you.”

You giggle and gaze up at him, admiring his features that were illuminated by the streetlight shining through your window.

“Yeah, he told me the same thing. If I were to ever get close to you, he would disown me as a friend. When I told him that I thought you were cute as well, he flipped.”

“Has he always been so protective of you?”

“Yeah, since we all got involved with the supernatural world. He said he didn’t want to see me go through what Scott went through, that he can’t lose another friend.”

“I never wanted to see you hurt either. You were the only person I truly cared for since we met. And I know you hated me, and I understand that. But now, I want you to know that I’ve always had feelings for you.” A smile slowly appears on your lips and you scoot closer to him.

Theo follows you and goes back to laying on his side, but he cuddles extremely close to you, his face falling into your neck. You are confused and a little bit surprised at his sudden action. To make things more comfortable, you turn into your back and Theo cuddles up beside you.

“You’re like a space heater,” you whisper, throwing the cover around your bodies to trap the heat in. Since the power went out, it was starting to get chillier in the room, so having him close to you was great.

“One good thing about being a chimera. Unlimited body heat.”

He peppers gentle kisses to your skin, making your face heat up at the feel of it. Absentmindedly, your hand behind his back comes up to play with his long hair. You thread your fingers through it, the silky strands falling between your digits.

“Damn, your hair really is soft,” you tell him. He chuckles and lifts his head to kiss your cheek.

“It’s a good thing I washed it then because it was not so soft before.” You giggle and turn on your side again, snuggling into his chest for even more warmth. He takes this hint and wraps his arms around your body.

But since you couldn’t help yourself, you sneak your hand back up to his hair and mess with it lazily. Theo smiles and closes his eyes, content with the current situation.

“Would you like to lay on my chest to play with my hair instead?” He offers. “In a more comfortable position.”

“No, I’m pretty comfortable and much warmer here,” you respond. Theo laughs and shakes his head, readjusting himself just a little to match your position. His arms were still wrapped around your waist, and his face was now buried in your hair.

“So, are you going to be gone in the morning, or are you planning on staying?” You ask him hesitantly. Theo kisses your head a couple times and pulls back a little to look down at you.

“I was hoping I could stay and we could, maybe, get to know each other better? Maybe I could show you that I’m not entirely the worst person.”

“I was hoping you would stay, honestly,” you chuckle. “And no need to show me. It’s the reason I convinced everyone to bring you back.” Theo grins and nods, reaching between you to hold your hands.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I know I’ve said it a lot, but seriously. It means so much to me.”

“Of course, Theo,” you whisper back, stroking his cheek.

His eyes dart between your eyes and lips, and you take the hint right away. You reach up and kiss him as soft as ever, but he takes it into his own hands to deepen it slightly.

It lasts for a few seconds, longer than you expected, but you didn’t mind. When Theo pulls away, you catch your breath for a moment before kissing him again. You’ve imagined this moment since you first met him, back when he first arrived in Beacon Hills for senior year.

You break the kiss to yawn, exhaustion taking over you.

“Should I go back to my room and let you sleep?” He wonders. You shake your head and before he can get up, you tug his arm to make him stay.

“The power is still out, and I need my space heater,” you shyly say.

“Alright, I guess I can stay,” he jokingly responds. He had no intentions to leave nor did he want to, so he was really hoping you would make him stay. Which you did.

“Is that all you see me as now? A space heater?” He asks. You giggle in response and snuggle into his chest.

“No. You’re a pretty great cuddles as well.”

#theo raeken #theo raeken imagines #theo raeken x reader #theo raeken imagine #cody christian #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

[ichor-and-symbiosis]

Obedient. (Shigaraki x f!Reader; NSFW)

Commission for @kazooli​.

Shigaraki knows you are upset. Not that he needs to use his intuitive perceptiveness to notice your downtrodden mood -- you are, and always will be, an open book of emotions. 

You try to be on your best behavior. You always try. Nobody needs to see their teammate moping around the decrepit hideout when everyone has their own problems to deal with. It could always be worse, you tell yourself. And you need to stay strong for your leader. 

But he knows. Finds you pouting on the ripped up sofa, even though you are the one who should come to him when called. You look up at him with your doe-eyed, downtrodden expression, and Shigaraki’s expressionless eyes sweep over you before walking past. Your gaze lingers on his broad back, wishing you could reach out and grasp the fabric of his coat just to keep him around a little longer. 

He pauses in front of the door. “Come with me,” he commands, and you are on your feet before you even think to ask why or where you are going.

-

The exhilaration of walking by your leader’s side through winding streets is enough to keep your mouth shut. Better to be quiet for now, anyway. Better to move like a shadow, like Shigaraki’s shadow. It must be a mission. You keep your eyes and ears sharp and primed, ready to take on the next challenge. 

Until Dabi’s words ring through your mind and you feel yourself deflating all over again.

Shigaraki pays no attention to you. He leads and leads, guides you towards a destination only he knows, and you are grateful for the chance to simply follow. You try not to question him when he stops at a food stall. Two orders of takoyaki, spoken with a quiet, serious request. Your stomach grumbles and you grip it in embarrassment. When was the last time you ate?

The worker holds out your meal. Shigaraki looks at you expectantly, and you realize he wants you to take it. And you do, rushed and mousy as you thank the worker, and then you spend the next minute mentally berating yourself for saying thank you at all. You are a villain. Why would you thank a random nobody? You should be thanking your leader instead. And you do.

He offers a grunt and keeps walking. Your heart flutters at the sound. 

You end your journey on a rooftop. The building is not familiar to you, and you doubt Shigaraki knows it either. A random building with a roof that smells like asphalt and cigarettes. You take a deep breath as the wind wafts the takoyaki steam toward you, and your stomach growls demandingly. 

You wedge yourselves into a narrow space, hidden from surveillance or anyone who may come onto the roof. Your only view is that of Shigaraki sitting across from you and you are perfectly okay with that. Very okay with that, in fact, especially since his legs are forced to bend and rest on either side of you. Your only choice is to sit cross-legged for his comfort, and you try your very best to avoid staring at his crotch.

It’s right there in front of you. He just brazenly has his legs spread out and brushing along your knees and you shove the takoyaki into your drooling mouth to keep yourself occupied. All you would need to do is bend forward, and it wouldn’t be the takoyaki in your mouth anymore. It would be something else entirely, something musky and warm and solid, and you squirm in your spot as heat pools below your belly. 

Shigaraki silently eats the first stick of takoyaki and sets the box aside. You pause your eating and wait, because he has that pensive look in his eyes right now. His arms are limp and resting on his knees, and you allow yourself to admire his beautiful hands. Beautiful to you, long and slender fingers, blue veins peeking through pale skin, oh how desperately you want him to touch you - 

“So.” The word hangs in the air between you. You stare at him, obediently waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t look at you. “What happened.” 

“U-um … “ You wrack your brain as your anxiety builds. Did you do something wrong? Were his plans compromised? “I’m sorry, I don’t - “ 

“You’ve been looking like a kicked dog all day.” 

“Oh.” You muster up a weak smile. “It’s nothing serious. Maybe I was just hungry, or … you know. Present circumstances and all that.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

Perceptive. You don’t want to burden him. It really was such a silly disagreement with Dabi. “Really, it’s - “

He says your name. You look at him, transfixed by his solemn stare. His eyes are sharp, commanding. “Tell me.” 

And you do. Nothing at first, trapped in your throat, and then all at once.

“Dabi is just such an asshole,” you blurt out, and Shigaraki’s snort encourages you to word vomit. “He took me with him on a scouting mission and things didn’t go as planned and he kept blaming me! He said it was my fault and that - and that I’m … useless.” Your head hangs in shame as you stare hard into your lap. “He said I’m useless and that the League doesn’t need me. So I’ve been thinking all day about that. If I wasn’t useful to society and I’m not useful to the League, then ... “ You don’t know where your trail of thought was going. “I don’t want to feel useless,” you whisper. “I don’t want to hold anyone back. I don’t want to waste your time like - like right now.” 

Shigaraki waits for you to finish. He looks a little surprised. “That’s a lot.”

Your mouth gapes like a fish before you shut it tight and dig your nails into your thighs, hoping the pain would counteract your burning embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. “Sorry. I talk a lot.” 

He eyes you with a calculated expression while you silently flounder in your awkwardness. “Come here,” he suddenly says, and your confusion makes him grow impatient. “Turn around. Back to my front.” He motions to the space between his legs. “Right here, puppy girl.” 

You nearly choke on your gasp.

Your body moves mechanically, too stunned by shock to make your body look anything other than enticing. You sit as he directed, back to his front, and wrap your arms around your knees as you try to calm your breathing. A gap remains between you, because there is no way Shigaraki would want you pressed up against him, except he does and you let out a startled squeak when he places his arms beneath your thighs, spreads your legs over his, and makes you lean back onto him. 

“What are you doing?” you breathe out, heart stammering in your chest as you soak up his body heat and pray to god that this moment will never end. 

“Testing out your obedience,” he off-handedly comments, and your clothed cunt immediately becomes flooded from the vibrations of his voice, the low rumble so close to your ear. His hands move to grip your forearms, and you jolt at the contact, all wired up with frayed nerves and anticipation. “I want to know what makes you think I’m wasting my time here.” 

“W-we’re talking about me.” 

“Yeah. And you know what I learned?” His mouth is close to your ear now. You shiver at the feeling of his breath tickling your skin. “I learned that you’re not at the top of your game right now. You’re drowning - “ He taps a finger to your temple. “ - from all of these fuzzy little thoughts in your head. And I can’t have an obedient puppy girl if she’s thinking too much.” 

“I - “ 

“Quiet.” One hand cups your throat, middle finger poised over your pulse. The hold is firm and encompassing around your neck. It makes you tremble with desire. “We have to get rid of those thoughts, don’t we?” His other hand brazenly cups your mound, and you let out the most pathetic sound of your life. “There’s a lot of ways to release pent up feelings,” he continues conversationally, fingers delving past the waistband of your bottoms. “I’m feeling charitable enough to help you out.” 

Your endless stream of thoughts fizzle out as soon as he finds your swollen clit. “Thank you,” you sob, gripping his arm and gyrating your hips for more of his touch. “Thank you, thank you, thank you - “ 

The hand at your throat moves up to cover your mouth. “Shhh.” Fingertip moves lower, runs itself through the slickness oozing out of your tight heat. “Relax.” You whimper brokenly, slump back against him as he rubs your clit in feather-light strokes. His hand moves from your mouth and rests on your temple, fingers buried in your hair. “This is what you’re good for.”

Shigaraki is not an expert by any means. Sometimes he loses his momentum, rubs too hard or too slowly, doesn’t really know how to set a proper pace. But you have never felt more wet before. Never has your heart raced this quickly, never has a simple touch driven you to mindless pleasure. 

He plunges inside you unexpectedly, shushing you once more as you let out a wordless cry, and even through the pain of being stretched far too soon, you feel your pussy loosen to accommodate your beloved leader’s thick fingers. He works you open good and proper, thorough in his thrusting, forcing you to take him down to the last knuckle. You lie there and take it, moaning and writhing in his lap as he fucks your sloppy cunt. 

“Just let it all out,” he murmurs in your ear. “It’s not good to keep the bad shit locked away inside. Or else one day … “ His fingers ease out of your pussy and leave a trail of juices clinging to his fingertips. You try your best not to whine as he brings his fingers up for inspection. “ … It’s all gonna come pouring out.” 

You don’t know what he is trying to do. You don’t know what he wants from you when his fingers tap against your bottom lip, but your mouth falls open all the same to let him smear your juices onto your tongue. A pathetic, desperate whimper escapes as you taste yourself on his fingers. And you taste him. Your leader’s fingers are buried in your warm mouth and your stretched cunt contracts from dizzy exhilaration. 

Your tongue licks away the evidence of your arousal, and for one delirious moment you think you hear Shigaraki hum in approval. He pops the digits out of your mouth and you begin to ramble before you can stop yourself. “Y-you don’t … have to do this,” you shyly stutter, cheeks burning from shame as his hand drops back between your trembling thighs. “I was being dumb, I’ll get over it, you d-don’t have to worry about me like this - “ 

You break off into a choked gasp as he traps your clit between two fingers and slowly runs them up and down. 

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, lets your head fall back onto his shoulder. “A leader takes care of his subordinates.” 

A burst of emotions burns your chest at the statement. How could something sound so detached yet intimate? You wonder what this means to him. You wonder if he’s done this for anyone else. The very thought of it makes tears well up behind your closed eyelids, but you do not let them fall. This is your special moment with your leader. Here and now, he chose to take care of you. You focus on those words instead, focus on how full they make you feel, just as his fingertip rubs your soaked entrance and slips back inside with ease. 

“Just trust me,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna train this greedy puppycunt to only think about me.”

Shigaraki keeps talking. He is so, so chatty, and it is hard to focus on his monologuing through the sound of your wet pussy being played with so thoroughly and invasively. You bury your face in his neck to stifle the whiny demands on the tip of your tongue, ignoring your monumental need for him to stop talking and just kiss you. It’s a selfish thought. Your leader is speaking to you. You should listen, you should let him take care of you, you have to trust him, you have to chase the high and let go, just as he always does on the battlefield. 

“You’re doing so well for me.” 

A heavy pit of pleasure builds deep within. 

“Always so obedient.” 

The thumb buried in your hair strokes slowly. 

“My favorite puppy.”

Your pussy clenches, fighting to suck him in and keep him inside. 

“Mine.” 

You come with a shrill keen, trembling and shaking through your orgasm as Shigaraki’s fingers pump in and out, squelching and sloshing your juices as loudly as he can. Your mind is adrift, completely gone. All you can do is lay limp in his arms and breathe heavily, letting him settle your underwear back over your messy cunt. 

There is silence for a moment. Only the sound of your breathing. His hand settles over the top of your head properly this time, ruffling your hair in a movement that might have been accidental if not for the fact that Shigaraki never makes mistakes. “I like you like this,” he says. “No thoughts or worries. Just a properly trained cunt and an obedient subordinate.” You smile a little at that. If only he knew how badly you wanted to be used by him. “I decide who’s useful to me, not Dabi. You’re around for a reason, got it?” 

Your heart aches with happiness. “Yes sir. I’m yours.” 

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki/reader #shigaraki tomura/reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #i can't believe this isn't problematic #just some finger fuckin goodness and reader pining #i also can't believe i finally finished a fic

[bowieandqueen11]

Be Better / Kratos Imagine

Request: So, here's a suggestion for God of War (I see you playing it, 😂!) Kratos brings home his newlywed wife after they are married. She's a little shy at first, but warms up to Kratos after he rescues his beloved from a minor attack. Kratos will protect his beloved, no matter the circumstances. 

Thank you so much @thebeckyjolene​ for my first GOW request! Sorry if this is a bit OOC while I get used to writing for these characters <3

This took quite a lot of thinking and time, so any comments are really appreciated!!

(Song lyrics are from here if you’re interested!: https://www.realmofhistory.com/2017/08/02/oldest-norse-song-codex-runicus/)

Night had fallen fast upon the land of Midgard. No more than a few hours ago, had the sky shone its mix of red hues, blood oranges and warm yellows over your fingers held tight in Kratos’ grip, as your husband slid the ring over your skin. Now, Atreus runs ahead of the two of you, feet kicking up the snow as he places his back in his quiver and forgets tracking for the night. Kratos’ heavy shoulder bumps against your own as he walks in silence beside you, all the colour fading away and leaving only a few remnants of blue as Skoll and Hati continue their chase across the sky. 

Atreus was humming to himself as he skid across the land, a tune you had taught him the first day you had, quite literally, bumped into the two pain riddled, but still hopeful travellers (and Mimir, of course). Your husband seemed tense by your side, always alert, you supposed, as you fell into sync with his heavy footsteps. His eyes darted down to you, nervous. You would never have known the internal battle within him, the way his fingers kept on clenching into a tight fist as they reached for your slender ones swinging beside him, yet too afraid to let himself feel.

‘The number of their worries grow and with them the number of their solutions — but the answer is often a heavier burden, even when the question hurts to bear.’

Yet there you were. Real. He had known it from the moment he had first met you up on the Mountain path, when you had barrelled into him headifirst on some errand from Sindri to find Asgardian Steel that he didn’t dare touch. As you helped Atreus up, offering a hand next to the God which he declined with a stoic expression, he couldn’t help but notice the way his son’s face lit up as you smiled anyway and brushed some snow off his shoulder once he had risen. He had grunted, his breathe huffing out, but even you could see the slight humour in the way his stomach rumbled. The intensity of his gaze as you complimented Atreus on his mistletoe arrows. The way his fingers dug into his fist until his skin started to bleed, yet he didn’t even notice until it began mixing into the snow.

He had hoped to spare you from this life, he thought, as the three of you reached your wooden shack: although humble, your home. Yet some things, he knew, were fated. Inevitable. Loving you, hurt him so much, sometimes, he felt he may burn, his skin in flames. He would never admit it, as he opened the door for you and watched you place your sword down by the entryway jars with eyes so soft and warm they could melt the ice that stuck to the door, but you made him better. The pain was worth it. You weren’t quite sure what to do at first, so used to spending your days roaming the realms, dodging nightmares and draugrs on your scouting journeys that the domestic life, the family life seemed so unknown to you. Not unwelcome, you knew, as Atreus bounded past you to dump his bow on the hide of his bed, just... strange. So there you stood, wondering whether you should start a fire, or start preparing the deer for dinner

Shivering to yourself, you pull the fur tighter around your shoulders as the harsh bite of the wind pierced through your coat. The heat of the fire Atreus was trying to start in the pit had yet to reach your skin, but that wasn’t what made you shiver. It was the way Kratos was still standing in the doorway, his looming figure shrouded in darkness, only a little light showing the uncertain flicker in his eyes. You could barely make out his beard in the moonlight, but from the way his arms tensed and made the door creak on its hinges, you could tell something was wrong.

‘What is it, father? What’s out there?’ Atreus ran up to stand next to you, both staring at the man who only huffed harshly in reply.

He only held a hand out, telling the two of you to stay silent. Atreus hovered beside you, until you placed your arm in front of his chest and pushed him behind your back. His nose bumped against your shoulder as you slowly began to walk the two of you backwards, towards the trap door you knew was only a few metres away under the rug.

You never had time to make it, though, before the Leviathan Axe came flying around your head and knocked over the Draugr that had smashed through the roof and crashed down to encircle the two of you.

‘Atreus, stay behind me!’, you shout, trying to dodge the two of you out of the way of fiery swords that leave a trail of comet like fire in the darkness. Finally hitting the floor, you pull the boy into your hip as you scramble desperately to find the latch while simultaneously avoiding the feet that stamp across the floorboards and send sawdust flying down from the rafters. Time seemed to slow, as you tugged and tugged and held your son under your chest, trying with all your might to stop him from being trampled on. You could feel him shake against your chin, a mixture of anger, fear and anxiety, but he could tell by the way you gripped him tighter that he wasn’t to dare to try and run for his bow. Instead, he tucked further against you as you slid towards the side wall and tried to flatten the two of you against it. 

You could hear the grunts of your husband, dragging the living dead away from you with unbridled fervour and fury, his hands shaking with the exertion of trying to stop anything happening to his beloved. My fault, he thinks as he smashes his axe into the ground, sending shards of frost flying across the room, this is my fault.

When the chaos finally settles down, the only sound you can hear over your panting is the last few crackles of the dying embers.

Kratos wipes his finger across the floorboards with a scowl on his face, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together as the last specks of glowing dust coat his head. ‘Old Magic’, Kratos growls. ‘...Freya.’

You and Atreus stumble to a stand, taking in the shattered jars and swinging planks of wood that hang, splintered over your heads. Your poor home, already ruined.

‘Boy, are you hurt?’, he questions, folding down onto one knee and gently reaching up a finger to place under his chin. Tilting his head, Atreus scrunches up his nose.

‘No, I’m fine! Mum protected me!’

He lets go of his son, instead turning his attention on to you. Afraid of what his response would be, despite desperately wanting to hug your husband, you’re surprised to able to sigh in relief as he places both hands on your shoulders and pulls you into his chest. You can feel his beard tickle your head as he shuts his eyes and breathes you in, his fingernails digging almost uncomfortably into your spine. You, however, don’t want to unsettle him, enjoying the warmth and comfort of his touch.

‘You are a good woman, and I swear on my life I will always protect you.’

#God of war #Kratos #atreus #god of war imagine #kratos imagine #kratos x reader #kratos fluff #atreus imagine #god of war fanfic #god of war fanfiction #god of war x reader #god of war ps4 #gow #gow fanfic #gow fanfiction

[iwroteinapastlife]

Do you mind doing a Chlonath fic from a prompt I once read? "She's fine, by the way" "Yeah, I have no doubt. She's always been able to take care of herself. Even if she wasn't so sure of it"

I have lost track of how many years it's been since I got this request, but I really really liked it and I was finally able to use it!

This piece is canon-compliant only through season 2. So like, Chloe is known to be Queen Bee, but continues to be granted the miraculous every now and then.

cw: Depictions of anxiety and blood

--

“You should be nice to me. I’m a superhero, you know.”

“You’re half a superhero at best, Chloé.”

“That’s still a whole half more than you, Red. Or should I say ‘Super Nathan’?”

The air is salient with the scent of stale tile and antiseptic wipes, but a breeze from an open window carries the essence of fresh flowers from someone’s room. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeps a steady rhythm, almost soothing in the relative quiet. The idle chatter of nurses is ever present but ill defined, coming with the occasional laugh of coworkers at ease. Carts wheel by to deliver supplies, food, equipment, and they are not rushed, not hurrying to where their assistance is urgently required. No, everything is slow. Easy.

Is it the calm after the storm, or just the eye?

Nathaniel sits with his head in his hands, wishing he could be calmed by the atmosphere around him, but he still hasn’t willed himself out of this chair and through the door to his left. A whole 48 hours has gone by since he’d first brought her in here–since he’d found himself holding her pale form in his arms, breathing but practically lifeless, begging her to wake up while he waited for someone to come that would actually be able to help. He must have heard a million times that head wounds bleed a lot, but he really hadn’t anticipated–

A breath in. A breath out. Nathaniel forces himself to stop that line of thinking before it tumbles out of control again. He reminds himself that he doesn’t need to focus on that anymore. It’s over. She’s safe. They said she was stable and awake and ready for visitors–she’s fine.

How did he end up here? How did Nathaniel of all people wind up sitting outside Chloé Bourgeois’s hospital room, distraught over her well being?

“Is there any particular reason you choose to torment me so much?”

“You just make it so rewarding.”

By all accounts–including his own–he shouldn’t be here. For 12 years he’s been in the same class as her, and after all that time never has he learned not to let her get under his skin. She’s too good at it. Chloé is a master at the art of picking him apart, finding just the right spots where she knows she can do the most damage with the least amount of effort.

That hasn’t changed. Even with a timeshare miraculous, she still chooses to torture him–maybe even more so than before.

“What the hell are you doing on my roof!?”

“I should be asking you that! I’m the one with wings! If I’m not here, who’s going to catch you when your clumsy ass inevitably falls!?”

And yet, here he is–48 hours after taking her to the hospital, 47 hours after his first conversation with her father was the delivery of bad news, 46 hours after being told he should go home, 40 hours after reliving the trauma on the local news broadcast, 10 hours after giving up on sleep for the second night in a row, 2 hours after receiving word that she was okay, 1 hour after rushing through his shower so he could finally come see her, and 20 minutes after arriving and sitting down in this very chair–still unable to make himself walk through that door.

“It feels like I see you almost every day now, even outside of school.”

“You’re welcome.”

48 hours since the nurses had convinced him to let go of her so they could wheel her off to CT. The last time he saw her.

Nathaniel hardly remembers that first hour, but he also remembers it all too well. The memories are a jumbled mess of bright red blood and flashing blue lights, the screaming of sirens and the shouting of orders, bumps in the road and bustling of staff. All a blur, a mixed up collage in his mind, but every individual piece clear as day. The image of her hurt–already pale yet still bleeding, and only barely responsive–encoded in his mind’s eye in high definition, every little detail recorded down to the specks of dirt on her cheek. The exact series of questions asked of him in that specific gentle tone that made him fear more than anything else had yet because why would they speak so gently unless something was terribly wrong? The soft hand placed on his shoulder that did nothing to reassure him while he watched them rush around her unmoving form, dictating words that he didn’t understand, reciting numbers that could be good or bad–

A breath in. A breath out.

“Seriously, why are you always at my window?”

“Because you always open it.”

He knows the reason he’s here. It’s the same reason he continues to open his window for her, the same reason he looks forward to hearing that tap on the glass. He knows the reason he rushed to get back to her side at the first possible moment—and that’s the problem.

She’s so much more than just his tormentor–not just to him, but in general. She’s a person, with likes and dislikes, dreams and insecurities, and the problem is that he knows that now. Whether he wanted to or not, she made sure he knew.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I want you to know.”

The problem–the real problem–isn’t what he’s going to find behind that door. He knows she’s okay. He knows she’s going to be the same old Chloé and she’ll greet him in a manner that’s either insulting or entitled or both, and she’ll demand his attention as if she isn’t already the sole reason he’s there, and he’ll let her, because–

“I don’t know how to do any of this. From the start I’ve just been fucking it up. It’s like you said; I’m half a hero at best–,”

“I shouldn’t have said that. And you shouldn’t have listened.”

“You’re just saying that because a girl is crying in front of you.”

“No, I’m saying it because a superhero isn’t giving herself the credit she deserves.”

…Because the problem isn’t what he’ll find behind that door; it’s what he’ll feel.

He startles as the door opens beside him, sitting upright and watching as Adrien walks out and immediately stops in his tracks. “Oh hey, I didn’t realize you were here.” He starts to reach for the doorknob again. “Did you want to–?”

“No!” Nathaniel snatches his wrist before he reaches the handle. The only thing he can think of that could possibly be worse than going in there right now would be Chloé finding out he’d waited so long.

Concern and confusion stare back at him in the form of green eyes. “Then why are you here?”

“I-I’ll go in eventually.” He releases the hand and sits back, hoping his outward appearance doesn’t betray the heart attack that he’s having. “I just…need a minute.”

The air between them settles, and Nathaniel knows that the moment would feel awkward if that was ever possible in Adrien’s presence. “Thank you,” he eventually says. Nathaniel looks up in silent question. “For bringing her in. I…” Never has he seen a look of such guilt and torment. “I should have been there, but…”

Shaking his head, he tries to reassure, “You can’t blame yourself for not getting caught up in an akuma attack,” but the look Adrien gives him says he has his own reasons for hating himself.

“...Right. Anyway, I’m just…glad you were there.”

Watching her take what looked like a fatal blow, getting knocked down from the battle and not getting back up, rushing to go after her while Ladybug and Chat Noir were tied up with the akuma.

“...Chloé?”

Finding her.

He swallows down a thick lump in his throat. A breath in. A breath out. “Yeah,” he finally says. “Me too.”

Adrien’s eyes sweep over him in quick assessment. “She’s fine, by the way.”

“Yeah, I heard the scans were all negative.”

“No, I mean… She’s fine. Not just physically. Y’know,” a gentle smile and a shrug, “she’s Chloé.”

“I don’t understand why you still open your window, after everything I’ve done. If you had any sense, you’d kick me out like everyone else does…”

“It’s true; no one gets under my skin or drives me absolutely insane like you do.”

“...So why do you let me?”

“You just…make it so rewarding.”

“Yeah, I have no doubt,” he says, voice soft. “She’s always been able to take care of herself. Even if she wasn’t so sure of it.”

Adrien voices a quiet but surprised, “Oh,” and Nathaniel looks up again to see green eyes blinking at him, taking in the details of his face.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just…” he trails off, still looking at him as if slowly coming to a revelation. “I didn’t realize.”

Nathaniel doesn’t need to ask what he didn’t realize. He looks away, feeling his cheeks heat up as he’s sure he just gave away the exact thing that he isn’t even ready to admit to himself.

“I’m gonna head home now,” Adrien eventually says, prodding with a gentle tone. “You should go talk to her.”

He nods and waits until the footsteps fade away before finally standing up. Anxiety wells up again as he faces the door. He knows as soon as he opens it, as soon as he walks in there, everything is going to change. Because he knows that after everything that happened–seeing her so near death, holding her in his arms, her blood soaking his shirt–

“Nath…Run.”

“No.”

…He knows that he can’t let that be the last time he holds her.

A breath in. A breath out.

Her head is wrapped in bandages, but her color is back and those blue eyes are as demanding as ever as her gaze falls on him. Chloé drops her phone and overdramatically raises her arms up in the air–clearly outraged that he kept her waiting, even if she doesn’t know the half of it–and just as he expected, the feelings slam into him before she even speaks.

“Finally some good fucking food!”

Fuck.

He’s in love with her.

#chlonath #miraculous ladybug #mentions of blood #anxiety #season 2 compliant #canon can otherwise fuck off

[ur-riddikulus]

Fear and Cuddles (Thor Odinson)

Pairing: Thor x Y/N.

Summary: You are afraid of storms and go into Thor’s room one night because he calms you down. Then he figures out and forces you to admit this to him.

Warnings: Just pure fluff and the obviousness of them loving each other and needing to get together. This may suck but honestly it’s just meant to be a short cute story.

As another roll of thunder shook the compound, you buried yourself under more covers. You were shaking in fear, the lightning flashing across the sky. 

It was probably around 2 or 3 am, but honestly you didn’t know. Fear was weird, making the hours start to blend together at this point. But it could have also just been exhaustion. You hadn’t been able to sleep all night, too afraid to from the raging storm outside.

Screw this, I’m an Avenger for God’s sake, I can deal with one storm. You thought to yourself, but that confidence immediately left when moments later, another round of lightning streaked across the sky.

Everyone was probably calmly asleep, with not a care in the world. You have never been more envious of your team mates. You were so, so tired and had a long day tomorrow, but sleep wasn’t even an option with your anxiety through the roof all night.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought you were having a stroke. Maybe I’m dying? You thought. At least it would take you out of your misery. After all, you can’t be scared when you’re dead. But even you were not that lucky, you supposed.

You had been battling yourself since the storm had started. Should you go to Thor’s room or not? You haven’t because it was so embarrassing, what adult was terrified of storms? But you had been friends for years, and he was just across the halls. He helped you through everything and you were too scared to be alone right now.

“No, I am not a child. I’ll be fine right here.” You promised yourself for the umpteenth time. You were resolved, you weren’t going to run into his room and bother him with something as dumb as your ridiculous fear of storms.

But when you heard wind rattling the trees in the night and huge bolts lightning light up the night sky, you were a goner. So, being the coward you were, you finally had enough. You ran out of the room, your shaking legs taking you quickly across the hall and outside the door of Thor’s room. You knocked, just to be polite, but when you heard nothing you just assumed he was sleeping. So you just quietly opened the door, tiptoed over to his bed, and crawled into it beside him.

He was snoring, loudly and deeply. If you weren’t terrified of waking him up and of course, the raging storm outside, you probably would have laughed.

You were crawling into bed very slowly, pausing whenever he would shift or a break would come in his snoring. When you were finally tucked into his bed, beside him, you were enveloped in his smell. Pine tree, the smell of rain, and a scent that was just...Thor. You breathed it in deep, the mix of it all making you feel safe and protected from the violent storm outside.

Your fear soon started washing washing away and you could feel your eyes suddenly start to droop when he moved, turning in your direction. You immediately held still, careful to not move in order to not possibly wake up the god. 

He snuggled into you, holding you close and putting an arm around you. Then, his deep snores started once more. As awkward as this position was, it relaxed you even more. Thor was simply your best friend, nothing more. But you couldn’t help but be secretly glad that he was in this close, intimate position with you. 

You ignored the fluttering of your heart, guessing that it was just all the anxiety you had been through that night. You leaned in and cuddled with him as well. Moments later, thunder shook the compound the loudest it had all night, but you didn’t care. You were finally calm and sleeping, a faint smile on your face as you were tucked in next to the Avenger.

You heard noises before you opened your eyes the next morning. It sounded like a shower was being turned on. You ignored it and decided to go back to bed, snuggling back into the comfy covers. Then, before you drifted back to sleep, you noticed it. Thor’s scent was all over these covers. It made no sense, none at all. That was, until you remembered last nights events. The big storm, your fear, you sneaking in and cuddling with Thor.

You shot up, cheeks blazing from embarrassment. How were you going to explain this to him? The bed was empty beside you, so you knew he was in the shower. He had to see you this morning, you were hugging him like a giant teddy bear for God’s sake. 

You didn’t want anyone to know of your fear. Why would you? The rest of the Avengers went through hell and back and lived to tell the tale. They feared nothing. While you turned into a statue if you heard one roll of thunder. There was no way to get out of this. And you definitely couldn’t face him, what were you going to say? “Sorry, I am a huge baby and crawled into your bed last night because of a storm, then you cuddled me and I loved it and haven’t slept that good in years?” No, absolutely no way. You didn’t need to add even more embarrassment onto this already huge list of things to be embarrassed about. 

You looked at the door, wishing you could somehow magically teleport back into your room, where you were supposed to be. Maybe your friendship could survive this, of course considering that he even wanted to be friends with you after this, the girl who crawled into bed with him at 2 am without his consent. You could just ignore it, never talk about it, and with time, maybe it will be back to normal.

You were about to run to the door when you heard the shower stop running and Thor get out of it. The bathroom door was open, and soon you saw him saunter out of it with a towel wrapped about his waist, water droplets still streaming down his chest and v-line. 

Your eyes immediately opened wide at that sight. No wonder he’s a god. He was the hottest, most attractive man you’ve ever seen. Of course, as close friends you saw him shirtless sometimes, and you always thought he was attractive (I mean, you would have to be blind to not see it) but it never made you feel this...starstruck before. He was turned around, going through his dresser for clothes. So, you did the only thing you could think of it that moment.

You leaned back down and faked being asleep.

Sure, it was a coward’s move. But your pride was long gone. You already knew you were a coward last night when you crawled into bed with him. 

He finished going through his clothes, picking them out and you could hear the fabric rustling so you assumed he was getting dressed. Once the sound stopped, you felt his gaze harden on you. You had to fight the urge to not move while feigning sleep, but knowing that he was staring at you was making it pretty hard.

You felt the bed dip down under his weight as he got on it beside you and snuggled right back into you like the way you were together last night.

He moved your hair behind your ear and put his lips right next to your ear. You had to fight yourself to not give him more access to your neck, which was ridiculous. Why were you being so weird around Thor lately?

You felt him breath on your ear. “I know you're awake, Y/N.” Thor said in a singsongy voice.

Your heart dropped. How were you going to explain this? In your head, you knew that Thor was a kind and understanding person, but that didn’t mean you wanted to admit that you, someone whose literally job it is to face villains, couldn’t face a storm. You just didn’t want to get laughed at.

You sighed and opened your eyes. “Surprise?” You said. Maybe you could joke your way out of this mess. He loved jokes, and you knew that his big heart would trust that you weren’t lying to him.

He smiled his trademark dazzling smile and you automatically felt more comfortable, as you always felt when you were around him. You weren’t thinking about the situation you just got yourself into, all you could think of was, “Why wasn’t Thor the god of beauty? He certainly fits the job description.”

“Uh...thank you?” He said with a little laugh and a confused look on his face.

“Oh shit...did I just say that out loud?” You’re cheeks grew red and you started to hate yourself so much for how embarrassing you are

“Maybe, but I find it very endearing.” Thor replied, still smiling.

You had to clear your head, but whenever you were around him recently, you couldn’t. You shook your head quickly to try to gain any brain cells you had left. When you looked back up you saw Thor looking at you thoughtfully.

“So, not that I didn’t love sharing a bed with you, Y/n, but why were you in my bed last night? I wasn’t aware we had scheduled what you mortals call a ‘sleep over’.”

You swallowed thickly, quickly going in between answers to this question in your head. Should you say that you were possessed and woke up here? That you were just wanting to snuggle with your best friend for the night? You audibly sigh, you never were a good liar.

“Are you okay,Y/N?” You looked up at him and his worried expression. Thor was the kindest person you had ever met, and he never failed to make your day better. He didn’t deserve to be told a lie from his best friend. Especially when you know how much he hates lies, understandably because he was told them all the time from Loki, his mischievous younger brother. 

This was it. Were you going to lie and keep your fear to yourself? Or tell the truth and possibly bear the humiliation?

“Thor, I came into your room last night because I was scared. I’m afraid of storms and you always calm me down so I went in here to feel better. I’m so, so, so sorry. Really, it was-”

He cut you off by putting a finger up and saying, “Wait...you came into my room because you were scared?

“Uh...yeah?” “I calm you down and make you feel better, really?

Okay, not the way you thought this conversation was going to go at all, but at least he wasn’t focusing on your embarrassing fear.

“Yeah, of course you do. Are you not mad or something?” You asked. Why was he caring about that?

After saying that, then he looked at you like you were an idiot. “Why would I be mad? That’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And many people have something to be afraid of, me included.”

You smile at Thor, just relieved that he was such a kind person. You had nothing to be nervous about, he would always be there for you. You were curious about him mentioning that he has a fear but then just decided that was a conversation for another time. 

“Thor, you are the sweetest person alive, I hope you know that.”

You both smiled and enjoyed each other’s presence. You were so grateful for such a great person in your life. 

Thor yawned before saying, “You know, I was going to work out but seeing you so comfy in bed makes me want to go back to bed. Want to sleep in?”

You give Thor a look. “Only if you make me waffles when we wake up.”

He rolled his eyes. “You humans and your weird breakfasts.”

You laughed and scooted over on the bed to make room for Thor. He got more comfortable and you moved back to cuddle with him almost immediately without even having to think about it, it was just instinct for you now.

You soon went to bed but before you fell back into deep sleep, you barely heard the comforting voice of Thor say, “I love you, Y/N.” before finally dozing off. Loud thunder could be heard once more in the room but you didn't care. You were finally cozy and cuddling with your favorite Avenger, his presence keeping the fear at bay. 

#thor #thor x reader #thor x y/n #thor x you #avengers #the avengers #marvel #mcu #thor odinson #thor fanfiction #fluff #thor fluff #cute #one bed #love #friends to lovers #chris hemsworth #hope this doesn't suck

[monstersandmaw]

Sleep paralysis demon/nightmare x reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This was begun on a Twitch writing stream, with lots of input from the chat, and while I did say I would post it straight to Tumblr, I ended up adding another 3k words to it, and a tiny bit of plot, so I figured I'd put it up on Patreon first. Since Patreon supporters voted so highly for a ‘nightmare’ on the 'next monsters' poll (thank you!), I thought it should go up there first too.

Our reader has been experiencing anxiety and insomnia lately, and this draws something to us... There's a bit at the start that's got creepy vibes to it, but the creature means us no harm. Because of the sleep paralysis element, I'm going to say watch out for non-con vibes, but nothing really happens without our consent first time round. Just putting it here in case that's a major issue for anyone.

Ft. dapper mothman landlord Reggie, and gnoll best friend too.

“You’re living where now?” Francis practically barked into his whisky as you sat together after work. The gnoll’s enormous, dish-like ears flicked forwards, dark and fuzzy and full of concern. “Seriously, you do know how shitty that part of town is, right?”

“It’s not that bad,” you growled, taking a sip of your own drink and leaning back into the soft leather back of the chair. You stifled a yawn and blinked, the exhaustion of a week’s worth of broken sleep catching up to you in one brutal rush.

Francis flicked an ear and levelled you with a flat look, dark eyes serious for once. “You’re kidding…?”

“Ok, fine, it’s not amazing, but it’s really not the worst bit of town. Anyway, it’s all I can afford right now until I find a new job.” That seemed to shut him up on the subject, at least for now. He couldn't argue with your dwindling bank balance after all.

“When’s your first interview?” he asked, raising the whisky to his lips and sipping it with surprising elegance for someone with such big hands and such a powerful jaw.

Taking a deep breath, you forced the nerves down and muttered, “Monday. I’m not prepared, but at least it’s something.” You tried not to think about the inbox full of rejection letters which, in a mere two sentences and with surgical succinctness, told you that they were not hiring, nor looking to hire, nor to take on any new staff just at the moment. Thank you for your interest.

It wasn’t interest; it was sheer bloody desperation.

“You’re not going to be at all prepared if you get mugged to death on your way home tonight,” Francis grumbled.

“It’ll be fine.”

He looked at you again and took another final drink of his whisky, long tongue lapping out the remaining dregs before he set it down with a clonk on the circle-stained table. “Please text me when you get there?”

With a solemn promise to do just that, you stood and he followed you outside into the cool evening. A scuffle of dry leaves drew your attention to your right, and the fleeting shadow of a cat projected huge along a brick wall made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Francis’ concern had got you jumping at the smallest things, and as you separated from him with a warm hug and the reiterated promise that you’d be fine, you gritted your teeth and told yourself in no uncertain terms not to flinch at the slightest sound.

To be honest, the neighbourhood honestly wasn’t that bad. There had been a few break-ins, and the police had conducted a drug raid a few streets over last month, but other than that, it was mostly just… tired. Perhaps it would be the subject of the city council’s next ‘rejuvenation’ scheme, and some commerce and life could finally be injected back into this wallowing, languishing, crumbling part of town. Still, the mothman who had let you rent one of the apartments in his old, converted town house had been very pleasant when you’d met to discuss rent, and that had gone a long way towards heartening you. Without his offer, you might not have had anywhere at all.

You tried to keep that fact in mind as you passed by the closed grocery store, the lights inside low, the neon sign flickering and drawing moths to it like supplicants to a shrine. For a moment, you caught the rapid drumbeat of footsteps behind you and tensed. In under a minute, they disappeared down a side street, and you let out a shaky breath. “Get a grip,” you breathed, reaching into one pocket for your keys all the same.

After fifteen minutes of striding at a quicker pace than was cardiovascularly comfortable, the old, slightly shabby, turn-of-the-last-century building loomed out of the gathering night. At the pedestal-base of the antique, cast-iron street lamp, a narrow pool of golden light shimmered and flickered intermittently, illuminating cracks in the pavement that seemed larger and more treacherous than they had in full daylight. Your imagination conjured black, coiling shadows creeping up from those dark cracks in the earth like smoke on a stage set, and as you paused a moment beneath it to sort your keys out, a breath of wind stippled goosebumps across the nape of your neck.

Glancing once over your shoulder, half expecting to discover someone standing silently at your back, you found nothing at all out of place, swallowed, and scuttled up the uneven garden path to the main door of the converted apartments.

No sooner had you put the key in the lock than the door rattled and swung open from the other side. Reeling away in surprise, you stumbled half a pace backwards and gasped as your eyes registered nothing but blackness inside the hallway beyond. From within the swath of darkness, two points of crimson glowed, then tilted slightly to the side, and you would have shrieked, had the entity inside not murmured your name at that exact instant in his deep baritone.

“Reginald!” you practically whimpered in relief, body going slack as you encouraged your heart rate back to normal with steadying breaths, and then huffed an embarrassed laugh. “You scared me… sorry. I’m just super jumpy this evening.”

“No, no,” the mothman purred, stepping delicately out onto the path and holding the door open for you with his lower right arm. His black fur rippled and shimmered in the soft night breezes and he buzzed his wings once. The fur around his nose was beginning to turn silver, and on his hands and around his antennae too. “I apologise. I felt you coming and I should have announced myself. How are you settling in?”

“Fine,” you croaked, equilibrium mostly recovered. The cool night wafted across your clammy skin and calmed your racing heart while you stood there making polite conversation with him until you yawned conspicuously.  

“Thank you for indulging an old moth, but I shan’t keep you up any longer. You look as though you could use some sleep,” he said, inclining his head in an old-fashioned bow, antennae dipping too and making you think of a gentleman dipping his hat at you. As you headed inside, fumbling on the wall for the light switch, you heard the distant buzz of his wings, and closed the door with a soft click as Reginald took off into the night.

The decor of the main areas of the building left a bit to be desired, with the odd peeling corner and scuff on the antique dado rail, but it was clean, which had set it well apart in the list of other apartments you'd scouted in the last month or so, and as you traipsed up the stairs to your first floor flat, the boards creaked raucously beneath your feet. No one was sneaking in or out of here without making a huge racket, and that thought provided a little comfort.

The interview on Monday loomed in your mind, ticking your resting heart rate up higher than normal, but after you went through the motions before bed with a strange sense of detachment, you let the weariness building behind the anxiety creep over your limbs and draw your eyelids down. Reginald hadn’t been wrong when he’d remarked on your appearance; it had been a while since you’d slept really well. So, it was with a familiar sense of dread that you let your mind slide away into unconsciousness, praying that the nightmares that had plagued your sleeping mind would stay away that night.

With a jolt, your eyes flew open to find the room dark, the street lamp outside extinguished, and a familiar sense of crushing dread weighing on your chest. Lying there, motionless, you breathed slowly, trying to figure out what had woken you so suddenly. Nothing stirred, and as you strained your ears, you caught no whisper of autumn leaves in the reaching branches of the walnut tree outside.

No sooner had you closed your eyes again, hoping to slide back into dreamless sleep, something touched your hair with a spider-light touch and you tried to scream and flail. Finding yourself utterly unable to move, you could only lie there as adrenaline flooded your whole body, your throat went dry, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, and the sensation returned, stronger now.

Pinprick sharp claws - like a cat’s but much, much larger - raked through your hair, softly stroking your scalp, and you felt a silent scream tear itself from your chest. Something was there in the dark with you and you couldn’t move a muscle.

A shadow in the blackness of the room, a darker blur than the rest of the inky room, shifted along your bed from behind you in a coiling tendril, unfurling across the sheets and over your body like the root of a plant or the limb of an octopus, and your blood began to hammer in your ears. All you could do was lie there and gasp for breath.

Claws, long and glistening and dripping with darkness, scraped almost gently down your temple and as the entity moved into your limited field of vision, you felt another soundless yell rip itself from you. An involuntary trembling began in your limbs as a dark, black, skull-like face loomed over you, a wide maw stretching open to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth.

You were going to die. If this was a nightmare, you’d probably be found a few days later, dead of a heart attack, and if it were real… gods above - the thought of being mugged was abruptly shunted to the bottom of your list of things to fear in this neighbourhood. The last thing you’d said to Francis was ‘I’ll be fine.’

The creature opened its mouth wider and wider as if trying to draw out your soul from your body, teeth glistening, breath completely silent, leaning in close to your face. It looked veiled, somehow, as if a wet, gauzy material had been draped over a skeletal form, which then stuck to the emaciated body beneath. With a jolt, you realised it looked like a shrouded corpse, wrapped in black fabric. The ragged shreds of material that floated eerily, slowly, as if the creature were underwater and the wisps were nothing more than kelp, and the tips constantly dissolved into fine smoke that curled lazily around the figure.

Was this Death itself?

Please… you begged silently. Please… I don’t want to die.

To your surprise, the creature tilted its terrifying head to one side in a motion that reminded you of a cat; as though it was curious.

Oh please don’t be something that toys with your prey first…

Fractionally, the entity drew back a fraction, though its four-inch long, sickle-claws remained at the side of your face. As you stared at it, wide eyed and sweating with fear, you got the fleeting impression of an emaciated torso and two equally skeletal arms beneath the floating veil.

In a moment of oddly detached clarity, you wondered if it could understand you.

It nodded.

The fuck?

That grin stretched wider. It had teeth like an angler fish, and the moment you thought that, all you could imagine was it lunging for you out of the darkness like a sprung trap, teeth sinking in, blood pouring, ending in nothing but pain and fear…

The creature nudged its clawed hand against your lips, and for a horrible moment you thought it was going to slice open the skin of your mouth, but instead, like anaesthetic wearing off, your lips began to tingle. You could move them again. Swallowing, you rasped, “Can… you understand me?”

Again, the entity nodded and retreated a little further from the bed. Like an aura of shifting mist around it, the darkness of the room rippled and moved, and you realised it really was floating beside your bed, one hand tethered to the headboard, the other near your shoulder.

“Can you speak?”

The creature paused, going still, and the air in the room thrummed with a sudden tension. Your lungs squeezed and your ribs creaked under the pressure of it.

Eventually the strain on the atmosphere snapped, and a rasping, polyphonous voice from somewhere to your right hissed, “Yes.”

Stunned, you could only lie there as it remained beside you, suspended and shifting like waterweed in a lazy current.

“What do you want?” you managed to croak. You still couldn’t move anything else but your eyes and your mouth. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Again, the air seemed to vibrate, and a chill ran through you.

“Is that you?” you asked. “Are you doing that?”

This time it took longer for the creature to make a sound, but it nodded slowly first. Its claws returned to your body and you gasped as the muscles unlocked and you found you were able to move again. Scrabbling to sit up, you blinked, and the creature twitched, lurching backwards away from you like a skittish horse.

“You can’t be… You’re afraid of me?” you blurted, almost laughing. It didn’t seem like it wanted to hurt you or scare you any more, but the surreal vision beside your bed was enough to keep your heart pounding. “Are you Death?”

Its wide maw stretched open again, revealing its mouthful of deadly teeth, and you balked, fear leaping into your throat again as you clutched the sheets around you like a child. Those claws could slice a sheet - or a body - to ribbons, and yet you clung to them.

It reached out slowly for your ankle, latching its long fingers around the joint, and you choked out a whimpering yell. Knowing you were alone in the house, with Reginald out on his nightly business and the only other apartment in the building still unoccupied, your fear crescendoed to a peak and your words failed you.

With what appeared to be a gargantuan effort, the entity paused, then inhaled, and then chorused, “Not. Death. You… fear… me…”

No shit, you thought. “What do you want?”

“Fear… is… all I… know… Without it… I am… nothing.”

Was that sadness that tinged its many voices? Was there more than just one entity within those constantly-twisting shadows?

“Just… me,” the creature murmured, half-turning away and releasing its solid grip around your leg.

The emotion in those two words made something crack inside you. “You’re lonely…” you breathed, and the creature began to tremble, glitching like a badly aligned SCART connection.

In that instant, your fear drained out of you to be replaced by a wave of compassion, and the tension left your muscles. Whatever this was, it was alone as well.

The creature’s form continued to flicker, and as you blinked in confusion, the misty veil covering them seemed to boil off, leaving nothing but the emaciated, charred-looking skeletal figure beneath, strangely vulnerable for just a heartbeat before it seemed to evaporate away altogether.

The stillness in the room left your mind reeling as you sat there. Had you dreamed the whole thing?

Scrambling, your fingers found the light switch beside the bed, and you squinted and scowled as harsh, yellow light flooded the room at the click of a button. Nothing was out of place beyond, and no hint of creeping shadows drew your eye.

“Are you still there?” you whispered, but after waiting for what felt like hours, you got no answer.

If you returned to sleep at all that night, it would be a miracle, but still you tried. Lying in the dark a good while later, and curled on your side with your eyes screwed shut, you couldn’t help straining your hearing for the slightest hiss of claws on fabric, but nothing came, and eventually, you must have drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Remarkably, no nightmares plagued you that night, and when you woke the next morning, you felt oddly peaceful and well rested for a change.  

You stretched and yawned, and only remembered about the strange experience from the night before when the soft weave of the cotton sheet snagged across your ankle and a sharp prickle made you frown.

Upon investigation, you discovered a long, thin scratch in your skin, as if a cat had nicked you with its claws in passing.

You froze.

It had not been a dream after all.

For the next two nights, nothing unusual happened, unless you counted the fact that you actually slept well for the first time in weeks. You found it almost physically impossible to make it past midnight, whereas before you’d frequently seen midnight tick by and vanish into the past as you lay there with prickling eyes and an exhausted, restless body, anxiety tingling along your nerves, counting the minutes as time ticked closer to dawn.

Astonishingly, as you faced the interviewer on Monday morning, you felt alert and almost chipper.

The naga smiled and held out a hand to you as she wrapped the interview up. “Thank you so much for your time,” she said. “You’ll hear back from us tomorrow, most likely, but let me say now that I was extremely impressed.”

Your brows rose and she laughed kindly at your evident surprise. “Thank you,” you croaked, and left politely before you ruined anything.

That night, you lay back alone on your bed after celebrating with Francis again, spread-eagled and stared at the ceiling. The old-fashioned plaster moulding made it look like you were underwater, especially if the huge tree outside swayed in the wind and cast shifting, kaleidoscope patterns on it. A cold draft prickled over you and you shivered. “Is that you?” you asked almost hopefully, wondering if the nightmare creature was back.

Nothing.

With a huge sigh, you looked around without moving, nervous in case you spooked it. “Listen, if you’re the one that’s given me such amazing sleep lately, then… well… thank you. I think I might have got the job…”

A movement in the darkest corner of the room caught your attention, but when your gaze landed on it, all was as it should be.

“Seriously, if you’re there, please… let me know.”

Again, you experienced that strange pulling sensation, like some kind of energy was being drawn from the room, and as you sat up, your bedside lamp flickered. In front of the darker form of your dressing gown on the back of the door, something had begun manifesting into a tall, slender figure. Shrouded as before in shadow, the creature glided forwards, every bit like a nightmare, and your heart thudded.

“Afraid…” came a chanting, polyphonic voice, “And yet not…? How?”

“Have you seen yourself lately?” you hissed. “You’re kind of intimidating. What are you?”

“Nightmare…” it hissed.

You blinked. “You’re a literal nightmare?”

Its claws glinted in the half-light of your small bedside lamp as it just hung there, swaying softly like a corpse on a gallows. “Yes.”

“What are you doing here? Does Reginald know you live here?”

It turned away and you saw a ribcage jutting out like a mummy’s fragile body, though every inch of them was a soft, matte black, pock marked like volcanic stone.

It shook its head. “I found you…” it croaked in its struggling, faltering voice. “Your fear… drew me… to you.”

“You vanished when I stopped being afraid,” you said and again, the creature nodded.

“I was using your fear to… manifest. Without it… I could not stay.”

“But you’re not using my fear now, are you?” you were excited, your heart was pattering out a wild rhythm, but you weren’t afraid.

It shook its head.

“How?”

Turning towards you, it brought up one lethally clawed hand and let a tendril of wisping black smoke play through its dead-looking hand. The fingers were longer than a human’s, and tipped in those sickle claws. “You sleep… better now,” it said, as if that explained everything.

Sitting there on the bed, you frowned. “Yeah, the nightmares have gone and — wait, are you… are you feeding on other nightmares?”

Slowly, the creature nodded. “I fought one that night, for you…” it rumbled. “I won. Now… they fear me.”

“And me? Do I have to fear you?”

The nightmare shook its shrouded head, the fabric wafting slowly as it billowed around the skeletal body beneath.

“So why are you here? Why me?”

“May I… come closer?” it asked.

“So long as you’re not going to hurt me,” you said in a reedy, weak voice. “A bit closer is fine…”

Hovering, the nightmare seemed uncertain, but then made up its mind and loomed a fraction nearer. This close, the glow from your lamp gilded the empty sockets of its skull and showed the stretching maw, and while you might not have been terrified any longer, it certainly made you wary.

“Will not hurt you…” the creature snarled. “I swear it.”

“Ok, fine, but you can’t blame me for being a bit… you know… I’ve never met anything like you before, and you are technically in my apartment…”

“Should I leave?”

Probably, but you found you didn’t want that just yet. “No, not yet. Can you answer some more of my questions?”

It shrugged. “I will try. Remaining here is tiring though. I don’t have much time left.”

“Where do you go?”

“There are many realms beside yours… Nightmares exist… in the cracks between, belonging nowhere, lingering only a while…”

“Sounds lonely,” you muttered.

“It is. That is why I stayed. You… You spoke to me, even when you were afraid. I have never had that before.”

The mist moved like snakes between its fingers and you watched, half mesmerised. “Your claws… are they why I couldn’t move?”

It nodded. “Sleep paralysis causes… much fear. I’m sorry I had to… frighten you to show myself.”

You snorted and pulled your legs close to sit cross legged on the bed, staring at the hovering nightmare in your room. It was so surreal, you wondered if you’d hit your head on the way home. “You tried to reassure me at the same time as scaring me shitless didn’t you?”

It flashed its claws again and swung a close to you. “Soft,” it purred, now mere inches from your face.

This close up, you found yourself frightened again. The horror of its empty black eyes, its gaping maw full of black, pointed teeth, the coiling shadows around it, its skeletal hands with tipped with onyx scythes… and yet, they smelled like the very best of winter nights; slightly smoky with a coldness that, as you inhaled, stung the back of your throat.

“Afraid, and yet not,” it repeated.

“Can I touch you?”

The nightmare clearly had not been expecting that, but nodded. Trembling, you brought your fingertip to its cheek. The skin was cool and hard like leather, but a fine mist floated around them, and you realised that the shroud wasn’t cloth at all, but intangible and made simply of smoke and shadow. The creature shuddered and you pressed your whole palm to their face as they leaned into your touch.

A moment later, they began to flicker and let out a broken moan. “I cannot stay.”

“Come back?” you whispered.

The mouth that held the promise of death, with all those teeth, suddenly smiled and they nodded. After that, they vanished.

Another week went by, but as you faced the fears of starting a new job, and the nearer that your starting date drew, the better you slept.

“It’s you again, isn’t it?” you asked the empty, black room on the night before you started work. “Come on, come out. You’ve been trying to manifest all week. I can feel it.”

Rippling out of the darkness, the nightmare swayed towards your bed and hung in the space beside it, drifting.

“Thank you,” you smiled and stood up. The nightmare didn’t move as you walked towards it, and this time when you reached for it, the creature did anticipate it, wafting closer, apparently keen for the contact. “I actually missed you, you know?” you said as the creature’s whole body quivered.

It brought its hand up to your face in a mirror of your gesture and brushed the curved back of its claws against your cheek. It tingled but you were still able to talk.

“You can touch me,” you whispered, drawing it back towards your bed by taking its skeletal fingers in yours.

Having its permission, the nightmare raked those claws through your hair with a tenderness that left you breathless. “Let me take the fear from you…” it murmured.

Examining your feelings, you discovered a small knot of anxiety about tomorrow, and smiled. “Leave me a little bit, ok? Trust me, a bit of nerves helps.”

Nodding, it leaned close and inhaled.

Standing there beside the bed, your body ignited with what could only be described as a deep and yearning lust, and you gasped, knees going weak. The nightmare caught you as you swayed, head spinning, and laid you easily down on the bed, despite the fact that it hardly looked strong enough to withstand a slight draft.

“What…?” you gasped, core burning.

The creature looked at a loss as it hung in the space beside your bed.

“I’m assuming this has never happened to you before?” you snorted, feeling a little recovered. “How lonely do I have to be to get turned on by a literal nightmare?”

A chuffing laugh made you look back at them.

“You find that funny too?” you asked and they nodded. “Well, if I’m honest… now that I know you’re not going to hurt me, I think you’re kind of beautiful.”

A soft, broken, crooning sound escaped them and they floated nearer, hovering over your bed and extending a hand to stroke talon-tips down your cheek again. “You are beautiful,” it murmured in all its numerous, whispering voices.

“Touch me,” you breathed.

“It will paralyse you,” they snarled, leaning backwards. “I can only… control it for so long.”

“But you won’t hurt me, and it’ll wear off, right?”

They nodded.

“Then touch me… please… I… I want your touch,” and you did. In a way you’d never felt with anyone else, human or otherwise, you needed them.

Rearing closer to you, the creature hung in the air above you like a cloud. It raked its claws down your body, but instead of shearing your clothes open, they simply evaporated, reappearing on the floor nearby in a tangled, crumpled heap.

“Neat trick,” you muttered before gasping as their hands landed on your bare torso, spreading their fingers wide and inhaling again. “Magic?”

“In dreams, anything is possible. We are not bound by your laws.”

“Of course not, but you’re —” you cut off sharply as they opened their mouth and a long, black tongue slithered free and coiled around your hardening nipple. You lurched and your back arched before falling back onto the bed. A tingling spread rapidly all down your right side as their hands gripped you more strongly now.

Working steadily first down one side and then the other, the nightmare scraped its teeth over you in a hundred scratching lines that made you want to yelp and buck, but their paralysis had begun to sweep over you. Every almost-bite it chased with its soothing, teasing, paralysing tongue and fingertips until you could do nothing but tremble and twitch beneath its touch.

A voice hissed, “I will know if you want me to stop,” and you let the last of your fears slide away, giving into the intense pleasure that their mouth offered on your body.

Finally, breath heaving, you felt your release crashing towards you. Never before had you been utterly immobile like this. You wanted to thrash and buck, to squirm and writhe - the pleasure was so intense and visceral that you needed to scream, but the nightmare held you in its grasp and wrung your release from you with relentless focus. Before you could recover fully, it demanded a second orgasm hot on the heels of the first and you thought you might shear apart with the force of it.

Gasping for breath, you begged silently to be allowed to move again, and as it sat back, that long, clever tongue lapping up the last of your release, it touched you once again and your body went slack.

“Oh my god,” you panted. “I’ve never come like that…”

“Your… energy,” they whispered, touching their fingers and thumb together as if their skin was tingling too. Something cool and dark slid over your leg and you looked down to find black liquid dripping from their robes, all over your legs from where they were hovering above you.

You had to laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re switching careers to an incubus now?”

The nightmare looked at you. “It’s just you,” they said. “I want only you.”

“If you’re going to make me come like that, I think we could come to an arrangement…”

The creature grinned, showing all its deadly teeth, and you lay back and stared at the ceiling for a long time, drained and tired but deeply satisfied. You didn’t even notice yourself sliding into a blissful sleep.

When you woke with your alarm the next morning, there was no trace of the creature, but on the back of the door as you were preparing to leave, you found the words ‘good luck’ scraped into the surface of the wood.

“You’d better come back and fix that tonight,” you grumbled with a smile on your face as you spotted it. Even as you stared at it, the wood melted back into the shape it had always been before, and in its place, a simple, line-drawn heart appeared.

You snorted. “See you later,” you said as you grabbed your coat and headed out. “And… well… thank you.”

___

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#exophilia #monster lover #shadow monster #sleep paralysis demon #demon x reader #room monster x reader #room monster #non binary monster #gender neutral reader

[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 8. solo

Previous | Next

[warnings: underage drinking, smoking, weed, near death experience?, crying]

"never have i dealt with anything more difficult than my own soul." — You leave the roof late in the night. Sal had gotten up and retreated into his apartment a little while earlier—but you'd decided to stay and make sure he didn't come back there.

Three days pass. They all consist of fleeting glances and irresolute tension. Things remain the same with the group dynamic, except for between you and Sal. Neither of you seem to know how to continue from that conversation on the roof. No one else notices, though. They'd never suspected anything from the beginning, it seems.

The beginning of your involvement with Sal involved a little bit of buildup and then a snap which resulted in a sexual encounter (or two).

Now it was a bit different. Now things were a little less lighthearted.

It's a Saturday—you'd planned to spend it inside as usual. That's until your phone starts ringing.

You flip your phone open, read over the contact, and answer the call.

"Hi, Ash."

"Y/N," she starts. You hear the excitement to continue in her voice. "There's a party tonight."

"Oh?" You get up from your seat on your bed.

"Some stoner Larry has connections with invited him and said to bring friends. He wants to bring us—save for Todd. He doesn't do parties."

"Wait," your eyebrows furrow. "Me?"

"Yeah!" She says from the other end of the line. "It'll be fun. Cmon."

You bite your lip nervously, anxiety knotting in your stomach. "I don't know. I've never really.."

Ashley is momentarily silent on the other line. She must be contemplating what to say to convince you. "Sal's coming too. Parties aren't necessarily his thing, either—so maybe you guys could try it out together?"

You open your mouth and then promptly close it. Something inside of you suddenly really wanted to go to this party. "Um... alright. Okay."

"Cool! What're you gonna wear?"

You look toward the drawer that contained your clothes and bit your lip. "Not sure yet. I'll update you on that."

"Okay, don't forget to text me! See you at eight."

The call declined from the other line. The phone that held the phone to your ear slipped into your lap. You pressed your lips together and tried to ignore the familiar feeling of sickening nausea and anxiety.

You don't rush yourself on getting ready for the party, because the time you're due to be done won't be for a while.

You take your time with the hours you have. You shower, take your time on eyeliner, mascara, and lipgloss—and finally decide on what you'll wear.

You decide on a square neck white cropped tank with short sleeves and your nicest pair of light blue, slightly washed out jeans. You slid on your favorite, sort of chunky white sneakers over white socks.

It isn't long after you finish when Ashley calls and informs you she's arrived at the apartments and Larry and Sal have already joined her out in the car. You give yourself a once-over in the mirror and then leave the apartment.

Your mother was nowhere to be found. She's either at work or drinking with her coworkers.

Once you've opened the door and climbed into the Ford Fiesta, you immediately realize your predicament—Sal is the only person in the backseat with you.

The drive there is decently long and painfully tense. Neither you nor Sal know how to speak to each other, so no words are exchanged beneath the heavy metal music emitting from the radio.

When you finally arrive at the party, it's recognizably crowded, drunken teenagers are flowing from the front door, in and out, and there's a good amount on the lawn. The newest radio hit is playing on a considerably loud speaker, and the vibrations are notable even from a distance.

"Woah," Larry says, staring at the house as Ashley pulls onto the side of the road. "Didn't realize he was so popular."

You all exit the Ford Fiesta and cross the road. You cringe as you watch someone vomit onto the grass, and another person ripping from a bong in the wide open.

Smoke flies into your face and your eyes as you enter the home. You cough, waving a hand as you blindly follow after your friends.

Eventually, the four of you find yourself on two couches directly facing each other. You on one, Larry and Ashley on the other. Sal is stood to the side.

Larry materializes a bottle of Fireball that you guessed he stole from someone on the way in, opens the cap with his teeth, and takes several gulps.

"Where did you get that?" Ashley laughs over the music, pulling the sleeves of her lavender sweater over her hands.

"Stole it," he looks to Sal and directs the bottle toward him. "Want some?"

"Sure," Sal replies, to your surprise—taking it from Larry's grasp and walking away and in your direction.

"You're drinking that?" You ask him, testing the waters.

"No, actually," you watch Sal round to the other side of the couch to linger behind you. "I'm limiting him. He'll thank me later."

Once he's out of your field of vision, you tip your head back and gaze up at him—your perspective on him being upside down. Your gaze zeroes in on the bottle of Fireball he's clutching in his hand.

"Hey," you say, meeting his eyes. "Give me some."

It was time to give him that excuse—the excuse to break the ice.

He leans in a bit, gesturing toward you with the bottle. "You want it?"

A grin pulls at your glossed lips. Instead of reaching for the bottle, you open your mouth and tilt your chin up.

Sal looks on for a moment but laughs once he realizes what you want. Everyone else at the couches seem decently distracted with each other and the overall environment—so he doesn't seem to worry about it too much.

He reaches his hand around and towards your neck, gripping your jaw in his fingers and holding you firmly. You feel his cold rings press into your skin when he tips your head further back just a bit—and then steadily pours a shot-amount of Fireball into your mouth with his other hand.

Sal stops at the right time, looks on as you pull back and sit up, and cautiously watches the back of your head as you assumedly swallow the whisky. But when you turn a bit in your seat to peer at him over your shoulder, you're holding your mouth closed and pressing a closed fist to your lips while soundlessly giggling.

"What?" He laughs, a hand moving to the top of the couch. He leans in a bit. "Can you not swallow it?"

Your shoulders shake slightly as you continue to laugh. You shake your head up and down.

"Do you need to spit it out?" Sal asks, his tone warming into concern.

You shake your head from side to side. You meet his eyes and swallow, gasping as the liquid slides down your throat and burns all the way down. You cough, the flavor of cinnamon and what tasted like Big Red gum overloaded your senses.

"God," you breathe out, giggling all the while. The alcohol is gross but you're feeling good. "It's not great."

"Yeah, that's why I'm holding Larry off, so he won't be puking his guts out later."

You look up to the boy, who's sat on the arm of the couch opposite to you. He's busy talking to some equally stoned guy, so you can't manage to catch his eye—but you catch Ashley's.

She had this look of astonishment on her face.

Had she been watching what happened? When Sal poured Fireball in your mouth?

Your face grew hot thinking about it.

Sal wanders away from you again, and you find yourself drinking more than you should. Eventually, your rationality disappears.

It's been a few hours and Sal hasn't seen you for a while. So when he hears about a girl wearing a white crop top walking across the roof of the house, he feels like he's going to vomit.

It takes him a record time of 6 seconds to get out of the door and onto the lawn. Upon looking up at the roof, his suspicions are confirmed. He shoulders past multiple people to place himself near the front of the crowd and gazes up in horror.

"Sal!" You yell, gesturing toward him with something between a wave and a point. "I'd recognize that hair anywhere!"

Multiple heads within the crowd turn away from you and towards him. He puts aside his social anxiety and the wave of unease that washes over his body and tries to focus on you. "Please come down," he rushes out, raising his voice just enough for it to be audible over the crowd.

You laugh like he's told a hilarious joke and he quickly realizes his mistake. That's the worst thing he could've told your intoxicated self. You move toward the edge of the roof, shaky and uncoordinated. "You want me to jump?"

"No!" He exclaims, his hands flying up, fingers splayed. "No. Don't do that!"

"Holy shit!" He hears Larry shout from somewhere closer to the front door of the house. Sal guesses he's just now catching wind of the current situation. Moments after, both of his brunette friends are at his side.

"What the hell is going on?!" Ashley yells, verdant eyes glued to the sight before them.

You lost your balance once again, but this time a bit worse—your foot catching on a shingle on the roof and effectively knocking the red solo cup out of your hand. It dropped onto the downward slope of the roof and the liquor inside of it spilled down the side.

Whenever Sal witnessed the toe of your white sneaker catch onto that shingle, he felt as though his very soul had been ripped from his body. Immediately after he watched you regain your footing and stable yourself, though—his heartbeat calmed to a steadier pace.

"I'm going up there," he stated beneath the chatter.

Both Ashley and Larry's heads whipped toward him.

"You'll kill yourself!" Larry exclaims incredulously. Ashley opens her mouth to assumedly second Larry's statement, but Sal cuts her off by walking away.

"Not before she does," he mutters, pushing his way through the density of bodies and forcing his way through the front door. His senses are disoriented like he's been submerged beneath water as the volume of the music scratched at his eardrums and pulsed the innards of his skull. Adrenaline courses through his blood like a drug whilst he shoulders past both mindlessly drunk and carelessly high teenagers.

Sal doesn't spare them a second glance, but their unconcern does remain in his mind. The fact that they're continuing their lives while he feels as though something that's growing into something of importance in his is about to be taken from him... it's mind-numbing.

He's never been an optimistic person, he's always tried to view things in the way they're most likely to happen—and all that's beneath that two-story house is a long drop and concrete. If you fall, you'll break your head open and you'll die.

He finally makes it to the stairs. He makes a break for it then, tripping over his own feet multiple times. Anything could happen in this amount of time, and he knew no one else was going to help him.

Sal's thoughts grow more and more disordered as he navigates the dark halls of the house. The music seems to have only grown louder, the deafening mixture of guitar and drums taunting him.

He remembers the window on the outside of the house. Sal estimates which room it would be, locates it, and approaches the door. He turns the knob, but it doesn't fully rotate.

The door is locked from the inside. Of course. Who would have a party and leave the bedroom unlocked so people could fuck all over your comforter?

He bites out a curse only he hears and prepares himself to force the door open.

Sal grabs the doorknob tightly, prepares himself, and rams the side of his body into the wood. He doesn't even feel the pain, just does it again, and again.

He goes until that half of his body is numb.

The door finally budges, and he wastes no time entering the room. He doesn't hesitate when he reaches the double-hung window he'd been seeking. He grips it at the bottom and pulls it up and open, clenching his teeth together painfully.

Sal stares out at the vastness of the night, the golden streetlights, and how they shine down on the crowd of people below him. They all seem to be looking at the same place, up, but not at him—and he can only swallow thickly.

Carefully, Sal moves to sit on the windowsill, gripping what was above him tightly, his legs outside. He then ducks to leave the room and shivers as cool air hits the front of his neck.

He starts walking the roof, steadily—like his life depends on it. Because.. it does.

Or yours. Yours depends on it.

"Y/N!" Sal calls as he finally reaches a point where you're in his line of sight. Momentarily, he's worried he'd scared you. But you turn your head, meet his eyes, and smile. Despite that, your face spells fear all over it. Something must have sobered you up a bit while he'd been inside.

"I'm going to come to you. Do not walk towards me!"

You blink lazily, because you were drunk, and nodded. You shivered, hugging yourself. It didn't seem to do much, though. Your arms were bare.

"Fuck," he breathes, gazing down at the fall that could await him if he misstepped and immediately reverted his gaze. Blood rushes between his ears as he steadily makes his way towards you.

"Please don't fall!" You suddenly exclaim, your hair tussling in the breeze. A strand blows over your face, so you quickly raise a hand to move it back in place.

He looks up from his feet and stares you in the eyes. "I won't," he affirms, you and himself, continuing across the roof. "Just stay put, okay?"

It doesn't take long to get over to you. He's mostly sober, so it isn't hard on that part. What's difficult is calming his steady heart.

He's not scared of falling. Not necessarily scared of injury or death. But he is scared of not making it to you.

Once he's at an arms reach of your shaking form, he reaches out a hand, palm facing the darkness of the sky.

You seem to read his mind, slowly grabbing his hand. Sal maneuvers your joint hands to where your palms press together and your fingers are interlaced. He doesn't know if it's the blood rushing through his ears or the distance from the ground, but it's as if everything below becomes very quiet.

You meet his gaze, your pretty eyes glossy with tears. The eyeliner you were wearing had just begun to collect beneath your lower lash line.

He squeezes your hand and leads you to be in front of him.

It's not long after that that he's gotten you off of the roof. Sal watches you slip through the open window before turning toward the density of people beneath him on the ground. He breathes in as he catches both Larry and Ashley's eyes—he can't read their expressions, but he wouldn't be surprised if there was shock written all over it—and then ducks back into the window.

As soon as the window is shut and it meets the windowsill once more, Sal whips his head toward you. "Y/N-"

Before he'd saw your face, and the language of your body as you were sat on the edge of the bed, he was going to scold you, and then go downstairs and find you some water and sober you up—all of that falls down the drain when he sees the stream of tears falling down your face. Every time you blink, more drop—quickly staining your cheeks with black makeup.

"Oh," he breathes, suddenly speechless. "Y/N-"

You attempt at taking a breath in, it seems—but it's a failure because it hitches and turns into a shoulder-shaking sob.

"I'm sorry," you cry, roughly dragging the tips of your fingers beneath your eyes. This only smears the running mascara further. "I'm just drunk."

Sal momentarily feels like breaking down in tears himself, that's how much this entire ordeal stressed him out. He approaches your trembling body and crouches down in front of you.

"Hey," he says, softly. "It doesn't matter whether or not you're intoxicated. Your feelings still matter, okay?"

You sniffle, still attempting to wipe your tears away, and reluctantly nod. "I'm sorry," you try again.

He places his hands on your knees and squeezes them firmly. "It's okay."

You jerk into a sob, leaning forward and pressing the side of your face on his shoulder. You slowly tuck your arms beneath his and cross them over the expanse of his back, palms flat on each shoulder blade. The convulsive gasps were hard to stop, making it hard to breathe.

Sal breathed out softly against the prosthetic, raising his arms and encasing them around your torso.

He didn't wonder about the reason for your tears. Assuming things wouldn't help you anymore.

"I don't know why I did that," you whisper, quieting yourself to swallow your saliva. "Maybe I do. I think I was trying to prove something to myself."

He finds himself holding you tighter, your chest pressed to his, feeling your heartbeat through the fabric that separated you both—oddly enough, even at this moment, it reminds him of that night in the car. You had been even closer to him then, though.

"It was stupid," you murmured. "Why would I do that, after what we had talked about last night?"

"What if we jumped together?" he remembers saying.

"Some things can't be explained," he replies earnestly. "You don't need to know why you did what you did. It was stupid, though. I'd probably walk across the roof of a two-story house for you again, but.."

You pull back and meet his eyes, your face wet. The majority of your makeup had been cried off and your lipgloss had been smudged.

You must've sensed his examination, breaking the visual contact and sniffling. "I know I look ridiculous right now."

Sal smiles. He knows she can't see it, but maybe she'll hear it. "I don't think so," he murmurs, looking off to the side. "I think that's a bathroom. You can clean up in there if you want."

You follow his gaze and then return your eyes to his and laugh a bit. You still sound drunk, he notes. Obviously. He'd poured a good amount of Fireball into your mouth and watched you drink plenty of other things.

"Feels kinda weird using a stranger's bathroom," you laugh, your breath hitching from the earlier crying.

Sal rolls his eyes humorously, gripping your knees tighter as he pulls himself off of the floor. "The guy who lives here is Larry's friend—and a stoner. I doubt he'd mind. And if he does get mad, I'll take responsibility for it. I forced that door through, anyway.."

Your gaze swivels toward the door, which is not shut but mostly closed. When he glances to where you're looking, he notices it seems a bit.. crooked.

He inwardly cringes. "I'll pay for it. Come on."

Sal follows you into the bathroom. You seem reluctant to enter first, so he does, opening the door and reaching to the side to turn the lights on. They do what they're supposed to—eventually. They're momentarily unresponsive before becoming alive—the illumination brightening the room with a dull yellow hue.

You step onto the tile and began to search for whatever it was you needed. You kneeled at one of the cabinets below the sink, opened it, and ducked your head lower.

"Oh!" You exclaim quietly, reaching in and pulling out two things. A bottle of half-empty makeup remover and a bag of some cotton rounds.

"Maybe he has a girlfriend?" He hears you say to yourself, standing up, nudging the cabinet closed with your foot, and placing the things you found beside the sink.

Sal reaches over and closes the door. He'd rather not have to witness the sight of some drunkards wandering in and fooling around on the bed.

"Lock it," you say. "I'd rather no one- no one see me like this."

His hand was already on the doorknob, so he just reaches down a bit and locks the door.

He watches you struggle a bit with the bag of cotton rounds, trying but failing to open it, so he reaches forward and delicately plucks it out of your grasp.

Sal slides the makeup remover over and pats the place on the counter it was previously. "Sit."

You peer into his eyes inquisitively but waste no time hoisting yourself up and onto the cold surface.

After that, he plucks the bottle of makeup remover off of the counter and douses the cotton round in the liquid. He reaches forward from the distance that your knees created between the both of you, but you spread your thighs and press the heel of your shoe into his lower back, pulling him in so he's between your legs.

Sal doesn't see it suggestively, because you're drunk—but he's glad you asked him to lock the door because, with his luck, Larry or Ashley would find their way into the bathroom and get all of the wrong ideas.

The firmness just beneath his navel presses into the edge of the counter as he cups one side of your face and began wiping away at the eyeliner and mascara and everything it messed up.

"Thank you," you say sweetly, blinking at him with appreciation in your eyes. "Where'd you learn how to do that?"

He remembers a silhouette. Her back was turned to him, golden hair cascading just past her shoulder blades. He remembers blue eyes that looked a lot like his own staring into a mirror, a hand which adorned a wedding ring wiping away makeup from the day.

"Read it on the label of the bottle," he replies, meeting your eyes and looking away.

As he's finishing up, he hears a rapping of knuckles against the locked door. He tosses the used cotton rounds into a trash bin in the corner and then locks eyes with you curiously.

"Occupied," he calls out, still looking at you. The knocking only gets louder, which makes you laugh.

"He said it's occupied!" You yell over the unintelligible music downstairs, your words breaking into a giggle. You press your knees against his waist, and he doesn't even realize it when his hands meet your thighs.

The knocking ceases, fading into a voice. "Is that you guys in there?"

Fucking Larry. Speak of the goddamn devil—that's what he would've said if he'd come knocking sooner.

The both of you seem to be thinking the same thing, locking eyes in terror. You quickly get off of the counter, and Sal unlocks the door and swings it open.

Sure enough, he's standing there—in all of his glory and highness. Larry blinks, the whites of his glossy eyes tinted red. He looks between the both of you before speaking. "Why were.."

"I had to pee," You choose to deadpan.

Sal feels himself grow even paler than he already is. "I came in.. after.. that."

Larry intakes a mouthful of whatever is in the red solo cup he's holding in his tan, lanky fingers, and swallows thickly. "Okay," he croaks, instinctively cringing as the alcohol passed through his chest. He gestured the cup toward you. "Uh..crazy stunt you pulled up there, huh?"

Sal saw your face shift in his peripheral vision. "Huge lapse of judgment," you reply.

"Nobody could tell who you were, so don't worry about that," the brunette smiles a bit. He returns his attention to Sal. "They've started playing country," sure enough, Sal hears the sound of a banjo from the speakers downstairs, effectively punctuating Larry's statement.

"Yeah.." Larry mumbles, sipping his drink and looking up and through his eyebrows. "Ash said to come find you guys so we can leave."

It doesn't take much, after that.

As you're leaving, Larry pulls the door open and furrows his brow at the condition of the hinges. "Wow. How old is this thing?" He mumbles.

Sal hears you snort.

The three of you descend the stairs, skirting past countless teenagers standing on the steps drinking or smoking. Sal makes the mistake of letting you fall behind and feels you stumble and smack him in the back. It's easy to steady himself, quickly gripping the railing—but he's concerned about you, so he turns around.

A guy with a cigarette balancing in his teeth is eying you with frustration pulling at his features. His gaze pulls from your face and down your body absentmindedly.

"Watch it," he murmurs.

"Sorry," you breathe, jerking your head away and meeting Sal's eyes worriedly. Keep walking, you express in the hues of your eyes.

Sal reaches forward and interlaces your fingers with his as he'd done on the roof. He makes a show of it, too—so the guy with the cigarette sees the rings on both of his hands. Sal gives him a distinct look when they lock eyes, rolls his jaw, and lets you lead him down the stairs, instead of the other way around.

By the time you're all nearly shot from weaving through the multitude of sweaty bodies and navigating through plumes of smoke thicker than fog, the three of you find Ashley petting what he'd assume is the host's dog.

No one questions it.

"You good to drive?" Larry asks, placing his cup on a nearby surface.

"Oh, yeah," she rises from her crouch beside the dog. The animal walks away, his golden tail wagging excitedly at the next person who would give him pets. "A gross sip of something put me off of drinking tonight a while earlier. And, uh.. the whole roof thing dried me out."

You sigh. "I'm sorry about that. It sobered me up, too."

She shakes her head, a wispy strand of light brown hair falling over her face. "It was stupid, yes, and I hope you don't do it again, but all that matters now is that you're safe."

Ashley blinks kind green eyes at you and smiles, reaching forward, taking your hand, and leading you away. Sal hears you laugh and follow after her as both of you head for the front door.

He turns to look at Larry once he loses sight of both of you in the crowd. He examines Sal with bleary dark eyes and looks as though he's about to say something, but he doesn't get to.

Even over the blaring country music, Sal hears a yell and then some fearful shouting. He whips around toward the sounds, which were toward the front of the house.

Red and blue flashing lights shine through the windows.

"Shit!"

"Ah, fuck," Larry groaned, nimbly wrapping his fingers around Sal's wrist and dragging him into the density of the panicked crowd. "Did you see where they went?"

Sal shakes his head. "No," he knows you're intoxicated. Panic settles in. He chews his lip, his eyes desperately scamming for a girl wearing a white top squared at the neck—you. "Y/N's had a lot to drink, Larry. If the police-"

"Don't worry about the Five-O, let's worry about the girls," Larry replies absentmindedly, keeping his firm hold on Sal.

"They must've gone to the Ford," Sal shouts over the music, which, for some reason, is still playing. "We were leaving anyway. I'm sure they're in the car."

Larry releases Sal and motions toward the back of the house. "There's a back door. I'll text Ashley and tell her to drive down the block and we can meet them on foot."

It was an agreeable plan. Waltzing out of the house and walking straight up to the car wouldn't be wise.

Larry does what he'd said he'd do. Turns out, Sal was right, they had made it to the car moments before the police had rolled up. Ashley informed him it was two squad cars and four officers. Seemed like overkill for a house party—but he wouldn't know. He didn't do this often.

When Larry was on the phone, Sal was very tempted to ask about Y/N, but refrained.

On the way to the back door, they crossed through the kitchen. Larry snatched an unopened bottle of alcohol of a brand Sal didn't recognize and carried it along with him for the road.

As soon as they made it out of the house, they both made a break for it, running between houses and into multiple different backyards on their way.

They slowed down once they were at a measurable distance from the party, gasping for air. Sal panted against the prosthetic, placing his hands on his knees and slowing his gasps into slow breaths, attempting to calm his racing heart.

They stood on the side of the road, the music in the distance (albeit a lot quieter) still pounding into the night.

Sal lowered himself down onto the curb. Larry joined him, raising the bottle he'd chose to bring with him to his mouth, and opened the steel cap with his teeth. He spits it onto the road and gestures it toward Sal.

"Bottoms up," he said, bringing it to his lips and taking several gulps.

Sal rolled his eyes playfully, eyebrows rising as Ashley's Ford Fiesta cruised down the road and slowed to a stop in front of them. He stood up from the curb and pulled Larry off of it as well.

They entered the car, sliding into the backseat. Larry continued to down the beer he'd found as Ashley turned around in her seat.

"The night's still young," she says. "Any ideas of what we could do?"

It's really not. Sal's a bit disoriented so he doesn't know what time it is but he wouldn't be surprised if it was 3 AM.

You then turn around in the passenger seat and grin mischievously. "Let's go to the lake."

Oh, great.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

[yanderenightmare]

Oh master, plez, DRAGON WARRIOR BAKUGO, my lord! I was thinking, if you please, a darling who is like clairvoyant, and that's why King bakugo needs her??? can you make it dark ;3 like like like whatever means necessary dark, like like like ill murder anyone who gets in my way, also also also it being really grotesque, I want merciless bakugo, BUT also kinda sweet when it comes to darling?? I don't know what exactly I want, but I know whatever you write I'll prob enjoy, Master Nightmare :3

DRAGON ! WARRIOR ! KING BAKUGO KATSUKI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: abuse, violence, genocide, kidnapping, abduction, death, blood, murder, ableism, classism, anxiety, arson, narcissistic personality disorder, slavery, trauma, war

so, a little foreword, the darling in this story has a quirk (ik, I’m breaking my beliefs thinking Bakugo should have a quirkless reader! The insanity!) but it’s because in this au not it’s quite special to have a quirk. Quirks are achieved and not given so to say. So Katsuki has earned his quirk and reader has earned her quirk, and so has everyone else who has a quirk. Also the song is called “If I Had a Heart” by Fever Ray, it’s the theme song to vikings ironically haha.

PART TWO

MUTE AND NUDE

The King was in her village.

Word from the south spread quickly, like any wildfire would, especially when riding the wings of a dragon. The Kingdom’s seer was dead, and the almighty bruise-knuckled King required a new one. They called it misfortune, but give a child a toy, and the toy is destined to break. Some might say that that’s what they’re made for. The old toy had apparently done something so distasteful that it cost her own tongue. Unfortunately, or perhaps ironically the only thing she was useful for: on her knees, mouth open, worshipping her king.

She counted the smoke rising to the sky near the horizon. Hers would be the thirteenth village they came to, lest their quest was done. She thought she might have seen him in the cloud-coverage. Eerie shadows resembling what bats she found in the caves, but the sun was bright and could easily be mistaken for him, or the other way around, as she’s heard his coat is golden.

She heard the rumbling tumbling of hooves and paws and claws riding up the mountain-side. They were coming.

Their houses were made of rock, sturdy as they should be when placed on a mountain-top with constant winds howling at them, and handled the fire well. But people aren’t made of stone. The smell of burning flesh is awful, and though she had nothing to puke, she barfed nonetheless. People were screaming and she probably would have too if she could, she was most certainly crying and bleeding and heaving for breath like those unlucky others that were still left alive.

High mountains are a bleak habitat for animal life, partially why they lived up there: to be spared of being hunted, to escape fangs and claws. And now: people running for their lives, the aching in her ankles, a body not built for running, and a mind not used to being hunted. Yet, it was strange but, it wasn’t really foreign at all.

She’d been dreaming of things lately, and as death as well as dust and ash and blood settled and seeped into the mud around her, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d seen it all before. In fact, there came a point in the middle of the fray she was certain she was dreaming as she stopped to eye the great golden mass in front of her. Scales sharp and silvery like mica on the mountainside, ruby-red eyes as though soaked with blood. Teeth long and sturdy like the jagged rocks of the tunnels, dripping not with water as they did in the caves but with blood and guts and torn clothes. And the talons, curved and shiny, black as night, digging into the gravel by his feet, treating the soil as though it were as thin as the air. But the wings… the wings are what had her falling to her knees, skin bitten by gravel. Greater then roofs, sweeping the sky as though he could pluck each and every star from the welkin, stud himself with them if he so wanted to, or swallow them if only to breath the light onto earth. He could shred trees with those wings, he could slice oceans apart, he could probably part the mountain, head in the heavens and roots with hell, the bridge that had stood for thousands of years, singlehandedly torn open by that great monster conquering both sky and earth as though they gave him life.

Her arm was bleeding. It had dentures, no… puncture wounds it seemed the more she looked. A pretty crescent moon of red marking deep into the soft tissue of her meager muscles, dripping onto the dirt, creating streaks in the mud caking her bare feet. She looked up to see a wolf turn into a man, a large man with spikes for hair, red but not the same red she’d seen earlier in those eyes, red like poppies far away from the red flowing in her veins, from what was leaking out of her arm.

She looked forward and saw bodies… no, not bodies… mangled mockeries of the human form strewn about her as though they were trampled wildflowers on a field. She looked to her side and saw her reflection in the faces of those she’d grown up with but never truly knew. She looked behind her, not spotting what abomination of life she’d seen earlier, the one painting the sky, the one eclipsing the sun.

Every young, pretty thing was lined up on a row that stretched about ten meters long as they weren’t that many in her village, and she was surprised to be one of them. The auditions began in the early left side of the fray, boys and girl shaking on unsteady knees, holding onto broken arms and gushing wounds. Her bitemark was begging for a fist around it too, but she had not the focus to indulge the wish as her eyes caught sight of a blot of gold contrasting the otherwise grey figures, it being clear who he was despite having altered form. Although not the tallest in stature, one could see it as clear as day, he towered over the rest of the flock.

The tones ripped from their throats were scratchy, untuned; garbage. It would seem none of the kids in the village were gifted, but if the Gods were of mercy they would grant them the vocal cords to survive the night. She couldn’t blame them for allowing their fear to taint their song. Seeing how the drapes in which the hooded figures dressed were soaked in blood from past failures. Knowing well how their weapons would breach flesh and bone were they not of any use to them.

If she had a voice she would use it for speaking and not for singing. This would probably be her last night.

They rushed through the girls and boys rather quickly. Swiftly; as if they had done it countless times before, as if they could decide by the first utterance of their very first tone, that they were a disappointment, that they were as good as dead.

Caught in the middle of the small gathering; her turn came along. The man, standing in front, had purple hair and a nasty scar on his face, adorned with bladed eyes like a cat. Another blade, a steel blade, was held at her throat. Unnecessary, as the brutal scarring of his arms was intimidating enough for her to understand she could survive nothing compared to what he had already lived through. “Sing.” He commanded abruptly, an atmosphere of force settled on the word, as though compelling her, quite like how the wind shakes the trees in command to dance for them.

She did her hand gestures as smooth as she could under the pressure, lips remaining closed.

He threw his eyebrows up, scar shifting in its place like a serpent, the message had clearly gotten across. A condescending smile, a most sinister snicker and an unfortunate scoff was all the sympathy he allowed her. “No voice?” It wasn’t a question. “What a meaningless life.” He stated in a mutter, before moving onto the next girl.

The golden figure, who had followed discreetly, didn’t continue on with the scarred boy, he instead planted his clawedfeet in front of the girl, threatening to crush her barefooted toes, sinking into the red clay of the town square. “Sing.” His voice was fuller, and because of it she didn’t dare look up.

The scarred boy came to a halt, looking back to watch the girl repeat the hand gestures once again, she thinking that maybe the scarred boy had blocked the view the first time.

“No excuses.” His foot shifted in the mud, talons somehow growing longer as they impaled the ground, indicated he leant in closer. “Sing.” He said again, the sharpness of the demand sending a shiver to travel down her spine as it was accompanied with a growl too much like the sound of thunder to be called human. The girl furrowed her brows and looked up, her bottom lip visible quaking. Yet, what looked at her was no dragon, no… it was a man, a boy. And his skin was not golden like the rarity found in the mountain halls, but tan like sand, and his hair was only a shade lighter, nothing alike the mane of the sun. But those eyes had her quaking, those sharp slitted eyes that seemed to hold her soul in a chokehold, full of cultivated knowledge, merciless, red like wine, red like blood, red like hell. What’s a fate worse than death? She wondered and swallowed at the thought, her breathing picking up its pace. “Sing!” Spit flew to her face like venom with the roar, the tone reverberating through the ground, shaking in her knees.

She felt the itch in her throat, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t been feeling it more and more lately, the feeling of dead born words somehow washing away. Her whimpers, absent of anything except for breathiness before, now carrying a somewhat lilt of tone. She stared a little deeper into those blood-soaked orbs of the man that looked like the onset of death before her.

“If I had heart.”

The wind roared as if it were as surprised as she was, or perhaps it rejoiced, or perhaps it mourned.

She was silent, the wind crashing and flailing, whipping the rags of her dress, letting the ripped fabric lick her dirty and bruised legs, pulling the disheveled locks of hair out from her face. Eyes; terror-wide, looking into a pair of sharp ones, who seemed to be looking beyond her disheveled state, into something far more divine than she had ever seen, ever known. “Continue.” The red-eyed boy commanded firmly, a detectable form of lust in his voice.

Startled, feeling the gravel dig into her soles. “I would love you... if I had a voice, I would sing.” The people on either side of her looked to be even more distressed now, crying and screaming, looking like wraiths in those charcoaled rags they wore, hands covering their ears as though to protect themselves, terrified as they looked to the sky expecting it to come falling down upon them.

However, their insolence and disrespect wasn’t what angered him, he could allow them that much before he took their lives. But the conflict found in her voice, that’s what truly boiled beneath his skin. He reached out his hand, quick like a viper, the pressure in his fingertips simmering on her skin, sizzling with heat, only for him to dig his fingernails into her throat as well. “Forget everything you know, except for that your life is in the palm of my hand.” He said, securing her gaze, lifting her up to her tippy-toes, though still nowhere near leveling his height.

Awakened by his words and frightened to her bones by the searing look of his eyes, she did as she was told and forgot who she was, forgot what she was and gave into simply doing exactly what needed to be done to keep her alive, to keep what beast in front of her subdued, or perhaps also to satiate what fire seemed to have burst to life inside of her, screaming to be heard. “After the night, when I wake up, I’ll see what tomorrow brings.” Eyes glazed over by some infernal light. She roared, a howl of some sorts, and the trees seemed to shiver and shake in the outmost reverence. “More, give me more, give me more.”

Somehow the leaves stopped rustling at the sound of her abrupt finish. Overwhelmed; all she could do was breath, all she could to was quake, the wind making the tears ever present on her face, the blood of her arm drying and awakened again as new blood came gushing out of her wounds.

The swirling dramatics in his eyes died down into a calm yet eerie content look. “Found you.” He stated, taking his time for the awakening to soak in, bask in the glorious feeling of triumph, before breaking focus from her. He let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Burn the village.” The statement left her blood turning cold. “There’s nothing left for us here. Dispose of the disappointments.” He was quick with his words as though they had been said many times before, and the actions performed by the ones in grey were just as swift, just as merciless. Humans turning into monsters murdering humans.

“No!” She wasn’t aware the voice belonged to her, so many years gone by without being able to voice anything; an opinion; nothing more than a foreigner, let alone an objection.

The people beside her dropped to the floor like rag dolls nonetheless, her voice just as insignificant as if she was still voiceless, drowning in their own bloodied throats. Her throat didn’t match theirs, but had strong, calloused fingers wrapped around it instead, coated with blood, the stench of it becoming so familiar yet far from friendly.

“Forget them, they don’t matter.” His voice still sheer, despite the screams around them both, overwhelming in fact. She felt her mind slip away from her then, as though her sentience was squeezed out from her by the deadlock fist wrapped around her neck, a conquering drowsiness following, seeping into her like the crawling of darkness when the sun settles on the horizon, her vision blurring everything except for those red, red eyes, who; from this point until her death, would never leave her.

PART TWO

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