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erodasfishtacos · 10 months

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Picked The Right One

prompt: ceorry first vs most recent time

word count: 8.5k+

warnings: teeth rotting fluff, smut

AN: hiiii. Long time! I’m not posting on here anymore really but I wanted to post a one shot to show my appreciation for my fans who can’t subscribe to my patreon.

I post 4-5 8k+ fics a month for $3USD

Love youuuuu isla x

YN had never ever pictured herself where she is currently at right now.

Because currently, she was trying to pick between two different dresses as she went on her fifth date with a billionaire.

It sounded comical even in her head.

YN never really imagined who she would end up with but she had been through a handful of duds and thought that might set the precedent for the rest of her life.

Up until Harry, she barely even made it past a date with someone before she’s calling it off because she can’t see herself with the person.

The last time YN went out on a date, the man ‘forgot’ his wallet after ordering three imported beers that cost YN nearly half of a paycheck.

Their dates had been going well, YN felt less and less nervous every time that she saw Harry but she still felt the need to impress him.

She shouldn’t have googled his dating history even though it doesn’t confirm anything from his past - he has always been secretive and private about his personal life.

However, there are some paparazzi shots of him leaving exclusive night clubs with pretty, modelesque girls in the background behind him.

And thousands of gossip blogs who loved to predict who he was sleeping with and who he was in a relationship with.

He had disclosed to YN that he has only had one serious relationship that ended horribly when he was just beginning his career which would have been years ago.

YN’s still in her bathrobe, Harry’s coming to pick her up any moment, and she’s wondering how nice the bra and underwear set she picked out needs to be.

Tonight was the first time Harry was taking her to his house or from what she saw on google - his 23.3 million pound estate.

YN had been surprised that he hadn’t been pushy like other dates who tried to get in her pants.

The sexual tension has definitely been building but Harry hadn’t made any move to do anything about it.

He hadn’t asked her back to his house after any of the five dates but their kisses had been getting longer and steamier.

Particularly after the last one.

Harry always parked his car and walked her up to her apartment door, she appreciated that he tried to not crinkle his nose at that mildew odor or how run down the interior of the building is.

When they get to her burnt orange door, YN unlocks it and turns back around to him as he watches her with a small smile.

“Do you want to come in?” YN offers even though she knows that he’ll decline, she’s always hopeful.

“I want to but I shouldn’t. Let me be a gentleman,” Harry simpers softly, his voice deep and accent thick, his hands come up to cup her jaw, “But I am going to steal a kiss.”

“Please,” YN agrees with excitement pumping through her veins, he leans down to connect their lips and he’s such a good kisser.

As soon as their lips connect, YN has to swallow down a moan because even though it’s just a kiss - she’s never been more turned on in her life.

She parts her lips when he swipes his tongue across them, pushing inside once she opens up, and stroking her tongue with his.

His body is pressed up into hers, cornering her more against the door and YN’s lets the smallest whimper slip.

She’s about to be embarrassed but Harry growls at the noise and breaks a part for the moment, “You’re so fuckin’ sexy.”

YN can’t even blink before his mouth is back on hers, holding her jaw a bit firmer, and biting at her bottom lip.

She had never physically felt herself getting wet until right now when she actually cold feel it start to coat her folds.

“Shame on you,” A scratchy voice hisses from behind them, making them split apart quickly, and they look back to see YN’s neighbor.

“Sorry, Mrs. Jameson,” YN waves her hand as the woman glares at her, shaking her head before disappearing into the apartment across from them.

Harry’s thumb comes up to pull at her swollen bottom lip, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

YN’s never been so bold as now when she leans back up to kiss him again, “Please, come in?”

Harry entertains one more long kiss before he’s breaking them apart and taking a step back, “Let me do this right, pet. I’m going to make it special.”

“You do this with all your dates?” YN jokes lamely because she just can‘t imagine that she’s the first girl he’s done this with.

Harry’s smile falters a bit but he recovers quickly, his thumb now brushing over her cheekbone.

“I’m a bit embarrassed to say,” He chuckles as his eyes dart to the side in nervousness, “I haven’t been this much of a gentleman in the past is all I will say.”

“Why is it different for me? I’m not anything special,” She replies because she doesn’t think she’s nearly anything compared to the other beautiful women he’s had on his life.

“Hey,” His voice is firmer and offended by her comments, his green eyes serious and honeyed when he looks at her, “You’re the most special person I’ve ever met.”

YN startles when she hears a knock at her front door, glancing over to the clock, and Harry is exactly on time for their date.

She’s still staring at her lingerie sets when the noise echos through her apartment, her hair and makeup was at least done but she was still only in a towel.

After the second knock comes, YN’s cursing as she rushes to the door, swinging it open, and Harry’s in the hallways looking like he just walked off the set of a photoshoot in a perfect fitting suit and styled hair.

He raises an eyebrow as he looks her up and down, “I’m not going to complain if this is all you want to wear tonight. Much easier to take it off of you.”

Oh, they were definitely fucking.

YN moves aside to let him in, he ducks down to kiss her cheek before sitting on the edge of her sofa.

“I just need like two more minutes,” She tells quickly, why was her heart rate spiking anytime he was around?

“I’ll be here,” Harry replies as his eyes trace around her apartment, picking up a book on her coffee table.

YN takes a deep breath when she’s back in her room, snatching the sexier set off the bed before shimmying a recently purchased black dress overtop.

Harry stands up and straightens his broad shoulders when she comes back into the living room, “Bloody hell. You look like a dream.”

YN’s stomach flips at his seemingly sincere compliment but she can’t control the intrusive comments that follow in her own mind.

You’re not as pretty as that one model he was seen with

You’re not a model

He’s just being nice

“Thank you. You look handsome,” She replies nervously, she hadn’t been this nervous on their last two or three dates but it felt like the first time all over again.

Harry isn’t dumb, he can sense it but he’s kind enough not to call her out on it as they quietly walk to his car.

After slipping in the passenger seat of the exotic car, a new one for every date, and Harry begins to drive off - it almost feels tense for a moment.

Harry’s hand twitches on the wheel, hesitating before asking, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

It makes YN feels guilty that now she’s made Harry nervous enough that he didn’t feel comfortable enough to reach over.

“You don’t have to ask,” YN assures him with more confidence in her voice as his one hand moves from the well to her thigh, his hand was big, making her thick thigh look nearly encompassed, the metal of his rings was cold against her skin.

She wanted to smack herself when she felt the arousal starting to creep in, clenching her thighs together a bit too obviously because Harry smirks to himself but doesn’t make a remark.

“Thi-this is your house?” YN’s eyes widen when they pull through the gates, men dressed in black waving them through before the gate closes quickly behind them.

The pictures on google didn’t do the beauty of the sprawling estate justice.

It was so massive that YN couldn’t imagine just one person living alone in there and it made her a little sad to think about Harry in this near castle all by himself.

Harry gives her a tour of some of the rooms where all YN can do is nod along to what he’s saying, compliment the astounding beauty, and not have any doubt why his house has been mentioned in Architectural Digest so much.

Then he’s leading her to the kitchen where YN takes a seat on a stool while Harry begins pulling out the ingredients to make dinner.

YN cannot stop staring at everything around her - she’s never seen anything close to this and to think that she’s going on date with someone who lives this extravagantly.

The conversation flows easily while Harry moves around the kitchen to prepare the chicken Alfredo, there’s plenty of laughter and quite a few stolen kisses before they sit down for dinner.

Towards the end of the meal, the conversation becomes more serious, and Harry takes a sip of his wine before stating, “None of this impresses you, does it?”

YN’s taken aback by the question, he doesn’t seem angry but he just seems confused as he puts down his fork and knife, “What do you mean?”

Harry shakes his head like he doesn’t know how to get out the words he wants to, “It’s just…the cars, my house, it doesn’t seem like you care. I don’t mean that in a bad way, it just doesn’t seem to be impressing you and I…I don’t really know how to take that.”

“I’ve never brought a date to my home before but still, usually most of the conversation on previous dates has been about my business or my cars or my estates. You haven’t bought any of that up once or made a big deal about it.”

YN can’t read Harry very in this moment, she doesn’t know him well enough, and his face is smooth, calm but just the tiniest furrow in his brow gives away emotion.

“It’s very impressive, the life you’ve built,” YN chooses her words carefully, putting down her glass of wine, “It’s something you should be proud of. I haven’t brought any of those things up because those things aren’t who you are. I’ve been asking you about family, hobbies, likes, dislikes because I care about you as a person, not as a ‘billionaire’ or a ‘public figure.”

Harry’s face distorts a little bit, he almost looks a bit devastated as he looks down at his plate, and he doesn’t say anything which makes YN think she said something wrong.

“I’m sorry, I just…” YN trails off with a sigh.

“Don’t apologize, please. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” Harry glances back up with widen eyes, he reaches across the table to put his hand over her, “I’ve just never had someone care about me, I don’t think. At least not for a very long time.”

YN moves her hand away, only to move it atop his and squeezes, “I think it’s lovely that you’ve created a very comfortable and successful life for yourself but I’m falling for you as a person, not the cars or the house.”

And a blinding crooked smile breaks out on Harry’s face, YN loved when his dimples popped out and carved into his cheeks, “Falling for me? Are you falling for me, darling?”

YN’s feel the heat rises up into her cheeks, looking down at the table for a moment but then Harry’s pushing his chair back and standing up - he’s strides over to YN’s chair and helps her out of it, pulling her up and into his chest.

“No need to be embarassed, S’just me,” Harry rumbles as he tucks his finger up her chin and lifts her head so that he can connect their lips softly, YN’s hands coming to rest on his chest.

She giggles though, shaking her head at his words - it makes him pull back and ask, “What’s funny, hm?”

“You say it’s just you,” YN murmurs, their lips are stil brushing against one another’s as they talk, “But that’s the issue, you have me on my toes. I want to impress you, not embarrass myself.”

“M’already impressed,” Harry tells her between little pecks, “Impressed how smart you are, how independent and free-thinking you, by how fuckin’ gorgeous you are. You don’t need to be embarassed if you’re falling f’me because sweetheart, m’pretty much already gone for you. You’re everything that I want.”

“Please,” YN says softly because they basically just confessed their fondness for each other and the dark sweet smell of his cologne was making her dizzy.

She would never consider herself sex hungry until this point, she had always been more than okay waiting a few dates to get intimate but YN had never craved someone else’s body like this.

“Please what, sweet girl,” Harry replies against her lips, he had her pressed up against an oak cabinet that looked to be displaying expensive, hand-painted plates and vases - the pieces shook a bit when her back hit the glass.

A single glass ends up falling off one of the higher shelf’s, shattering behind them, and YN begins to profusely apologizing, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

And Harry’s unconcerned that a five thousand dollar wine glass just shattered as he shushes her quiet, “S’fine. Just want to kiss you,” He mumbles against her lips.

YN presses further into the kiss, her hands moving from his chest up and around his neck as she parts her lips, allowing their tongues to brush as his hands move to her hips - massaging at the plush as his leg sneaks in between hers, making it so she couldn’t clench her thighs together.

“Want to-“ YN gets distracted halfway through her sentence when his hands begin to trail up her sides, up towards her chest but he instead teases his fingers along her rib cage.

“Want to…..?” Harry copies her, he even tastes good like his rich, dry red wine that they had been drinking at dinner.

“Harry,” YN huffs out when he pulls back just an inch, “You know what I mean.”

Harry kisses once more before responding, “Tell me. Do you want me to touch you?”

YN nods eagerly, she wanted so bad to press their hips together to see if he was just as needy as she was but he was purposely not doing that, “Yes.”

“Where do you want my hands or maybe even my mouth?” His voice was unfairly raspy as he teases her with his words, his hands dancing upwards until he finally cups her breasts, “Here? I think you probably have the prettiest nipples I’ve ever seen? You want me to pinch them or suck at them until their puffy and hard?”

Fuck, YN’s never been so turned on in her life.

“I want that,” YN responds tightly as he kneads at her breasts for only a moment before his hands are trailing back down the length of her dress, “Please take me upstairs, Harry.”

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you beg, haven’t even told you what I’m going to do to your cunt,” He chuckles as his lips wander from hers to the hinge of her jaw where he drags his teeth across the thin skin, “I’m going to take such good care of you. Get you so ready for me that you’ll be crying on my fingers.”

“You’re all talk at this point,” YN points out but it doesn’t come off as bratty as she’d hope because of how breathless she is by now.

That’s all it takes to have Harry taking YN’s hand and leading her up the winding grand staircase to his bedroom - his room wasn’t overly decorated and was pretty simple with high ceilings and a bed that could easily fit five people.

Harry steps away from YN for a moment, going around the room and turning on the lights which illuminated the room in more of a romantic glow.

As he did, YN’s brain became a bit less hazy and the reality of what was about to happen sunk in, especially when Harry came over and murmurs, “Can I take this off of you?” As his fingers curled into the hem of her dress near her thighs.

And for some reason, all the insecurities and anxiety that she felt earlier about not being able to compare to the other women comes flashing into her mind but she finds herself nodding and saying, “Yes.”

Harry’s pulls the hem off the dress up slowly and in between kisses until YN is raising her arms up so that he can fully take it off of her, just leaving her in her lingerie that she bought off a cheap boutique online - nothing like what those models wore.

“Fuckin’ hell, are you trying to kill me?” Harry groans when he takes in her in just her bra and underwear, his eyes looking all over like they couldn’t decide one place to stay put but he is kissing her shoulder before he’s kneeling down in front of her.

That was sight that YN never wanted to forget, Harry down on his knees in front of her, his lips right at her belly and his strong hands moving behind her to knead at her backside.

She didn’t realize she was trembling until Harry pulls back with a frown.

YN wants to shout at him to come back when he stands back up and puts a foot of distance between them, “Are you sure you want to, pet? Your legs are shaking. I hope I haven’t made you feel pressured in anyway. I apol-“

And she wants to cry because that’s not it at all.

She instantly starts shaking her head in disagreement, interrupting him by putting her hand up, “No…I want to. I really want to and you haven’t pressured me one bit. I’m just…being stupid.”

Harry’s shoulders slump a bit in relief and he steps back over to her, his hands caressing over the caps of her shoulder blades, “If it’s not that than why are you shakin’ like a leaf, sweetheart?”

YN squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep inhale, deciding honesty is probably the best route in this situation, “I know I shouldn’t have but I googled you. And I just saw all these pictures of you leaving clubs and events with these models and…I know I don’t look anything like them and I’m not as sexy as them. I’m scared you’ll be disappointed with the experience.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment as he cradles her head in between his hands, his face is sincere and a bit sad when he tells her, “I’ve never liked someone like I like you. And this may sound crude or forward but I’ve never wanted to lay someone out and make them come as many times as they can like I want to do with you. I’ve never been more attracted to someone in my life.”

“Any person in the past five years that I’ve hooked up with have been nothing more than that. And in the past two years or so, I can't even remember the last time I’ve done that. I know you might not believe me but I haven’t been with anyone in quite some time. It stopped being fun when every single person I got with just wanted to use me for clout, popularity, bragging rights.”

“I believe you,” YN tells him, relief starting flooding into her body because he was so sincere and even though she was surprised that he was that he was so attracted to her, she believed him full heartedly.

“You act like you’re not drop dead gorgeous,”Harry frowns as he brushes a stray hair off of her forehead, “The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Never been able to look away from you since the first time you bumped into me.”

“I want you to do what you just said you wanted to do,” YN smiles with a shyness that is unusual for her, pressing herself up against him while he was still in his suit and now she was almost bare.

The delighted, hungry expression returns to Harry’s face when he hears that, taunting her as he shrugs out of his suit jacket, “Oh, remind me. What did I say, pet?”

But his lips were running down the column of her neck, his hands brushing the bra straps off her shoulders until they fell, and his lips taking their place.

“You’re such a tease,” YN accuses as she curls her fingers into his hair.

And YN’s never been teased like this, never had such buildup that wasn’t even foreplay yet, every other guy she’s been with - it had all been perfunctory and boring, predictable.

“S’not time to lay you out on m’bed yet,” Harry titters as his fingers come to her back, running along the band of her bra, and ghosting over the clasp, “Have to get to know your body first. Play with every single part of it and make sure you’ll never forget how good I’m going to make you feel.”

YN’s nearly sighs in relief when he finally slips the bra off, moving back to look at her, and she doesn’t even have a moment to feel self-conscious before he’s letting out an obscene moan at the sight, cupping them before moving down to suck one of her nipples into his mouth.

It was like he was starved for touch as he pulled at the nub between his teeth before lapping at it as his hand massaging at the neglected one, his fingers moving up to rub and pinch.

“Oh…fuck,” YN whines as she lets her head fall back, hair cascading down past her shoulders as she holds his head as close as possible to her and it’s never felt this good before when someone touched her chest.

Harry switches between the two, taking his time to languidly run his tongue over both of them after he pushes them together, and sucks at them with tight pressure.

YN’s never known that just her nipples being played with could make her aroused but she knew there had to be a damp spot on the front of her panties as Harry started walking them back towards the bed.

“That feels so good,” YN breathes at when he begins to nip at her buds, causing just the dullest pain pain that quickly melted into more pleasant sensation.

“Sweetheart, this is just the beginning. M’going have you crying with pleasure by the time I’m done with you,” Harry growls as YN’s knees hit the bed and she falls back, letting herself hit the fluffy comforter, “Do you like overstimulation?”

YN’s wriggles further onto the bed, bringing Harry with her by the hand wrapped around the nape of Harry’s neck, and tells him, “I don’t know.”

Harry pulls back from her tits, looking at her with a confused expression, “What do you mean? Do you like when someone makes you come more than once? Like when it almost feels too much.”

Oh god, she didn’t want to admit this.

“I…The guys I’ve been with have never made me come,” YN mumbles as she adverts her gaze up to the ceiling in humiliation for a moment before looking back down at Harry who’s resting his chin on her belly.

Harry’s face goes blank, a bit dumbfounded as he asks, “Are you fucking with me?”

“Stop,” YN giggles as she playfully kicks at him, “It’s embarrassing I know. I just haven’t been with anyone who’s been talented in that department, okay?”

Harry’s hand wraps around her ankle, a cocky smile coating his face, “Oh darlin’, m’going to show you my worth tonight. Now bend your knees for me.”

YN obliges, bending her knee, and watches as Harry kneels at the end of the bed - his button-up shirt was open for the most part, showing off his defined pectoral muscles and the butterfly that was inked below.

He moves his arms underneath her thighs which made it easier to pull her bum to the edge of the bed and he drapes her legs in the crooks of his elbows and her clothed core is right in front of him.

YN lays back and closes her eyes, just allowing herself to feel as she feels her stomach moves up and down quickly as she sucks in air, and she’s shaking now but it’s in pure anticipation for what’s to come.

She’s waiting for Harry to shimmy off her underwear but instead, Harry ducks forward and begins to kiss at her puffy mound and folds over the thin fabric.

YN tries to move her hips to get more but Harry keeps her in place, he moves down in the slightest and pushes in between her folds until he pushes the fabric is against her clit with his tongue.

“H, there,” YN murmurs softly as he begins to stroke at her with his tongue while his hands grip her bum and pull her further into his mouth as he makes the underwear sodden with her slick and his mouth.

It was overwhelmingly good to have the pressure on her bud like she’d never had before, her hands gripping the comforter that she was laying on.

YN lets out the most spoiled whine when Harry pulls his head back and he raises his eyebrow at her, he moves his one arm so that he can reach between them and put his thumb right on her clit where he gives her the most torturous, slow rubs he could.

“You’re a greedy lil’ thing, aren’t you?” Harry hums as his free hand moves up to thumb at her pebbled nipples, “Already getting obsessed with my touch. Just like it should be, never let you leave my bed. You’re a fuckin’ slice of heaven.”

“I’m not greedy,” YN denies weakly as her hips push up to get more friction applied from his thumb to where she’s throbbing for him.

“You’re riding my thumb right now,” Harry chuckles meanly, biting at the skin of her belly hard enough to make her squeak, “Most greedy lil’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

Harry keeps YN in this purgatory of pleasure and pure frustration for a good thirty minutes of switching between his mouth and thumb on her clit through her underwear.

She could feel hot tears prickling at the corner of her eyes because she wanted to come, she wanted him.

YN needed Harry and it seemed like she might die if she doesn’t in this moment even if it’s dramatic - she’s never craved anything like she’s craving his touch.

Harry catches it as soon as the first tear dribbles down her cheek, “Am I making you desperate, baby? M’not trying to be cruel. I’m just trying to prove to you that you should keep me around, y’know?”

What is he even talking about?

She’s definitely keeping him.

And she tells him so.

“Wh-why do you have to prove it? I’m keeping you, you’re mine,” YN gasps as he presses on her button just a little bit harder than before.

Harry preens at her words, “Say it again and I’ll make you come. Say it loud for me, pet.”

“You’re mine, Harry,” YN tells him again, voice louder and more confident, “You’re mine, please. Please need it.”

“Give you anything,” He murmurs, pleased as can be as he moves to the band of her panties and pulls them down her thighs until she’s bare.

He’s then helping her move up and to the center of the bed, splayed out with love bites all over her chest and belly, the sheen of his spit-slick kisses reflecting in the dim light.

Harry fucking finally relents when he burrows down between her thighs after shucking off his dress shirt and he uses two fingers to split her open to reveal what her puffy folds had been hiding.

“You’re going to make me come without even touching me,” Harry abdomishes as he stares at her, “How do you have the prettiest face, nipples, and cunt? It doesn’t make any sense, darling.”

YN felt like she was a rubber band about to snap, she couldn’t take anymore and she just needed him to do something because her orgasm has been building for the last half-hour.

“Please,” YN whispers quietly, it was pathetic and desperate but she let out a shutter from her sniffles - she’s never felt this good.

Harry pushes himself up to kiss her lips once before settling back down where he splits her folds open and gives her a firm, harsh lick from her core to clit.

His mouth stays there, pulling her clit between his lips and massaging it with his tongue while two of his thick fingers danced around her entrance before slowly tucking them up inside and curling forward.

YN came instantly, she swore she blacked out for a moment and saw stars but also felt a rush of fluid that she couldn’t figure out what is was until she finally comes back down to earth.

When YN sits up, she notices a small dark part of the comforter that was wet along with Harry’s face shining with slick.

“Oh my god,” YN gasps in horror as she realizes she not only just had her first orgasm from someone else but squirted on top of that.

Harry blinks up at her, he was just as surprised as he brought his hand back up where it was wet with her, “I’m not joking when I say that’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

And just like that, the humiliation is gone from her body and she’s giggling because he just looks so thrilled with himself.

She squeals excitedly when he pushes her back down and continues on, burying his face back between her legs.

When he licks at her sensitive, throbbing clit again - her legs kick out in reaction as pinpricks of overstimulation try to push Harry off.

But YN’s hand is wrapping up in his hair and keeping him down there.

She never had more than one orgasm at time, didn’t really know that she could, and she was shocked when she felt her next one building within a minute or two.

“Harry, I’m close again,” YN warns as her thighs begin to shake, she so badly wanted to close them around Harry’s head but his broad shoulders are prohibiting her from doing that.

“Come on, sweet girl,” Harry encourages in between suckles and laps, moving up to nip at the hood of clit to give her a spike of dull pain before soothing it with his tongue, “Show me how good you can be.”

Oh, she does.

YN’s back arches and she doesn’t care about being embarrassed anymore when she lets out a long, high-pitched whine, a sound she’s never made before as her chest heaves when her second orgasm comes barreling over her.

“Baby, s’good,” YN mewls, uncaring when the pet name slips even though Harry’s been using them constantly, and when she’s starting to come down from the second one, she gently leads Harry by the hair until he’s crawling up over her and their lips are meeting again.

YN’s not worried about being shy anymore, not after Harry just made her come like that, and so when she’s running her hand down his chest, tracing over the muscles of his stomach, she doesn’t stop until she’s palming him in his dress pants.

“Shit,” He gruffs in surprise, breaking their kiss for a moment, and moaning when she traces the outline of his cock where it’s ready to be freed from his confines.

YN manages to wriggle until Harry gets the picture and rolls off of her, onto his back where now he’s splayed out with his stomach sucking in, his ribs dancing against his skin on every breath in.

He’s body was incredible, the definition of his muscles from his pecs to his abdominals, all the way down to where there’s a sharp cut leading into the dress pants.

She had to get her mouth on him and had to give him a bit of the same treatment he gave her, she figured out quickly that he loved being bit and given lovebites.

YN works her way from his neck down his chest, stopping to give attention to his nipples which he was surprisingly reactive to - bucking his hips up when she dragged her teeth along them.

When she finally gets to the fine dusting of hair leading into his pants, YN unbuttons and zips them before beginning to tug them down his narrow hip.

At first, she was going to tease him but her eagerness to see him and so she’s peeling down his briefs too until he’s bare to her too - god, he was just as perfect here as well which shouldn’t be a surprise.

His cock was far bigger than anyone man she had even been with, by far, but it wasn’t initimating to her because she so desperately wanted it inside her.

It was thick and she never thought she’d describe a dick as pretty but it was, the pink tip was wet and his skins was smooth velvet as she ran her hand down the length of it.

There was a reason he had big dick energy.

And YN puffs out a breath of frustration when Harry pulls her back up right before she puts her mouth on him, he chuckles at her furrowed brow like a disgruntled puppy.

“Stop pouting,” Harry smooths out the wrinkle between her eyebrows, “I’m so hard for you, pet. I’ll come if you tease me and I want to get in you. I want to show you how good I can be for you.”

YN doesn’t regret it when she leans down and bits his shoulder, making him hiss before she’s grumps, “You teased me for nearly an hour and I can’t even touch you. S’not fair.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Harry pouts out his bottom lip condescendingly, “I promise there will be many more times to come where I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

“You better keep that promise,” YN warns but she’s about as intimidating as a baby deer.

Harry lets out a throaty laugh as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “It’s not a hardship for me to promise you that you can have my cock whenever you want.”

He was filthy and YN was obsessed with it.

“Now need you to shush up,” Harry rumbles as he steadies YN where she’s sat across his thighs and sits up, scooting backwards until his back is against the headboard, “Gonna have you sit that pretty pussy on me. Gonna let you go as slow or fast as you want. Okay, baby?”

YN nods with a bit of nerves back in her as she straightens up and kneels further up until he’s bumping against her folds, she goes to reach to position him but Harry knocks her hand out of the way.

Harry presses forward until the plum tip of him parts her lips, finding her swollen clit and tapping himself against her which sends voltage shocks through her spine.

He paints himself down to her core, where he barely pushes in, YN’s stomach tense in anticipation before he’s moving back up to rub himself against her nerves.

She was so wet that there was soft noise as he teased, “Baby, do you hear how wet you are for me? Can’t believe how good you feel. Do you always get like this?”

YN shakes her head, swallowing dryly before telling him, “Never really got wet like this before. I, er, usually wasn’t enough other times and so they had to use lube.”

Harry’s expression is downright offended, “Nobody ever warmed you up, huh? Sounds like you’ve been with a bunch of chauvinistic pigs. I’ll always have you dripping down your thighs, pet.”

And she believes him.

YN’s still in a dazed state of his teasing when he doesn’t just push in a little but starts helping her sit down on him to finally get inside of her and god, she feels so full.

There’s no pain or stretch like she’s felt before with guys who were less endowed then him but he had gotten her so turned on and ready that there wasn’t anything but pure pleasure as he bottomed out .

He’s already nudging against an a livewired spot inside of her that she never felt before but knew was her g-spot, and his was just pressing on it by just being inside her.

“O-oh,” YN lets out a wanton moan as she begins grinding her hips, on every swivel her clit was bumping against the neatly trimmed hair on his pubic bone and the spot inside her being triggered by how thick and hard he was.

“That’s it, baby,” Harry sighs happily and he’s looking up at her with such awe before he’s pushing at the small of her back to get her upper body closer to his.

As she chases her own release, he’s kissing all over her, and it intimate as she’s ever been with someone as Harry just encourages her to make herself feel good with his body.

His lips are on her sternum, her belly, her shoulder, her face.

There was something about the way he kissed over her cheeks and jaw as she moans in pure ecstasy that made it romantic and made her feel closeness to her partner that she’d never felt before.

The soft whispers of encouragement against her temple as she got closer and closer to the edge, her thigh muscles were tired, “Please, H. Need you to make me feel good, please.”

And like that, Harry’s flipping them until YN’s splayed on her back once again, and he’s over top of her, his cross necklace tickling at her chest when props himself up on his elbows, either side of her head, and grinds his hips back into her.

YN can’t help but wrap her legs around Harry’s waist as he begins a steady rhythm of thrusts, leaning down to connect their lips together but YN can’t focus on it as she moans into his mouth.

“I need you to come f’me,” Harry pants lightly between pecks, his thrusts were becoming harder and he wasn’t pulling back as fast, “You’ve got me close, darling. Never had anyone feel so good on my cock.”

Harry doesn’t wait though, he’s going down on one arm to use his other to snake between their bodies to rub tight, purposeful circles on her bud until YN feels the band of tension snap and she’s digging her nails into his back as she comes for the third time.

And as soon as she does, Harry’s thrusting in twice more before stilling and letting out the sexiest, most filthy moan as he drops his head and let’s go, his moans were so low that YN didn’t even think his voice could get that deep and gravely like he’d been smoking.

YN’s become boneless, melting into the comfortable mattress, as she keeps her eyes shut - peaceful to feel the pinpricks of pain from overstimulation and how achey her thighs were from not usually using those muscles as much as she did tonight.

“Open your eyes f’me,” Harry murmurs softly after a moment, his thumb coming to sweep the drying tears off her cheeks and when YN whines in protest, he coos, “Just for a tick, darling. Look at me.”

YN blinks her eyes open, she’s exhausted and spent, and doesn’t feel like she could move if someone offered her a million dollars to do so as she meets Harry’s warm green eyes.

“I need to get you showered. M’not going to let you fall asleep all sticky and sweaty,” Harry titters as he begins to get off the bed, taking YN with him despite her weak whines of protest.

He coerces into his shower and YN was so tired that she couldn’t even appreciate that the shower head was on the ceiling and the water fell down like a rainforest storm.

YN stays leaned up against Harry, her head resting on his chest as he goes about lathering and massaging the shampoo into her hair with strong, magic fingers.

“Thank you,” YN mumbles after he washes out all the suds and moves onto scrubbing down her body, “I can clean myself.”

Harry stops where the washcloth is on her shoulder, “Do you not want me to do it?”

YN blinks rapidly again, coming back into focus, she dind’t want to offend him and she did want him too, “I do, it’s nice. I love it actually, I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do all of this because we had sex.”

Harry frowns at her, “Have you never heard of aftercare?”

“I have I just thought that was for like crazy bondage or something.”

He chuckles with a shake of his head, “It is definitely important for people to do that but it’s also important anytime there’s intense sex. I’m not doing this because I feel obligated before we just slept together. I want to continue to take care of you, not just in the way of sex but because you’re important to me.”

“Do you do this with every girl?” YN asks out loud and maybe it wasn’t an appropriate question but she wasn’t going to judge if he said ‘yes’, it was pure curiosity.

Harry eyes dart to the side, his expression turning into a bit of guilt like he’s remembering other times, “No. I’ve never been great about it and some of the times I probably should have but just left. I…I can’t tell you enough how different you are than the rest.”

YN’s giggles when Harry’s resumes washing down her body, making her stomach as he wipes her underarms, “It was the best sex I’ve ever had. I look forward to having a lot more of it with you.”

He perks up with a cute hopeful expression, “Yeah? I…Do you think you would want to be exclusive with me?”

“As in we just date each other?” YN has to tease him a bit because of how he did the same to her earlier in the night.

Harry looks embarassed, “I wasn’t trying to -. If you don’t wan-“

“I’m just fucking with you. A little payback for earlier,” YN chuckles but Harry nips at her jaw meanly which makes her squeak, “Of course, I want that with you.”

“I promise I’ll be so good to you in every way,” Harry tells her sincerely as he washes the soapy residue from her body, “All make sure you’re taken care of. You can look forward much more sex in the future.”

❤️nine years later ❤️

“M’heart, what are you doin-“ Harry tries to question but he’s cut off by a harsh kiss as he’s being pushed backwards into a empty bathroom of a fancy museum where an event was being held in his honor.

YN’s breaks the kiss for only a moment to lock the door before her hands are going to his belt to start quickly undoing it as her lips nip and sucks at his jaw, leaving lipstick prints in their wake.

“What’s gotten into you?” Harry hums as he helps her unbutton his trousers, he was hard from the moment he realized he was being dragged into the loo for a quickie and so when she untucks his dress shirt his pants, he‘s plump and ready for her.

“The speech,” Is all YN utters before she has his briefs down to mid-thigh and she’s kneeling down in front of him, carefully in her designer dress to grip him firmly at the base and not hesitate to take him all the way down which she’s adores the surprised moan that comes from his chest without his permission.

The speech.

Harry had just been honored for the fifth year in the row with The United Kingdom’s Humanitarian of the Year Award because he had donated upwards a billion dollars to different charities and organizations, as well as having three successful charities of his own - one being in honor of Willow and her adoption.

He had gotten up on stage and began with the basic speech of what it means to donate and support causes all over the world, how the success of his business had led him to be this charitable, and how he encourages other billionaires to follow in his footsteps.

Then Harry went on to get a bit emotional when he thanks his wife and all three of his babies for making him a more charitable person, how he wouldn’t be anywhere without the love and support of YN, what a wonderful wife and mother she is, and how much he loves his three daughters.

Seeing Harry be such an amazing husband and father never failed to get YN wet for him.

It never went away after the first time that they shared a bed, that craving for Harry that made her stomach begin to churn with fiery arousal and lust for him.

She never failed to have her clenching her thighs together when Harry teased her, even just the little bit, and yes, it’s because they’re still wildly attracted to each other.

But she also thinks that it’s because they are so fucking in love with each other and she swears her undying love for him grows more everyday even if she thought that she couldn’t love him more.

And she knows Harry feels the same way.

From their first time, Harry’s promise had always stood, he never ever faltered to take care of her ever - he was always by her side during the good and bad times, he loved her so deeply that it couldn’t be put in to words.

Harry always made her feel like enough, she never worried about leggy models or not fitting the image that most expected because Harry never gave her a moment to doubt it.

After nine years, he was still trying to get in her pants anytime she would let him - he could be dominant and assertive which turned her on to no end but she also fucking loved it when he was pliant and let her boss him around.

“The speech, huh?” Harry repeats but he nearly chokes on the last syllable when her nose brushes into the hair of his pubic bone before she’s pulling back to take a deep breath, “Darling, your mouth is so pretty around my cock.”

YN is truly Harry’s match. Harry loves to tease. It never stopped after the first date, he loved to build anticipation by edging, and YN realized it was just as much fun to return the favor.

They really don’t have time for it right now because Harry’s the man of the night and all eyes are on him but right now, he’s nowhere to be found after his thank you speech.

She’s has a firm grip on his base as she suckles at tip, doe eyes blinking up at him as she seems in no rush to move things along, pulling back to run her tongue on the underside of him.

“Sweetheart, we don’t have time for this,” Harry warns but he’s struggling to keep his eyes open because even just the small kitten licks feel like heaven and just to keep him on his toes, she’s occasionally taking him all the way down, “Can drool over my cock when we get home. We have the house to ourselves tonight.”

And when YN ignores him, Harry knows what she wants, and it makes a sharp thrill pump through his veins, he reaches down and knots his hand in her hair and tugs, “I said enough. Are you that cock hungry?”

YN begins to pick up her pace which is a telltale sign that the dirty talk is working, and that she doesn’t want him to stop, so he doesn’t, adding in that same raspy tone, “You are so fuckin’ spoiled. Can’t stand anyone else given me attention, got to pull me into a bathroom and get me to fuck you.”

“I didn’t say anything about you fucking me,” YN bites back because now she’s in full brat mode but she’s still standing back up when Harry gives her hair another tug.

“No? So if I put my hand under your dress you won’t be dripping down your thighs?” Harry coos but his hand is already hiking up the skirt of her dress and the moment his fingers brush over the front of her mound, he can feel how damp she is, “S’cute that after all this time you get soaked for me like the first time I fucked you.”

YN mewls when he tugs her panties to the side to tuck two fingers up, Harry’s trying to get her to beg, he loved turning the tables when she came in bossy but left a crybaby.

He pets right at her spot and he can feel her tense, a telltale sign that she was going to come soon, and so he pulls out his fingers to suck them in between his own lips, “I wish I had enough time to lick in to you. I guess you’ll just have to make do with my cock.”

“Come on, now please, baby,” YN grumbles as he lifts her up to put her bum on the sink counter, pushing the dress up around her hips, and pinning the underwear to the side.

“Tell me you love me and I’ll fuck you, m’heart,” Harry hums as he pumps himself, he was so ready for her, and he rests the tip right at where she’s hot for him - his hips twitched in anticipation.

“I love you so much,” YN whines but it’s sincere, leaning up to kiss him before adding, “The best husband and father of my babies I could ask for. I just want you, H. Want you all the time.”

Harry melts a little at her sweet words, the dominance in his voice fading as he pushes in, moving to cup her jaw, and he brushes his nose against hers - far too intimate for this setting.

“I couldn’t love anymore than I love you,” He whispers against her lips, “I fuckin’ live for you. Everyday I wake up and wonder what the fuck I did to deserve you. I want you now and for forever, you’re mine, the love of my life.”

And YN thinks back to when she was nervous, shaking like a leaf in front of the same man because she was so intimidated by him - she’s now married to him and has three children with, how she didn’t think she was worthy.

To know having that same man smattering kisses over her cheeks and nose to make her giggle while he cleans her up in a tiny bathroom after having a quickie that they really shouldn’t have because he’s the man of the night.

She knew she picked right.

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azriels-shadowsinger · 2 months

Note

Hi! Can I please request 1 and 16 for Cassian x reader 🥹

“He treats me well-" "Okay good for you." "-but he isn't you."

Cassian x Reader

wc: 1.3k

a/n: so i couldn’t decide how i wanted to combine those 2 different prompts so i’m just writing 2 separate cassian fics i’m sorry. working on the other one right now, but for now here’s this!

warnings: angst, slight suggestiveness at the end

prompt list

Cassian was sick of it. He was sick of watching you date these undeserving males, fall in love with them, and then get your heart broken. Every single time, you run to him to console you. And every single time, he wipes away your tears and assures you that somewhere out there, there is someone who will love you and treat you right. Little do you know, he’s silently praying to the Mother that one day he can be that person for you. Not so silently, he prays that the stupid prick that broke your heart will drown in the Sidra, which usually earns a laugh from you.

Currently, Cassian was trying to keep the irritated expression off of his face as you told him about your most recent date with some new guy.

“He even paid for dinner! How sweet of him, right Cass?” You ask excitedly.

Bare fucking minimum, Cassian thought.

“That’s great y/n.” The words come out a bit more annoyed than intended, making you frown.

“What’s your problem?” You ask.

“Nothing.” He mutters.

“Bullshit, Cass. Did I do something to piss you off?” You try to think back over the past few hours to remember what you did to upset him, but nothing comes to mind.

“I just don’t really care to hear about yet another male that you think is your one true love, who will inevitably break your heart in a week.” You stare at him, stunned.

“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to talk about my love life to my best friend.” You argue stubbornly. He lets out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t call getting broken up with every other month a love life, sweetheart.” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, but it was too late.

“Fuck you, Cassian.” You storm off before he can even apologize.

———

Unsurprisingly, the new guy ended up being a jerk and stood you up the following evening. You had waited at the restaurant for over an hour, earning apologetic looks from the waitress.

Cassian tried to act casual while he sat on the couch at the House of Wind, waiting for you to return from your date. He picked up some random book that Azriel had left and began scanning the pages when you winnowed home. Cassian can’t help but let his eyes roam over you, admiring your stunning figure accentuated by your dress. As soon as his gaze reaches your face, he notices the tears threatening to spill and stands up immediately. He debates walking over to comfort you with a hug or letting you come to him, still unsure if you are mad at him.

“I don’t want to hear ‘I told you so.’ And I know you don’t want to hear about my dating life anymore, so I’m going to bed.” You rush from the room quickly, leaving Cassian alone once again.

Yeah, you’re definitely still mad. Cassian has to fight the urge to follow you. He knows how your brain spirals in these situations, blaming yourself and doubting your self-worth, all because of a stupid male. He wants so badly to go up to your room and console you. He wants to wipe your tears like always and say some idiotic joke to make you laugh. More than anything, he wants to reassure you that this isn’t your fault. But he can’t, so he just sighs and sits back on the couch, picking up the book again.

———

It had been a few weeks since you and Cassian had a proper conversation, both of you too stubborn break the silence first. There had been a few short exchanges, usually just during training or when others were around, but the tension was apparent to everyone.

Cassian had heard from Mor that Feyre set you up with one of her artist friends, Kallum. He can’t be mad at his High Lady for doing what she thinks is best for her friend, but gods he was pissed about it.

You had gone on several dates with him over the past few weeks. He overheard you telling Feyre about them, describing the romantic gesture that Kallum made recently.

Was this it? Would this be the male who finally stole his best friend from him for good? If this male is a friend of Feyre’s, he must be a good guy.

Cassian hurries past the sitting area, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, but somehow you catch his eye. He can’t help but notice the flicker of sadness in your stare.

———

After four weeks of stubborn silence, you approach Cassian at training.

“Hey.” He turns to you, surprised.

“Uh, hey y/n.” He notices that you’re picking at your nails, a nervous habit from when you were a kid.

“So, I’m bringing Kallum to dinner tomorrow evening. To meet everyone.” You say awkwardly.

Oh.

“I know you and I are still in a weird place, but can you please be nice? I want to make a good impression and see what everyone thinks of him.” You bit your bottom lip nervously.

“Why do you care what we all think of him?” He huffs.

“Because I care what my family and friends think of the person I’m dating.” You counter defensively.

“Do you really? Or do you need us to like him in order to convince yourself you like him too?” You scowl, but Cassian has that stupid cocky smirk on his face. He’s not wrong, which only pisses you off more. You had tried desperately to like Kallum. He’s a nice guy and he seems to like you a lot, but you just couldn’t find a spark between you two.

“He’s a good guy Cassian!” Your face turns red and you are too flustered to come up with a more clever response.

“If you say so.” Cassian rolls his eyes. You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, not him.

“He is! He treats me well!” You argue.

“Okay, good for you.” He says sarcastically. You stay silent for a long moment. Cassian turns to leave, not wanting to argue any longer.

“He treats me well…but he isn’t you.” You say softly.

Cassian freezes. Surely, he misheard you. He turns back to face you and is faced with the vulnerable expression on your face.

“Seeing as you don’t seem to want to be my friend anymore, there’s no point in hiding it any longer.” He takes a long stride towards you and takes your face in his hands.

“You’re right. I don’t want to be friends anymore.” Cassian presses his lips to yours, kissing you deeply. You melt into his touch and tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss quickly turns heated, and you let out a soft moan. Cassian pulls away, and you give him a confused look.

“As much as I want to continue this, sweetheart, I plan to take you to dinner first. I want to show you how you deserve to be treated on a date.” He leans in close, brushing his lips over the shell of your ear. “And then maybe I can show you how you deserve to be treated in bed as well.” Your face turns bright red, and you nod. Cassian lets go of you, but you pull him in for another kiss, this one lasting a bit longer than the last.

“I should probably go break up with Kallum.” You giggle between kisses. Cassian growls at the mention of another male’s name and pulls you closer.

“That is the last breakup you are ever going to have. I’ve waited 500 years for this, I’m sure as hell not going to mess it up.”

Feel free to keep requesting prompts :-)

prompt list

#acotar #acotar fic #cassian #cassian acotar #acotar x reader #cassian x reader #my writing

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lushlovers · 1 year

Text

Ignored, J Burrow

summary; he's quite the hypocrite

warnings; joe still is an asshole what'd y'all expect, swearing, this is the stupidest argument but i would act like this too fr, the pettiest duo ever ong

word count; 900-ish

notes; ughhh i missed frat!lsu!joey so much omg. one of the few fics being posted as a thank-you for 400 followers! pls someone notice how they react similarly to each other with their actions when frustrated

This year, like the few before, Joe had convinced you to come to both of his frat's formals, for you it was a win-win, getting to dress up all pretty and seeing him all cleaned up in his fancy suit. He kept his arm secured on your hip, and both of you stepped out catching the eyes of everyone in the room, per usual.

Boredom has slowly settled in over the span of the few hours you've been here, staring at your nails and chatting with the extremely energetic girlfriends and dates of his fraternity brothers could only hold your interest for so long. "Can we go up to the room yet?" You mumble, trying not to make your growing impatience too obvious, and leaning into him with a pout present on your pretty face.

"Soon, babe," his response is short, obviously just trying to shut you up. You sigh, clicking your tongue, murmuring under your breath about going to get a drink. He barely has paid any attention to you at all tonight, nor did he say anything about the dress he ditched you to go shopping for alone. He swore up and down that he would take you to the mall, and you'd choose something together, but he opted out at the very last minute, simply venmoing you the cash for it.

It takes a lot out of you just to not scream at him to acknowledge your existence for two damn seconds, but no. Everyone, but you seemed to keep his attention this entire time. Your jaw is set tight as you fish your phone from your purse, finding yourself sitting alone and scrolling on your feed aimlessly as Joe continues to socialize.

Time passes slowly, but midnight's creeping up, you remember you both have a keycard on you which prompts you to slip out of the dining hall completely. As you make your way up to your floor you decide a text will suffice, maybe he'll see it, maybe he won't, and it's not your problem anymore.

angel🌟: i went back up.

Before you thought it couldn't get any worse, he somehow managed to piss you off even further. Read 11:54. May the Lord be on his side, that's one thing he never did to you, he knows exactly how you feel about that, you even went as far as to turn his read receipts off to avoid this feeling.

In the time it takes him to finish doing whatever the hell he's been doing all evening, you'd changed, gotten out of your makeup, and were tucked under the cover tightly. Assuring your back was turned to him as he made his way in and kicked his shoes off, "D'you have fun?" His question is followed by a long beat of silence, but he just assumes you're asleep and says nothing else.

After just a few short minutes of him entering the in-suite, he returns in an old t-shirt and basketball shorts. When he climbs into bed behind you and pulls you in close, you stiffen, making his grasp loosen significantly, "Were you like, intentionally ignoring me all night?" His brows crease and for a minute he just opens his mouth like a fish out of the water as he searches for an actual reason for the lack of interaction between the two of you.

"Not intentionally," he responds quickly to get you to be quiet for what seems to be the hundredth time today. The last thing you want is to be treated like the various girls whose feelings he plays with for his own amusement. Still, after tonight, you're severely lacking the cognitive ability to go back and forth with him tonight.

Your silence catches his attention, making the scrolling he was going on his phone come to a halt, "Are you gonna say anything?" In your head, you're screaming at him about how you're feeling, to say more than two words a sentence to you, but to possibly tick him off you bite your tongue and settle for a smartass reply.

A stifled laugh breaks the tension in the hotel room, followed by a snarky response, "Nothing to say." That does him in. Ironically being treated in the same way he treats others, receiving a taste of his own medicine. He slams his phone down on the bedside table, "I'm talking to you now and you're being short with me," another laugh escapes you at his hypocrisy and simply how childish he's acting right now.

The tone of voice you chose doesn't even change an octave when you decide to speak once more, "Now you know how I feel," you hum, turning over to face the sliding-glass balcony door. His jaw is set tight as he stares daggers into your back and you can feel them burning through your oversized t-shirt. Without saying anything else, he mimics your movements and turns over with his arms crossed over his chest, pouting.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow smut #joe burrow angst #nfl fan fic #nfl #nfl smut

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wolfjackle-creates · 1 year

Text

WIP Wednesday

So I'll be sharing a snippet from a different fic today! If I share anymore of Bring Me Home, I may as well just post the entire first chapter. (Which, I will be looking for a new job and hopefully moving in 2 months or so, so I'll probably try and start posting after that. Get another chapter or two written in the meantime.)

This fic is also from a prompt that was submitted by @regonold to @stealingyourbones. I did part of a collab fill previously, but the idea has been living in my mind rent free and I couldn't help but want to take it on more fully. I've written 5.5k and this snippet is just under 900 words.

----------

The formal gardens beyond the iron gate filled Danny with dread. Vlad’s mansion had looked like this, too. But Jazz had promised him, over and over again, that the Waynes were nothing like the Fruit Loop while begging him to come. Besides, he’d spent weeks making sure his schedule was clear and making deals to prevent any interruptions. No backing out now. With a sigh, he pressed the button for the intercom.

“Good evening, may I ask your business?” asked a man with a British accent.

“Um, yeah. Good evening.” Why was it so much harder to communicate with other people as human Danny than ghost Phantom? “Um, I’m Danny. Jazz’s brother?”

“Ah, yes. Of course. We’ve been expecting you. Follow the drive up to the house and welcome.”

Motors activated and the gates slowly opened. Danny started the trek up the long driveway. His anxiety wasn’t relived when he saw the manor with it’s dark stone facade and literal tower. If it was made of lighter stones, it could have been a copy of Vlad’s castle.

“This is for Jazz,” he muttered under his breath as he walked up the stairs. Before he could knock on the doors, they opened and Jazz ran out to hug him.

“Danny! Thank you so much for coming! How’ve you been? I know you’re busy, but you need to call me more often.”

Danny hugged her back tightly. “Sorry, Jazz. You know how I lose track of time. So where’s this famous Jason?”

A man stepped forward and started speaking, but hanging off his back was a ghost. The ghost of the dead Robin, to be exact. Shit.

At least the position of the ghost meant he appeared to be looking at probably-Jason. Even if he didn’t hear a word the man said. To make it worse, Robin realized he could see him and was sending out help-me trills.

Danny had to bite hard on his tongue to keep from vocalizing his own comforting chirps.

He was so focused on Robin that he almost didn’t notice probably-Jason holding out his hand to shake. Laughing self-consciously, he took it. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

The other man hesitated a moment and asked, “Is everything all right?”

But all Danny could focus on was Robin hanging off Jason’s shoulders and sending out happy-sad-helpless feelings. Danny relaxed the hold he had on his ghost self and tried to sense what was going on. But he had to reassure the human, too. “Yeah, I’m fine.” But wow, was Jason not. Where had he come into contact with such weird ectoplasm? It seemed to twist every emotion into anger and fear and violence.

Even worse was Robin. He was barely perceptible even to Danny’s enhanced senses.

Of course, Jazz was liminal enough to realize he was doing something. Quietly, she chirped a question.

Danny just shook his head and pulled back his power. “Later,” he murmured.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said back, just as quietly.

Louder, Danny said, “Sorry. I just have bad memories about large manors like this. Has Jazz told you about Vlad?”

“He’s come up a time or two. With the black hair and blue eyes, someone will probably make an adoption joke at you before the night is over. But I’ll stab them if they do.”

Danny's laugh would have been much less forced had he not just felt the twisted anger inside probably-Jason. “Just don’t hit anything vital,” he said, hoping it sounded like a joke.

Robin rolled his eyes—and how could he do that so obviously with a mask on?—and tried to pull on Jason to lead him inside.

“Well, it might be summer, but Gotham is never warm. Come on in and I’ll introduce you to everyone,” said Jason.

Jazz grabbed his hand as they made their way inside where they were greeted warmly by an elderly gentleman.

“You must be Mr. Danny. Welcome to the Manor. I’m Alfred. Dinner will be served in one hour and please let me know if you need anything. Your sister stated you didn’t have any dietary restrictions?”

“What’s that?” Danny was trying not to stare at Robin who was now hugging the older man. Before Alfred could repeat himself, however, Danny’s brain caught up to the human conversation. “Oh, uh, no. I don’t. Jazz is right.”

“Very good. Can I take your coat and bag?”

Danny did shrug off his backpack, but only so he could also take off his coat. “Can I keep the bag? I don’t feel comfortable without it on me.”

“Very well.” Alfred hung the coat up on a rack right next to the door. “Master Jason, be sure to show him where the bathroom is on your way to join the others. Mr. Danny, there are plenty of drinks in the sitting room where everyone is relaxing should you need a refreshment.” And he finally had confirmation that this was Jason!

“’Course I will, Alfie.”

“Thanks,” said Danny, though he was more focused on the desperate chirps Robin was sending out.

I’m here-notice me-I love you.

Looks like he was breaking his promise to Jazz to not do any ghostly business tonight. Of course Jazz’s boyfriend would be haunted by a ghost that needed help. Why was he even surprised?

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As far as I know, there hasn't been a lot of requests for a tag list on this one. @addie-lover-of-stories is the only one I noticed. But let me know and I'll start one!

Next Part

#dp x dc #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jason todd #anger management #alfred pennyworth #i reread everything ive written today for the first time in a week or two #and theres some scenes i cant wait to share with others #it'll be fun #for danny at least #the bats not so much

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tripleyeeet · 1 year

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IN SHADES OF BLUE

PAIRINGS: Jotun! Loki Laufeyson & Female Reader

SUMMARY: Loki reveals to you the parts of himself he hates the most. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

WORD COUNT: 3,061

A/N: Another fic from my previous account! A little rough around the edges but still a fave of mine so I thought I’d give it a quick edit and repost. :)

MASTERLIST

“What’s your favourite colour?” he asks, plain and simple —trivial almost— so much so that it makes you scrunch up your face; lips and nose contorting into an expression of disapproval that makes his eyes roll.

Under the silken sheets, your body ruined under his touch as his fingers trail patterns over the bareness of your hips and thighs, you don’t fully get why he’s asking. You’ve only just met; hours before, in the corner of the bar. He approached you and you reciprocated his interest and the rest was just boring old history, so why does he care what colours make you happy?

“I don’t know,” you say, even though you have an answer. Everybody does regardless of what they tell themselves because colours have meanings —representations, you decide, sitting there, watching as he pulls away and positions himself on his back.

Despite your better judgment, when he moves you immediately crave his touch and the way his skin seems to cool your own, prompting you to follow him wordlessly, placing your chin on his chest. “How about you?”

“What about me?” He raises his brow and looks towards you, a small smile absentmindedly creeping across his lips.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Whatever yours is, he thinks, because truthfully he doesn’t care anymore. After everything he lost interest in caring for things that made him happy, because feelings like that don’t last and neither does beauty, so why would he stop to think and choose a favourite colour?

He doesn’t have time for that.

“I don’t think I have one.” It’s a poor excuse for an answer, both of you know it, which is why when you deeply sigh against his chest, the air from your lips fanning across his skin, he can’t help but swallow hard and look away, feeling almost guilty.

Which doesn’t make sense, because you’ve just met. Your opinion is nothing in the grand scheme of things, yet something in his chest pulls him to feel hurt by your response.

“Everybody has one.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

“No?”

He shakes his head and moves his hand to your hair, running his fingers through it. It’s softer than anything he’s ever felt, like silk. “You don’t, apparently.”

You bite back a smirk, angling your face away from his, knowing that this is his way of calling your bluff. “I mean, maybe I do,” you admit, feeling the pads of his fingers make work of your roots, their strength digging into your scalp so effortlessly that without even thinking you give in to the pressure and close your eyes.

“Tell me then.”

You hum in response and focus on the weight of his fingers and how languidly they move through the base of your head, pulling forth a sudden sense of lucidness that makes you grin. “I think I like blue.”

“Blue,” he practically scoffs, because of course you like blue —everybody likes blue. It’s the colour of the sky and the ocean and all the other things so universally good that even just the thought of it makes him want to crawl out of this bed and wash the entirety of his body.

Because while blue is known to be a colour of beauty, for Loki it’s merely just another layer of suffocation —a draping of fabric pulled taught against his increasingly brittle frame. Like all his other insecurities, he’s forced to be blue all hours of the day, forever beneath his usual coating of flesh. On the outside, he’s pale and soft to the touch —easily approachable. People like him when he’s not blue, they respect him and take notice of the way he is rather than what he looks like and it’s something he never takes for granted.

Because deep within the pool of his mind, he often thinks about the difference between the blue he hides and the washed-out, creamy tone he portrays. How would people truly treat him if he were to get rid of the veil? Would they run for their lives as they did on Asgard? Would they hate him and fear him; talking behind his back in hushed tones, or would they direct their repulsion toward his face?

As much as he hates to admit it, every day he wonders about this. When he’s staring into the mirror with his eyes shining red, he wonders if anyone could ever truly love him like this —with texturized cobalt that’s so cold and untouchable, just like the real him.

He doesn’t think that they could.

“Do you not like blue?”

Your voice shifts his thought process, pulling him out of the preverbal depths of his insecurities. Awkwardly he smiles and takes notice of the curiosity in your eyes, visually tracing the way your eyebrows furrow at his lack of response.

“Because everybody likes blue, at least to some degree,” you say after he fails to speak, turning your head so that your ear rests against the centre of his sternum, making it easier for you to hear his rapidly-paced heart.

“Sure, I suppose.” He shrugs lightly, his shoulders lifting and falling at the same time his previously appointed smile becomes engulfed in the usual scowl he lets loose whenever he’s frustrated or uncomfortable.

“But not you?”

He shakes his head, prompting you to narrow your eyes even further, the visibility of your pupils becoming limited as you purse your lips and explore his tells.

Because despite popular belief, Loki —God of Mischief and Lies— has many tells. Like everyone else, he’s vulnerable to the truth and all its revealing glory, leaving him anxious and overly critical of both his thoughts and movements as you continue to stare, taking in all the details.

Your eyes, much like his, scan everything with an air of caution, slowly moving across his nervous face, causing him to swallow hard and force himself to remain calm because as much as he denies it, moments like these often leave him feeling insecure.

“Were you afraid of the Smurfs as a kid or something?” Revealing a smiling set of teeth that makes everything within him instantly halt, he’s quickly left with this coating of confusion, because it’s not common for people to make fun of him so flippantly. Or at all really, which is why when it happens he can’t help but laugh —but shake his head before giving in to the desire to lean over and kiss your forehead, trailing cold, chaste kisses across the expanse of your face.

“No, I’m not afraid of cartoon characters,” he says, and with him you laugh and look up, noticing the back-and-forth look of absence in his eyes. There’s something empty about them as if their blackness isn’t black, but more so bleak —almost empty. Loki’s eyes are sad and lonely and as you look at them, narrowing your own, you can see the bright blue iris shrouded in red; long, lines of crimson that branch out across the white.

“We should sleep,” you say, but Loki just shakes his head again, taking the moment passing to release a deep breath and give your hair a few final run-throughs, his fingers working delicately through the knots that have formed.

“I want to tell you something, if I may.”

You’re not sure what he means, but you know it’s important because of the quiet tone of his voice. It’s innocent sounding, small and frail and barely falling from his lips, and immediately it worries you. Sends you into a state of shock that forces you to pull yourself off his chest and reposition in front of him, legs crossed underneath you.

“What is it?” Swallowing hard, you feel the slick build-up of your anxiety trickle down your throat as you watch his hand reach for your own, each finger taking refuge between the empty spaces as he clears his throat and begins to tell you everything.

Asgard, Midgard, and everything in between —Loki entrusts with you the story of his family and the horror of his upbringing. He tells you of Thor (yes that Thor) and Frigga —of Odin and his kingdom and that fateful day in Jotunheim where Loki was discovered alone in the snow. Cautiously he tells you about his betrayal —his plan to claim the throne and then later, his plan to die. Every detail slipping through his lips is like a reclamation —a perilous journey of memories he’s chosen to take you alongside him as he recounts the details of his mother’s love, his brother’s arrogance, and inevitably his father’s lies.

Loki tells you anything and everything, taking each story and weighing it in his hands before offering it over, hoping that despite the brokenness —his brokenness— that you’ll still find some worth in it.

Because Loki would be lying if he said he didn’t think of himself as worthless. All his life, even without the constant horror of his underlying blue skin, he’s never felt valued, only valuable. To Odin, he was merely a pawn in the diplomatic affairs of Jotunheim and to Thanos, he was deemed the same for having the Tesseract.

Which fucking sucks, you think, as you watch him rip open his chest and fish out the traumatized organ with tears in his eyes, desperately waiting for you to take it.

So you do. Without question you take it and put it in your hands, watching it pulsate in the base of your palm; the tainted blood of his past dripping down your flesh, coating your skin like syrup.

Happily, you want to lap it up —want to look him in the eyes and lick his wounds; swallow them up and bury them deep inside your gut so that he never has to look at them again.

More than anything you want to shield him from the pain and the suffering —want to show him love and support and make it known that just because the past was full of hurt, the future doesn’t have to be as well.

“Thank-you for telling me.”

You know he doesn’t need to be thanked —doesn’t need to be praised for telling a stranger the holy terrors of his upbringing. Loki’s a God, the maker of his own destiny, which is evident in the way he perseveres despite the odds constantly working against him. He’s resilient in his efforts, a strong player in whoever’s story he’s managed to become tangled in, which is something you’re not sure he knows because, to you, it seems like he tethers himself to other people. Playing them like fools in his never-ending game of tricks and trades, hoping one day that they’ll figure out how to hate him.

Because if he can just get them to hate him, perhaps he can be free. Free of the unknown —free of the constant wondering of whether or not he’s worthy of another person’s love.

Of course, he is, you think, but considering the circumstances, you know he doesn’t know that.

“I’m not sure why I did, if I’m honest,” he says, staring at your hands, suddenly wishing that he too could experience the normalities of fleshy tones woven over heated insides instead of the icy structures within his own.

“Strangers are often the best people to tell things to.”

Raising his brow, he hums in response, hoping that you’ll explain.

“We’re not tainted with the idea of you; we’re unbiased.”

“Were unbiased,” he corrects, another scowl crawling across his face, showing you that he knows you’ll think less of him now that he’s told you.

Which isn’t necessarily true. If anything, it’s almost the opposite; because his telling you, even if the story is tailored to benefit his own viewing, is still a step in the right direction. A step towards healing —towards trust. Because at this moment, Loki trusts you with the weight of his life. He sees you as someone worthy of his truth and that in itself is something you know you can’t take for granted as you pull your hand away from his.

“Have you ever shown anyone?” Propping yourself onto your knees, you move to straddle his frame, feeling the base of his cock immediately twitch against you. “Your Jotun form, I mean.”

“Only a select few.”

“Other lovers?” You smirk.

Smirking back, he shakes his head and repositions himself, moving to sit upright against the headboard of your bed, taking your hips in his hands. “Lovers want to love, not to run away in fear.”

There’s a pause then —a lengthy one filled with nothing, but breathing and touching, Loki’s hands digging into the base of your flesh, desperately kneading themselves into the plush of your sides. Instantly you’re drawn to the feeling, your mind already thinking of a thousand ways to subdue the aching that suddenly presents itself between your thighs as you instinctively press yourself further against him.

“I won’t be like the rest of them,” you find yourself saying, the absence of breath throughout your chest making it hard for you to speak above a whisper. “I won’t fear you.”

“Fear me,” he sarcastically scoffs in response, gripping you tighter, almost as if the very thought of fear ignites something within him —something aggressive and primal. “It’s not the colour of my skin that makes them fear me, darling.”

After that he slowly blinks, the colour of his eyes flickering from the lightest of blues to the deepest of reds, an image that makes you weak as you reach out to touch his face, realizing that his skin feels colder than before; rigid and rough, the presence of markings becoming visible across his forehead and cheekbones.

Purely out of habit you pull your hand away and narrow your eyes, inspecting the facial structures that continue to form, raising themselves higher off his skin at the same time his flesh begins to darken. All across him wild splotches of blue become present, their positions resembling freshly wet pavement on a rainy day.

“You look…” Inhaling and exhaling before you can even finish, you quickly find yourself reaching across the empty space, prompting Loki to follow through soundlessly until your lips eventually meet in a frenzy of movements that leave you pulling at each other’s flesh.

Groaning, Loki reaches for your hair and grips it as his lips messily glide from your mouth to your cheek, then to your chin, eventually ending at the side of your neck where he latches on. As he does you let out a soft moan, your lips widely parting at the feeling of his tongue pressing down against your flesh in between swift bites that leave your skin blooming with bruises. “I could ruin you, you know,” he whispers against them, the formation of his words across your wounds sending you over the edge as you feel him work to lift you onto his cock, holding you steadily against the head.

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

Before you receive an answer he’s entering you with everything he has, his hardened flesh pushing through your heat in a chorus of throaty gasps as he rocks back and forth, feeling your weight shift as you lean backwards and reach for his thighs.

Steadying yourself, you grip the tops of them with greedy hands, thumbing the patterns of newly unveiled blue as he repeats his movements, bucking into your wet cunt with a new kind of force that leaves you shaking and grinning because god he’s just so beautiful.

His body, drenched in lapis, looking like the ocean itself, is stunning and radiant, ebbing and flowing against your Midgardian complexion as you lean forward and envelope his lips again, showing him that he’s worthy.

He’s worthy and you’re willing and as he pistons into you, your inner walls aching for that last final snap of the band, you can’t help but tell him. Over and over with each passing wave of pleasure, you speak to him in praises, telling him repeatedly how amazing he is and how good he feels and how after everything he’s been through he deserves to feel loved.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Loki,” you tell him, even though you’d much prefer to tattoo it into his skin in shades of navy; a reminder that despite the green he often drapes himself in, blue is truly his colour.

Opening his mouth to respond, he’s quickly met with your lips again, his words becoming lost behind your teeth and tongue as you swallow his pride and hate and everything that's ever needed to be pulled out of his system. Like a leech, you rip from him the worst parts of his being; the outward flesh that covers his Jotun form that’s been mistreated and left to suffer; the vile words of his father all those years ago; the abuse he experienced under the hands of Thanos.

And with each new breath, Loki begins to better understand these efforts. Slowly but surely, his mind, once clouded with thoughts of angst and regret, begins to fill with something new entirely —something soft and warm that makes his stomach twist into knots as he fills you up further and further, the sounds of your wanton moans shrouding him in bliss.

At this moment, Loki’s engulfed in ecstasy. He’s elated and delighted; covered in a sense of euphoria he’s never felt before. Hopelessly, he wants to laugh and cry and scream —to take you as you are just as he is he, coated in blue like sapphires and the sky and little robin’s eggs in the spring.

Because right now he’s your favourite colour and he knows it. He knows it because everything to you that’s beautiful is blue and no longer is he the exception. In fact, Loki’s the rule now; an ever-present reminder of just how glorious your favourite colour can appear through the naked eye as it fucks into you, pushing you over the edge until you’re panting and gripping, and asking him to ruin you over and over again.

He wants to ruin you forever if he can —if it feels like this— because the high he gets from being with you is intoxicating. It’s everything he never dreamed of and as he feels those final twitches press against your insides, he knows it’s all he’ll ever dream of now.

In shades of blue, he’ll dream of only you.

TAGLIST: @lovelysizzlingbluebird (if you would like to be added to any of my taglists, fill out this form)

#in shades of blue #loki laufeyson fan fic #loki fan fic #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson smut #loki x reader #loki x you #loki smut #jotun loki x reader #jotun loki x you #jotun loki #jotun loki smut #summer writes

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agentfaust · 9 months

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Never A Bother To Me

pairing: ethan hunt x agent!reader

summary: a fluffy morning with a retired ethan.

tags/warnings: implied/referenced hearing loss, no bad language, no smut, lots of fluff, some light kisses? nothing crazy it’s like teen and up

wc: 919

a/n: never thought i’d be writing x reader fics, but, uh, here i am??? there’s no plot here not really. hmu with prompts if you so wish i guess

Sunlight pours in through the windows of the room, reflecting off the thick layer of snow outside. You grumble sleepily, pulling a pillow over your head and flopping to your other side. You kick one leg out to the other side of the bed, velvet pajamas brushing against your ankle as you move. It’s empty. The scent of cinnamon wafts through the air, and it’s enough to convince you to reluctantly roll out of the faux fur covers and rub your eyes.

Blearily, you make your way into the hallway, sock-clad feet sliding on the hardwood.

“Morning, Ethan,” you call, but only silence greets you. It used to scare you, months ago, but it doesn’t anymore.

You go down the stairs and peek your head into the kitchen, tapping your foot against the floor forcefully. Ethan’s standing at the stove, dressed in a thick black sweater and flannel pajamas, stirring something in a pan with a wooden spoon.

He turns his head when he feels the vibrations in the floor, face breaking into a smile when he sees you.

“Morning,” he says softly. “Slept well?”

You shrug, looking away.

He takes a step closer, hooking a gentle thumb under your chin and ducking to look at your face. “You can still talk to me,” he whispers. “This doesn’t change anything. You should’ve woken me up.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mutter.

He furrows his brows and glances at your lips. “Say that again?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you repeat, still not able to meet his gaze.

He sighs, taking his right hand and stroking a line down your cheek, making sure you feel the cool metal of the wedding band on his fourth finger against your skin. “You’re never a bother to me. Sure, you can be annoying when you’re bored, but I can deal,” he teases.

“Not helping,” you grumble, but you’re smiling anyway.

Ethan chuckles as the oven beeps behind him. You get eye contact and tilt your chin forward slightly. He turns around, tensing, before seeing the flashing light on the little screen and opening the oven door.

He takes a potholder and pulls out a glass dish. It’s full of something you can’t see, but it makes the cinnamon scent in the room even more potent.

“Close your eyes,” he tells you, and you do so without a second thought. It’s something you never would’ve done with anyone, but Ethan has given you more than enough reason to trust him. You know he’ll never do anything harmful to you, never intentionally, never when it’s just you two without the pressure of your government at your back.

You suppose that was the one of the few good thing that came out of the explosion — no more middle-of-the-night missions for him, no more kissing him goodbye at the airport and wondering if it would be the last time you’d see each other, no more being afraid that one day you’d be pitted against each other out in the field.

Ethan’s retired now, fully, spending his days trying out new recipes and rock climbing and building a shed out in the woods of the lot that came with your cabin. He flies back into Langley every few months, sometimes working on strategy for complicated missions or doing specialized training with new recruits.

He complains about his commute, but you both know yours is worse: flying out around the globe on missions, a jet to Virginia, then another tiring plane trip back to your home with barely four or five days of rest before you do it all over again.

You’re always exhausted, sure, but you can’t say you’re unhappy with your schedule. You get to come home to the most gorgeous husband waiting for you with a warm meal and soft, smiling lips. You actually have a satisfying job with a decent boss. You’re able to spend your free time in the town where you grew up. It’s certainly an upgrade from your old lone-wolf days.

You feel callused but soft hands caressing your jaw. “Open your mouth,” Ethan instructs.

He places something between your teeth and you bite down gently. The sticky sweet taste of cinnamon and bread fills your mouth — cinnamon rolls, your favorite sweet. You blink your eyes open in shock to see Ethan grinning at you.

“Good?” he asks eagerly. “I got up early to make them for you.”

His smile is infectious. “Yeah,” you breathe. “They’re great. Thanks, Ethan.” You lean forward and snag the rest of the cinnamon roll with your teeth from where it’s resting in Ethan’s hand. You swallow it in one go and lick the rest of the icing off your lips as he laughs.

“Are they that good?” he asks incredulously.

You nod enthusiastically and wrap your arms around his waist. He responds by pulling you into a tight hug. You plant a kiss to his temple and one onto the jagged tear on his left ear, where the top of its shell once was.

“I love you,” he whispers.

He can feel your contented hum vibrating in his chest, and you tilt your head so he can read your lips when you respond with a wholehearted, “I love you too.”

“So,” he says eventually, “breakfast?”

You pull away, smiling. “Sure.”

#ethan hunt x reader #mission impossible #ethan hunt #my fic #tw hearing loss #i don’t really know if it’s a tw #but to be on the safer side?#100 notes

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lihhelsing · 4 months

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Ali's Masterpost

Welcome to my masterpost! Nice to see you ❤️

Where to find me?

twitter and ao3

My Tumblr prompts, microfics and ficlets are here.

On-Going Fics

you're under my skin (burning in my bloodstream)

steddie | rockstar au | explicit | 40k+ | 3/7

Read it Here Steve's not sure why he keeps betting on things with Robin when he knows he's going to lose. Except this time the bet ends up with him getting his nipple pierced and it seems like the guy who's about to run a needle through his skin is hotter than Steve expected and he's having trouble keeping it together. But after a charged first encounter, Steve has no way to get in touch with Eddie and thinks he lost his chance until he runs into him in the most unexpected of places and finds out Eddie is a lot more than Steve initially thought. OR; Eddie gives Steve a piercing and Steve is clueless about his true identity.

If I fall for you, I'll never recover

steddie | supernatural elements | explicit | 30k+ | 7/10

Read it Here Befriending Dustin Henderson and the party come with the added bonus of weekly family dinners at Steve Harrington's house, of all people. Eddie expects him to be a jerk but he is not. He's actually... Nice? It's a shock for him, too All of a sudden, it's like Steve is everywhere. It's like Eddie fits in with them in a way he never did before, and it feels nice, even if Steve is super territorial about the people he cares about. Eddie just didn't think he would ever be one of them. He also didn't think he would care so much about Steve. On some nights he even thinks this crush of his might be something else. Something that dangerously looks like love.

Completed fics under the cut

Steve Harrington's (not so) Secret Advent Calendar

steddie | christmas themed | explicit | 19k | One-Shot

Read It Here What do you mean friends don’t make friends super elaborated Advent Calendars just for the sake of it? Or; Eddie and Steve had been fooling around for a year when Steve decided it was time to make a move and make things official in the form of 24 presents right before Christmas.

To-Do: Eddie Munson

steddie | Modern AU | explicit | 14k | 4/4

Read it Here Steve started sending his to-do lists to famous rockstar Eddie Munson as sort of an inside joke. It wasn't like Eddie would ever look at the DMs from a no-one called Steve Harrington. Right? Or; Steve's been using Eddie Munson's DMs as his personal notes up until the day Eddie actually replies to him.

The World Ends With You

Read it Here After the world ended and the undead creatures were everywhere, Steve Harrington survived by isolating himself. Completely alone in a house, he barely knows what to do when someone breaks in. Injured and alone, Eddie Munson slowly wins Steve’s trust as they navigate surviving together in the middle of the Apocalypse and their relationship grows into something Steve can’t quite understand. But just as he has his share of secrets, Eddie has some of his own and this might be enough to get in the way of whatever they were building together.

Just a Lost Boy (not ready to be found)

steddie | Stripper AU | Explicit | 90k | 12/12

Read it Here Steve desperately needed an out. He couldn't handle his own life anymore, he needed to leave everything he'd ever known behind. And yet, he couldn't. His husband wouldn't let him leave like that. Not when Steve felt like a prize to him, something to be owned. And Steve didn't have the money to leave him because he'd been dumb and trusting and in love. And then, there's Eddie. Who might be just another client but he makes Steve feels things and Steve doesn't want to fucking feel anything right now. He just wants to leave. OR; Stripper Steve meets Eddie at work and Eddie can be precisely what Steve needs. Can offer him the chance of leaving his own life behind, if Steve plays his cards right.

#masterpost #steddie #steddie fic #masterlist #Ali's stuff

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plethora-of-imagines · 6 months

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Empty Headed

AN: In response to a prompt in the BG3Kinktober23 collection.

This is probably going to be the only fic I write for Gale. The promot was just too good to not be filled!

Prompt:

Dumbification with soft dom Gale and Tav. Tav doesn't need to think. Thinking is for smart people, and Gale can do enough thinking for the both of them. He just wants her to keep letting all her thoughts leak out, and he'll worry about everything else. Besides, she's so much cuter when she's just a clueless little toy. I saw this on the dirty bg3 confessions tumblr and I need it as a full-length fic.

Word Count: 1,406

Warnings: smut/lemon, proper use of mage hand, light bondage, light sub/dom, oral sex, oral fixation, edging, subspace, light dumbification

Description:

Gale loves to bring his cleaver lover, Tav into a state where her mind is gone. Not a single thought in her cleaver head as he does all the work to make her feel good. Tav lets him.

Dozens of scented candles surrounded you in the soft haze of candle light, and the scent of your lover. Barely able to see past the warm nest of well worn- to the point of being soft- sheets. Glittering book titles- in beautiful golds and silvers could be faintly seen along the walls. Your skin soft and clean from the “luxurious stay in the bath” that Gale had insisted on. Squirming as the mage hands he had summoned rubbed scented oils into every inch of your skin. It was your favorite scent. He had put a lot of thought into this, all for you. Wanting you to relax fully. To let him take care of everything. You had been rather relaxed, until the several sets of hands had started working on you. They were being very sensual, but frustratingly those hands were also avoiding anywhere too sensual.

Every attempt to take matters into your own hands- to provide some relief to this constant growing need- was met with disapproving gestures and restrained hands. It had been comical at first, when the hands only kept yours down for a moment. But not anymore when you needed them to either touch you, or let you touch yourself. The blue glowing extensions of your lover’s will were growing frustrated with your now constant efforts as well. It had been an hour of this. An hour of thinking that at any moment Gale would saunter in and finally give you what you needed. Your most recent attempts to pleasure yourself were met with silk ribbons being skillfully tied around your wrists, threaded through the spindles of the headboard. Groaning as you let your head fall back into the soft cushion beneath your head.

A more firm- more real feeling hand- rubbed soothing circles against your ankle. Massaging your foot as all of the hands stopped playing with your skin in favor of helping lift up your head. You melted into them at the sight of Gale. The past hour had stolen most of your ability to think clearly. Of course it was Gale at the foot of your bed. No one else could get into your home- into his tower.

“Now all this moving about tells me someone still has far too many thoughts running about in their head. Isn’t that right, Tav?”

“Gale, please I need something, anything!”

You arms ached as you were lifted higher so that Gale could press a kiss to your forehead.

“I do believe that was far too many words out of your cleaver mouth. I promised that my name would be the only word that you would manage to slur out, and I intend to keep my promise.”

Falling back with a huff, as Gale dispelled the mage hands. Bouncing on the bed.

“Gale-”

“Shh,” his own hands softly brushed away strands of hair that had been covering your face. Still damp and trying to stick to your skin. “Let me do all the thinking for you.”

Deeply kissing you to catch your next words before they could leave your lips. Humming in satisfaction as he softly took over control. Nipping your chin as he worked his way down. Pressing lingering kisses to your throat. Little sighs leaving you as your skin tingled from his clear devotion.

“As pretty as your voice is, love, I do like you speechless in our bed.”

With a last indulgent kiss to your throat he continued on his path down your body. Completely ignoring your chest, passing with dozens of kisses down the valley of your breasts. Reaching your clit, letting out a pleased exhale before his tongue pressed flat against your clit. Warm and wet. He didn’t dignify your whimper with a response. Focusing all his attention on using the mouth that was so skilled in spell casting to cast a different type of spell over you through his devouring of your clit.

The only thing you could focus on was how good he was making you feel. He knew your poor body too well, bringing you so close to complete bliss- only to halt long enough to let it fade away. Moans and wordless cries filled the air in every moment the sound of his sloppy sucking and licking paused for him to breathe.

“There we go,” he smiled against your soaked cunt. “There is my pretty Tav, not a thought in her head. Just need for me to let her over the edge, but you can take more. I know you can, you’re such a good empty headed thing, aren’t you love.”

“Hngg.”

“Beautiful.”

Tears pooled in your eyes as another and another orgasm was denied. How were you to survive such an onslaught of pleasure and need. Your tears spilled as his mouth pulled away from your body. Hiccuping sobs stealing what little breath you did have.

“Let those pesky tears dry, love,” Gale peppered your face with kisses. Turning your sobs into giggles as your overwhelmed emotions were soothed away.

Your mind floated away in his grasp, happy and warm. Still needy, oh so needy. But your Gale would take good care of you. He always knew what to do, especially when it came to what to do to you.

Fingers brushed against your lips, willingly they parted. Taking his warm fingers into your even warmer mouth.

“Huh, not exactly what I had in mind, but I suppose if it makes you happy. Have at it, get my fingers ready to open you up, Tav.”

You barely understood what he was saying, but there was permission to continue somewhere in those words. So your mouth continued to suck and lick at his fingers. His other hand deftly undid the ties surrounding your wrists. Fingers not currently entertaining your mouth, tangling with yours. Too content, body only working on instinct to even gather a spark of thought to try and move your hands away from where they still felt bound. Making a happy, content sound against the fingers in your mouth at the feeling of holding his hand.

Whining at him when he pulled his fingers away from your hand and mouth.

“Can you say Gale?”

“Ga-hal,” your mouth refused to form the sounds. Unable to do more than remain slightly parted in lust.

“Close enough,” he teased.

Two fingers soon enough found their way into your soaked entrance, thumb rubbing teasingly against your clit. A scream of pleasure used every drop of air in your lungs, back arched so far off the bed that you could feel every inch of Gale’s skin against yours. Before collapsing boneless, panting heavily. Greedily taking every bit of air your lungs could hold. Pitiful noises continuing to fall out of you as his fingers scissored. Pressing against every wall to explore you with the attention that Gale often only gave the weave. The weave and you.

Stretched open and prepared- thoroughly- he removed his fingers in favor of his cock. So full, feeling so right, so complete. Laying limp as each thrust made you see stars. It wasn’t long until you were filled with orgasmic pleasure, clenching around his cock to milk every drop of cum. Little circles being rubbed into your hips, as your mind returned enough to once again recognize sensation.

“Feeling alright, Tav? Back with me again?”

“Mhmmm.”

Laughing lightly at your state, Gale couldn’t help but continue to tease.

“I see that the power of speech is still beyond your reach then. Amazing what my cocky nature- as you would say- can do to you. And you would claim it isn’t well earned ego!”

Yanking your unresponsive body upright in the bed with care. He was quickly surrounding you with a fortress of pillows when you couldn’t muster the strength to keep yourself upright and almost fell over completely.

“Be right back, love.”

Soft hands lightly patted you awake.

“Drink.”

The glass was pressed gently against your lips. Water slowly pouring into your parted mouth.

“There we go, small sips.”

With Gale’s encouragement you drained the whole glass before yawning. He crawled into bed with you, lifting your dead weight and struggling a small amount to pull your body into his arms. Finally regaining the ability to move you helped by shuffling yourself into his embrace.

“Now I do believe that we have plenty of time for a little nap, to regain your strength. So close those eyes and get some shut eye.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue against that.

#gale x tav #gale x reader

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blood-mocha-latte · 4 months

Text

HAPPY HOLIDAYS @ep6bastogne!!! i was your secret santa :)))

i got a little bit (read: very very very much) carried away with your insanely good prompts, and have written a three part fic for your gift, one part of which will be published today! you asked for modern baberoe angst, and i did my best to meet those standards ;)

read part two HERE :))

read it FULL FIC on ao3 here <3

i. turn on the laugh track everyone knows you're a wreck you're never this quiet, your smile is cracking you just haven't found what you're looking for yet

4 December

He wakes up, heart trying to break through his ribs, and kicks out in a panic. It’s hot, and sweat seems to boil on his forehead as he finds the sheets under him, kicking out a second time, lungs rattling against his spine.

He manages to throw off the heavy comforter, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. He blinks blearily at the wall, and nearly jumps out of his skin at the icy hand that lands on his lower back.

“Where’d you go?” Eugene murmurs, voice sleep-thick and accent heavy, and Babe turns to look over his shoulder, breath still shaky.

“Dream.” He says, by way of explanation. Gene’s hand, as freezing as it ever is, leaves his back and he almost misses it. “Just… the comforter.” He stares at the wall of Eugene's bedroom for half a heartbeat, blinks, and stands up. “‘M gonna walk around for a moment. D’you need anything?” Gene rolls onto his stomach, settling into the warm spot that Babe left behind.

“I can get rid of the blankets, ‘f you want.” He says into Babe's pillow, already dropping off again, and Babe’s chest floods with equal parts warmth and near-embarrassment. “‘M plenty warm.”

Contrary to his words, he burrows further into the bed. Babe can’t help but huff a laugh. It makes his chest hurt.

“Nah.” He says, and has to clear his throat at the roughness that settled there. “Nah, it’ll be good for me to move around. You need the sleep, anyways.”

Gene’s response is a small huff into the mattress. Babe hurts at the sight of him, and tugs the comforter down over his bare ankle before he leaves the bedroom.

He hasn’t been over at Gene’s a lot, since… everything, but he still remembers which floorboards to step on to avoid making noise. He still remembers where the coffee pot is, where to find the mugs and the cereal and the butter knives.

He just needs the mug and the coffee pot, but he checks the cutlery drawer just to make sure he’s right about the knives.

(He is.)

Either Gene or one of his roommates had gotten the coffee ready the night before, so all Babe has to do is push the button on the machine and lean back against the kitchen island. He watches the glass pot and avoids thinking.

It’s been weeks, and the one thing Babe’s certain of is that the dreams are usually better, with Gene. Not as vivid. The main problem, it seems, is that Eugene is capable of freezing to death in the Sahara Desert and Babe doesn’t sleep with blankets. Not anymore.

To be fair, he doesn’t do a lot of things anymore.

The coffee machine beeps, and it blinks him back to the present. He grabs a mug from the cabinet — clearly Gene’s, from the words that proclaim it as a part of Beck’s Cajun Cafe, which Luz had gotten him last Christmas — and fills it so that it almost spills over the lip.

He leans back against the island, afterwards, not wanting to sit down. He taps his fingertips against the ceramic of the mug.

Last Christmas. Huh. He wonders what he’ll get Gene this Christmas, if he’ll get him anything at all.

He remembers enough to know which floorboards creak in an apartment he slept at one night out of twenty, but he’d forgotten how light of a sleeper that Ralph Spina tends to be.

“Hey,” Spina says, in question, and Babe just about has a heart attack, coffee splashing over the lip of his mug.

“Fuck.” Babe greets back, looking around for the paper towels. He finds them next to the stove, which. Seems unsafe. But hey, he ain’t a doctor. Spina shuffles over to the counter, dropping into one of the barstools.

His hair is sticking up in all directions, beard scruffy. The bruises under his eyes are smudged purple, and his hoodie has a stain at the stretched out collar. He looks, Babe thinks, more like Crazy Joe McClosky than a paediatrician.

“You look like shit.” Spina offers, and Babe shrugs a shoulder, turning on his heel to grab another coffee mug. He glances at the clock on the microwave. Almost four in the morning.

“Yeah, well.” He says, pours a second mug for Spina. “Guess it’s the time of the year.” Spina grunts.

“Tell me about it.” He mutters, reaching out a hand as Babe shuffles back around the kitchen island, giving him the coffee. “Goddamn, I don’t even work ER.” Babe hums. It’s absent.

“I’ve never seen Gene so knocked out.” He says dryly, plopping down into the stool next to him. “I mean, I could still twitch and he’d wake up, but he’ll fall asleep afterwards. Which, progress.” Spina huffs, blows on his mug.

“You’re datin’ someone with more restless energy than a goddamn hamster.” He tells his coffee. Babe shrugs, takes a sip of his own.

“Yeah,” He says, “‘cept we’re not dating.” Spina blinks at him, but otherwise seems unbothered. He slouches in his stool.

“Shit, really?” He asks, and then seems to backtrack. “I mean, I knew you weren’t, like, going out last month, but I thought that since…” He trails off, shrugs with his coffee. It sloshes in its mug. Babe just shrugs.

He stares at the kitchen counter. November hadn’t counted, for… whatever him and Gene are. Have become. November isn’t a part of them.

“Nah.” He says. “We’re just… stress relief, I guess.” Spina shoots him an unbelieving look over his coffee, but doesn’t say anything else.

“Jesus,” He mutters, shifting in the barstool. “And here I was thinkin’ my life is complicated. You’re playing 4D chess in a twelve dimension world, my friend.” Babe snorts, braces his elbows against the counter.

“It ain’t that bad, in all honesty.” He says, and his skin seems to burn. He shivers to throw off the sensation, tries to forget the comforter that’s now wrapped around Gene. “Just… hectic. But, hell. ‘Tis the motherfucking season.”

Spina grins at him, and it’s wry. “Yeah.” He agrees. “‘Least you don’t gotta worry too much about Gene, then. If you two are just friends. No Christmas obligations.” Babe huffs. When he brings his mug back to his lips, the coffee tastes like ash.

“Think he’s goin’ back down to Louisiana, anyways.” He says. “The week of. He’s been tryin’ to get time off.” Spina shrugs.

“Hope he does.” He says.

“Yeah.” Babe says back. He doesn’t really, though. He doesn’t want to think about having to sleep in his own room again, where it’s cold and there’s no blankets and both of those things are his own fault, but there’s no Gene, either. Spina leans forward, trying to find the microwave clock around Babe, and huffs.

“Alright.” He says, smacking his palms flat against the counter and standing up. “Time for work.”

“Godspeed.” Babe says dryly. Spina snorts.

“‘Tis the season,” He repeats, downing the rest of his coffee and putting the mug in the sink. “Lots of little kid sniffles. Hell, maybe if I’m lucky, someone will come in with the flu.”

Before Babe can reply, he turns on his heel, makes his way back to his bedroom. The floorboards creak under his feet, he either doesn’t know which ones not to step on or doesn’t care. Babe stares after him for a moment, thinking, before finishing off his own coffee and heading back to Gene’s room.

Eugene’s still asleep, when he gets there, wrapped in the sheets and comforter and whatever extra blankets he’d picked up along the way, face still buried in Babe’s pillow.

Well. It's Genes pillow. But Babe uses it.

He tugs the comforter back down over his ankle again when he passes Gene, as it’s ridden back up, and turns the corner of the mattress to find his jeans.

He’s just in boxers (which he thinks may be Eugene’s) and whatever white t-shirt that was on his floor yesterday morning, so he just does up the pants and finds his shoes. He thinks he’s being rather stealthy, but Gene still stirs in the bed, pushing up onto his elbows and squinting at Babe.

“Time?” He asks, voice croaky, and Babe just shrugs, waving his hand absently towards the door of the bedroom, out to where the kitchen is.

“‘Bout four.” He says, finding his shoes kicked haphazardly under the bed. “I’m gonna head off.”

Gene huffs, face dropping back down into his pillow. “‘Kay.” He tells it, voice muffled. “Good luck.”

Babe wrinkles his nose at him, confused, but the rumpled blankets that is Gene isn’t moving anymore, and Babe thinks he might have fallen back asleep. He shoves his feet back into the shoes, not bothering to untie the laces, makes sure his fly is closed, smoothes back his hair, and turns on his heel.

Before he leaves the room, he turns back one more time. For science. “See you later,” He says, and when Gene doesn’t move, tacks on, “fuckbuddy.”

Eugene groans. He hates it when Babe says that.

Babe laughs, opening and closing the door behind him.

The thing about him and Gene is that he doesn’t really remember how it started.

Not in the way one wakes up in the morning with whiskey stale on their breath and a nagging feeling of forgetting something. Not even in the way of doing something for so long that it becomes muscle memory.

If he had to guess, it would probably be because Babe doesn't want to look too hard at it. At them.

Maybe like how in a dream, one can't focus too much on a singular detail or they'll wake up.

Maybe Babe doesn't want to think too hard about what they're doing because if he does, it might all fall apart.

The Christmas season is marked in Philadelphia by a number of things, but one of Babe's favourites are the lights that wind around the metal staircase that lead down from Gene’s apartment, twinkling red and green and half of the bulbs burnt out. Snow dusts the street and the cars parked on it, another addition to the small reminders of dawning holidays.

He runs his fingers across the wire of the lights as he skips down the icy steps, other hand in his pocket. When he exhales, his breath explodes across his face in white fractals, blown away by the wind.

His own apartment is only four or five blocks down from Gene’s, and in the early hour his only adversary is the biting cold that stings across his cheeks and neck. He shoves both hands into his pockets when he makes it down the staircase, turning on his heel to the left.

He sleeps at Gene’s maybe once a week, now. Less frequently, in the past, but since…

Well, November doesn’t count.

He’d chosen the wrong type of shoes to walk in the greying, half frozen sludge that skims across the streets, and it soaks through the soles of his sneakers in no time at all. It makes him slip more against the pavement, little to no traction against the old brick.

Him and Eugene began to sleep together a little over a year ago; when Gene had started residency at the urgent care clinic in South Philly and Babe had been working at the auto repair shop since he’d graduated.

Gene still works at the urgent care clinic in South Philly, but Babe’s situation has become more… complicated.

As if on cue, a car horn honks — the first warning of someone trying to get to work, and Babe speeds up slightly in an attempt to avoid the majority of the incoming flood of traffic.

He likes sleeping over at Eugene’s, anyways. The sex is great — which is a given, looking at how long they’ve been doing this — but Babe just also… likes Gene’s place. Likes his creaky floorboards and coffee machine. Likes sleeping with Gene, who wakes up at the drop of a hat but falls back asleep just as easily.

And Gene must like him staying over, anyhow, because otherwise Babe would have woken up at his own apartment.

A Honda Civic speeds down the road, and Babe only barely manages to avoid the wave of slush from the gutter that it dredges up in an icy spray over the curb. He’d consider shouting at the car, but it’s already gone and his feet are fucking freezing.

He makes it back to his own apartment in a little bit under half an hour, and trods up the undecorated staircase that leads up to his building with little excitement. His shoes squeak against the smoothed over cement that leads its way to their door.

It’s unlocked, and Babe thinks if one of them is gonna get murdered, that’ll probably be why.

“Hey.” He greets as he hits open their door, peeling off his soaking shoes and socks in the entryway. Bill is stretched out across the couch, foot dangling over the side of the armrest, and he raises a hand absently, eyes on the TV.

“Was startin’ to think you moved out while I was asleep.” He says, scratching absently at his chest. “You’ve been gone for so goddamn long.” Babe snorts.

It’s been less than a day since he left the apartment, and when he pads into the kitchen area, his empty cereal bowl is still in the sink. He huffs. “‘Love you too, Guarno.” He mutters, picking up the plastic tupperware and shoving it into the overflowing dishwasher. He pokes at it gingerly, trying to get it to start. It doesn’t, and he waves a hand at it, dismissive.

“How’s the Doc?”

“Fine. Tired. Goddamn Christmas season, huh? Ice and cold and terrible people.” Bill sighs.

“You gotta stop spending time with Roe.” He says, shoving his palms under him and shoving up against the couch cushions. “He’s ruining your sense of whimsy.” Babe snorts.

“To be fair, we don’t do much talking.” He says, and Bill groans. “Where’s Toye?”

“Somewhere.” Bill says, vaguely, which is just Bill-talk for no fucking clue. “With Luz, probably. Why? I don’t think he’ll be easily regaled by your tales.” Babe wrinkles his nose.

“Regaled.” He repeats. “You gotta stop spending time on the documentary channel. It’s rotting your brain out of your head.”

“Awe, fuck you.” Bill says, good-natured. Babe just snorts another laugh and opens the fridge. It’s mostly just leftovers and a bottle of ketchup that Bill keeps watering down. “You… you have a good time?”

Babe pulls out half a cheesesteak, wrapped in tinfoil and shoved in the fridge door. He peels back the foil just enough to smell it, suspicious. “Sure.” He says, not really listening. “How old is this?”

Bill grunts, reaching over the arm of the couch to grab his crutches. “Dunno.” He says. “When was the last time we saw Compton?”

Babe peels the foil back further. There’s mould growing on the edge of the bread, and he holds the sandwich up to eye level to squint at it. At least three months, then. He turns on his heel to find a plate and a knife.

He’s cutting the mould off of the cheesesteak with a butter knife when Bill says, words accompanied by the thud of his crutches against the cheap wood floors, “ya plannin’ on going back over there tomorrow?” Babe's hands still only slightly, and he goes back to sawing at the bread.

“Probably not.” He says. “Gene has a shift at three.”

“So after that?”

“He don’t get off until three the next day.” Babe peels back the bread. The cheese looks fine, mostly. A little discoloured. Bill whistles.

“Damn.” He says, and Babe grunts. “You couldn’t date someone with a sensible schedule?”

“We’re not dating.”

The meat looks mostly fine, too. Babe drops the knife in the sink with the clatter and pads back out of the kitchen, passing Bill on the way. He sits in the sofa chair next to the couch, a spring digs into his back. He sends a half-hearted prayer to Saint Nicholas that the cheesesteak won’t kill him and digs in.

He can feel Bill’s eyes on him. “Yeah.” Bill says, from behind him. His crutches thunk against the floors. “I know, Babe.”

Babe grunts around the sandwich. He thinks that Bill might go back into his room, but he can’t tell. He can’t bring himself to care, anyways.

10 November

He can hear Lip shouting for him, and screams back as loud as he can. Then, when there’s no answer, he screams again.

The metal is hot against his leg, fucking searing, and the rocker panel of the car keeps his arm and chest pinned under it. He swears, frantic, looking around. Everywhere around him is black, the same darkness, smelling of oil and grease and everything else. His breaths are coming in more and more shallow, every one punched out of his burning chest.

“Lip!” He screams again. His voice is hoarse, it hurts to yell. He hopes that Lip will find him before he can’t breathe at all. “Lip! I’m in here, I’m in here, I can’t fucking move—”

Lip shouts his name again, louder this time, and Babe reaches out frantically with the one arm he can move, grasping around, futile. His open palm comes into contact with the deflated tire of the Mustang, and he hits against it, frantic.

The Mustang had crumpled suddenly, the back left lift stand giving out while Babe was trying to figure out what was wrong with the transfer case. The right one had buckled shortly after, and, in a panic, Babe had tried to kick off on the creeper, only effectively kicking it out from under him.

The Mustang let out a great, trembling, shaking groan, and dropped down all at once, all around him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, his ribs hurt, he can feel his heart in his throat and in his toes at the same time. There’s something wet running down his face; he can’t tell if it’s oil or tears.

He throws both hands out in front of him, like they can stop the four-thousand pounds of car that are about to collapse on top of him, like he can bring back the shitty LED lights that are supposed to be easily seen, like he can—

“Lipton—” He yells again. He can hear the metal across the bottom of the car creaking. “Lip! Bill? Someone fucking—”

He kicks out his legs at the same time the Mustang makes another loud, metallic, screeching, and a hand grabs onto his ankle and pulls, pulls—

He’s crying, and he’s well aware of it, and he still can’t fucking see anything, face streaked in grease and oils and tears and whatever else, and Lipton’s hands are on his shoulders, dragging him further away from the Mustang.

They drop, unceremoniously, a few yards away, and Babe blinks rapidly enough that he can start to see the lights again, eyes burning. He trembles, trying to push away from Lip, realises that there’s probably fuel and whatever else in his eyes, and Lip’s palm comes up and cuffs him carefully across the cheek, getting him to hold still.

“S’alright.” Lip mutters, and his voice is hoarse. The hand not on Babe’s face is tight around his bicep, and Babe squeezes his eyes shut again, before they can begin to burn worse. “S’alright, boy. Everything’s alright.”

4 December

All of Babe’s blankets are in the corner of his room in a pile, and for a while, he even contemplated stripping off the fitted sheet and throwing that away, too.

He wakes up facedown, in the middle of his mattress and slightly nauseous, and thinks about Gene wrapped up in the comforter, all black hair and bare feet. It comforts him, some.

He sits up on his elbows, slightly shaky, and scrubs a hand down his face. His face is clammy, his palm more so. He blames it on the cheesesteak.

The reason for his rousing becomes clear when he hears Toye, voice low and rough and unintelligible through his bedroom door, say something to Bill. He rolls over onto his back, grimacing when his knee twinges — it rarely does, anymore, but sometimes it acts up — and stares up at the ceiling.

He looks over to his side, turning his cheek into the fitted sheet of his bed, and reaches out to grip at his phone, dragging the screen closer to his face. Almost three in the afternoon.

He stares blearily at the home screen of his phone for half a second before dropping it again, pressing his hands flat against the mattress and pushing himself up off of the bed.

Toye and Bill are arguing about something or the other in the front room, so Babe pulls his t-shirt over his head from the back collar and throws it absently over his dresser, searching for something cleaner.

He wonders if Gene is awake. Gene can sleep like the dead (and does, Babe would know), but he doubts that even something so beating and exhausting as ER’s in December would keep him down for that long.

He wonders if he should text him, and decides against it.

They're only friends, after all. Not even best friends, at that, because Babe’s best friend is Bill and Gene’s is Renèe Lemaire.

Friends. Casual friends. Casual friends don't text each other after napping all day in the middle of a mattress with only a fitted sheet and waking up both freezing and burning to death.

Just friends.

He finds a Philly Eagles shirt crumpled up in the corner of his sock drawer and shrugs it on. It's stretched at the collar and faded to all hell, but it'll do and he pushes out of his room and back to the front room without much more preamble.

“Hey,” He greets Toye and Bill, when he does. They've ceased their shouting at each other for the moment, apparently putting aside their differences to face the common foe (the recliner, which tends to stick) and neither of them look up to greet him.

Toye has his cast-ridden leg stretched out beside him, propped on the low-to-the-ground coffee table. Bill’s own knee brace is tossed on the couch; he's terrible about wearing it. Babe leaves them to it and wanders into the kitchen, absently scratching at the back of his leg.

The reason that it had taken so long for Lip to find him, Babe had learned afterwards, in the hospital with tear streaks cutting humiliating tracks through the oil on his face, is that a fire had started in the back room of the auto shop.

He opens the fridge. There’s nothing new, but Babe didn’t think there would be. It’s more out of habit than anything else, and he closes it just as quickly as he opened it.

“Could it be a screw?”

“Nah, nah, it ain’t no screw, Joe, ‘cause if it was a screw, it would be workin’, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t know, Bill, guess I left my fuckin’ brain with George—”

“Ah, Christ, and isn’t that a tragedy? Luz’ll drop it, for sure—”

Babe moves back out of the kitchen and moves to the front door, picking up his left shoe. It’s still wet and cold, but not soaking, so he cuts his losses and shoves it and the other on, leaving his socks on the floor.

He wonders, vaguely, if he should grab his coat before he leaves, and even spares a short glance at the heavy, quilted coat that hangs limply next to the door. But his skin still burns, and he forgoes it, opening the front door.

“Be back later!” He shouts over his shoulder, and the response is a nonsensical shout from Bill and a grunt from Toye. He snorts and closes the door behind him, shoving his hands back into his jeans pockets and skips back down the steps to the street.

The cold bites into his skin, and he regrets just wearing a t-shirt and jeans but doesn’t want to go back into the apartment, so he turns on his heel and begins walking left, exhaling hard through his nose.

He doesn't have a problem with their apartment, per se; having two roommates to Gene’s one can be frustrating, but Bill and Toye are two of his best friends. They're just… loud.

Besides, the one thing that he had realised after he'd gotten out of the hospital, with minimal scrapes and bruises to Skip Muck and Alex Penkala’s third degree burns; with occasional, stupid nightmares to Joe Toye’s leg, broken in eighteen places and Bill’s sprained knee, black and blue and swollen, is that their apartment is… crowded. Cluttered.

Like it's going to collapse on top of him.

He shivers and pretends it’s because of the cold, and after a block and a half, ends up in front of a corner shop that's signage proudly declares itself one of sole caterers of fresh catfish in Philly.

He stares at the sign for a moment, then at the glaring red OPEN marker, and pushes through the door.

6 December

“I just think you're sort of freaking out, is all.” Babe says, and picks up a glittery pink pen, curious. It has shiny, turquoise feathers at the end of it. From behind him, Joe Liebgott snorts and hits him lightly on the ass with the shopping cart.

“I don't freak out.” He says, putting extra emphasis on the extra two words, which does nothing but further convince Babe that he is freaking out. “He’s just weird about this shit. I'd like to get him somethin’ nice.”

“Yeah, but Web doesn't give two shits about Christmas, Joe. I think it would just make him think you were dying, or something.” Liebgott waves Babe away absently, pushing the cart past him.

The only reason that Babe had agreed (i.e. was forced by Bill) to go shopping with Liebgott was because he'd made the mortal mistake of getting up at a reasonable hour. Gene was at work, and Babe was hungry, and Bill’s leg hurt, and Liebgott hates shopping alone.

So. Here he is.

“Just get him a book, or something.” Babe says, dodging the cart when Joe pushes it forward again. “Vonnegut?” Joe snorts.

“If you can find a book that Web doesn't have, I'll get it, but it would probably have to be in library of fucking Alexandria.” He says. “I'd be better off just writing something.”

Babe doesn't say anything, mostly because he's pretty sure that Web would love it if Joe wrote something. Instead, he crosses into another aisle and picks up a plastic snow globe, turning it over in his palm.

Over the crackling speakers, Mariah Carey is singing about something or the other. The artificial lighting in the store is making his head hurt. Babe feels… almost normal.

“You could get him a watch,” He offers to Liebgott, nodding to the glass cases towards the back of the shop. Liebgott waves a hand dismissively, pushing the cart forwards again, leaning his elbows on the bar of it.

“Does Web seem like someone that has any idea what time it is, ever?” He asks, and Babe shrugs, hands going back to his pockets.

“Web doesn't seem like someone who would date you.” He says absently, and Liebgott looks like he's somewhere in between telling Babe to go fuck himself and agreeing with him. In the end, he just jerks the cart to hit Babe again.

“Christ,” He says, and looks like he's halfway to just giving up, which Babe would encourage. “You're not doin’ any better. You have any idea what you're getting the Doc?”

Babe shrugs. He still thinks that whatever Liebgott could possibly get for Web would just unsettle him. They don't seem like the type of people to be all… filled with the Christmas spirit, and all.

“We're not dating,” He says, in reference to Gene. Liebgott turns to squint at him over his shoulder.

“I know.” He says. “I'm not stupid, Doc can do much better than a Philadelphian frog.” Before Babe can even open his mouth to protest, Liebgott moves on. “But, you know, he's been good to you. Through all the… the shit that happened last month. And he has to be a good fuck, seeing as it's been, what, a year?”

Babe absently wonders how much of a mess he has to be for Liebgott to know almost everything about him. Then he decides that Liebgott probably only knows because he knows everything Webster knows, and Webster knows everything that Hoobler knows, and Hoobler knows everyone. He decides to blame Bill anyways.

“What the hell would I even get him?” He asks under his breath, almost to himself, and Liebgott snorts a wry laugh.

“Do I look like I know what I'm doing?” He retorts.

10 November

Babe hasn't left the goddamn hospital yet, and everything's starting to crush in on him again.

He's sitting in the gift shop, face in his hands, elbows on his knees, and knows the owner of the ice-cold hand that brushes his wrist immediately.

“Is anyone out of surgery yet?” He asks, voice hoarse, and Gene kneels down in front of him, pulling his hands away from his face. He looks almost haggard; the corners of his mouth pulled down, eyes near-sunken and dark.

“Muck is in recovery,” He says, and his accent is thick with exhaustion. Babe can't be faring much better. “Penkala is still under, but he shouldn't be as bad as Skip. Not as many skin grafts, at least.”

Babe almost faceplants into his hands again, but Gene tightens his grip on his wrists. His eyes are dark, near piercing.

“Toye’s femur was bad enough that amputation was considered, but it's set now and looking better. Guarnere’s knee is looking like it’s just a bad sprain, so long as he stays off of it.” He says, and Babe tugs a hand away from Genes to scrub at his face.

“Anyone else?” Gene leans back on his heels, starts counting on his fingertips.

“Lip’s got a concussion, but it ain't bad. You'd think he'd caught grenade fragmentation, from the look on Speirs’ face when we told him. Perconte’s got a few second degrees, but they don't look too bad. Wynn’s the same. Everyone else is mostly doin’ fine.” Gene pauses, like he wants to say something else. “They’re worried about you, though.”

Babe huffs. He rubs at his eyes until black spots burst against them, then drops his hand back to his lap. “I'm fine.” He says, voice rough.

He's got a cut across his left brow, but it didn't need stitches. He sprained his ankle, when the rocker panel had first dropped, and had been coated in oil and fuel and grease until he'd managed to scrub down in one of the hospital showers, but he's fine. He's not hurt like the others are. He was just… stuck. Not even for ten whole minutes.

Gene looks at him like he doesn't believe him. “Edward,” He says carefully, the blue of his eyes so dark they're nearly black. “Lipton told me that you couldn't see—”

“I had fuel in my eyes.” Babe tells him, looking somewhere over Gene’s shoulder. “It— Lip helped me wash them out with a water bottle and they're okay now.”

Gene watches him. Not like he doesn't believe Babe; more like he's trying to solve Babe, like he's a puzzle.

“I got off an hour and a half ago,” He says, and Babe almost winces.

“Sorry.” He mutters. Gene started working his new schedule only a week or two ago, Babe can't imagine working over twenty-five hours in a single shift.

“No.” Gene says vaguely, jerking his head over his shoulder. “I mean that I'm off. I'm gonna take you home.”

Babe blinks. “Oh,” He says. “To your place?” The corner of Gene's mouth quirks up. It's not a happy gesture.

“No.” He says. “To your apartment. Guarnere and Toye are staying overnight. I can walk you home?”

It's not phrased like a question, but Gene asks it like it's one. Babe blinks down at Gene’s fingers, which are still carefully wrapped around Babe’s wrist, and nods before he can catch himself. “Okay.” He says. “Alright. Take — take me home, okay?”

9 December

He knocks on the door of Gene's apartment, and prays in the frantic seven seconds before the door opens that Gene’s actually home.

But he is, and he swings the door open, and when Eugene sees him he blinks and steps back half a pace.

“Hey.” He says. He looks good, because of course he does; it's Gene. He's barefoot, wearing a faded blue t-shirt and black sweatpants, the tip of his nose and the shells of his ears a bright red. It makes Babe's chest hurt, but that doesn't count for anything. Everything makes Babe’s chest hurt.

“Hi,” Babe says back, and awkwardly holds up the plastic bag in his left hand. It swings in the air, and Gene’s eyes land on it.

(So blue they're almost black.)

“I brought stuff.” Babe tells him, and wonders if this was a bad idea. Probably. “Uh, food stuff. Seafood stock, roux, tomatoes, peppers, catfish—”

Gene blinks at him. “For courtbouillon.” He says, and Babe nods, relieved.

“Yeah.” He says. “I, uh. I think you talked about it one time, after we…” He gestures vaguely, and feels the back of his neck start to burn. “Uh. Anyways, I figured…”

He trails off a second time, and holds the bag up a little higher. “I googled the ingredients.” He mutters, scuffing the carpet outside of Gene’s apartment with his heel. “I don't know if it's like how your Ma makes it or whatever, but if you ain't able to go home…”

He clears his throat, and prays to God that his flush can be passed off as from the cold, like Gene’s is. He holds the bag out to Gene. “There.” He says.

Gene takes it, face indecipherable. He looks down at the bag, cradled in the crook of one of his arms, and huffs.

“When’d you even think of this?” He asks, and steps further into the apartment at the same time. Babe takes it hesitantly as his invitation inside, and shuts the door behind him.

“Was on a walk.” He said vaguely. “Saw a shop that sold fresh catfish, and remembered you saying something about catfish and soup, so. Yeah.” He clicks his tongue, awkward. His chest hurts.

Gene sets the bag down on their kitchen island, and turns back to Babe, eyes going to cross over his sternum, almost a defensive gesture. Babe clears his throat.

“I know that we're only…” He gestures at Gene, then himself, “but I figured — I dunno. Happy early Christmas, maybe? If you want me to leave—”

“Edward,” Gene interrupts him, a little bit louder than Gene usually is, and Babe looks up as the other crosses the small space between the door and the kitchen. He stops a few inches away, mouth opening slightly like he's trying to gather his words. “It's… this is great.” He smiles, a careful quirk at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks. It — this means a lot, to me.”

Babe blinks at him. His chest still hurts. “Okay.” He murmurs. “Okay.” He says again, clearing his throat a second time. “Should I, uh—”

“Yeah.” Gene says, then tilts his head slightly, as if reading his thoughts. Babe sometimes worries that Gene can read thoughts. He hopes not. Him and Gene are just… just friends. “Yeah, stay.”

As if to convince him not to leave (Babe doesn't want to, anyways), Gene leans forward and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Babe’s mouth before stepping away and moving backwards towards the kitchen.

Babe blinks. He tries to remember if they've ever done that before. He doesn’t think so.

He follows Gene to the kitchen.

#rie writes #bel it KILLED me not to talk about this i'm not even kidding it MURDERED me straight into the GROUND #i Loved writing this not even kidding i giggled like a child the whole ass time #band of brothers #hbowarsanta23 #OH #rie does secret santa stuff #annnd let's see #baberoe #babe heffron #eugene roe #doc roe #hbo war

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kingsandbastardz · 4 months

Text

fic prompt: hair combing in the wedding chamber

01 li lianhua

the existence of a torture chamber beside the wedding bedroom and its contents shouldn’t be a surprise at this point. and yet… it’s the redundancy you find offensive. she has a multi-chamber dungeon. she has a water chamber in her own quarters. why must it extend here as well? you despise the sight of unmarked bottles sitting ominously on a small table beside a decorative chair. they’re placed in front of an x-shaped rack fitted with iron ankle and wrist cuffs. there are hooks freshly installed in the ceiling.

you hear rattling and di feisheng is beside you, his expression neither upset nor surprised. just blankly contemplative. he kicks lightly at a thick gauge iron chain on the floor comb in hand and his hair thrown over one shoulder. he looks around the room, eyes unfocused -- you’re not sure he’s actually seeing anything -- the snapping sounds as he rips the comb through a knot in his hair grates against your nerves.

you don’t want to be here anymore than you want him here – so you hold your hand out in front of his face and say, “give me that. i can’t stand watching you – do you want to go bald?”

it is a moment too long before he finally looks at you and the comb is deposited silently in your hand. you lead him to the table in the bedroom. on the way, you spot his hair ornament on a shelf and grab it.

at least while sitting, he’s tall enough that combing his hair is an intimacy that is easy on the arms. you’ve done this for a handful of others. your shiniang, your past lovers. your once-brother. now it is di feisheng’s still-damp hair you run your fingers and a comb through. silkier than zhan yunfei’s, more voluminous than qiao wanmian’s. its weight sits in your hand and tangles your fingers with the same tenacity of a spider’s web.

the knots cling, every bit as stubborn as their owner. was he born like this? or was this a learned trait? has he ever regretted a decision?

this man has followed you across the world – with or without his memories, every bit as dogged and loyal as fang duobing. ever single-minded in purpose. the affection he makes you feel has always been uncontrollable. you want to resent him as much as you feel fondness, but in the end, the fondness always wins out.

you tie his hair back and lock the familiar silver ornament in place, sliding the pin through the knot. (you bought this for him. with your own money, even, and not xiaobao’s.)

he twists around to look up at you – eyes open and clear in a way no one with his personal history should be able to. you’ve never once felt this unburdened. years ago, you and lao di were both in the middle of puberty, youths, barely old enough or tall enough to count as adults. he looked up at you back then, in the same way, as you looked down from the trees. he never had to say or do anything to capture your attention. he just gazed straight into you, soft, open, and entirely receptive to anything you wanted to throw at him.

what else could you do?

you hit him with your very best.

xiaobao understands you like no one else. but this one – this one never cared about any of the things the world wanted from you. he didn’t see the future. he didn’t see potential. he didn’t see the power you wielded for the benefit of everyone. he saw only the you that stood in front of him. nothing more, nothing less.

and now? you know what he wants because you want it too. even now, there are moments you can hear the clang of sword, smell the burn of sparked sword oil, feel the heady rush of bloodlust. you crave the razor-sharp clarity that overtakes you as you take flight and know the man following you will be able to keep pace no matter where you go and what you do. you can let go. you don’t have to hold back anymore.

he sees you the way no one else does and you want him to see you that way again. you want to see him on the other side of your crossed blades and to find your steps again in the sky unburdened by lies or death. you want the life you could have had together.

there was a time, you could have dreamed of fighting together. eating together. watching as his hair turned white to match yours.

but you can’t. you only have memories left of that old you and the bitter flavor of passed time.

if only you had met again 10 years ago. or even 5 years ago, once your rage had burnt its way out of your heart and bones.

you can’t afford to want what di feisheng wants. (but you do. you want it. it burns worse than poison.)

tonight.

tonight, under the influence of good wine and the warmth of shared smiles, you will pretend you have the luxury of health and time.

tonight, you will pretend you are living the life you should have – a life free of shan gudao's shadow and without regrets.

02 di feisheng

you are tortured your whole life and for a moment, you actually die; but you are alive now and stronger than ever. you drink wine with a loved one and he smiles in shared understanding (finally, after all these years. you’ve waited for him.)

the suffering was worth it if that is what brings you both to this moment.

under the moon’s blessing, you smile back and for the first time in your life, you hope for the future.

#writing practice for fake royals #li lianhua #di feisheng #mysterious lotus casebook #prompt: hair combing in wedding chamber #bastardz are writing #feihua #dihua

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ticklystuff · 1 year

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Here is a Cynari prompt for you friend! Ler Nari, Lee Cyno, and ribs for the spot

not accepting anymore, thanks!

word count: ~1.5k

you're a doll for requesting them <3 have this badly edited meme that basically sums up the fic

---

"Oh man, I feel ready for a food coma."

"Mhm.

"I hope Kaveh didn't spend too much. I offered to help pay for the dinner, but he wouldn't even let me see the bill."

"Mhm."

"Cyno, are you even listening?"

"Mhm."

Truth be told, Cyno was indeed not listening, completely enamored with the wooden box in his hands, or rather, what the wooden box contained. Inside was the one, the only, Blue-Eyes White Lizard that Kaveh had so kindly sold to him. Granted, Cyno might have applied a friend's discount that Kaveh was unaware of for their transaction, but anything to get his hands on what Cyno was sure would throttle his way to elite status within the community. The card was old and no longer eligible for play with the current edition of Genius Invokation TCG, so most casual players would not bat an eye, especially with its outdated art, but any day one enthusiasts of the card game would revel at being in just the mere presence of the card. Cyno himself could barely contain his excitement, holding the box in his arm like it was his first-born child, a frail infant that would fold at even the stiffest breeze. He had to protect the card at all costs.

"Cy- Hey, Cyno!" Upon reaching his humble abode, Cyno quickly threw open the door, leaving Tighnari at the entrance by himself, not even waiting for the forest ranger to remove his boots or hold the door open for him, making a straight beeline for his bedroom closet. He needed to find the perfect frame to display, yet protect the card; he could not just let the Blue-Eyes White Lizard live the rest of its life rotting away in a plain wooden box, of course. He deserved more, he deserved better, he deserved splendor.

"Cyno, what has gotten into you?!" Tighnari finally entered the room, speaking with the faintest bit of concern as Cyno dug through his closet for what would be a suitable frame for the card. "Is that card really that impor-"

"Yes."

"Alrighty then," Cyno could hear Tighnari huff from behind him. "How much did you pay for that card anyway? Kaveh mentioned using the money to help foot the bill, but that seemed like a pretty expensive meal."

Cyno froze in place at the question. "One-" he uttered, before catching himself. How was he supposed to tell Tighnari about the pricey card without being lectured about it later? "Sorry, I-I meant ten thousand mora," he stammered, turning around to meet Tighnari's expectant stare.

Cyno waited for Tighnari to call his bluff, but was pleasantly surprised when Tighnari responded with a few stunned blinks, as if he wasn't expecting that answer. "Huh, that's actually.. that's actually not so bad," Tighnari finally spoke. "I was expecting much worse than that."

"Yeah, I mean it's just a thin piece of cardboard afterall," Cyno nervously laughed, avoiding eye contact with Tighnari.

"Yeah, it'd be a different story if you gave Kaveh like one hundred thousand mora, or something."

"Yeah.. that would be... absurd."

"I know right. Sometimes people get so carried away with- Actually, wait a moment!" Tighnari's eyes went wide, before quickly turning to Cyno, folding his arms in thought as he spoke. "Do you remember Collei's birthday?"

"Err, why?" Cyno didn't like the way Tighnari's ears were standing on end. It meant he was attentive. It meant he knew something was off.

"And what was your gift to her?"

"A booster pack for her deck?"

"Right," Tighnari nodded with a sigh. "She was really excited when the booster pack contained her favorite card, remember?"

"I think I recall, yeah," Cyno's eyes squinted as he thought back to that day. Truth be told, his mind was quite a bit hazy and he wasn't exactly sure what Tighnari was supposed to be getting at.

"Well, the reason she was so excited was because she would no longer have to save her allowance for her favorite card," Tighnari explained to Cyno. "When I asked her how much she was planning to save, she told me eight thousand mora."

"And?"

"Cyno," Tighnari huffed with annoyance, "do you really think the Akademiya would have a card that someone like Collei could easily save for as one of the big prizes for the competition?"

Cyno's eyes widened, feeling every hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. "Ah," was all that left his mouth.

"Right, a super rare card wouldn't be worth as much as the one that Collei has," Tighnari explained, finally reaching his main point. "Either you scammed Kaveh for that card, or you're lying."

"W-Wait, I didn't scam Kaveh-"

"So you're lying then."

"Nari, please-" Cyno didn't get the chance to finish his sentence as Tighnari snatched the wooden box out of his hands, leaving Cyno stunned for the briefest moment as his brain tried to register what just happened, looking up at the box that Tighnari now held up in the air out of reach. His legs suddenly sprang forth as his arms reached for the box, but Tighnari evaded his movements. "Hey, that's-! I paid for that!"

"You can have it back after you tell me how much you spent!"

"Nari!" Cyno cried out with a whine, grabbing at the box just within reach, but his attempts failing due Tighnari's persistence. "This isn't fair!"

The two continued their little "dance", Tighnari matching Cyno's as he continued to insist for the sale price of the card, until Cyno's hand managed to brush against the box, knocking the box out of Tighnari's grasp. Time seemed to slow as Cyno watched the box fall to the floor, letting out a short shriek once it reached the floor, bouncing across the bedroom floor away from the two of them. He attempted to jump for the precious box, but Tighnari acted faster, grabbing at Cyno until the two were on the floor, Tighnari straddling Cyno's waist.

"Nari, come on, let go! I paid for the card!" Cyno tried to reason with the other, kicking his legs in an attempt to struggle out of Tighnari's grasp.

"How much did you spend on the card?!" Tighnari repeated, his eyes wide with determination.

"I cahahAHAHANT!" Abrupt laughter spilled out of Cyno's mouth at the sudden presence of Tighnari's fingers wiggling at his ribs, poking and prodding the sensitive area that he often kept bare. "Wait- wahahAHAHahait! Stahahap!"

"Not until you tell me how much mora you gave Kaveh for that card!" Not only was he persistent, Tighnari was relentless too, knowing full-well how to easily extract information out of Cyno if he so wanted to. Tickle fights were common between the two and Tighnari often made use of this very exploitable weakness to his advantage, much to Cyno's chagrin.

"NahaHArihiHIhi! PleheHEHEhease!"

"How about you please tell me how much mora you spent," Tighnari said with a smirk that only hinted to Cyno just how much fun he was having with this. With each poke, Cyno's resistance waned and his mind wavered on finally revealing the truth, but the look of disappointment that Tighnari often gave him flashed in his mind.

"Any day, Cyno!" Tighnari spoke over the growing laughter, kneading his thumbs between each gap of his ribs to draw out the most laughter, forcing Cyno to jerk and flail his limbs in an attempt to handle the ticklish sensations overloading his brain.

"AH- AHAHAHA! OKAHAHAY! BREAK! BREHEHEAK!"

"Will you tell me now, hm?" Although Tighnari had slowed down, he still dragged his fingers along the ribs, lightly grazing his fingertips to constantly create shallow giggles.

"Yahaha!" Cyno giggled with a snort, prompting Tighnari to giggle himself at the sudden reaction. "I-I'll tahahalk!"

Tighnari finally removed his hands, but kept them hovering just above his ribs. "Okay, well?"

"Uh, it was," Cyno stammered, formulating how he was going to tell him. "It was one-"

"One hundred thousand?" Tighnari's eyes widened. "I knew it! I knew you would do something like-"

"No, one million," Cyno said with a nervous whisper, bracing himself as he watched Tighnari's eyes widened.

"One million.. mora?" Cyno was sure there was an eye twitch just now. "You didn't actually spend one million, right? You meant like the mora equivalent of one million peanuts or something like that, right?"

"I-It's not that bad," Cyno tried to reason with him. "I'll just skip out on lunch, if I have to, for a couple of months to cover the cost."

"Hah," was all Tighnari let out, folding his arms in thought, before tilting his head back at Cyno. "This means I'm going to have to pay for most date nights going further."

"Pretty please?" Cyno looked up at him hopingly, shame written all over his face.

Tighnari clicked his lips and sighed. "Fine, fine. It's fine. My boyfriend's broke because of a card game; it's fine."

"Ah, and if I have to skip out on lunch, can you make me some in case I'll need it?"

"No."

"But Nari, I-I'll go hungry," Cyno pleaded with him, only for Tighnari's fingers to descend on his ribs once more, furiously tickling at them. "AH! AHAHAHA! OKAHAHAY! NO LUHUHUNCH! I'M SOHOHORRY!"

#cynari #cynonari #cyno #tighnari #genshin impact #tickling

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yanderes-galore · 8 months

Note

Hi, how are you going?

Fandom: TMNT 2012

Character: Raphael

Fic type: romantic concept with dear-yandere's prompts 82. Punishment, 98. Stitches and 103. Teeth.

Personally I'm doing okay and I'd love to try my best at these prompts! @okchijt wanted to try their hand at a sadistic Raph prompt plot so I approved what they did and fleshed it out! They helped a lot! Hopefully this became a good story :D (Albeit unnerving). Warning, this one's definitely messed up so adhere to trigger warnings before hitting read more. You have been warned.

Prompts Here

Yandere! 2012! Raphael Prompts 82, 98, 103

“I know it hurts, honey, but this is what happens when you don’t do what I say.”

“I really want to be gentle to you right now, but you’re making it impossible.”

“Smart ass. I’d suggest biting your tongue before I rip it out.”

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Jealousy, Violence, Swearing, Threats, Anger issues, Toxic themes, Dubious relationship, Accusations of cheating, Implied delusional behavior, Implied kidnapping, Dehumanization/Degradation, Manipulation, Cuts, Punishment, Wounds, Blood, Toxic relationship obviously, Sadism, Broken bones, He feels bad at the end... kinda, TRIGGERING THEMES AS DARLING GETS HURT IN THIS.

Raph's blood boiled when he saw you look so happy with Leo, his brother. You smiled at him like you hadn't a care in the world. You laughed with him as though you weren't betraying him.

Raph hated how close you were with his brother. Sometimes it felt like Leo was better than him. It only ever angered Raph when you're so easily pleased by his brother.

Why are you never like this with him?

Was it because Leo was so much nicer? Raphael tries his best to be loving and caring with you. In fact he succeeds most of the time, he's capable of being soft. It's just that... his anger tends to get the best of him.

As a result you often become the victim of his frustration. He can't help it and he knows he has a problem. But sometimes... especially when he sees you appeal to Leo more than him...

He feels it can be justified.

Having enough of the laughing and casual conversation between you two, Raphael stands up. He feels his eye twitch and the fact he can't compete with his brother. You're talking about Leo's favorite show or something, commenting on certain moments. You barely even notice Raph is there.

Until he grabs your arm.

Silence overcomes everyone in the room as Raphael yanks you towards his room. Leonardo looks as though he wants to say something to his brother but it unsure. Based on the harsh grip the mutant has on you, you can only assume what you're in for. Were you in trouble? For what?

Raphael can't help himself when he tosses you onto the bed in his room. The wind is knocked out of you and you hear the door slam as Raphael locks the door with an audible click. Before you're able to respond to him he yells at you.

"You're cheating on me!" He growls, green eyes narrowed at your confused expression. "You always get so damn comfortable with Leo like we're not involved!"

"Raph, we're just friends? Me and Leo happen to enjoy the same show-" You try to defend yourself but your voice is quickly drowned out by his.

“Smart ass. I’d suggest biting your tongue before I rip it out.”

With that you grow silent as Raphael rages on. You hated when he got like this. His anger was like a monster that can't be tamed.

He was a monster that can't be tamed.

"I don't want you so close to him anymore! It drives me mad! It's so damn annoying... why can't you just pay attention to me?"

"That seems to be all I ever do! Talking to others is my only form of normalcy. You won't even let me go home. I can't live like some pet!" You snap back, fed up with all of his accusations. "Leo isn't going to do anything. He won't come between us!"

"Really?"

"I'm tired of things too, Raph! I'm tired of being scared of you! I'm tired of the pain, I'm tired of being some sort of obedient little pet for you. I'm tired of you CONTROLLING me!" You snap, rightfully calling out the turtle on his behavior for the past few months.

Raphael laughs at your breakdown. It's partially because you called him out. This was all a personal attack and you both knew that.

He wasn't going to deal with this.

"Oh, please! You're nothing without me." Raphael growls, stalking you into the corner of his room. "Without me, you'd be as good as dead in this world."

Regret bristles the hair on your skin as you realize how trapped you are. You shake your head and shove yourself into the corner of the bed. You really should've held your tongue.

"I'm sorry, we're just both frustrated and-"

"This'll only hurt a bit, you know better."

With lightning speed, Raph pulls his sai and cuts your skin. His cuts are sloppy but it's enough to get the lesson across. You scream in pain, the blood dripping down your arm.

"Oh... please, Raph-!" You cry, but those green eyes are cold.

"It's not enough." He says, making eye contact with you. "I need to get the point across."

"Huh?"

*SNAP*

At first, you felt nothing. If was like the adrenaline made it seem like he didn't break your arm. At first the audible crack was your only clue.

Then the pain set in.

Then you screamed.

“I know it hurts, honey, but this is what happens when you don’t do what I say.” Raphael coos towards you, shushing you and soothing you like he didn't just break your arm. He's sickeningly sweet all of a sudden as he places a hand over your whimpering mouth. You stare at him with fear and he isn't sure if he hates it or adores it.

You weakly cry apologies towards him as he pulls out medical supplies from beneath his bed. He feels he's made his point. Now it's time to fix things.

"Shhh, it's all over. I'll fix you and maybe next time you'll listen." Raphael soothes, kissing your head as he makes a makeshift cast and splint. "It's going to hurt, but by now I think you know that."

Fixing you is harder than breaking you. Despite this and all of your crying, Raphael manages to patch you up. Part of him feels bad he's done such a thing to the one he loves.

Yet he tries to tell himself it's deserved for making him feel so jealous.

Do he love or hate your tears...?

By the end of it all you turn away from Raphael on the bed. You hiss in pain at times and flinch away from him due to what he's done. You can't tell if he did this with blind rage... or he did this of his own accord.

You don't care.

“I really want to be gentle to you right now, but you’re making it impossible.” Raph grumbles bitterly, his anger simmering down as he sits on the bed. He patched you up the best he can, now it's just the aftermath.

The tone of the mutant still sounds like a threat to you, causing you to listen to him more. The last thing you want is more pain. You're miserable enough with him right now already.

"... C'mere."

Reluctantly you're pulled into the arms of Raph as he leans down with you. He rubs your back in an attempt to be soothing but you're so rigid in his arms. It's all for a good reason, Raphael even begins to think back on what he's done.

His obsession over you only ever gets worse.

"I'm sorry..." He whispers into your hair. "I wish I knew how to love you."

He doesn't expect an answer back.

#yandere teenage mutant ninja turtles #yandere tmnt #yandere tmnt 2012 #yandere tmnt 2012 raphael #yandere 2012 raphael

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asnowfern · 10 months

Text

Sunshine in Autumn - Part One

Summary: Desperate to prevent the possible loss of her family's happiness, Elain travels back to the past to Autumn, where her sole ally is her mate who has no idea who she is.

A/N: Happy Elucien Week everyone! Written for day 2 prompt - Magic✨ for @elucienweekofficial! This story will be a two parter with the second part uploaded later in the week. Enjoy! A huge huge thank you to @reverie-tales for bouncing off ideas with me and giving me your thoughts on the fic!💕💕💕

Read on AO3 | Part Two

LUCIEN

It happened deep within the sprawling halls of marble and gold. The shock that would have re-acquainted Lucien with the ground if he hadn't already been sitting.

The bond had laid dormant for so long that he barely thought about it anymore. A constant presence that no longer bothered him as a lingering reminder. Especially when Elain got increasingly better at shielding herself from him.

To suddenly feel that spike of fear before it winked into nothingness. A black hole taking the place of the warm thrumming light, brighter than anything in Day. Its absence was jarring and unsettling.

Lucien winnowed to just outside the entrance of Hewn City, his heart thundering in his ears. What he was doing broke so many inter-Court etiquette but he couldn't give a fuck about it right now. Not when his mind spewed out a dozen scenarios at him, each getting worse than the other.

The doors swung open dramatically as he strode in towards the High Lord and High Lady, all eyes of the hall landed on him. The nerve of him, their sharp gaze scolded angrily.

Lucien almost paused. Not because of them but because of the rising panic when his eyes failed to locate his mate.

"Where's Elain?" He demanded, the irate protests of the inner Court amplified the pounding in his ears until Lucien gave into instincts and bellowed out, "I can't feel her anymore so someone better tell me where the hell she is!"

Feyre gave a bewildered look from her seat before recovering quickly to adopt a more inquisitive expression, "Lucien, we weren't expecting you. Elain is-" she trailed off, seemingly noticing for the first time then her sister wasn't there.

Lucien felt his indignation rising to meet his anxiety. They didn't even notice she was gone. He exhaled sharply to quell it.

"The basement," the shadowsinger said quietly, a slither of shadow wrapped around his arm as his voice drifted over, easily slicing through the heavy silence that fell over the group.

Lucien followed Feyre, who quickly stalked out of the hall. His magical eye spun wildly as they entered the basement, dizzyingly full of riches and magic artifacts. One particular dusty golden disc spinning with intricate spellwork laid on the floor. Its surface was etched with multiple overlapping circles of different sizes, a design almost reminiscent of gears.

Rhysand was the one who crouched over the device, brows furrowed as one hand gingerly traced the device. Amren opened her mouth, a warning not to touch it, a second too late.

Darkness flooded the room as the tight leash which the High Lord of Night held over his powers slipped.

Feyre crossed the distance in a heartbeat. Her touch grounded her mate as the shadows receded. When Rhysand opened his eyes and spoke, it was to look, surprisingly, directly at Lucien.

"The question may not be where Elain is but when."

***

200 years into the past, Autumn

Lucien had run into the beautiful female three times before he caught her. To her credit, she was more crafty than he had anticipated.

The first time happened after his visit from Winter, the frost still embedded in his veins as he sipped on hot honey and clove. She was wearing a poorly fitted dress. The mud brown and ruffled material that would look awful on anybody still failed to hide how lovely her face was. So lovely that Lucien stopped in his tracks, entranced.

Her wide doe eyes stared innocently as a courtier smile charmed the baker with flattering greetings. Beneath the counter, shaky hands swiped a loaf of bread.

Lucien should have called her out then. Nobody in Autumn stole. Or worse still, nobody did it poorly enough to get caught.

Yet, he didn't.

He watched, almost helplessly, as she gave hasty goodbyes and scrambled away. For reasons beyond his own understanding, he dropped coins covering the payment of the loaf she stole on the counter before leaving.

He ran into her for the second time two weeks later at a different market. She wore a maroon dress that, despite hanging loose at certain areas, still contrasted nicely against her fair skin and wavy golden brown hair. She had donned the same courtier smile, her words smooth as she queried on the various grains on display. A cheery laugh and a well positioned hand on his arm kept the farmer's eyes away from the pots where her free hand smoothly swept grains into a waiting pouch.

Lucien's jaw clicked at the action and he stepped closer.

Almost immediately, she turned her head to lock deep brown eyes with russet ones. Her rosebud mouth parted slightly in panic.

He wanted to reveal her as a thief. But more than that, he wanted to taste those lips to see if they were as sweet as they looked.

"Wait," he yelled at her back as she whipped around to run and weave in and around the crowd. One ill-timed crossing cart was all it took for Lucien to lose her, leaving him cursing at the innocent passerby.

The third time was a stroke of luck. Lucien had just returned from visiting Tamlin in Spring and was shaking off his run-in with Ianthe. The mysterious presence eased a tension within him like a beautiful palette cleanser.

She was finally wearing a dress that properly fit her, a deep coral piece that hugged her petite figure and gave onlookers a peak of cleavage. Something the merchant at the market was evidently enjoying.

Lucien would be damned if he let her escape him again.

He hid his presence as he made his way over to the store. His hand grabbed hers as she lifted a bracelet from the table, drawling, "Now, now, dear. You know the consequences of stealing."

Her form tensed up, the bracelet slipped and tinkled against the surface. She glared at him in anger and what felt uncomfortably like betrayal. He ignored the nagging in his chest and smoothly cut off the furious sputters of the merchant, "Don't worry, I'll take her off your hands."

He watched as the seller's eyes narrowed in suspicion before widening as he recognised who Lucien was, "But my lord, the law clearly-"

He didn't let him finish, "Clearly states that the accused be turned over to a figure of authority, yes?"

He raised a cocky brow and held the merchant's gaze until he eventually looked away with a huff. Lucien's lips pulled into a lazy smile, "That's what I thought."

He dropped two gold coins on the table and pocketed the same silver bracelet. With a snap of his fingers, cuffs bond the female's wrists together and they leave, with one last dismissive stare at the seller.

"You should be thanking me, you know?" He asked after they had walked some ways from the shop, the sulky beautiful Fae lagged behind him by a couple of steps, her long sleeves kept the cuffs discreet. "Do you know what happens if you get caught?"

Irritation flashed across her face. She snapped back, "I wouldn't have gotten caught if it wasn't for you."

Lucien hummed, unconvinced, "A recalcitrant thief like you? You would've gotten caught eventually."

She scowled but said nothing, letting Lucien lead her out of the market where the crowd had dispersed into nothingness before demanding, "Are you taking me in?"

Lucien bent forward to meet her at eye level, his auburn hair falling out, teasingly scratching the surface of her face. His fingers twitched in envy. He purred, "I could take you in. But why would I toss you in some grimy cell when you could be sleeping in somewhere much nicer?"

She scoffed, sticking her chin out, "If you're not taking me in, I'm heading off."

Lucien followed as she stalked off, her footsteps pulling him in like a beacon, calling out, "Don't you need to get out of the cuffs first?"

She turned around, raising her freed hands, delicate silver glinting around her wrist where the cuffs should be. Her brown eyes were wide as she asked innocently, "What cuffs?"

Lucien tipped his head back as a hearty laugh escaped his throat, answering with mirth in his eyes, "A consummate thief. I should've known."

She rolled her eyes, her lips puckered into a near pout and he was once again struck by how stupidly beautiful this thief was.

Don't follow me, was all she said as she walked away from him.

So Lucien stood there, watching her as she walked away from him again, knowing somehow that this would not be the last time he would run into her.

***

ELAIN

Elain collapsed backwards with the back of her forearm covering her eyes, the old, soft mattress creaking slightly beneath her weight. She let out a heavy sigh, the adrenaline which pumped through her earlier ebbed away, leaving exhaustion in its stead. Her arm slid down her face, revealing the wooden structures of the cottage ceiling, the cozy space lit in the warm orange tint of the fireplace.

Of course, she knew logically that she could run into Lucien. Afterall, she never knew when exactly he left Autumn for Spring. She never gave the both of them the chance to know each other well enough for such a history to be shared. When he left Night to be with his father in Day after the war with Koschei, his beautiful face dimmed as he offered her those final parting words.

You know where to find me when you've finally made up your mind if you want to give us a chance or reject the bond.

She almost gave in that day. The urge to take his hand and let him winnow the both of them to his new court. But she couldn’t. Not with her final conversation with Greysen still echoing in her head.

Our engagement is over. I will take whatever people occupy your lands. But not you. Never you.

So she put on a polite smile and watched as his composure cracked for a split second before being masked by a diplomatic smile. A smile, a nod and he walked away from her. And she let him.

The days after that were stagnant. She stayed in Night, remained in the River Manor. She passed her time with Nuala and Cerridwen, cooking, baking, gardening. They brought her books from the Library on herbs and potions.

Days turned into weeks and months. Elain felt herself steadily sinking further and further into the shadows of the manor. As if she too, had the same shadow manipulation ability of her dear friends.

Until the dream she had a week before the solstice.

The visions that changed everything she knew. Of the dead Beron whispering words of poison into the ears of Tamlin and Rhysand, stoking the embers of a civil war. Of a strange disc located in the depths of Hewn City.

When Elain woke up between the sheets soaked in cold sweat, her anxious heart pounding as her mind spun, she knew that these were visions of a past. But had it already happened or was it a future doomed to change? The ramifications of this changed future would have been devastating - lives lost in conflict, Hybern striking in Prythia's moment of weakness, humans enslaved once more.

Yet, her own heart couldn't get over the images cycling through her mind - her beautiful nephew, Feyre's glowing happiness as she cradled the small swell of her second pregnancy, the soft fond smile that Nesta reserved solely for Cassian. All of it would vanish if Beron succeeded. Her heart wailed and screamed at the prospect. Elain could not allow that to happen. She had to make sure that the past stayed in the past and her present remained unchanged.

So she slipped away in the chaos of the solstice celebration. Her mind reeling in the unending visions of her family losing everything as she gave into the pull of magic in the basement, locating the relic almost instantly. Like calls to like.

One simple touch was all it took to bring her back in the past. To Autumn.

The first few days were rough, bringing back periods of starvation and no Feyre. So Elain adapted. She shoved down her guilt as she stole, lifted and fished for information behind the guise of pretty smiles and flirty touches. Autumn was a court of foxes. And Elain learnt to fit in.

A pop in the firewood pulled her back to the present, to a wooden cottage sequestered deep into the woods behind The Forest House. She stared at the wooden foundations, frowning. She's been here a month and was still no closer to stopping the terrible future.

Making up her mind to head back to the tavern that many of the Autumn courtiers frequent the next day, Elain fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams haunted by devastation and violence as Spring and Night went to war.

***

Elain was roused awake by the pulsating warmth in her chest. The thread purred, soothed by an approaching golden presence. She bit back a sigh, knowing that she probably had seconds before Lucien entered the cottage.

Not for the first time since her journey to the past, Elain wished she learnt to winnow.

Instead, she swung her body upright and ran her fingers through the birdnest of hair to neaten it to some semblance of normalcy. It probably didn't do much as Lucien stepped in, his mouth slightly ajar as he took in the sight before him. From the stolen dresses hanging neatly by the fireplace to the potted plants on the table and finally, Elain, seated on the bed in her nightdress.

She drapped the blanket around her, letting the edges touch the ground when she stood, noticing how the fire wielder's eyes tracked the movement before trailing up the length of her body and settled on her face. She asked sharply, "What are you doing here?"

His eyes widened slightly as he asked incredulously, "What am I doing here? This is my house."

Shit. Elain's cheeks flushed as she retorted defensively, "The interior was in terrible condition when I came. I thought it was abandoned."

Lucien said nothing as he gave the cottage another onceover, his gaze still focused on the various potted plants as he asked, "Which court are you from?" Suspicious russet eyes shifted to her, "Don't even think about lying. Anyone from Autumn would have known that these lands belong firmly in the High Lord's territory."

Knowing that Lucien would be able to catch her out on any lies about hailing from other courts, she admitted, "Night." Praying that the currency hadn't changed much in the past two centuries, Elain flippantly tossed the coins to him, "You can check."

His brows knitted as he stared at the signature embossing of Ramiel and the three stars, wariness joined the suspicion which was already present in his eyes. "What are you doing stealing and squatting here then?"

Mentally assessing how many more half-truths Elain could get away with, she said, "I'm stuck. I accidentally touched a device that transported Me here. I've been," she swallowed thickly, "Trying to reach Night. To reach Rhysand but I couldn't."

The glint in Lucien's eyes told her she was not quite successful. He informed her sharply, "Night's been closed off since the deaths of the High Lord's family. Surely, someone from Night, let alone familiar with Rhysand, would know that."

Elain blinked. That explained a lot but did nothing to assuage the Autumn scion in front of her. She exhaled loudly, continuing, "Look. You're not going to believe me but I'm from the future. There is something I need to do," her mind unwittingly brought forth images of Feyre joyfully swinging Nyx around and Nesta smirking up at Cassian as she twirled his dagger in her hand. She clenched her fist as she met russet eyes unflinchingly, "A future I need to preserve. I'm not here to bring harm to your people. I promise."

She held the gaze, her heart beating anxiously. He had to believe her.

He shook his head, "I don't even know you."

"Elain," she cuts in, then playing dumb, "And you are?"

"Lucien"

"Lucien," She repeated, the name felt almost foreign on her tongue after so long. She pressed on desperately, "We can strike a bargain. If you help me, I'll return to where I came from after I've accomplished my goal. No more stealing."

"Your goal?" He asked assessingly, his eyes narrowed into slits.

She answered promptly, "Prevent Beron from successfully egging Night and Spring into war."

"My help for no harm done to the people of Autumn," he added as the metallic twang of magic gathered and swirled between the both of them.

"No unprovoked or unnecessary harm and regardless, nothing of lasting damage," she returned.

"Unprovoked or unnecessary?" He scoffed, "You need to try harder than that."

"Only in self defense then," she countered, resisting the urge to smile. She had missed battling with words.

"Then you have a bargain," he accepted, "Elain."

"Then we have a bargain," She agreed, closing her palm around his, firmly ignoring the way the bond glowed at the physical contact.

Her forearm tingled as their deal was ratified by their magic. Lucien rolled up his sleeves, revealing a delicate bouquet of flowers inked into his skin. Elain absentmindedly noted the different types of flowers - Lily of the Valley, Hyacinth, forget-me-not.

She nearly scowled at the obvious symbolism.

Her mate gave a breathy chuckle, lightly tracing the tattoo, "You really are from Night."

She raised an arched brow as she threw him an unimpressed look, "Are you still doubting me?"

"No, just my first time seeing the Night bargain tattoos in action." he denied smoothly, his mouth edging upwards as he said lightly, "Why wouldn't I want a tattoo linking me to someone as beautiful as you?"

His gaze darkened as his eyes raked across her form, reminding Elain of, despite the blanket, how exposed she was in the sheer material of her nightdress. Heat gathered in her belly as the bond whispered to her. Claim him. He's ours.

Elain pushed it aside, swallowing thickly as she looked away.

It was too late to regret binding herself further to this dangerously gorgeous male.

***

LUCIEN

Lucien made his way back to the cottage later that evening, winnowing a short distance away from the house. Elain had requested he bring dinner with him, insisting that she was a terrible cook. Something in the way she said it, rushed and panicked, made him doubt that it was the truth.

Elain.

She was an enigma and then some.

She was rolled and wrapped in half-truths. She had shared that she knew him in the future, albeit not well. Although he knew without a shadow of doubt that it went beyond a friend of my sister's.

No, there was something in her eyes, buried deep within perfect smiles, that hid the truth. Something that made Lucien want to unravel and peel back the layers until they laid bare on the ground.

He absentmindedly traced the ink hidden beneath his sleeve for the umpteenth time for the day. It was a revealing habit he had to stop when he got home but for now, he indulged himself.

Agreeing to help her was second nature. The goal itself made it easy to agree. Yet, it was the wide doe eyes and the sound of her banging heartbeat that really made it impossible to deny her. The mere thought of doing so made it feel like a thousand fire ants crawling underneath his skin.

He gave the door two sharp knocks, swinging open moments after. Gone was the disheveled Elain from this morning, an impeccably dressed Fae stood in her place. Lucien found himself missing the mussed hair and cotton night dress.

They ate in silence, moving around each other awkwardly as they passed utensils and condiments. He cleared his throat, "We are hosting a High Lords meeting next month at the Forest House - the first since Spring and Night sworn in their new High Lords. It would be the perfect opportunity for Beron to widen the chasm between Tamlin and Rhysand."

Elain's hands paused mid-air before settling back down on the table, her face turned contemplative, "I will need to speak to Rhysand at the first opportunity I get then," she looked at him pointedly, "You'll need to pass him a note the moment he arrives."

He raised a brow, "What makes you think you can change his mind or even have him agree to the meet?"

She gave an infuriating and secretive smile, raising a slender finger to her lips, "I have my ways."

"Care to share?" He asked loftily.

"That," she said in a teasing lilt, the same smile still pressed on her lips, "would be telling."

Damn, this female might be the death of him. "One day," he promised, "one day you'll tell me."

Lucien pretended not to see the strange shadow passed her face and chose instead to change the subject, "So has Autumn lived up to your expectations?

She tilted her head slightly, "Expectations?"

"I know our reputation precedes us. Not quite as infamous as Night, of course."

"The people here are nicer than I thought. Just normal Fae trying to get by," she admitted, her voice dropping a decibel, "I took no pleasure in stealing from them."

He paused, considering his next words carefully and offered, "One might say that doing what needs to be done to survive is a decidedly Autumn trait. Something which someone in your position did well in."

She looked surprised at the statement before she huffed and looked away, a slight blush powdering her cheeks.

It was the sincerity in her voice as she thanked him that made him think that perhaps, compliments come a little too rarely in her life.

And just maybe, Lucien could change that.

ELAIN

Dear Elain,

How do you feel about apple pies for desserts this evening?

Yours,

Lucien

The notebook, with the note written on the first page, appeared on the table a couple of mornings after their first meal together.

Yours.

The word stirred almost unsettlingly within her. It could be nothing more than the pretty words of the Autumn lord. Yet, a part of her enjoyed and relished in it. The same part of her that desperately needed reminding that he would have to forget and she would have to return to the future.

With her mind still distracted with the forget-me potion, she penned her response.

Dear Lucien,

Apple pies sound lovely, thank you.

Would you happen to know if any willowberries grow in the area?

Yours

Crap.

Yours sincerely,

Elain

The exchanging of notes continued as the days went by, growing from simple logistical planning to more personal notes. She knew his favourite breakfast was a hearty plate of eggs, bacons and fried toast but he hated oats. In turn, he would learn her favourite poet, showing up at her doorstep the next day with the book in hand.

He knew she loved gardening because she liked how it felt to cultivate life, and she knew how he loved travelling, meeting new people.

Her time in Autumn was suddenly brighter and more vibrant. For the first time in months, Elain woke up excited for the day ahead. Lucien was due back from Spring that morning and had promised to stop by after lunch.

Then the day came and passed with no Lucien in sight. Elain frowned at the twisted worry wiggling in her chest as she flipped the flatbread in the pan.

He was fine. Probably just extended a day of his visit in Spring.

Right?

Lucien fell to the ground as a blade slashed deeply into his side. He hissed as he stuck his sword into the ground, willing himself to use it as support to stand.

"Get up," a cold voice said.

His eyes gazed upwards into bored amber eyes of his second brother, swearing under his breath as he stood up shakily. He readied himself in a stance.

"Enough," another voice ordered sharply, "He's learnt his lesson."

"Remember your place," the first redhead sneered, "little brother."

Elain gasped, inhaling a waft of acrid char that sent her coughing. Her hands moved automatically to dispose of the burnt black flatbread and replaced it with fresh dough.

Lucien. The twisted worry braided itself into a tightly twined rope as she numbly chewed on her dinner. She pushed her plate away with a huff and picked up a pen.

Dear Lucien,

You've missed our date. Should I be concerned?

Your worried friend,

Elain

A knock on the door drew her out of her stupor a few hours later, eliciting a thrum in her chest. Elain rushed to the door, swinging it open.

Lucien greeted with a lazy smile, “How rude of me to be late for our date.”

She paused, looking past the nonchalance to survey the sweat beading above his lips, his pallid complexion and knuckles pressed white as his fist closed around a bouquet of wild flowers. Her breath came out in ripples as she gingerly wrapped her arms around him, whispering, “I was so worried.”

Warm muscular arms closed around her and settled around her waist, a combination of the petals tickling her sides and the rumbling of his baritone voice sent shivers down her spine, “I really am sorry I’m late.”

Elain extracted herself carefully out of his embrace, “What happened?”

“I was held up by my family, that’s all,” he reassured her verbally while his heart beat weakly and irregularly in his rib cage.

She snorted lightly. She then gently tugged the bouquet from him and pulled him towards the bed, sitting him down.

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered as she grabbed the salve waiting in her pestle and mortar.

“Why, Elain,” he said teasingly, “If I knew being late was such a reward-”

“You’re hurt,” she accused, slightly hurt that he was still trying to hide it from her, “So stop playing and show me.”

Their gazes locked for a moment, his russet eyes wide with surprise before he took off his vest and shirt, hissing in the process. Elain wordlessly unwound the bloody bandages to reveal the clean but deep gash in his side.

“Who did this?” She asked softly, her anger palpable as she shakily applied the salve, earning herself another hiss from her mate.

He sighed, “My brother.”

Her hands paused in mid-air, “Why?”

“My father,” he admitted, his eyes glassy and distant, “He pitted us against each other the moment we got semi-proficient with a blade and a flame.” He laughed bitterly, “Only the worthy can inherit the title of High Lord, he used to say.”

She finished wrapping his torso with fresh bandages and laid him down, settling his head in her lap. The tightly woven braid in her chest loosened, returning her breath to her.

She knew it was the bond that made her this way. Worried and feral but as she threaded her fingers through his silky tresses and the sharp facial features relaxed into the comfort of her lap, she found that she couldn't care less.

“Is this why you bought this cottage?” She asked after a while, her fingers now massaging his scalp.

“Hmm?”

“This cottage,” she repeated, smiling slightly at his sleepy expression, “Is that why you got it?”

“I built it,” he replied sleepily, “I started building out of boredom but I guess, now thinking back, I was building it as an escape.” His hand reached up to grab hers, stopping its movement.

“Lie down with me,” he whined, “You’re so far away up there.”

Elain laughed as she extricated herself to lie down beside him, with her back to his front. His arm rested heavily on her. “Happy?”

He hummed sleepily and tightened his hold on her, “Yes, now sleep.”

Elain lets her eyes fall shut, the even breathing of Lucien slowly lulling her to sleep. Through the haze of sleep, she thought she heard Lucien mumble, “Or maybe I was building this cottage for you this whole time.”

***

“Equinox?" Elain asked through a mouth full of oats.

"It's the Harvest Festival," Lucien explained and grumpily took a bite out of his apple, "It falls the day before the High Lord's meeting. After the ceremony, there's a large bonfire, dancing, fireworks and lots of booze."

"Sounds nice," she commented sincerely.

He looked at her expectantly.

"Will you accompany me to the Equinox?" She asked, the first hint of a smile toying at her lips.

"I would like nothing more," Lucien replied with a smirk which faded as his eyes fell on her bowl of oats, twisting into a grimace, "I can't believe the only breakfast you have in this place is oats. What's wrong with eggs and bacon?"

"First, I ran out of fresh food and second, it's a nutritious breakfast," she retorted primly, as if she did not intentionally make sure that oats, one of the few foods he detested, were the few she kept around the house.

He grunted as he finished off his apple, pulling a quick giggle from her.

"Done?" He asked drily as she put away the washed bowl.

"Are we going somewhere?" She asked back, surprised and stared pointedly at his side, the nagging worry simmering once more, "Should you be going anywhere?"

"I'm fine," he dismissed, waving his hand slightly, "Your salve worked great."

Her brows creased, "Show me," sending him an icy glare, cutting off the teasing remarks before he had a chance to get them out.

He shrugged off his clothes once more, the movement affecting him much less than they did the night more. The wound was less severe, the redness and inflammation around it largely reduced. His gaze was palpable as she silently cleaned the injury, reapplying the salve and bandaged it up. Her hand lingered on the warm flesh a second too long.

Her throat bobbed as he reached out to grab her reclining hand, the movement so slow it seemingly dragged towards him.

He brushed her knuckles against his lips and held it to his bare chest, the emanating heat entrancing and addictive.

The moment held for a beat before she gingerly pulled back her hand, saying softly, "We should get going."

Disappointment flashed across his face before it was masked with impassiveness, "Of course"

Lucien quickly put his shirt back on and held out an arm, winnowing the both of them to the heart of a forest.

"Look up," he pointed with a wry smile.

The trees towered over them, the black silhouettes of the thin branches spread out in bunches contrasted against the backdrop of the bright sky, near but never touching. The canopy layer blanketed them in a cacophony of red, orange and gold, allowing only streams of golden sunlight through.

"It's beautiful," Elain breathed, her neck strained to properly take in the sight above.

She glanced back down at Lucien, looking every inch of the Autumn prince. His brown skin glowed as the light glided off his long auburn hair, his face graced with a soft smile that made her breath hitch. She repeated, "It's beautiful."

Tearing her gaze away, she turned back above. She could feel the weight of russet eyes as he replied, "Yes, it is very much so."

#elucien #elucienweek2023 #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fic #pro elucien

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sterek8nights · 5 months

Text

Our Future In These Photographs

Another Hanukkah fic!

For the Sterek8Nights Bingo squares: gift exchange, combining, family

on ao3 here

Please check out the prompts and the bingo card and join me in Hanukkah-ing Sterek!

____

Derek looked around the store forlornly. Nothing here was right, and he was starting to panic. Hanukkah started in three days, and he still didn’t have anything for Stiles.

So, he did what he usually did when he had a problem he needed help with and he couldn’t call Stiles: he called Stiles’ dad, and texted Boyd.

“Still can’t think of what to get him, huh?” John answered in lieu of a greeting, and Derek groaned. The man may be the actual Sheriff, and his kind of father-in-law, but it was often irritating how much he noticed.

“No. And I am this close to just giving him my credit card and setting him lose at that little occult shop on Denton that has the actual magic stuff in the basement,” Derek not-quite whined.

John chuckles, and even though Derek’s annoyed, the sound is comforting in its familiarity. “As much as he’d enjoy that, I’m not sure that your bank account, or his bookshelves, really need to take that hit, son.”

It’s Derek’s turn to laugh then. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

That’s when he sees it, tucked under a little stack of sweaters, clearly discarded by a customer that couldn’t be bothered to return it to its proper place. A silver picture frame with intricate designs set into the metal. Derek snatches it up and says a hasty goodbye to John, citing an epiphany and barely catching the “Good luck, kid,” that he tacks on before Derek hangs up and shoves his phone into his pocket.

After a quick stop at his family’s vault, and another to the Stilinksi residence, he rushes home, glad to beat Stiles there, and hurries to his office to wrap his gifts.

***

The first night of Hanukkah is spent with John at his house, with just the three of them, starting the week off with a relative calm before various combinations of friends and co-workers, and the pack all invade Derek and Stiles’ house for the other days.

After lighting the menorah, and eating the latkes they had all made together, they head to the living room to exchange gifts, Derek and Stiles give John a trip for the three of them to see the Mets and a stay in a really nice hotel for a few days. He tries to protest, but Stiles has already arranged the time off for him, so he hugs them both and starts talking about what else they can do while they’re in New York.

John commits to what he insists are “traditional Hanukkah gifts”, and gives them both packages of novelty socks and matching t-shirts with photo realistic wolves howling at the moon on the front. Stiles cackles and hugs his dad even as he complains about not being a kid anymore, but John waves his protests off. “You know how this works, kid. Socks are tradition! I just picked a package at random, you could’ve just as easily gotten an art kit, or something surprising!” he defends with a smirk, knowing that they all not-so-secretly find it hilarious to get three or four nights of “useful” presents amid all the rest.

“At least it’s not underwear,” Derek jokes, only for Stiles to look him in the eye and waggle his eyebrows in a way that never fails to make Derek feel fond, even though it’s objectively ridiculous.

“Maybe not from dad,” Stiles replies, making Derek blush, eyes darting furiously to John, and then back to Stiles.

John groans, loud and long-suffering. “That’s more than I need to know, son,” he complains good naturedly, tossing the balled-up wrapping paper from his gift at Stiles and hitting him square on the nose. After a few moments of shared laughter and a brief wrapping paper war, John announces it’s time for the two of them to exchange their gifts.

Stiles scrambles to grab his box, wrapped in shimmery blue and surprisingly heavy for its size when Stiles sets it in Derek’s hand. He watches expectantly as Derek unwraps it carefully. Inside the box are two stones; one is about half the size of Derek’s palm, the other is quarter-sized and on a necklace, they’re both practically glowing, and Derek realizes it’s the same shimmer the wrapping paper had.

“They carry the most powerful protection spell I could find,” Stiles explains. “The big one, you bury in your yard and it will keep the house and a good amount of the surrounding forest safe. The small one you wear,” he says, wrapping his hands around Derek’s. “As a bonus feature, if you hold the pendant, it sends a little buzz to me through my spark, so you can tell me you’re thinking of me, or hold it longer, and it’s like the Bat-signal signal.”

Derek manages a slightly awed smile as he looks up at Stiles from where he was watched they tangled hands, and a “I love it, thank you,” that’s a little more choked up than he’d like to admit before Stiles pulls him close for a brief, chaste kiss.

“You’re welcome. Happy Hanukkah, Der,” Stiles says into the small space between them. “Now where’s mine?” he asks with mock-seriousness, successfully resetting the mood.

Derek scoffs and rolls his eyes, as is expected of him, and carefully hands Stiles his meticulously wrapped box.

Stiles is not a careful-unwrapper, but he takes his time with this one, maybe he picked up on Derek and John’s excitement.

When the wrapping paper is off, Stiles looks between Derek and John quizzically, his fingers hovering over the edges of the outer box. “What did you two do?” Stiles asks, eyes narrowing.

John puts both hands up in a calming gesture, but Derek barks out an anxious “Open it,” and then immediately regrets it when they both look at him like he’s lost his mind. Derek huffs out a laugh and ruffles his own hair. “Sorry. I was really anxious about what to get you; your dad helped when I figured it out.”

Stiles grins wide. He loves that his dad and his boyfriend get along so well. He is also insanely curious about what’s in the box.

He lifts the lid off the box and runs delicate fingers over the tissue paper folded over the contents, peeling it away slowly. Once it’s out of the way, Stiles gasps, a hand flying to his mouth.

Inside the box are two not-quite identical silver frames.

In one, is a picture of Stiles, John, Derek, Cora, and Peter with the rest of the pack, on the giant porch at Stiles and Derek’s house. In the other, is a similar picture, except it’s on the porch at the old Hale house, and the pack in the picture is Derek’s family. Derek is maybe three years old, Peter barely a teenager, and Cora and Stiles are technically there, too, because in the middle of the photograph are Talia and Claudia, both very pregnant, with their arms thrown around each other. John is on the other side of Stiles’ mom, absolutely beaming at the camera.

Stiles looks up at Derek and his dad, eyes wet with unshed tears. He knew that his parents were friends with the Hales, had seen the occasional photo – mostly in boxes of his mother’s things in the attic – but he’d never seen this specific picture before, never a picture of him and Derek together, because the Hales had distanced themselves when John got promoted at the Sheriff’s department, not wanting him to have to lie about the supernatural in any official capacity, so they’d missed out on being in each other’s lives until they met again as teenagers.

“Der,” Stiles whispers, tracing the edges of the frames.

“I found that frame, the newer one, and I remembered a similar one from the vault that I’d seen years ago. With that picture. It, uh. It didn’t mean anything at the time, it was so long ago, but I brought it here, and your dad told me a little about that time–”

“There’s an envelope in the box, with some things your moms both wrote, and some I wrote out,” John interrupts gently. Derek nods at him gratefully.

Stiles has the envelope out and open before his dad finishes speaking, not exactly reading, more just tracing the shape of his mom’s handwriting, taking in the curl of Talia’s and John’s neat, tight lettering. He looks up again, carefully placing the precious papers back in the box, and half launching-half falling into Derek’s arms. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles without having to think about it.

“I love you,” Stiles says into Derek’s neck.

“I love you, too,” Derek replies mostly into Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles spreads out one arm towards his dad and waves his hand around. “Come here, Pops, get in on this family hug STAT,” he demands, slightly muffled from how he hasn’t quite turned his head out of Derek’s neck. John obliges with minimal grunting and groaning about being too old to be on the floor, and Derek and Stiles tug him into the hug, all of them a little sniffly. “Love you, dad. Thank you.”

“Aw, hell, kid, I love you, too,” John replies, “Have I told you recently that you did alright with picking that Hale kid to marry?” he teases.

“We’re not married, dad.”

“Yet,” Derek corrects, and Stiles pulls away quickly, only managing to avoid whacking Derek and his dad with his head because of Derek’s reflexes.

��Yet?!” he squwaks. When Derek only shrugs, he adds “Derek Hale, if you are planning on making me cry again this Hanukkah, I am going to be so mad at you.”

John laughs, knowing full well that Stiles has a ring and a whole plan for sometime before New Year’s. Derek though? Derek pulls Stiles back in, says “I promise, no more crying presents,” and wracks his brain for what to get for Stiles for the next seven nights.

Maybe he can move up his proposal plan?

#sterek fic #eternalsterek #sterek8nights #sterek event #sterek prompt #sterek bingo #sterek holidays

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